#to soldier there is no gender... only Americans

[batboyblog]

What Joe Biden has Done for LGBTQ+ People

I wanted to list out everything The Biden Administration has done for Queer people in the last 3 and a half years, but according to GLAAD it'd been 337 moves (and I noticed they missed a few things...) there was just no way to list every ground breaking first Queer person ever nominated to fill this or that job, every ally with a historic LGBT rights record nominated for a top job, every beautiful statement of support, every time he tried to get Congress to pass the Equality Act (support it!) So I've gone through and done my best to pick the ones I think were the most important, but everyone should check out the full list!

Day 1: Signs executive orders banning discrimination and ordering a full review of all federal agencies policies to better include and support LGBT people

Pete Buttigieg becomes the first openly gay person nominated and confirmed for a cabinet level post as Secretary of Transportation

Revokes Trump’s 2018 ban on transgender military personnel

Department of Housing and Urban Development implements LGBTQ protections in housing, becoming first federal agency to implement Pres. Biden’s executive order

First President to recognize and proclaim Trans Day of Visibility

Department of Justice Civil Rights Division issues an official memo that the Supreme Court's Bostock decision against LGBT workplace discrimination also applies to education through Title IX

HUD withdraws a Trump Administration proposed rule change, and reaffirms trans people's rights to seek shelters matching their gender identity

HHS announces the withdrawal of Trump Administration rules that allowed discrimination by healthcare organizations against LGBT people.

The State Department and later Homeland Security announce babies born to Queer couples overseas will be American citizens if one parent is American, in the past the child only qualified if they were genetically related to the American citizen parent.

The Justice Department files against a West Virginia law banning trans students from school athletics

Department of Veterans Affairs announces it will offer gender confirming surgery for transgender veterans. There are an estimated 134,000 transgender veterans in the U.S. and another 15,000 transgender people serving in the armed forces.

President Biden Signs a law making the Pulse Night Club a national memorial

The State Department creates an X gender marker for passports and other documents, allowing gender affirming identification for non-binary and intersex people for the first time.

The Census Bureau for the first time issues a Survey with questions about sexual orientation and gender identity

On the 10th anniversary of the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Veterans Administration announces that soldiers discharged for homosexual conduct, gender identity or HIV status qualify for veterans' benefits

Dr. Rachel Levine becomes the first trans person confirmed by the US Senate when she was nominated to be Assistant Secretary for Health, she also became the first trans flag rank officer when she was sworn in as a 4 star Admiral for her job as head of the Public Health Service Commissioned Corps, his makes her the highest ranked trans person in government

Holds the first ever vigil in the White House for Transgender Day of Remembrance

HHS announces rule change to reinstate and expand protections against discrimination in the Affordable Care Act, including denying coverage for gender-affirming care.

Social Security Administration reverses a Trump Administration policy and allows benefits claims by surviving partners in same-sex relationships, whose partner died before marriage equality was legal

President Biden signs the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act (a bill he helped originally craft in the Senate) which for the first time has grant programs dedicated to expanding and developing initiatives specifically for LGBTQ survivors of domestic violence

The TSA announces new technology and policy shifts to improve the customer experience of transgender travelers who have previously been required to undergo additional screening due to alarms in sensitive areas.

The Social Security Administration allows people to edit their gender and name on records for the first time without legal and medical documentation

The US Air Force announces it'll offer medical and legal aid to any personnel families affected by state level anti-trans youth bills.

Karine Jean-Pierre becomes the first Lesbian to serve as White House Press Secretary

on 50th anniversary of Title IX The Department of Ed strengthens protections for Students against sexual harassment and discrimination

Veterans Affairs announces survivor benefits now extended to partners from relationships before marriage equality was legalized in 2015

President Biden signs the Respect for Marriage Act into law enshrining protections for marriage equality for same-sex and interracial couples

The Department of Ed announces new rules around athletic eligibility under Title IX, declaring blanket bans on trans students violate the law and setting up strike standards for schools

The White House announced a suit of new protections for LGBTQ people, including a new job at the Department of Ed to combat book bans, a joint DoJ Homeland Security effort to combat violence and threats and HHS evidence-based guidance to mental health providers for care of transgender kids

President Biden signs an Executive Order directing HHS to protect LGBTQI+ youth in the foster care system, a rule they later passed requiring Queer foster children to be placed in affirming homes

The Biden administration joins families of transgender youth in Tennessee and Kentucky in petitioning the U.S. Supreme Court to review and reverse a circuit court ruling allowing a ban on mainstream health care to be enforced

President Biden Signs a EO expanding on past EO on equality and helping underserved communities

The Department of Education's Civil Rights office opens an investigation into the death of Nex Benedict. President Biden in his statement said: "Every young person deserves to have the fundamental right and freedom to be who they are, and feel safe and supported at school and in their communities. Nex Benedict, a kid who just wanted to be accepted, should still be here with us today. Nonbinary and transgender people are some of the bravest Americans I know. But nobody should have to be brave just to be themselves. In memory of Nex, we must all recommit to our work to end discrimination and address the suicide crisis impacting too many nonbinary and transgender children.”

[thesirencult]

Pick A Card : Soul Connection

An intuitive reading about a soul meant to find yours. In epic tales there is a literally mechanism called "recognition". The hero and his counterpart recognize eachother even after years of estrangement. Like Penelope and Odysseus. A love so deep not even multiple lifetimes can erase. A soul kindred to yours you would recognize in a sea of people.

"I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

disclaimer : a tarot reading should never be used in place of professional counselling. Your reading cannot offer legal, medical, business, or financial advice nor does any portion of your reading herein purport to. You should not rely on a tarot reading to make any decision that would affect your legal, financial, or medical condition. If your inquiry involves the law, finance, or medicine, then you should seek the advice of a licensed or qualified legal, financial, or medical professional. Also, tarot reading cannot replace qualified mental health care. A tarot reading can only facilitate how you cope spiritually with a given situation.

PILE 1

The soul meant to find yours is a gentle one. Themes that come up here remind me of couples like Queen Victoria and Albert. I t will be love at first sight. Whatever your genders are, the "supposed" feminine will be the dominant one.

Your person will take the backseat as you run things. You may come from a wealthier background or simply seem "high value". Lady and the trump vibes.

This person will fight for those who didn't get the same opportunities to grow. They cheer for the underdog. This person will love your firey nature and how "bossy" you are. One thing you have to be careful with in this relationship is to keep things balanced as sometimes they might feel like you do not respect them or you don't spend enough time with them.

They could be an INFJ. Sympathetic, compassionate and protective. Practical and detail oriented, this is the safe place you need to come back to after your long trips towards the stars.

PILE 2

The love of your life will be able to see you. The real you. They won't overlook the greyness in your face. "You're Losing Me" by Taylor Swift is a song that can talk about your past.

No one stopped hurting you even though they knew they wouldn't be able to bring you back. They didn't care.

This person is everything that you deserve. They will help you heal. No sad songs with this one. Your happily ever after. This person is a soldier. They would die for love.

Your people pleasing tendencies won't go unnoticed with this one. They care about YOU, not what you can do about THEM.

Give them a chance when they come around. Sweet energy. Safe. Boy-Girl-They next door energy. A sweetheart with a great smile and a kind glint in their eyes. My heart feels warm writing about them. Hallmark movies ain't got nothing on them. Their love is simple and "perfect". No questions and worries. Your safe place.

Your energy reminds me of those wedding photos you see on Instagram of couples in small American towns posing with their golden retriever and smiling at each other. Don't let your past wounds f*ck this up. Sincerely, from one people pleaser to another. If you picked this pile we would have been besties in real life. Lots of love and hugs your way.

P.S. They will always choose you. You are not the first, but the ONLY choice.

PILE 3

Your whole life you have felt alone and isolated. Like life is a party you have not been invited. I wouldn't say you are a "pick me", you are far from that. You just feel like there is no one there for you to keep your hands warm. You have always longed for someone that will look behind the mirror and realize there is someone is behind it. You struggle with finding your inner voice.

The catch here is that you have the ability to choose anyone behind the mirror. You have the ability to show who you truly are. Be wild and crazy. Unstoppable. You didn't come here to do pretty and quiet. You are here to awake others and break the glass.

The person meant for you, your other half is very different from you. They are way more hedonistic and may find solace is the material realm. They will do everything to make you feel wanted and beautiful. This person will see you for who you truly are and they won't feel intimidated. Your "black cat energy" won't drive them away. They have some skeletons in the closet themselves. Disturbing and compelling, this one would make a great "50 Shades Of Grey" type of movie. lol. They could listen a lot to the Weeknd or they used to live a very "rough" lifestyle in the past. Love at first sight. Intense. You slap them and they will kiss you. They will buffle you. "Why doe sthis mfer stick around somehow?".

In all honesty, in this lifetime, your other half will be overbearing. They won't back down until they take you down with them. Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem come to mind in Jamon Jamon. This person may also come from money or have a lot of money and they want you to be their dark princess/prince. It will feel like taking a panther or feral cat and trying to domesticate it. Good try. You are still dangerous though, but they don't mind a few scratches.

[salmon-bagel]

Tf2 mercenaries x Seductress! Class! Reader

Warning: nsfw content, female reader, sexism

Scout

When Scout heard that there's a woman who's a professional at seduction, he had already started plotting.

"Hello, name is Y/n L/n, but you can call me the Seductress. It's nice to meet you."

"Heya, nice to meet cha' mommy- Oh, i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy-"

Constantly hits on you. Scout believes that you're the type of girl that's 'easy', someone who will let anyone bang them regardless of who they are.

That boy isn't going to leave you alone until you let him into your pants.

Even when he's not busy trying to get in between your legs, Scout is asking you for advice on how to woo the ladies. Considering you're a professional at flirting with people.

You go back and forth on giving him good advice and bad advice. Sometimes you feel bad that he can't get a girlfriend. Then again, you think to yourself that no woman should be within three feet of Scout because of how much of a horny asshole he is.

After some time, you did grow to have a soft spot for him. Since he's bullied a lot by the other mercenaries. He can be kinda cute when he's not being a complete jerk.

Soldier

Soldier treats you like the other mercenaries. Ruthlessly bleating in your ear when you're doing something wrong.

"GIVE ME ONE HUNDRED SQUATS NOW! I WANT THAT AMERICAN ASS NICE AND PERKY BY THE TIME YOU'RE DONE!"

He wants the best from you. Regardless of your gender, he'll push you to the limit until he's proud enough to call you a warrior.

Soldier tests that you're a good seductress by making you flirt with him. It's an ego boost on his part, but he's genuinely trying to make sure you're hot enough for the enemy.

"YOU CALL THAT FLIRTING!? I'VE HEARD BETTER FLIRTING FROM A MONKEY! AT LEAST THEY CAN PUCKER THEIR LIPS BETTER UNLIKE YOURS!"

Buys you clothing that he believes would work well when you're seducing the enemies. It's always american themed swimwear or lingerie. You began to believe he's just buying that for himself for you to try.

Whenever the team successfully wins for the day, Soldier immediately rushes towards and smacks your ass as hard as he can.

"NOW THAT IS AN ASS I'M PROUD TO CALL AMERICAN!"

Sniper

Sniper believes your work is very unprofessional. Considering he believes you have to whore yourself out to the enemy team. Instead of using your actual skills.

He says he has nothing against prostitution or sex work in general. Sniper just thinks that stuff you do should be kept behind doors and not on the battlefield. He says it causes too much of a distraction. However, you claim that 'distraction' is the point. Sniper doesn't seem to get it.

You honestly could care less what he thinks. Snipers throws jars of piss for a living, and he really thinks he has the right to judge other people?

The truth is you're good at seducing people. Too good. That it distracts him from doing his own job. Sniper has a tendency to watch you through the scope of his gun.

The way your body gets all hot and sweaty from the terrible heat, oh it does something to him. Sniper has imagined licking your sweat off your tits while you degrade him for being such a filthy fuck.

You are his go-to jerk off material. The women in his porno magazines don't get him off like they used. The only way he can relieve himself now is by imagining your fat ass bouncing on his cock.

When he noticed a pair of your panties in the laundry basket, Sniper couldn't help himself to inhale the sweet scent of your panties before putting them back.

Sniper knows he's a damn hypocrite.

He slut shames you for what you do, only to get off to you afterwards. The post nut clarity consumes him with guilt and shame.

Sniper still hasn't built up the courage to apologize to you.

Heavy

Heavy is one of the very few people who treat you like an actual human being. He was raised by a single mother alongside three sisters. Heavy knows to treat a woman right. Less he wishes to face their fury.

Heavy doesn't understand why you seduce the enemy. You're supposed to shoot at the enemy, not bat your eyelashes and wink! However, after watching your work on the battlefield, he gets to more of an understanding.

"Oh, I see. You lie to enemy and lure them in like fish? HA! Very clever!"

Absolutely loves gunning down the enemy that is distracted by you.

Is one of the few men who genuinely falls for you for your personality. Heavy knows you're drop-dead gorgeous, but he knows that beneath all that beauty is a truly intelligent woman. You earned your place on the team by impressing Mann Co., with your skills instead of batting your eyelashes and begging to be a part of the team. You make his heart swoon like no other woman has.

He likes to write you poetry. It helps convey how he feels for you because he's too bashful to put it into simple words.

Heavy is not afraid of anything. Nothing, not even death itself. However, it took him a lot of courage and constant rehearsal to ask you out on a date.

He hopes to start a genuine relationship with you. Heavy doesn't want a one-night stand or be friends-with-benefits with you. He wants you to be his girlfriend and maybe possibly his wife later down the line.

Engineer

"Well, I'll be! Aren't you the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Engineer is taken aback by your good looks and sauve personality. He genuinely questions why you wanted to be a mercenary. A beautiful lady like yourself is too of high risk to get hurt!

Will always be there to help you if it gets too much for you to handle.

However, he can be very overprotective over you on the battlefield. Engineer thinks it would be safer for you to stay on the rancho relaxo than getting shot at by the enemy. As much as you'd like to not do anything on the job, Mann Co. isn't paying you to be lazy. They see everything and will tell you to get off your ass and start fighting.

You have to beg Engineer that you can do it on your own. He understands your point of view and begrudgingly lets you fight with the others. Even if it means going against his code of defending and protecting a lady when she needs it.

While putting up dispensers and sentries, he can't help to admire you from afar. Engie believes that a guy like him has no chance with a girl like you. What woman would be interested in a bald man who has a robotic hand and locks himself away in his work? No gal that's who.

Engie fantasizes about working up the courage to flirt with you and ask you out, which would eventually lead to a rather sensual night spent together. He did try to ask you out once but miserably failed. Engie kept stuttering and mispronouncing words out of nervousness while attempting to seduce you. You couldn't make out what he was trying to say. Thankfully, Demo had the heart to pull Engie out of that mess of a conversation and save him from further embarrassing himself.

So now, he just admires you from afar. Dreaming that one day he'll get to win your heart.

Spy

Surprisingly, he wants to get to know you as soon as possible. It's not every day you get to meet a lovely lady.

When he learns of your class type, oh boy, this man will make you question if you're even meant to be the Seductress.

"Mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on."

"Do you know why they call Paris the city of love? Why don't I take you there and show you?"

"If the verb ‘to love’ didn’t exist, I would have invented it upon seeing you."

Spy leaves your entire face red and completely frozen after he's done talking to you. He's so flattering and charismatic. In comparison to the other men, he makes it seem like they're not trying at all. It isn't their fault, though, Spy is a natural at wooing the ladies.

You're surprised when Spy gifts you things that you really like. You never shared these intimate details with him before or with the other mercenaries. When you asked him how he knew what you specifically liked, Spy merely winks at you and grins. He has a way of receiving information without anyone knowing.

He has a tendency to kiss the back of your hand whenever you two are greeting each other. Spy is a gentleman and can't help himself to be sweet to a beautiful woman.

When Spy asks you out on a date, you agree to it because you have been meaning to go out. You felt like you'd go insane if you stayed in the base any longer. You put on your best dress and left with Spy into town.

After having a nice meal and a few glasses of wine, both of you give into temptation. Spy could hardly keep his hands off you when he drove you both back to the base. All your clothes came off the moment you reached his bedroom. You found it a little strange he refused to take off his mask. Oh, what the hell. He's hot and treated you to a nice date.

In the morning, you receive uncomfortable stares from the other mercenaries. Let's just say you and Spy weren't exactly quiet during your lovemaking. Unfortunately for the others, you decided Spy would become your fuck buddy.

Medic

He's been meaning to include a female subject in his experiments- I mean, he's glad to meet you!

You try your best to steer clear of him. However, on the front lines, it isn't so easy. When you're constantly getting shot at and stabbed by enemies, you'll need the Medic's help to get better.

When he sees you in action, Medic feels a new emotion that he's never felt before. Is this.. love? Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just lust.

Medic has never been infatuated with any woman. Except you. The way you lure in these pathetic men with your good looks and false promises, only to kill them afterwards- oh God, it makes him giddy. He feels like a schoolboy all over again!

Medic does routine check-ups on you. To make sure all your lady parts are in working order. In reality, this perverted fuck wants to have an excuse to grope you. Always gaslights you into believing he's not being a degenerate.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Why, of course! Breast cancer isn't something to take lightly!" He'd respond. You would understand, but after thirty minutes of him fondling your breasts, you knew what his true intentions were.

Medic writes you love letters and his dove, Archimedes, deliver them to you.

The letters start off relatively sweet. Medic writes that he views you as a Goddess, a truly ethereal being that is too perfect for this world filled with lesser mortals. And how he's the only man truly worthy for you.

Then, the letters take a complete turn the more you read it. He writes how he wishes to fulfill every filthy fantasy he's ever had with you. Oh boy, the list is long. For one, Medic wants to tie you down, gag you, and breed you like the filthy whore you are. Another consited of how he wants to fuck you on the battlefield while you're bleeding out and fingering your open wound as if it was your pussy.

You've stopped reading his letters and tend to light them on fire.

Demoman

"So, how much do you regularly charge for a quick shag?" He'd ask you before laughing his ass off.

Demo will never take you or your work seriously. Even if you politely ask him to.

He doesn't see what's so hard about showing off your tits and saying how much you love to suck cock. Demo believes you should've been a stripper if you wanted to tease men so desperately.

You frequently explain to him in detail how you help and provide for the team. You honestly can't tell if Demo deliberately forgets or because he gets drunk so often, he hardly pays attention to you while you talk.

Don't worry, though. After you've instilled the fear of women into him, he'll be gladly reminded that he shouldn't judge or ridicule a woman. If his mother were here, she'd knock some sense into him.

Demo apologizes to you, drinks, gets drunk, and apologies some more

"I'm sorry, lassie! It's just that I just get so lonely sometimes! What woman would give me, a one-eyed freak, a chance!"

He bawls on the floor, crying in front of you. You attempt to cheer him up by comforting him. Instead, you end up getting drunk with him.

Did you shag him in the heat of the moment? That's all up to you ;)

Pyro

Has no idea what you're doing to the enemy. Anything sexual you do is translated as innocent in their vision. Will never know what real seduction or sex.

Luckily, they think everything you do is nice and polite!

Regularly gives you grotesque gifts, which are usually human hearts and bones. You begrudgingly take the gifts because you know they mean well and don't wish to be disrespectful.

Pyro has a tendency to go through your closet when you leave your room. Or while you're sleeping. Either why, they steal your clothing and belongings. They pick out outfits and wigs they like along with makeup supplies. You wonder where you placed your dress and immediately begin searching for it. Maybe you left it in the laundry room. As soon as you exit your room, you see Pyro wearing your clothing over their suit. Fake eyelashes have been glued onto their eyes, and lipstick smeared all over the breathing hole.

You can't even be upset with Pyro. They're doing their best.

You let Pyro keep the dress they're wearing, considering it most likely wouldn't fit you anymore.

[grison-in-space]

Currently rereading Eric Flint's 1632 and reflecting on just how influential Flint was to me and my approach to both praxis and politics as a teenager. I found Flint when I was about thirteen or fourteen, around the time I found Pratchett I think, and he's left an equally wide thumbprint on my soul. Isn't that the most wonderful thing about stories, that people you've never met can help shape our adult selves? Mother of Demons I often recommend for its SFF worldbuilding--Flint built a species with at least four genders, only some of which are reproductive, and associated "normal" sexual orientations, and then proceeded to write in a textually intersex character and queer the hell out of it.

1632, though, is the one where a little West Virginia town in 2000 gets picked up and dropped in the middle of Thuringia, Germany in the eponymous year--right in the middle of the Thirty Years War. The local United Mine Workers of America chapter plays a major role, particularly its head.

As I write this I'm listening to the scene where the little town of Grantville, having admitted after a few days that they are probably not ever going home, is crowded into the high school gymnasium listening to the mayor lay that reality out and suggesting an interim council to help the town set out a sort of constitutional convention so they can work out what on earth they're going to do moving forward--especially since there's a bunch of displaced refugees collecting in the forests nearby. Sensible of them, really; the Americans murdered the shit out of the local soldiers that displaced them, on account of how the shaken mine workers that went out to figure out WTF happened not being super down with suddenly running into a bunch of fuckheads raping the locals and torturing people to find out where their valuables might be. After that, said Americans proceeded to retreat into the town boundaries and gibber quietly to themselves. I would go lurk in their woods, too.

Anyway, the mayor sets up this proposal, everyone agrees, and a CEO who was visiting for his son's wedding at the time steps forward and says: look. I know how to lead, and I'm probably the most qualified person here. I lead a major industry corporation effectively and I did that after my time as a Navy officer. I put myself forward because I'm qualified. Now, we're going to need to circle the wagons to get through the winter, tighten our belts, but we can get through this. We can't support all these refugees, though; we'll have to seal the border so they can't bring disease--they're a drain on our resources we can't afford--

and the UMWA guy, he gets really mad listening to this. There's this Sephardic refugee woman he's real taken with who got swept up in the town first thing, and she's sitting in and listening; he's thinking about throwing her out, thinking about how much she knows about the place they're found in, and he's furious. But he gets a good grip on his anger and he marches up and he says, look. This dude has been here two days and he's already talking about downsizing?! You're going to listen to this CEO talking about cuts, cuts, cuts? Nah. Trying to circle the wagons is probably impossible, it's stupid, and if you think my men and I are going to enforce that, you can fuck off. That proposal is inside out and bass ackwards. We've got about a six mile diameter of Grantville here; how much food do YOU think we're going to grow? How about the soldiers wandering around, do you think we're going to be able to fight armies off on our lonesome? Look at the few refugees we already have in the room, they'll tell you how those armies will treat you! We could do it for a while, the amount of gun nuts here, but so what? We don't have enough people to shoot them! Not if we're going to do anything else to keep us going! We have about six months of stockpiled coal to keep going, and without another source or getting the coal mines working, we're screwed. We have technical strength but we don't have the supplies or resources we would need to maintain it. Those refugees? They're resources. We need people to do the work we will need to keep ourselves. The hell with downsizing; let's grow outwards! Bring people in, give them safety, see what they can bring to the table once they've had a moment! He invokes: send us your tired, your poor!, and the CEO yells in frustration: this isn't America! so he yells back "it will be!"

And of course everyone cheers. I love Flint for many reasons but he is unapologetic about affection for the America of ideals--ideals, he freely admits, that are often honored in the breach rather than the observance, ideals that are messy and flawed, but nevertheless ideals that can work to inspire us to become the best version of ourselves. For Flint, history is as valuable as a source of stories to inspire ourselves as it is a repository of knowledge, and on this I tend to agree with him. We must learn from our moments of shame but equally we must learn from moments that show us how to be our best selves.

It's been twenty three years and the text is now an interesting historical document in its own right, hitting points and rhythms in beats that are sometimes out of place today. It's not perfect. But the novel contains a commitment to joy and to emphasizing the leaps of faith and understanding that regular, everyday people make every day to try and support each other that I routinely try to match in my writing.

Anyway, one of the strengths of the novel, I think, is its gender politics: it's a very ensemble kind of novel, lots of characters, and it's preoccupied with positive masculinity in a lot of ways. There's a lot of these hyper masculine characters--Mike Stearns perhaps more than anyone else--and--and...

... And Flint's characterization of Stearns, as he sketches out who the man is--his pivotal American leader, ex boxer, working class organizer, big man.... well, it lands equally on "he is delighted and astonished to find a local woman who quickly assesses how the cushion of air in tires works," and "he considers who to set up a Jewish refugee in the middle of Germany up with and he thinks to ask the Jewish family he grew up with to host her and her ill father because he thinks she'll be most comfortable there", and "he views people as potential assets rather than potential drains." A younger man asks him for advice on whether to pursue a professional sports career because of the boxing and he says no, you're in the worst place of not being quite good enough and you'll blow out your knees without accomplishing safety. He frames that interaction such that he allows his own experiences to make him vulnerable and invite the younger man to understand when a struggle have worth it.

It's actually a really deft portrayal of intense masculinity that also makes a virtue of a bunch of traits more usually associated with women: empathy, relational sensitivity, the ability to listen. As a blueprint for what a positive masculinity can look like, vs the toxic kind, it's very well done. I think sometimes when we look at gender roles in terms of virtues, and when masculinity is defined in terms of opposition to femininity, people get lost by arguing that virtues assigned to one gender are somehow antithetical to another gender. In fact that's never been the case: virtues are wholly neutral and can appear in any gender. What the gender does is inflect the ways we expect that virtue to appear in terms of individuals' actions within their society.

Gender isn't purely an individual trait, basically; it's a product of our collective associations. Two characters with different genders can display the same virtues and strengths, but we imagine them expressed in different ways according to our cultural expectations around gender. And I just think that's neat.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

All Funk, No Punk - Still Hobart Brown

Gold chains instead of silver spikes. Gator shoes in place of thrifted boots. And an afro bigger than Hobie's -

Spider-Funk is Hobart Brown - Earth 831

Hobie Brown maybe Artie's chiller, rougher, and louder self - but somehow, they get on like a cop car on fire (or whatever the saying is).

And Artie Brown maybe Hobie's cockier, flirtier, and flashier self - but they just tell people they're twins.

Or at the very least - they call each other 'brotha' and 'bruv' all the time.

When people ask about the accent thing - you know, Artie being American, they say 'Ever seen The Parent Trap?'

[A LONG ASS post - Below is Artie's Origins, Fighting Style, Relationship to Hobie, and how he got recruited - All About the Brown Bros! Artie & Hobie, FunkPunk!]

It's Hobie 2 - Electric Bugaloo!

And just when Miguel thought he could only stomach one of them.

Though he calls himself the older brother, being born over a decade earlier, Artie is Hobie's less mature, more materialistic, but just as kind variant.

He's a pacifist instead of an anarchist - Full of Soul instead of bursting with Rock.

And he still hates cops.

Origins:

When Artie was drafted for the Vietnam War in 1969 - the first thing he did was burn his draft card. Then he joined the Black Liberation Army.

He wasn't the only one - Artie was part of the almost half a million draftees to do so.

And then President Osborn was elected.

To fill the gap in enlistment, Osborn came up with a solution.

V.E.N.O.M - A highly toxic, unfeelingly aggressive, and wildly bloodthirsty symbiote. A solution to the protests and draft dodgers.

Engineered by Oscorp - if you didn't induct yourself as a soldier, the V.E.N.O.M would make you one. And suddenly his friends were disappearing one by one.

A subtle but sudden-onset disease, the V.E.N.O.M variant was nearly undetectable, very persuasive, and incredibly effective.

More primal than animalistic, the symbiote's function didn't raise one's bloodlust, - instead it lowered, and at worse cancelled, your empathy. The symbiote subtly normalized dehumanization - attacking neurons in the cerebral cortex to destroy one's capability of empathy, compassion, and at times - recognizing faces. Able to follow commands without a second thought - the perfect soldier. Convincing the host of necessary order and their own biological superiority, over the course of 72 hours the host would lose their ability to recognize the people around them as anything other than sub-human. In 138, V.E.N.O.M turns you into an animal. In 831, V.E.N.O.M turns everyone around you into an animal.

It could make anyone into an unfeeling, unrelenting soldier - no guns needed.

The best of them got sent overseas to the War - and the rest, he turned on the people, hunting down all those who dared to dodge their call.

While on tour in DC, Artie was bitten by a radioactive spider, as he attempted to burn draft papers at a government facility.

He burned the papers. Plus he got some sick powers out of it. Plus Plus he gets to beat up The National Guard on a weekly basis. Ain't that a score.

And Hobie may hate the name Spider-Punk (or so he says), but Artie loves being Spider-Funk.

He calls them Funk & Punk. Hobie calls them that too, but like in a cool ironic way.

Artie & Hobie:

Personality:

Hobie knows that Artie is going through his 'Pavitr Phase', so he cuts him some slack. Artie's only been Funk for a year and some change.

He's got more Ws than Ls, so he's always one to be a bit cocky and reckless - though never at anyone's expense.

He's more talkative than Hobie - and WAY more flirty than Hobie, ready to wink at anyone willing to stare.

Like Hobie, Artie has his own groupies. And the pair on campus do get stares (and whispers. and giggles); Two 6'5 dudes with enough hair to cause an eclipse, walking around in loud ass boots, they're sure to draw attention.

Something Artie loves.

Artie considers himself a Ladies' Man. And a Man's Man. And what gender you have to offer really. (He's still a 'Hobie' - he doesn't discriminate)

He's got a waterbed in his boathouse, shag carpets, and wine at the ready. He loves sweet-talking people, and showering them in compliments. Whereas Hobie's love language is Physical Touch, Artie's is Words of Affirmation.

But all Hobie has to do is open his mouth and Be British and suddenly Artie's date is swooning and he's like 'Brotha, I'mma need you to shut the hell up for a second right quick.'

If you hang out with them, get ready for Hobie hanging off your shoulder, while Artie is in your ear complimenting your outfit.

Fighting:

Artie's fighting style is a lot more fluid than Hobie's with a lot of martial arts involved - similar to blaxploitation movies of the era.

Hobie thinks he looks bloody ridiculous meanwhile Artie is like 'if dem damn jeans weren't so tight maybe you could get like me and have some flair in your fight, my man.'

He also has an INCREDIBLY MEAN backhand.

Ideology:

The two of them are fairly close, hanging out with each other a lot. Though the two of them are fairly different. Artie is far more pacifist than Hobie, but that doesn't mean he's above violence.

He's just not one to talk about it, or threaten it. He's more of the 'let people talk - don't start none, won't be none'. Camp - and he'll almost never throw the first punch. Though he absolutely considers intimidation, selling hard drugs, and fucking with the general population 'starting some'.

Their ideology may clash heads everyone once in a while, but they hardly ever fight. At all. Instead, they have frequently heated, in-depth debates.

Artie may not be as radical or educated on things as Hobie, plus Hobie has ten years of extra history to pull from, but the two of them do it often, and it keeps them spry.

The only problem is, they get so into it, it SO HARD to understand what they're saying. Accents, slang, cutting each other off, roping other people into the conversation to back them up. It's WILD.

Artie is a lot more materialistic than Hobie. Not as critical of capitalism, Artie likes to game it rather than complain about it.

Unlike Hobie, Artie LOVES the finer things in life, and spoiling those around him. He likes gold over silver, and wears more rings than spikes.

He's a bit full of himself, and he carries a rag in his pocket to whip blood off his nice white boots. Something Hobie wouldn't be caught DEAD doing.

And Hobie clowns him for it everytime. Artie doesn't care. 'True playas never play sloppy.'

But how can he afford all of this? Well,

He's not as uhh,..honest as Hobie. But he has a heart of gold (get it?). And he never lies just to lie - if he's doing it, it's probably for work, or to Miguel, because he does not respect Miguel.

Artie be stealing. He's a master at sleight of hand. If it's a big corporation, it's free game. He never steals money - but to put it concisely: He's a smooth mfer.

He likes gold - he thinks it looks nice. But he knows for a fact that the worth of it is completely manufactured my human and capitalism, and that it's literally just a pretty metal.

He knows that paying hundreds for a chain or gold is exploitative, especially when it's stolen to begin with. So to him, it's justifiable, gimmie.

He also does it mostly for fun, a magic trick - in the same way Hobie makes stuff 'disappear' while talking to Miles, and doing hand tricks.

Artie does that, but more often, and more skillfully.

He doesn't do it all the time, but the first time he did it in front of Hobie - snatching Hobie's homemade watch of his wrist - Hobie was genuinely surprised.

Mostly he does it to make things disappear from your hand, parts he finds lying around, and playing pranks on people like Miguel. Generally, just being a lil shit.

He's a sweet-talker and a big steppa.

Unlike Hobie, Artie knows better than you force his way in. Artie slides in. He can talk them in to anywhere.

He'll pretend to be someone else, pretend to know someone else, steal passes and key cards to get in, and try to attack from the shadows when he can.

In battle, Spider-Punk is the louder, chattier, more immature one. And Spider-Funk is the chiller, sarcastic one.

Like twins, the two of them have their own in-jokes, and they hang at each other's places all the goddamn time. Though they live in different universes and decades, Artie & Hobie are kinda a package deal.

They may not always be together - they both got their own shit to do and they're not actually brothers - but if you hang with one, it's only a matter of time before you meet the other.

"Why is your brother American?" "Divorce." - "Adoption." ........ "Adoption." - "Divorce." "One of you or the both of you are lying."

Diane & Artie & Annie -

[This section is about my main OC Disco-Spider Diane, and her variant Annie P. Disco-Spider is Hobie's....something and they are happily....a something]

Every Hobart needs his Diane, and Artie is no different.

Artie & Diane:

And like usual, it all starts at the beginning.

Diane was the one to recruit Artie - because of course she was. And Lyla had told her two things: He was a guitarist, and his name was Artie. That's all she needed to know.

Lyla wanted it to be a surprise.

She snuck back stage to his show, brushed off the nearly palpable feeling of deja vu in the air, broke into his dressing room, and then tried to flirt him into joining the Society. Easy peasy.

Diane is a very oblivious woman. They spoke for nearly 10 minutes - and Artie decided to hear her out. He sat down on the couch in his dressing room, pulled back his hair and-

Diane goes -

"Hobie??? Is that you?! Oh my goodddd, you look so cute! Your hair!! Hobarrrrt - Why you ain't say nothing, had me standing here doing all this."

Speech completely forgotten. Mind you, she still hasn't explained anything. Diane is destined to freak out every Hobart she meets.

Artie is starting to think he should stop flirting with weird ass groupies that break into his dressing room.

Diane takes out her watch, the watch he doesn't know she has. She pulls up Lyla, the AI he doesn't know she has. And Diane asks her -

"Lyla! Does Artie stand for-" "It does!" "Oh my god!!! That makes this SO much easier! You're soo sweet, awww!!" "You know I saw the mission and thought of you-" "Am I on drugs right now?"

Needless to say - Diane's recruitment was successful.

Diane and Artie actually get on well, really well. Like weirdly well.

Artie and Diane are both extroverted, flirty, and a bit full of themselves. They're expressive, and more into their hair than they're willing to admit. They're perfect for each other - and people notice.

And Diane finds it a TAD BIT WEIRD

I mean, the differences between her and Hobie is what Diane loves about them - they're like sugar and spice, PB and J.

Sometimes Artie and Diane may accidentally finish each other's sentences - and Diane will be like 'Hey don't do that :)'. Other times, Artie will playfully be like 'Why are you standing so close to me, mama?' Just to piss her off.

Of course, Diane thinks he's 'cute'. But not Hobie Cute. And unfortunately, he 'speaks American'.

Besides, Hobie is the only Hobart for her.

Artie is definitely into Diane, but more in the 'she's a catch I would go for' kinda way. He did hit on her a couple times early on in their situation - but once she made it clear that she was 'seeing Hobie', he took the hint.

There's no jealously there - Hobarts are incapable of it. In fact, he's kinda proud the only other guy who could pull the hot girl is ..another him.

Now, Artie is a lot more like a big brother, kinda like the ones Diane grew up with in the Panther's house.

He's protective of her, in a 'Be mean to her and I'll deliver an ass whoppin on a plate' way. He thinks she's cute in the way a platonic sense, and finds her groupie mode to be as amusing as it is adorable.

It's ironic though that his ACTUAL girlfriend is - well, Diane's Opposite.

Artie & Annie:

[This section is shorter, and will be longer in Annie's post]

Diane Pastors is Annie P. is Mod-Spider.

Artie's girlfriend, Annie is the farthest thing from Diane while somehow still being just as big of a diva.

An avid feminism campaigner and modern woman, she would never be caught DEAD hanging off of Artie like that. And she can't stomach Diane all that much.

Hobie, Annie HATES. And not in a coy way. She thinks he's obnoxious - she calls him a poseur. She thinks he's a scrub.

Her & Artie are in a committed relationship - officially boyfriend and girlfriend. And instead of Annie, Artie is the one who wears her name on a chain.

Just like Diane and Hobie, Annie and Artie have a musical duo - called ModFunk.

We're almost done I PROMISE.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Random Details:

Artie's design is an inverted version of Hobie's, but it's also inspired heavily by Jimi Hendrix, mainly this photo on the left.

Right is an example of Artie's Style. His universe has a paint-marker aesthetic, a lot more colorful and soft than Hobie's, with dripping paint and splatters, but it tones down a lot - like Gwen's.

Artie plays Soul, Jazz, and Funk.

He has a band with his version of Daredevil, Felicia Hardy, and Captain Anarchy.

Artie has killed cops - and soldiers before. But he doesn't see it as a big deal. He hates cops, but he doesn't focus on it. He doesn't discriminate. Ass Whoopin's for everybody.

He DOES pull his hair back, his face isn't covered all the time. Maybe 80% of the time.

He can get around with Spidey Sense, so he doesn't care much - he loves his fro and is always picking it out.

He Pavitr are like best friends. Pavi and The Brown Twins get LOUD AS HELL when all together.

Gwen thinks he's an absolute goofball - So Artie tries his best to make her laugh. She seems like she needs it.

When not on stage and in battle, he prefers to play an acoustic guitar, which Hobie doesn't like playing. His acoustic is also blue.

Him and Hobie can play on each other's guitars, but it sounds very trippy, and VERY VERY weird, abnormally so.

If their heads are covered, or hair done like each other's, they can seamlessly pass as each other.

Hobie SUCKS at an American accent - but somehow, he can mimic Artie's perfectly.

It's the same for Artie - sucks at British, but can speak like Hobie.

He loves chocolate candy bars, Hobie likes fruity candy.

They do write songs together and go to each others shows, though they don't ever really perform together.

They wrestle A LOT

Artie is a genius as well, and they work on mechanics together, Artie is great at math specifically.

He and Hobie do each others hair care and help oil each other's scalps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So uh.....that's Artie :) The guy

If you made it this far THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ENTERTAINING ME - Artie platonically gives you a red rose.

ALSO TELL ME Why I tried to draw him like Jimi Hendrix But he looking like the Jackson 5 IM SO SORRY YALL

Here's OG Hobie as a thank you! Just imagine two Hobarts standing on either side of you both tall and with big hair and touchy and talkative as fuck Diane is living the DREAM let your OCs be happy

Bye.

[yourdailyqueer]

Sarah Ashton-Cirillo

Gender: Transgender woman

Sexuality: N/A

DOB: 9 July 1977

Ethnicity: White - American

Occupation: Journalist, writer, soldier, combat medic, activist

Note: Starting in March 2022, reported on the Russian invasion of Ukraine from Kharkiv, Ukraine, often writing about the war's effect on LGBTQ people. As a trans woman, she is thought to have been the first openly transgender war correspondent and the only transgender journalist covering the invasion.

[dr-futbol-blog]

Our hero, Major John Sheppard is stationed at McMurdo base in Antarctica at the start of the series. We learn that he likes it there. Sheppard himself tells Teyla in Sateda (S03E04): "Well, that [having no social skills] is why I enjoyed flying choppers in the most remote part of my world before all this craziness."

This is what John Sheppard tells us but we learn that what he tells us is not always the truth and certainly not the whole truth.

The alien AI that created a hallucination from Sheppard's own subconscious in Remnants (S05E15) poses him the question: "You're either someone with a death wish or someone running away from something. So tell me: what are you running away from?" Running away to the most remote part of his world, running away to another galaxy.

In fact, he has both been banished to and self-isolated in the most remote part of his world ("You torture yourself every day, John.") due to his "black mark" acquired in Afghanistan. We are never explicitly told what this black mark was, only that it bothered Gen. O'Neill and was something that Dr. Weir could live with. We are left wondering.

While we are shown something of what happened in Afghanistan during the episode Phantoms (S03E09), through the hallucinations from Sheppard's past of him failing to save Capt. Charlie Holland, it isn't until toward the end of the series that we find out what happened through the mirror of a parallel reality in Vegas (S05E19), where alt!Rodney tells us "You were a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan but were dishonourably discharged for disobeying orders and trying to rescue a field medic trapped behind enemy lines. You were shot down – obviously survived, but unfortunately the crash killed four American soldiers along with eight civilians. You avoided jail time; the record was sealed for various political reasons."

The field medic in the Vegas-verse, one where "infinite variations of our own known reality where alternate versions of you and I play out events", is female; this revealed in a mumbled 'ur' (I didn't even catch it on first viewing even though I knew about the gender swap in advance; it might just as well have been "knew 'em") in alt!Rodney's line: "That field medic – the one you defied orders to go back and try and rescue. You knew her personally. You were... involved."

This was one of the differences between the two realities, perhaps even the most defining one of them, the point of divergence.

Vegas Sheppard dies to the tune of Johnny Cash's Solitary Man because that's what he was, a recluse (and note that the importance of Johnny Cash was underlined in the episode by Sheppard taking nothing but his poster, the same Johnny Cash poster that our Sheppard had in his quarters for all of the five years, with him once he walked away from his job; it carries weight):

I know it's been done havin' one girl who loved me Right or wrong, weak or strong Don't know that I will, but until I can find me The girl who'll stay and won't play games behind me I'll be what I am

But our Sheppard is not a Solitary Man (he has self-confessedly found something of a family in Pegasus). He's the Man in Black (in fact, he is dressed in black throughout the series even in situations where other fatigues would have made more sense; it is only in the very last episode that we see him in lighter colours):

I'd love to wear a rainbow every day And tell the world that everything's okay But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back 'Til things are brighter, I'm the man in black

We know the background. When the series begun, DADT was still in full effect, the franchise had a long-standing co-operation with the USAF, Prop 8 was still several years into the future. The non-normative sexual orientation of an All-American Action Hero was never going to be main-text. Even heterosexual romance between characters was mostly eschewed by the franchise. But damn if the subtext doesn't lay it out thick for us.

There are so many obvious parallels and comparisons in the show that I need to write them down somewhere, and while this is a day late and a dollar short, this fandom could do with some meta. So this marks the beginning of my journey through Stargate Atlantis with an eye on its bisexual protagonist.

[glossysoap]

ready to comply iv - непоправимый

непоправимый or irreparable,

is defined as; (of an injury or loss) impossible to rectify or repair.

warnings: pov changes, mentions of previous amputation, themes of depression, mentions of red room typical misogyny and s/a. also, introducing another marvel character !! this one’s an asshole HYDRA and red room soldiers are misogynists, but no explicit fem pronouns are used, so you can easily imagine the reader as still gender neutral.

note: like always, russian is in bolded italics, the english translation will be right after in non bolded italics.

prev chapters here!

word count: 3,723

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @lunitalloronaa @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @briacreations96 @zvdvdlvr @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad

When you passed out in the chair during your amputation, the doctors didn’t stop their work. They continued sawing through until your left arm fell clean off, and your shoulder was met with cold air.

Once the amputation was complete, the main doctor cleaned and wrapped the wound to prevent any infections.

The doctors’ all scanned your unconscious figure up and down, hungry and lustful. Every doctor practically undressing you with their eyes, burning holes into any piece of exposed skin. Their eyes lingered on your heaving chest, before moving down to the space between your legs.

“You know as well as I do that we don’t have time for that. As much as we all want to. We need to get the arm replaced and put the subject into cryo as soon as possible.” A new voice entered the room, a New York accent this time. It was a muscular American soldier wearing a tight muscle shirt, cargo pants and boots. His hair was dark, almost black and he sported a mohawk with barely any fades on the sides. His mouth wore a disappointed frown as he stared at the subject.

The way he spoke about you was dehumanizing. He didn’t refer to you as a person, only ‘the arm’ and as ‘the subject’. He spoke about you like a piece of meat or a warm hole to use as he pleased.

He beckoned the doctors over to stand by his side with just a flick of the wrist. It was clear that he had more privileges than anyone else in the room. As far as they were concerned, whatever he says goes.

“Of course. Right away, Sir.” The doctor said with a nod.

Two doctors left the room and a few minutes later, returned carrying a heavy metal case. They carried the case over to the table of medical instruments that sat next to your chair. All of the doctors began prepping for the second procedure. Two doctors ensured that all of your restraints were secure, tightening all of them just in case you woke up and became violent. Another two doctors left the room to retrieve a large metal case, before returning to wait at the door for orders. Finally, the last doctor was preparing your shoulder for the new arm. He turned to the tray full of medical equipment and picked up a steel circle plate that was measured and cut to fit your shoulder exactly.

The plate had different ridges and serrated blades on it, meant to make it excruciatingly painful to remove the arm. In being excruciatingly painful, it meant that it might as well have been permanently welded to you.

The blades were on both sides of the plate, so it wouldn’t just help to attach the arm - but if anyone attempted to remove the arm, the blades that were against your shoulder would dig into your already shredded flesh.

He pressed the steel plate flat against the stump of your amputated arm, steel against shattered bone and mangled flesh.

“винты, сейчас.” Screws, now. The doctor ordered with his hand outstretched. An assisting doctor quickly handed him the thick screws.

The doctor then held the first screw against the plate before picking up the drill from the tray of instruments.

He turned it on by pulling the metal trigger and the machine whirred to life. One by one, he drilled ten screws through the plate and into your shoulder. The drill met your bone each time and made a dull, knocking noise as the screws were forced in. More blood seeped from around the plate as the screws kept shredding your already torn muscle.

The assisting doctor huffed, seemingly inconvenienced, and pressed gauze pads to the edge of the metal plate to absorb the blood.

“Субъект готовится к протезированию.” Subject is prepped for prosthetic. The doctor said, waving over the two doctors that were waiting by the door with the metal case.

The two doctors walked the case over, each doctor letting out grunts with how heavy it was. They set it down in front of the doctor that was preparing your shoulder before leaning down to unlock the case.

The case opened with a hiss, vapor pooling from the cold container. Inside the case was a metal prosthetic arm, molded almost perfectly to the size of your actual arm. It was silver with a red star engraved just below the shoulder. It matched the red star that was engraved on the double door exactly. The arm was covered in ridges to promote mobility, flexibility and functionality that perfectly mirrored a human arm.

The doctor sitting next to you reached to pick up the metal arm with great care, immediately feeling the heaviness of the prosthetic. He carried it over to the tray of instruments before setting it down gently. The arm made a metallic clinking noise when it made contact with the rest of the metal tools.

He picked the prosthetic up by the shoulder and the elbow, supporting the heaviest parts of the arm.

He aligned the shoulder of the metal arm up to your amputated shoulder before clicking into the ridges of the plate and locking the arm in place.

The ridges that ran down the metal arm shifted as he tested the mobility of the prosthetic, bending it and then straightening it.

He determined that the prosthetic replacement was successful.

“Субъект готов к помещению в криогенную камеру.” The subject is ready to be placed in the cryogenic chamber.

(….)

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since your capture.

Fourteen days since you fell for the redheads trick and right into her trap. Fourteen days since you were stabbed and your arm was broken. Fourteen days since you crashed into that freezing water and dragged in the biting Russian snow. Fourteen days since you were yanked from the woman's grip and shackled into that chair.

Thirteen days since you were torn from your drug induced sleep, injected with an off market drug and forced to witness your arm being cut off. Thirteen days since you saw pools of blood gush and spurt from where your shoulder was supposed to be. Thirteen days since you heard the revving of the saw as it spliced through the meat of your muscle and tendons. Thirteen days since you could smell the burning of your flesh and skin being cauterized by the saw. Thirteen days since you saw your own fucking bone being cut through, splintering off and shattering.

Thirteen days since you were torn apart and put back together you’ll never be whole again. Thirteen days since you were put in the cryogenic chamber and frozen in time. During those thirteen days, you were pumped full of various drugs. Many to keep you sedated, pliant, obedient for them to do what they wished. Others to heighten your senses and strength.

Now, it had only been one hour since you were taken out of the cryogenic chamber and transferred to a new room.

This room was small and lonely with no windows. The only light that the room had was shitty panels on the ceiling that kept flickering on and off. The ceiling was dusted in cobwebs and dirt. The walls and floor were all concrete, cold to the touch. The door was locked with a deadbolt.

You were laying on a hard, small cot in the corner of the room with no blankets or pillows. You had been changed out of your tattered, bloody uniform and into a black muscle shirt and black cargo pants. The muscle shirt was long sleeved, but only on your right arm - on you left arm, it was sleeveless, leaving your new prosthetic arm on full display.

You awoke with a gasp as your eyes flew open. The first thing you noticed was that you had no idea or recollection of how you got here. The last thing you remembered was getting on that helicopter with that woman.

Your memories were in fragments, returning in bits and pieces. Trying to comfort that woman only to have her break your arm and stab you. Her killing Nikolai. The helicopter going down. Falling unconscious only to wake up in that hallway. Being chained to that chair.

Before you could even begin to attempt to remember anything further, you noticed something else. Something that made your blood run cold and stopped your thoughts in their tracks.

You noticed that your left arm was.. numb. It wasn’t even just a pins and needles feeling. It felt like nothing. You racked your brain trying to figure out how you injured your arm and why it’s so numb.

You spared a curious glance at the afflicted arm only to be met with the sight of metal where your arm should be.

“No..” You whispered, lips trembling.

Where your warm flesh should be was now replaced with a metal prosthetic robotic arm. All of the scars you had collected over time and the tattoos that previously painted your skin were now replaced with ridges and indentations that ran down the arm.

“No.” You cried out in disbelief and despair. The more you looked at it, the less you could breathe.

The arm felt like a parasite invading your body, eating away at your flesh and polluting your blood stream. Even though it was attached to you, it couldn’t feel more foreign. Alien.

Your lungs burned and your vision blurred as you tried to inhale but it was as if your throat was paralyzed. With every passing second came an onslaught of burning and stabbing pain that ebbed from your arm prosthetic and flowed through the rest of your body.

As each wave of pain washed over your body, a new memory hit you. The doctor injecting you with an off market drug that flayed you alive from the inside out. The doctor bringing out a bone saw and cutting through your skin and muscle. Just remembering the smell of your flesh burning was enough to make you gag in the present. You remembered the saw finally hitting your bone and causing it to splinter and shatter. You remembered passing out from the pain and shock. You remembered all of the nightmares you had while you were unconscious, all of the different loops where you could’ve escaped — only to fail every time.

You only knew that you had started sobbing from the taste of your salty tears as they fell down your cheeks. Your throat went raw as you wailed, curling into a ball on the uncomfortable bed. As you were curled into a fetal position, your head was resting against your knees which is how you realized you were no longer in your uniform.

Your eyes widened and you felt sick.

Someone had undressed you in your unconscious, vulnerable state. Someone had gazed upon your naked, bloody body with their filthy eyes. You could only hope it wasn’t any of those men.

You shivered at the thought of what would have happened if it was them. You were hesitant to pull down your cargo pants in fear of finding any evidence of abuse or trauma. You could only imagine what you might find; the myriad of wounds on your thighs from brute force or dried blood running down your legs. You opted to not look altogether.

In an effort to expel those nauseating thoughts from your mind, you thought about your team instead.

You thought about how they might have reacted when you never returned from the helicopter. Would they have sent out a search team to find you?

You laughed humorlessly. Probably not. No, definitely not.

Not that you blamed them. They had a mission to focus on. They couldn’t afford to just drop everything and look for their run-of-the-mill medic. Especially not when you could be replaced so easily.

They could find a skilled medic at any time, at any place. Sure, you were good at your job, but they could find that anywhere. And they could definitely find one that wasn’t a distraction to two of their top soldiers.

Even if they did send out a search team and even if they did find you by some miracle, what use would you be to them now?

What use could you possibly be to them when you were drugged for two weeks on end? What use were you if you couldn’t even look at the metal arm without losing your lunch?

You were of no use to them anymore, so you might as well be thrown away.

It was better that way, you thought. Resigning yourself to being inevitably replaced, you thought about what your team they might have thought when they found out about you disappearing.

Captain Price would be concerned with your whereabouts, just like he would if it happened to anyone else on his team. He would demand details from Shepherd and Laswell. But then he would inevitably find out about his friends death and any concern for you would be tainted.

Kyle would be hopeful for a time. He would probably push for a rescue team to be sent for you, only to be shut down by Shepherd.

Pondering about how Johnny and Simon would react is what hurt the most, though.

In all honesty, you knew deep down that the two men would recover from your disappearance quickly. They had each other, after all.

Sure, they might be sad for a few days or weeks but it would blow over, you thought.

They would be able to focus their attention and energy on each other instead of you. They wouldn’t be distracted from their work or their relationship by some outsider.

It was clear to you. Their lives would only improve after your disappearance. They would no longer feel obligated to include you in hushed conversations. They would no longer feel obligated to pull you in for hugs or forehead kisses that you knew weren’t meant for you. You would no longer be a burden to them.

Any trace of you would be sponged from the base, just like any other personnel that was assumed killed in action. You’d seen it all before. You just never thought it would happen to you.

The records of all of your treated patients would be sealed away. You would be removed from payroll and staff records. Your quarters would be emptied of all of your belongings and your title plate would be removed from your door. A replacement lead surgeon would be interviewed and hired. Soon, that replacement would be filling your med-bay, your operating room, with new patients. They would be treating your 141.

It would be as if you never existed.

And a voice in your head screamed, it would be better that way.

(….)

Unbeknownst to you, thousands of miles away in the United Kingdom, the men had just discovered that you were missing in action and presumably, killed in action.

They were standing in that conference room with Laswell and Shepherd, watching the devastating security footage. The last they saw on the footage was the camera sinking in the ocean along with the helicopter.

The screen went black and bubbles filled the audio as it sunk to the ocean floor.

Laswell slammed her laptop shut, turning off the projector at the same time.

The silence that filled the room was deafening. The air was thick as the task force tried to swallow the news of your disappearance. It was heavy — sinking to their stomachs, similar to how the helicopter sunk to the ocean floor.

John Price’s fists were white knuckling, his jaw was clenched as he thought about his brightest medic dying.

Kyle's lips were pulled into a frown and he sniffled as he thought about not having someone to share inside jokes with.

Simon was still seeing red. The burning embers of his anger painted his vision, matching the crimson that he saw soaking your uniform. His mouth was pulled into a snarl as rage bubbled beneath his chest. Rage against Shepherd for keeping this from them. The task force could’ve started looking for you that very day. They could’ve found you days ago if they knew. Rage against that woman for playing possum and using your kind spirit to lure you into her trap. Finally, rage against himself for not telling you how he felt sooner. He shouldn’t have been such a coward. He should’ve just toughened up and confessed. No matter if you felt the same or not, at least you would’ve known.

Johnny's lips were trembling and his eyes were filled with unshed tears. His throat felt heavy and tight, like it was wrapped in barbed wire that he couldn’t loosen. The gaping hole in his chest was widening every second that your screams echoed in his head. He tried to take deep breaths but he just couldn’t, it was like he was frozen. Paralyzed in fear and shock. He would never see you again. The last thing he ever heard from you was your bloodcurdling screams.

He couldn’t fucking breathe.

Johnny tightly squeezed Simon's gloved hand, getting his attention. The Lieutenant’s bloodshot eyes flashed to Johnny’s cerulean glossy eyes. What sent Simon into even more of a panic was that Johnny was hyperventilating. It was no doubt a panic attack from losing their missing piece.

Simon squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“Cap, we need to..” The words died on Simon's lips, but it was obvious what he was getting at. Captain Price nodded at his Lieutenant, letting him know that him and Johnny were free to go.

The two soldiers stood from their seats as Price cleared his throat.

“When is the search starting?” He asked quietly, blue eyes trained on a blank spot on the table.

“I want all of our allies in on this. Farah, Alex, Alejandro, Rudy.. All of ‘em.” He continued, not waiting for an answer from either Laswell or Shepherd.

Laswell stayed silent, crossing her arms and sending a pointed look at Shepherd. She was done being Shepherd’s puppet and done keeping his secrets.

Price and Kyle looked at Laswell before their eyes darted to Shepherd.

“You know I can’t let you do that, John,” was the last thing Johnny and Simon heard as they walked out of the conference room.

Once the door shut behind them, Simon pulled Johnny into his arms and into a passionate kiss. He needed to be comforted, shielded in whatever way possible from the pain of losing you.

He moved to cradle Johnny's face in his hands, desperately holding his partner close. He licked at Johnny's lips and his tongue, needing to taste him. Johnny whined into his mouth at the feeling of his tongue being sucked.

As Simon kissed him, he could taste the saltiness of the Scot's tears as they fell down his cheeks. Simon's mouth moved from his lips to his cheeks, kissing his tears away. Johnny hiccupped as his cries died down, wearing a sad smile. Simon pulled him into his chest and wrapped his tattooed arms around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

After pulling apart, the two soldiers immediately made their way to your quarters. It was completely unintentional, it was as if their legs moved on autopilot.

Before they knew it, they were standing at your door. Simon's hand shook as he reached for the door knob. To their surprise, it was unlocked.

Simon opened it and as they walked in, they were immediately hit with the comforting smell associated with your room. The air fresheners you had plugged in were still releasing a pleasant vanilla fragrance into the air.

They savored the smell as they surveyed your room. Vanilla and berries lingered in their noses as they kicked off their shoes and took off their heavy gear, tossing it on your floor.

Your bed was still made, the (favorite color) comforter folded neatly on the bed and the four pillows were rested against the headboard.

Your desk still had some medical release forms stacked on it as well as some notepads. Your laptop was closed and plugged into the charger. There were some framed pictures of the task force sitting on your desk as well.

One that caught their eye was a selfie you had sneakily snapped one day. It was of you, Johnny and Simon. They remembered it clear as day. The two of them were sparring in the gym one day and you had snuck up behind them with your phone. Simon was taking a swig from his water bottle so you took that moment to nudge Johnny and reel him into your plan. The two of you rushed up to him on each side and Johnny held your phone up high to get a good view of the three of you. Simon's eyes were wide as he was caught off guard while you and Johnny couldn’t look happier. You two were wearing the biggest shit eating grins and your eyes were so bright.

Simon would give anything to be ambushed like that right now. To have you tackle him and Johnny, laughing about how this was all just a sick joke.

But it wasn’t, and he knew that.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Johnny took his hand and dragged him over to your bed. The two of them laid down against your soft bedsheet that had gone cold from you being gone for weeks.

The two of them pulled your comforter up over them, before cuddling up together. Johnny's head was buried in Simon's chest, with Simon pressing kisses to the crown of Johnny's head. Simon's arms were wrapped around Johnny's back, and Johnny's arms were snaked around Simon's midsection.

It took an hour for them to find sleep. The pit in the bottom of their stomachs made it impossible for them to relax or shut their brains off. All they could do was hold onto each other for dear life. All they could do was on to the only light that they had, now that you were gone. That only light was each other.

next chapter

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[rodolfoparras]

OK imma be honest and little personal, before I knew a little bit more about the LGBT, I just didn't care I just knew they existed, now that im older and apart of it nothing changed ngl...just maybe a little rude with it. I'm like "Oh you're gay? Cool want a cookie?" Or "Oh, you think being gay is the devils or whoever you claim doing? Want a medal?". I don't mind having people like having something for them but a month? Sounds like robbery 2 me like, What about soldiers like I mean the good soldiers who actually fight for their people? I'm sorry, but if I could, I would make certain... things like these two have at least a week, but like I said, I don't mind it... I just find it... wrong in a way...like think about it...when something big happens in your life (if yall do it like me) we just celebrate it in like that first week, like what I mean is for the first few days it's all "WOOHOO THIS HAPPEND TOO YOU" then the rest of the week it's just "congrats". Like I remember a few years back, I'm not sure if it's still the same now. But soldiers die every day and stuff, and all they get is a day, and everyone like "poor soliders rest in peace" and then go on about their lives after a few bours or something . But the moment a Trans person got killed, suddenly everyone dropped everything and talked about it for weeks....trying not to sound harsh, but come on....

Sugar I think you have a lot of inner work to do

Pride month cannot be boiled down to a celebratory party of sexualities and genders

While yes a major part of pride month is to celebrate lgbtq people it’s also about remembering the journey as to how we got here, plenty of people literally laid their lives down so there could be a celebration in the first place sugar I don’t know if you know this but trans people would literally use bricks and drop it onto their genitals or their chest to get rid of those parts, a lot of trans people died of cancer and other terminal illnesses because it was considered shameful to treat an openly trans person no matter what severe condition they had it’s also to raise awareness of how lgbtq people of color made a lot of things possible for us, did you know that before colonization native people had woman man and then a third gender that didn’t fall in either category white, Christian cis people wiped that out because it was considered abnormal and now today we have a whole chunk of people who are seen as abnormal because that whole gender identity has been wiped out pride month is to also raise awareness to everyone who can’t live their lives like they want to. It’s like international women’s day just because women in Europe have it good doesn’t mean that it’s fine and dandy all around the world

The reason as to why people don’t care much for soldiers is that the only ones discussed are American ones- soldiers belonging to armys who have more or less started the war in different places. Never have I seen people discuss the 10.000 soldiers that died in the srebrenica genocide - soldiers- boys 18 year old boys 10.000 of them- that had to forcefully enlist in the army because their country was going through a genocide

And the reason as to why trans people get so much coverage once they get killed is the same reason as to why women get so much coverage when they get horrifically murdered by a man they’re oppressed, soldiers are not oppressed soldier more often than not are the oppressors.

With that being said I do hope you take time to actually do research on your history because the reason as to why you can be like “woo I’m gay ok let’s move on with my day” is because of thousands upon thousands upon thousands lgbtq ppl that made sacrifices for you those sacrifices didn’t happen that long ago

[paradlselost]

i am so glad im finding another person who writes for far cry :)) if possible, can we see a jacob seed x gn!deputy who replaces pratt as his prisoner? it ends with jacob being their one and only, (even if its dubcon)

WIND — UP TOY

jacob seed x gn!deputy

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ ty for being my first submission ! jacob and his region lowkey scare the shit out of me lmao 🙏 kinda a little fucked up but I mean it’s jacob seed . also sorry this took so long ); smut below the cut

no use of y/n , reader is referred to as ‘ deputy ’ . gender specific nicknames are replaced by ‘ pup ’ . not beta - read

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ blasphemy , deputy is treated like a dog , implied forced cannibalism , implied death of a minor character , brainwashing , jacobs his own warning isn’t he ? smut : dub - con , degrading , oral ( m receiving ) , soft - ish sex , penetration , dacryphillia , one - sided orgasm .

It always crept up on him when he least expected it; when things began to have a sense of normalcy. His days a haze and his nights clouded with gunfire and explosions, dreams marred with blood and the guts of former comrades and men who died far too young. For what?

What is the American dream when the world is going to end anyways? What are the soldiers overseas fighting for when the rivers will soon flow with blood and the ground tarred with ash?

His hand runs over his face; rubbing tired eyes. Demons of his past prey on him while he sleeps, turning him weak. Two to three hours is good enough for him, leaves him rested enough for his eyes to focus on the maps in front of him.

Being the leader of the army of Eden’s Gate wasn’t an easy job, though he held it with pride - a cardinal sin - but Joseph would forgive him as long as the prophecies his little brother had bouncing around his head came true. Jacob didn’t know if he believed in anything, really, it was hard to imagine God was with the soldiers that clutched cross pendants behind HESCO barriers.

But where he might’ve drifted from the true meaning of the cause further and further, where he might’ve argued the existence of a higher power with Joseph; one thing grounded him to his purpose and place in the cult. The Deputy.

Joseph’s ramblings were insane to the layman and gospel to the believer - but it seemed right now they were damn prophetic. Everything he said the Deputy would do; they did, and left bodies in their wake. Sometimes, he would watch whatever the cameras picked up of them on his screens, how they traversed the Whitetails with an almost practiced knowledge.

Sometimes, he felt like the eighteen year old new enlistee again when he watched them. The blood, the gunfire. Jacob Seed was a tough man, righteous and brave, but he would look down at them in their cage and feel the fire on his skin from the ranch he burned all those years ago.

He hated the feeling, wanting to drive his pocket knife into his chest and carve out every semblance of memory he had. But then his music box would rewind, and he would hear the sweet sound of the Platters crooning through the wood and metal and maybe, just maybe, things would be okay for him.

So he watched the way the Deputy writhe behind those thick steel bars against the cold soil, not afforded the luxuries even the most depraved prisoners received. Weak and idiotic for attempting to save their friend; but a mind that could be molded with the right tune.

Staci Pratt was a good pet; Pavlovian in nature and willing to do anything for the oldest Seed brother, so maybe that’s why Jacob began to grow bored of the man. Maybe that’s why he entertained the cracks beginning to show in the conditioning, how Pratt’s eyes softened at the sight of their co-worker being taunted by the Herald and yet knowing there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

An escape plan, of course he knew about it, he had eyes and ears everywhere and could always tell when one of his dogs stepped out of line. A perfectly timed truck, the siren going off to alert that a prisoner had escaped, catching Pratt as he allowed the Deputy to leave without him. It was almost sweet, but moreover vomit-inducing, like a lamb.

Sheep are creatures controlled by their own nature, that’s why dogs have to herd them back into formation - like a general in charge of new recruits. Intolerables are discharged, lambs are taken to the slaughterhouse. Nature, the circle of life, the bad meat is thrown out for the poor and needy to pick through.

“Eat. You wouldn’t want to fall sick, would you?”

A tin was placed in front of the Deputy, they had been through this before. Starved for however many days Jacob deemed necessary - usually ten - before they are given nothing but raw meat to eat. Never did they think they would yearn for the peanuts and beer served at the Spread Eagle, but there was no position to argue about what they were being given here.

Some fell over the side as greedy hands shoveled clump after clump into their mouth, covering it in a pitiful yet successful attempt to keep it down. Never did they ask what kind of meat it was, choosing to instead assume it was from one of the many cow farms in the valley.

“You’re hungry, aren’t ya, pup? You’re lucky, that’s a nice cut of meat.” A grin played on his face as he leaned against the metal bars, fingers grazing over his music box. There wouldn’t be any culling today, no, he had a much better idea in mind.

“Where’s Pratt?”

“Not even a thank you for my generosity, aren’t you fierce?”

“Where is he?”

“Peaches’s little act of rebellion earned him a punishment, I mean; that’s only fair. In a war like this you can’t go sympathizing with the devil, no matter how well you knew them before.”

It’s not an answer, but there’s an unspoken understanding that that is the closest thing the Deputy will get to knowing. A huff falling from their lips, ever the ungrateful dog; but their bowl is licked clean and what more can Jacob ask for?

A soft tsk fell from his lips, cold and condescending because how could he be anything but? Did the thing below him deserve care and kindness? Maybe at some point when they were strong, when their mind was still their own, but now they were nothing but a lamb being fattened for the slaughter.

His fingers grasped their chin, forcing eye contact and no doubt leaving marks that would form bruises. How much had they been through? Chest slashed with the markings from Jacobs little brother and mind already foggy from the bliss that grew in the Henbane; but there was a certain pride he took in being the one to break them.

How much time had passed? Had anyone come looking for them? Jacob had often taunted them, used the fact that they were immobile against the conditioning he had given them to contact anyone. The rebellion would fall without their snake, maybe it already had, how would the Deputy know?

It wasn’t their place to think anymore, to simply let the oldest Herald put a leash around their neck and sit beside like a good dog. Their mind wasn’t their own, now it belonged to him and they had no room to complain.

“Look at’chu, open your mouth.” But he didn’t wait for them to comply, instead he bullied his fingers against their tongue, exploring over their gums and teeth. They could bite him, certainly, but they didn’t - wouldn’t.

Who was Jacob Seed but their owner? He had saved them from themselves, from the blood and the gore and the fire that threatened to burn the world to nothing but ashes. Joseph had greeted them in their new form, John had shown up to pout, but their eyes only ever stayed on the eldest.

“Such a good pup, ‘ did a wonderful job training you, huh?” He asked as if they could answer, as if they weren’t preoccupied by the fingers that traced their mouth like he was mapping them out.

A hum passed from his lips as he removed his fingers, instead moving to undo the buckle on his belt. Even in this state, the Deputy wasn’t stupid and could very clearly tell what was coming next. So, to hopefully avoid any wrath from him, moved to help undo his pants.

Leaning back in his chair and observing as they removed his pants, fingers trailing over the growing bulge in his boxers. Jacob was a stoic man, never did the Deputy know if they were really doing good, but he didn’t scold them so there was no stopping.

Hands smoothed out the black fabric a bit nervously, playing with the hem for a moment before a soft grunt from the Herald alerted them. Knowingly, their fingers hooked underneath the waistband and pulled it away from his freckled skin, letting it pool at his ankles along with his pants.

Wrapping around the base of his still hardening cock, their eyes fluttered up to meet his gray ones. A silent beg, a plea that they were doing alright and there would be no punishment later. All they got in return was a small nod; though there was no love or care behind it. More like a drill sergeant instructing a particularly moldable soldier.

Gentle, unsure licks placed against his tip, hand working against the base; fingers brushing against veins that worked overtime to pump blood to his dick. Jacob Seed was not one for taking his sweet time, his fingers tangled in their hair as he pushed their head down on his aching cock.

A soft gag fell from their lips, hands moving from him to settle on his toned thighs. A heavy breath leaving their nose as they tried their hardest to relax, nuzzling against his untamed ginger hair. He relished in the warmth of their throat, the tightness eliciting a groan as he pushed his hips up.

Their gagging was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, the soft whimpers and tears that emitted from the Deputy as they tried their hardest to just breathe through their nose. He loved the power he held over them, how those pretty tears fell for him.

“Cmon pup, look up at me.”

Fighting between lifting their head to meet his gaze and keeping their mouth wrapped around his cock, the Deputy managed to tilt their head up enough to see him. His smirk widened, cock throbbing against their throat as he watched the tears continue to fall from them.

Another few thrusts to the back of their throat before he groaned, pulling their head off his dick with a small ‘pop’. A trail of saliva still connected their lips, pre-cum mixed in with it. He couldn’t help the laugh that emitted from him at the sight of their swollen lips and heavy breathing.

“Poor thing. Don’t cry, I take care of you, don’t I?”

The Deputy couldn’t do anything but nod, and maybe it was a bit true. Jacob did care for them in his own sick and twisted way. In the back of their mind they wondered if this was how he treated Pratt behind close doors; more like a prized trophy than a lover.

His hands grabbed at their hips, pulling them onto his lap. The small barrier of whatever clothes they had been wearing on their lower half before was quickly removed, giving him access to everything he wanted.

Burying their face into the crook of his neck and wrapping arms around the back of him, the Herald lifted their hips once more to guide himself inside their needy hole before pushing them down onto him. Stretching, pain emanating from the sudden intrusion, he could feel the tears that fell from them and landed against his skin.

He cooed, a grin still wide on his face. His hands still settled on their hips, guiding them up and down on his cock. Gentle movements at first that quickly devolved to an almost feral extent. His pre-cum marred the inside of their hole, creating wet and sticky sounds everytime he fucked in and out of them.

It felt like a dam was about to break by the time Jacob decided he was finished. Loud sobs wracked their body as they cuddled closer to him, so close yet so far. His hips continued to move for a moment; stuttering and shifting a bit before he released inside of them, filling them with his cum.

The Deputy finally leaned back after a moment, tears still flowing from their now red eyes, sniffling - but they still attempted to move their hips over him. To get any kind of release as the Herald caught his breath. Needily grinding against his lap, hands clutching his shirt in a pitiful attempt that only made him laugh more.

“Oh, look at’chu. Pup needs to get off too, huh? Don’t worry, I told you I’ll take care of you.”

[feralrabidcrow]

My Merc LGBTQ Headcanons

Disclaimer: my headcanons aren't set in stone so these are like, what I assume them to be in the average fic I write unless stated otherwise. For example, usually I headcanon Medic as bisexual, but I might make him gay in an AU if I want to explore that instead. And I might make a merc I usually headcanon as cis trans if that's a story I want to explore with them.

Scout: Bisexual and hasn't quite come to terms with it yet. He has a strong preference for women, but being stuck living closely with a bunch of men definitely has him experiencing thoughts he never did before.

Soldier: Transgender and technically bisexual, but he thinks he's straight because he considers having sex with Demoman every night 'masculine male bonding to strengthen our manly friendship'. Demoman doesn't have the heart to tell him that yeah, it's pretty gay. He's trans because the hypermasculine American patriot named Jane Doe of all things is just Valve spoonfeeding transgenderism to me. I also like to entertain the idea that he's forgotten that he's trans (lead poisoning) and regularly breaks into the medbay screaming at Medic about how the communists stole his penis until Medic finally gives up and just gives him bottom surgery.

Pyro: Genderqueer butch lesbian who uses any and all pronouns.

Demoman: Pansexual, it makes no difference to him what gender his lovers are. I think he's known this for a long time too, no sexuality awakening that caused him any turmoil, just always knew that he didn't have a preference.

Heavy: Gay, and unlike Demoman, he definitely did not know until very late in his life. After joining Team Fortress, to be exact. After meeting Medic, to be exactly exact. Living in isolation for so long definitely stunted his ability to explore his sexuality. He had a 'crush' on a girl when he was about 6, but he only liked her because she had red hair that he thought was pretty. Looking back, it meant about as much as a crush when you're 6 can be expected to mean. He always assumed that the reason he didn't feel a desire to find a woman and settle down, like his mother always hoped he would, was because he hadn't met enough women to want such a thing, and if he did meet the right woman, that's when the feeling would click. Then the feeling ended up clicking instead with a maniacal doctor who liked putting black market zoo organs in him.

Engineer: Biromantic and sex neutral asexual. He always assumed he just liked women, simply because he didn't realize he could like both. After Medic told him that he liked both women and men, things started making a lot more sense. He can handle being in some specific sexual situations, but he refuses to be on the receiving end of anything, and exclusively gives.

Medic: Bisexual, reciprosexual/recipromantic. In simpler terms, Medic does not feel romantic or sexual attraction to anyone unless he knows for certain that they're attracted to him first. As a result, he has never made a first move in his life, and is also sometimes very bad at picking up on romantic advances unless they're extremely blunt.

Sniper: Gay, I don't really know what else to say he just gives me huge homo vibes. He probably got a mindblowing handjob from a bloke behind a Macca's that changed his life or something. Yes I think high-tech TF2 Australia that's basically a spoof of Wakanda still has Macca's why wouldn't they.

Spy: Bisexual, I'm going to be honest I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Spy's sex life but he definitely fucks men look at him just look at him. He's fucking men. And Scout's mother but also men.

[konigbabe]

the version of you and me

Pairing: John Price x fem!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Tags/Warnings: smut; nsfw; angst and feels; age gap; gendered terminology; female anatomy; alcohol; cunnilingus; oral sex (fem receive); safe sex; protected sex; soft sex; love making; feelings realization; smut wiht feelings

Summary: John was a beacon, a lighthouse that kept you safe and warm in the raging storms of life. He was the one constant in your life, the one person you could always count on. No matter what happened in your life, he was there for you and that made all the difference.

A/N: Not sure whether this should be also classified as angst - what do you think? Requested by @sinclxirx. Part of my A to Z kinks game [A is for Age Gap].

Song associated: To Be Alone by Hozier

masterlist • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

That night, embraced in his presence, you felt like you were drowning. Drowning in an endless abyss of feelings. His eyes were dark pools of emotion, and you felt yourself falling into them, unable to resist; his touch gentle, as if he was trying to capture the essence of your soul; his lips inviting and you felt his warmth radiating through your entire body. You felt safe, secure, and so incredibly alive.

His lips followed the curves of your collarbones, caressing each crevice of your body. Soft grunts, words of adoration and praise flew from his mouth as he worshipped you to your highs, prolonging the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, underneath him, between his fingers.

They were here again.

He was here again.

Similar crew to the last time, few changed; they always do. Sitting at the other side of the pub, side by side, he sat closest to you - his men by his right. Music surrounded you like a cloud of smoke, the same old songs with a new beat. The conversation ebbed and flowed between them like the tide of the sea, and you found yourself drawn to them; like always.

Only his name was a constant though; years of seeing the familiar face, the same blue eyes, eyes squinting, wrinkles pooling around them as he smiled, laughed occasionally. Him and the skull face; they called him Ghost, you learned early on - other soldiers respected him, he respected him. During your first shifts, that man was someone you avoided like the devil himself; but he was indifferent to you, reverent even.

Soon enough, you found yourself drawn to him and the captain. The two of them a comfort zone during long shifts; as you served the soldiers, avoiding their touches, slaps and whistles; these two offered peace in their silence and nonchalance.

Over the years, your eyes started to search his whenever you entered the pub. John Price, his name a sweet melody, as sweet as honey on your tongue. He was a lieutenant back then; back when you got to know him first.

“What’s with the sad face, darling?” he’d ask one day. Sitting at the pub, he came with a woman; a pretty one, around his age, a civilian; based on her clothes. American, you deduced.

Never before you attempted to have a conversation with any soldier at the pub; most of them left too drunk out of their minds to ever remember you, you believed. He wasn’t one of them - he’d start with a glass of bourbon on ice, savoring the bittersweet taste as the rest of his crew drank one pint of beer after another.

The woman left soon after he introduced himself; John.

Since then, he was the reason you looked forward to your job. The conversations grew longer. Deeper. More meaningful. He offered you a hand in friendship and you took it. It was a friendship that was built on trust and understanding, and it was something that you treasured. Your life was changing constantly; people came and went as you lived through university. He was that one constant in it.

John was the first person to congratulate you on your degree; you were the first outside military to congratulate him on becoming captain. He watched you grow, celebrated your achievements with you. You, in turn, helped him as he stepped into a leadership role. Always there for him, offering words of encouragement, advice, and support. You both had each other's back; yet you never saw each other outside that dimly lit pub - with a front pub separating each and every conversation. Or it used to be like that.

Later on, you started wondering if him being a captain was something you should applaud him for. His visits to the pub became less frequent. Deployments started to be longer. The people, his crew, changed constantly. He aged; not only with time - worry and the weight of his decisions had taken their toll. He grew a beard, it suited him though. His voice became rougher. Stern. Demanding.

The role of captain suited him; there was no doubt, but it took away the John you once knew. He had to take on a mantle of authority and honor, and it came with a certain amount of gravity and seriousness. But, despite all of this, he still had a good heart beneath it all.

A pang of pain occasionally exploded in your chest when you saw some of his team members at the pub. But not him. The worst-case scenarios always wandered into your brain, but you still had hope. Praying for the best, you focused on what was within your control at the time.

When he came, you’d stay with him. It was a routine you developed quietly; he’d stay and wait for your shift to be over, you’d sit by his side after, a drink in your hand as you talked the night away. He’d tell you about his adventures, people he’d met - not in detail, he wasn’t allowed to do that; he talked vaguely about everything as if he was reciting a movie.

Those moments were like an anchor to you. It was your own little world, and you were content in it. John was a beacon, a lighthouse that kept you safe and warm in the raging storms of life. He was the one constant in your life, the one person you could always count on. No matter what happened in your life, he was there for you and that made all the difference.

Then you’d part your ways. He would always leave last, sending you off into the night with a good night.

The more you got to know the captain, the more intrigued you became by him. The friendship blossomed, sometimes becoming the talk of his crew; they’d sneak looks at you, whisper among themselves (especially those you learned to be Johnny and Gaz), sharing a knowing smile and you knew; you knew that they knew.

He didn’t know. Or at least never acknowledged it.

Eventually, your conversations outgrew the walls of the pub and you found yourself on the chilly streets of London, laughing and talking about the day's events.

Gaz’s words of encouragement echoed in your mind, alcohol rushing through your veins as you walked through the city. The streetlights shone on the cobblestone streets, illuminating your path. John talked most of the time, your eyes staring at the night sky; stars barely visible.

It took years for John to find out where you lived; yet you never knew much about him in that way, you realized. He had a girl back when he was a lieutenant, that much he told you. That didn’t last long for him as his job took most of his life away, taking the girl away too.

John never dared to cross the doorstep. Your doorstep. The first time you asked, it was an innocent invite; it was extremely late, almost an early morning, and in the middle of January, the coldest time to be in London, and you felt bad letting him go into the bitter cold. Not knowing where he lived, where his home was, you didn’t know if he’d get any sleep before work; at your place, he could at least take a nap.

He retreated; with a thank you and have a good night, he was gone.

The second time, your intentions differed. Walking side by side, arms linked, his gloves warmed your freezing hands; he kept his own in his pockets as he walked you home; he seemed to always do that as of lately.

Each step brought you closer to him. Joined at hips, you cherished the moment. The beanie, his beanie, messed up your hair but you didn’t mind. You watched as he talked, a cloud of cold breeze surrounding his blueish lips as cold nicked at his face. Face illuminated by the ring of light cast by his cigar that he pulled from his jacket when you left the pub; the chilly night was filled with sweet smoke billowing from his mouth.

His words quickly dissipated into the darkness of midnight. Eyes fixated on the way his lips wrapped around the head of the cigar, you watched as he sucked the smoke in before exhaling it out of his lungs, the smoke curling up in the air, creating a mesmerizing show of shapes and figures before eventually melding with the night sky.

It felt like a fever dream for a moment, John’s side profile blurry, the golden glow of the cigar contrasting with the inky darkness of the night and the faint stars twinkling in the background.

The bright blue of his eyes seemed to sparkle with a certain kind of warmth as he looked at you; the stillness of the London streets was almost deafening, the only sound being John’s steady footsteps echoing in the night air as you made your way home.

“You wanna try?” he tipped the cigar your way, “it’ll warm ya up.”

The warm twinkle emanating from his eyes seemed to draw you in. Shaking your head, you murmured, “I shouldn’t smoke, it’s bad for your health.”

His arm shook as he laughed, the sound of his amusement vibrant and joyful.

He leaned onto your side, his hand still cradling the rich brown cigar, and said, “I worry about your health, too. But sometimes it’s nice to do something just a little bit wrong, don’t you think?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief and his lips curled into a mischievous smirk. You couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement as you looked into his eyes, and you found yourself considering his offer.

“Just this once,” you raised a finger. He nodded, the familiar close-lip smile appearing on his face.

Turning the cigar’s head towards you, your fingers wrapped reluctantly around it. With a lick to wet your lips, you brought the cigar to your mouth, feeling the strange texture against your tongue. The taste of tobacco filled your senses; a touch of earthiness, a faint taste of sweet, soft spicy note.

You felt the unfamiliar sensation of the smoke, and the slight sting of the burning embers. It was a strange experience, one that left you feeling overwhelmed, yet strangely satisfied. As smoke filled your lungs, you could feel the heat of the burning embers and the sharpness of the smoke as it seared through your airways, ending with a convulsive cough.

“You’re not supposed to swallow,” John chuckled, taking the cigar from your shaking hand and letting it sit on his own tongue.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you tried explaining between each cough; a flurry of emotions coursed through you as you finally took a deep breath, the smoke lingering in your lungs and the taste of the cigar still on your tongue.

Though you hadn't enjoyed it in the way you had hoped, you found yourself strangely content with the experience.

“Maybe next time you’ll get it right, darling,” his smile warm and reassuring.

The walk home halted when you reached your door. The ritual stayed the same; John swayed behind you and you could swear you felt his hot breath on your neck as you reached for the keys, Gaz’s words swirling inside your otherwise dizzy head while you put the keys inside the lock.

“He has absolutely no reason to say no.”

“Just ask, the world won’t end if he says no.”

“Okay, if he doesn’t accept, I’ll take you out, honey.”

A smile crept on your lips, Gaz’s encouragement mingling with the alcohol in your veins like two dancing flames. The door creaked as you opened them, stepping inside and turning to face your companion; the captain himself.

His hands stayed in the pockets of his jacket, a faint pink tint ran across his cheeks. Even in civil, John radiated with authority and control. The aura demanding. Presence captivating. His eyes followed your every move, ensuring you safely entered your flat; your own intoxication made you stumble a bit as you shifted your weight against the door.

“Do you, maybe, want to come in?” you asked, almost mumbling, “grab a cuppa?”

The blue of his eyes pierced yours, face stern. Impassive. Giving nothing away. His thoughts unknown. He understood what you were asking, what you truly desired.

The silence stretched, feeling like an eternity; and you knew. There was no need for an answer, no more. You did it. And now there was no going back; but neither going forward as John looked at you with anguish, sympathy.

“Maybe ‘nother time,” no darling, “I have early work.”

A mask of a smile graced his face, but his eyes screamed the truth. Trying to figure out his thoughts felt like searching for a needle in a haystack. Dizzy and tired, you forced a smile on your face. Deep down you were aware of just how badly you messed up; years of your most precious friendship, a companionship of your dreams, shattered in a minute - even less than it.

Dread spread through you the day you were meant to return to work. He’d be there, he always was. And you'd have to confront the truth. His beanie, accompanied by the gloves he kindly lent you, laid still in your locker.

A week trickled away.

Two weeks soon became a month; that month spilled into two, followed by another.

The pub seemed to stay in time, familiar faces showing up every other week. Yet, no sign of him; your head spun with a whirlwind of emotions and questions. It felt like your heart was sinking into an endless sea of doubt.

Seventeen weeks.

Four months.

That was how long it took until your heart leaped as a familiar figure stepped into the pub, followed by a group of others. Eyes glued to the men, you watched them taking their seats.

All three of them looked at you with weary eyes, yet they managed to offer you a reassuring smile, telling you that everything was alright, that he was fine; simply running late due to all the paperwork. A wave of relief swept over you like a summer breeze, calming your anxious heart a little. At least he was safe…all of them were.

Eventually, they left; he never came.

Or at least you thought.

Stepping into the cold spring night, you registered the same aura, the one you were so accustomed to, before noticing his silhouette. Still, partly in his uniform, he stood near the entrance, fingers wrapped around his cigar like a lifeline, smoke curling around him in a gentle embrace.

“Well hello there, stranger,” he said casually.

“John,” the door clicked behind you, “I thought you were avoiding me.”

He let out a long, low breath, his used cigar dropping into the ashtray bin with a soft thud.

“Wouldn’t miss our midnight strolls for all the tea in England, darling.”

Soft smile decorated his face, the blue in his eyes twinkling like the starry night sky above you; his gaze filled with a sense of comity. Tenderness.

The walk remained peaceful; comforting silence followed your footsteps as he lead you through the city. The fall back into your routine seemed seamless, coherent; making you question what was about to come.

The doorstep separated John and you, but you felt a lingering sadness in the air that could not be ignored. The moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, a bittersweet taste on your tongue; wondering whether you should ask him again.

He came back to you. Seemingly not heaved by the weight of your question like you were for the past weeks.

His words exceeded your mind as he asked, “May I come in?”

Hand on the door handle, eyes boring into his, you stepped to the side. A hand wrapped around your heart and squeezed; hard and heavy. As you watched him enter your flat, his back stayed turned to you, eyes scanning your home for the first time.

A wave of emotions crashed over you; nervousness, anticipation, expectation. Excitement. Your heart raced as you waited for him to turn around and face you. When he finally did, the warmth of his smile melted away all the tension.

The doors chilled your skin through the clothes as you leaned on them, watching John take a step toward you.

He reached out his hand and touched your face, tracing the curve of your jawline with his fingertips. His eyes bore into yours and you felt like you were floating in a dream. The energy between you was palpable and you desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel his warmth and love. But you stood still, almost afraid to break the spell.

“I’m sorry,” his words felt distant as your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

“For what?”

You weren’t sure the words even came out but his answer ensured that they did.

“For not explaining myself better,” he reassured you, the feeling of his breath fanning over your heated cheeks as you swallowed the bile in your throat, “I just- couldn’t bring myself to it.”

The warmth of his hand stayed on the side of your neck, thumb hooking underneath your chin to bring your face closer. Hands squeezing the door handle, his lips brushed over yours; silently asking for permission.

“You were just there, so fuckin’ inviting,” he closed his eyes, leaning against your forehead, “and I just knew, Christ, I knew I couldn’t do it to you.”

“John,” his name was a mere exhale swallowed by his lips as he breathed you in. His leg moved between your legs, thigh pressing against your aching core. Chest smushed against yours, belt digging into your abdomen; his presence was suffocating, yet you welcomed it.

“I didn’t want to be a dick for leaving,” his eyes remained closed, thumb swiping over your chin before moving upwards, the tip of his fingertip brushing over your parted lips, “knew I was goin’ away for months and you had to ask that night. That bloody night.”

Invisible strings pulled you towards the man before you. Lips pressing against his; the scratch of his beard tingled against your upper lip. Your body was on fire. Months of pent-up loneliness, solitude, slowly bottling up to the point where just his lips, just the brush of them against yours, ignited a wildfire inside you.

The kiss was more of a peck. Testing the waters.

“Stay tonight,” you could feel his beard tickle your lips from the close proximity of his body as you whispered the plea. His eyes finally opened, staring into yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

His fingertips traced the side of your face, skimming over the heated flesh of your cheekbones before resting on each side of your neck.

“I’d love to.”

A gentle nudge sent your face into him; lips smashing against John’s in a desperate kiss. Hands hopelessly gripping his sides. Head filled with dizziness, completely succumbing to the moment. The heat of his skin melted you away; compliant to his every move as if he was pulling you down into his depths.

Tongue gently grazing your lips, a content moan escaped you. Taking the opportunity, you felt him slide into your mouth; soft and delicate, brushing over your teeth before twisting with your tongue. The kiss was like a drug, a seductive intoxication that left you wanting more.

His lips moved against yours with a passionate intensity, as if his very life depended on the connection between the two of you; electrifying, sending sparks of pleasure cascading through every part of your body. You felt as if you were melting into him, becoming one with him, until nothing else mattered. The heat of his embrace was intoxicating.

Hand moving into his jacket, you could feel his heartbeat on your palm; it felt like his heart was racing with yours, quick beats drumming against your skin. Time seemed to freeze, all while his lips moved over yours, grunts and moans filling the otherwise quiet midnight air.

An arm snuck behind your back, tightening around you; pressing your body into his as if he wanted to consume you all. The kiss became messy quickly, hands moving, touching everywhere they could reach until suddenly; somehow, your legs were wrapped around his narrow hips, feeling the bones dig into your thighs, one arm hoisting you up as the other held the back of your head, cradling it like a precious treasure.

“Bed-” his attempt to speak failed, “bedroom,” he tried asking between the kisses; your hungry lips didn’t allow him much space. His mouth devoured yours with a hunger that seemed to grow with each passing second, his tongue exploring and tasting every inch of you as if it was the first and last time he'd ever got to do it.

“Down the hall, the only door to the right,” you pulled away to catch your breath, eyes closed in a blissful moment; John’s mouth latching on your throat as he maneuvered through your flat before opening the door. Cool air hits your overheated skin.

Opening your eyes in surprise, you look around before a chuckle left your kiss-stained lips.

“My right, not yours,” you almost moaned as John sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck, “we’re in my bathroom.”

“Christ,” he mumbled against your flesh, “clear instructions next time.”

Turning around, John almost bashed your doors open. Everything felt like a fever dream; the moment his lips captured yours in the first kiss to now, spread open for him like a blossoming flower, pure and yet-to-be-stained by his blood-red hands.

Completely naked, laying before him as if you were an empty canvas, awaiting the brushstrokes of his touch. His lips traced the skin of your inner thighs, kisses and bites sending shivers through your body; tongue exploring, tasting, and teasing until you were lost in a sea of pleasure.

The rough caress of his hand moved along your wrist, fingers intertwining with yours; reassuring squeeze, a swipe of his thumb over the soft skin of your palm. His beard stung in places, teeth sinking into the apex of your thighs, breath fanning over your soaking core, the cold breeze causing electricity to run through you as he skipped your center and moved to the other leg.

His name left your lips in a whimper, back arched and hips pushing towards his mouth, begging him to finally touch you. To feel you. To taste you.

The room was dark, lit only by the street lamp near your window; looking down between your legs, you could see John’s silhouette, hair messy from your desperate attempts to hold onto him as he kissed away your sanity; cogency.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his eyes, dark and brooding like a stormy sky; the blue oceans turning into tidal waves, crashing against your desire, the urgency to feel him; to feel anything he was willing to give you.

So pretty, so fuckin’ pretty.

His own affirmations of reality spiraled around you, creating a frenzy of longing, surging through your veins the same way hot metal surges through a forge; those words weren’t meant for you.

Wet on wet; his tongue laid flat against your soaking core before he kissed your folds, delving into the depths of your innermost. Devouring you like a ravenous beast. Back arched, hips pushed into him, you felt like he was everywhere; the smell of sandalwood, the taste of tobacco and spice, the scorching feel of his touch leaving a trail on your body, heat spreading underneath the flesh, warming the room.

A cascade of fucks, Christs, moans, and his name fell from your lips. The moment the Captain escaped your lips in a frenzied whimper, his fingers curled upwards, dots of white swirling in your eyesight as he thrust his fingers to the place that made you basically scream, plead for him to finally fuck the living soul out of you, to fill you up with his warmth and attentiveness, to take you to that place where nothing else mattered.

A blanket of darkness overtook your body, chest rising as your lungs seemed to forget how to function. The tight knot in your abdomen releasing a wave of pleasure inside you. John’s lips remained wrapped around your aching clit, tongue lapping at the nub with utter finesse, fingers stroking your gummy walls; eyes burning into your face as he watched your body reach its high.

A feeling of accomplishment flooded his veins; he did it, he finally did it; did you to be precise. His head swirled with all kinds of thoughts of you, the way your body reacted to his touch like it was starved for him. Did you deny yourself when he wasn’t around?

The tip of his tongue trailed between your breasts, feeling the burning skin underneath the wet muscle; still covered in your own juices, he painted you - tainted your skin with his filthy hands.

“Please tell me you have condoms,” he pleaded, voice raw with need as his tongue flicked against your earlobe before taking it into his mouth, tugging it ever so lightly. His body was like a furnace, enveloping you in its blistering heat.

Head spinning, utterly fucked up already, it took you a moment to process that he had spoken.

“Nightstand,” your lips searched for his skin, “my left.”

You felt him chuckle more than you heard it, mouth latched onto his collarbones as he stretched his body. Coarse hair of his chest scratching against your sensitive nipples, eliciting a moan.

Mind hazy, everything felt foggy yet so overwhelming; one moment, he asked you if you wanted to get the condom on, seeing your pupils blown, lips swollen and legs desperately locking his hips against you - so out of your mind, high on him; you were high on Captain Price - so he took the charge.

Then his hands landed on your ribs, thumb caressing the underside of your breasts, as his cock split you open in a slow, agonizingly taunting motion. Fingertips traced your side, gliding over the curve of your waist, the soft plump flesh of your hips, sending sparkles through your veins as it moved to your thigh, stroking its full length while he stayed seated deep inside you; he would pay anything in the world to see you like this again; so pliable, absolutely at his mercy.

Moving torturously slow, as if he was punishing you; savoring every inch of you against him, drawing filthy moans, his name, his rank out of your lips before capturing them in a bruising, messy kiss. All teeth, biting and grasping against each other while he rutted into you with a leisurely pace, hand resting on your thigh, the other stroking your cheek - you were so good to him, so tight, so pretty, so fuckin’ wet and pretty. Made for him, for his cock, to warm his bed, to be by his side in the morning, to kiss him goodbye as he deployed and be his welcome kiss as he left the gates of the headquarters as he returned.

That night, embraced in his presence, you felt like you were drowning. Drowning in an endless abyss of feelings. His eyes were dark pools of emotion, and you felt yourself falling into them, unable to resist; his touch gentle, as if he was trying to capture the essence of your soul; his lips inviting and you felt his warmth radiating through your entire body. You felt safe, secure, and so incredibly alive.

His lips followed the curves of your collarbones, caressing each crevice of your body. Soft grunts, words of adoration and praise flew from his mouth as he worshipped you to your highs, prolonging the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, underneath him, between his fingers.

His embrace never left you, not when he had your legs over his shoulders, heels digging into the flexing muscles of his back; not when he kissed you with a new-found passion as his hips rutted into yours in a steady rhythm, or when John crumbled underneath you, feeling the tight squeeze of your core as he reached his own high, hands grasping at your hips to guide you onto him, to let you know not to dare to stop.

Laying in his arms, hair freshly washed, skin glowing with that newfound orgasmic afterglow, he told you about his time away, the people he’d met; the same way as if you were back in the pub - but this time, you were at your home, feeling the heat of the captain’s naked skin against you, lips pressed against your temple as his fingers casually stroked your arm.

Oh, to be alone with you….

[islandtarochips]

Call of Duty: Callie “Snipe” Graves 🇺🇸

An American woman who is related to the Commander of the Shadow Company! A sister actually. Born and raised in America. Proud to be one. Having that cocky attitude just like her older brother. A Lieutenant standing by the Commander’s side. She is the ride and die with her older brother and the team. And do be careful when talking with her. You may never know what lie she’ll tell you about.

GENERAL:

🇺🇸 Name: Callie Graves 🇺🇸 Alias(es): 

Callie

Graves

Cal (by Philip and some close friends)

CC (by Philip)

Snipe (by Philip and some comrades)

Lieutenant Graves

Lieutenant Snipe

Shadow 0-3

Cowgirl (by Kanoa)

🇺🇸 Gender: Female 🇺🇸 Age: 35 (MW2), 36 (MW3) 🇺🇸 Birthday: July 31st, 1987 🇺🇸 Nationality: American 🇺🇸 Place of Birth: Texas, USA 🇺🇸 Home: Dallas, Texas, USA 🇺🇸 Spoken Languages: English 🇺🇸 Sexuality: Heterosexual 🇺🇸 Occupation:

Lieutenant of the Marines

Lieutenant of the Shadow Company

Second-in-Command of the Shadow Company

Sniper

Mercenary

APPEARANCE:

🇺🇸 Eye Color: Blue 🇺🇸 Hair Color: Blonde 🇺🇸 Height: 5’9”/175 cm 🇺🇸 Scars: 

Wounds: Bullet wound in the palm of her right hand (caused by Tiala), Stabbing wound on her left thigh (caused by Tiala as well)

Scars: Scars on her knuckles from fighting (fighting an enemy in Las Almas), scar behind her neck (from an enemy)

🇺🇸 Face Claim: Dakota Fanning

FAVORITES:

🇺🇸 Color: Lemon Yellow 🇺🇸 Food: Burgers. Just burgers and fries. 🇺🇸 Drink: Whiskey 🇺🇸 Flower: Sunflower 🇺🇸 Hairstyle: Always putting it up in a ponytail or in a bun when she's at home. But putting it in a braid during work time.

Affiliation:

Shadow Company:

-Commander Philip Graves

-Sergeant Sheree "Reed" Norcliffe ( @justasmolbard )

- Sergeant Annabelle “Kit” Pham ( @applbottmjeens )

Warriors Task Force:

- General Alana Kalani

- Captain Kanoa Toa

-First Sergeant Tiala "Shark" Koa

- Sergeant Agnes “Blast” Falagi

- Sergeant Nigel “Squirrel” Harrison

Task Force 141:

- Captain John Price

- Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley

- Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish

- Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

- Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin ( @sleepyconfusedpotato )

- Sergeant Major Hannah “Sparrow” Clayton ( @revnah1406 )

- Annabelle “Kit” Pham ( @applbottmjeens and later on being part of the Shadow Company)

Para Special Forces: ( @welldonekhushi )

- Captain Arjun

Second Commando Regiment: ( @kaitaiga )

- Sergeant Damien Whitlock

CIA:

- Station Chief Kate Laswell

PERSONALITY:

🇺🇸 Myers Briggs Type: ESTP Callie is a VERY outgoing person. She has always been ever since she was little. Always loves to go outside for an adventure with her older brother. She’s also the kind of woman who would do ANYTHING for her brother. Whatever he said she’ll do it. Well…some of it.

🇺🇸 Loyalty: Her ONLY loyalty is with her brother, Philip Graves. For he has always been there for her when she needed him most. So she will do the same for him no matter what the cost.

🇺🇸 Action-Oriented: Whatever Graves asks her to deal with something. She’ll do it in the most CREATIVE way to deal with the enemies. And she’ll do it in a HEARTBEAT.

🇺🇸 Pragmatic Problem Solver: Even though she will follow her older brother’s orders without questioning. But she sometimes wanted to listen to her OWN thoughts before following his orders.

NEGATIVE:

🇺🇸 Manipulative: You could say she got that from her brother. She does that with other soldiers if they crossed the line with her. Whenever anyone argues with her. She’ll turn the table around by sharing something that will STRUCK into their core. (She also secretly read your files and got some from other people you may know so she can find your weaknesses.)

🇺🇸 Bossy: Most of the Shadows kept complaining that she’s being too bossy. Always telling them what to do while Graves put her in charge. And yelling at them every small little thing when they do something wrong.

🇺🇸 Narcissists: She is a NARCISSIST. Always trying to prove someone else is WRONG. Even doing that to Philip too. She didn’t even BOTHER listen to other people’s perspective and just kept saying that they are wrong. (Spoiled brat)

🇺🇸 Liar: She’s a GOOD dirty liar. Always got away just by saying her creative words. Even if there are ways that don't make sense. She’ll MAKE it sense.

Skills and Abilities:

🇺🇸 Fighting Style: Hand-to-Hand Combat and Boxing

🇺🇸 Weapons: A6 bolt-action sniper rifle and Benelli M1014

🇺🇸 Distinct Weapon: Sig Sauer Model P320 and gutting knife

🇺🇸 Special Skills:

Dealmaker: She got good info on things when it comes to making deals with someone. She just needs to learn more about this person before giving them what they actually wanted and needed.

Assassinate: Give her the order of assassinating someone. And she’ll get it done without hesitating or even questioning it.

FAMILY:

Unnamed Father (Father, Alive)

Unnamed Mother (Mother, Deceased)

Philip Graves (Older Brother, Alive) 

TRIVIA:

🇺🇸 She is the younger sister of the Commander.

🇺🇸 Callie has always been deceived by her father because she was at fault of her mother’s death

🇺🇸 Philip is the only kind of brother who always look out for her

🇺🇸 She’s not like any other kind of girl. She likes to get her hands dirty and would join with her older brother to do something fun or troubling.

🇺🇸 At 16-years-old, Callie had developed a habit of making deals with other students. Like giving them some drugs or cigarettes or even handing out tests with some answers. Surprisingly, she didn’t get caught.

🇺🇸 She enjoys riding on horses with Philip. Almost feels like she is FREE as she feels the wind through her golden hair.

🇺🇸 Snipe is the nickname that Philip had given her because of how her words affected others without a care. Which he is very most proud of. And also, she’s really good at being a sniper.

🇺🇸 Been with her brother in the Marines Corpse and into the Shadow Company. She’s very proud of him and accepted being his second-in-command.

Background Story:

On July 31st, 1987. Callie was born in Texas. And on that same day is when her mother passes after giving birth to her to come into this world.

THAT is when her father started to distance himself from her and despise her. But not her older brother, Philip Graves. Whenever her father left her alone and didn’t bother to care for her. Philip stepped in and took care of her himself. Ignoring their father’s harsh words about leaving Callie alone. Philip chooses not to and continues to care for his little sister. Philip was only 5-years-old when Callie was born. He may not know WHAT to do but he knows that he has to protect his little Callie.

When Callie had started to learn how to walk, this is when she was 13 months old. She wanted to walk up to her dad, who was drinking at the moment and he disgustingly looked at her. Walking up to him reaching out with her tiny hands. He scoffed as he stood up and was about to deal with her before Philip ran in and grabbed her. Saying to his father that he’ll keep an eye on her while he watches TV. The father just rolled his eyes and went back to sit down while Philip took Callie, who was being fussy, to the kitchen to get her something to eat. Which he remembers about his mama telling him about babies drinking milk. So he did his best to make it for his little sister and make sure she stayed put before his dad might get pissed off if he sees her wandering off again. But he did make some small gifts for Callie to be able to walk! Philip was only 6-years-old when Callie was 13-months-old.

When Callie was 12-years-old, she had done her very best of trying to get her father’s attention. Which really annoyed him as he ignored her and paid attention to his son. It upset Callie very much but when she saw Philip giving HIS attention to her. She believes that’s all she needs as she shows or tells her older brother about anything! And it warms Philip’s heart to see his little sister yapping about her day. Callie was very happy when Philip secretly spoiled her with their father’s money. Giving her small gifts, food, candies, snacks- ANYTHING that big older Phil can give to his little sister. She appreciates it REALLY much.

When she turned 15-years-old she had started to pick up a habit of selling some things in the school grounds to other kids. Selling and stealing drugs, giving other teenagers some cigarettes, she also can trade them with answer sheets on their homeworks. All of that and hadn’t got caught. And that’s how she got some money from them too. Which Philip was questioning when he saw his little sister coming home with some of it in her hands. She just straight up lied to her older brother that she was doing a canteen for her school. And just left it at that. Philip didn’t even think about it and just took her words for it. Their dad has still been drinking and couldn’t care LESS of what Callie is doing.

Callie had also participated in some of the sports. Mostly baseball and she was hoping that her dad would come and watch some of her games. Just like he came to watch Philip’s football game. But as expected from all those years…he never showed up. The only person that came to most of her games, is none other than Philip. She appreciated it and she’s happy that someone she knew had come to her games. But it still hurts that her own father didn’t show up. Philip had told her that he TRIED to drag his ass out of the house to come to her game but he wouldn’t budge. Which annoyed him so much. She just shrugged it off and asked him if they could get some burgers. Philip smiled at her as he would do anything for her. So they went out to get a burger from McDonald's. Callie was 16-years-old when she started to participate in sports after the summer.

When Callie became a Junior in High School. She has been called into the Principal’s office. As she was caught red-handed having some drugs in her bag since she was about to sell it to one of the students. Instead of her father coming over. Philip was there instead. So after the conversation the Principal had said that they would expel Callie from campus for she had been doing this for a LONG time. And they can’t risk having her around for she might do it again. So she and Philip left the school without saying a word to each other. Callie doesn’t know how he reacted to this situation before they reached home. As soon they stepped in, the two paused to see their father was on the chair with a belt in hand. Does he know about Callie being expelled? Yes he does. How? Because HE was the one who answered the call from the Principal but he let Philip go instead of him. And he didn’t tell his son why he didn't want to go. He just wants to prepare himself to punish Callie when she gets home. The poor girl was scared to see her father with the belt and was about to be grabbed by him too when he stood up and walked over. But Philip stopped him, telling their father that she wouldn’t have done this if he would PAY ATTENTION to her. The father scoffed at his son’s words before pushing him back as he grabbed Callie. Saying that this girl is a LOST CAUSE ever since she was born and had caused the DEATH of her mother. Those words had really struck her so badly as she started to tear up. It upsetted Philip so much to see his little sister being scared. So he stepped in as he grabbed the father’s wrist and pushed him back before putting Callie behind him. He warned his father to NOT touch her like that and told him that they’ll be moving out. He’ll take care of Callie if he doesn’t want to. The father scoffed with no caring looks in his eyes. So he let them leave as Philip took Callie somewhere else. FAR away from their father. He was only 22-years-old while Callie is still 16-years-old.

When Callie had finally graduated from another school, WITHOUT causing any more trouble, the Graves siblings decided to sign up for the Marines together. And they have worked together ever since. But Callie could see her older brother’s eyes as if he’s not pleased or satisfied by these military systems. Seeing how the other higher ranks had to pull back men like the two of them. So she heard that Philip was going to leave the military and she wanted to join him. Which he doesn’t mind. So the two had left the military in 2017. And Philip had made his own private military company. Callie was very proud and impressed of her older brother’s work and she had accepted his offer by being his second-in-command. This was when Callie was 30-years-old and Philip was 35-years-old.

[daddy-cake]

Krueger x Mexican!Reader Headcanons

Y'all already know the drill, this is all sfw and Gender Neutral!Reader

No use of any Y/N variations

A/N: I'm Mexican and in love with him... I just had to. This place needed more Mexican!Readers anyways🙄

MEXICO RAHHHH🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼

Reader is also implied to not be part of the military. Sorry not sorry <33.

Warnings: All of these just silly goofy

MASTERLIST

First time meeting your family is going to be Krueger's last.

The family wasn't so happy to hear that you fell in love with a white man.. They could have let it slide if he was American because most Mexicans are a suck up to Americans... but Austrian? Grandma was literally crying at the news and praying for the family, she was claiming that the family was truly doomed. The only thing that will get the family to calm down is you reminding them that he isn't from Spain or Argentina. Heavy on Argentina.

Family is going to be calling him "El Barbie" in a derogatory sense. You tried to tell him that it was a compliment and means that's he's tough in Spanish.

Your dad definitely tried to bond with him by taking him to rooster fight. However, the two came home and your father was beyond mad. He starts claiming that Sebastian is bad luck because his rooster, who has a streak of wining 20 tournaments, lost. Got rubbed by the egg afterwards.

Sebastian isn't too pleased with the environment. Parents are having an argument, kids are running around screaming or crying, music is playing at full volume, one of the dogs are barking, the tías are gossiping, La Rosa de Guadalupe is playing, Grandma rubbing him with the egg and praying, Grandpa is working on the roof, and some cousin is vacuuming.

When dinner came around... lord help this man. He wasn't prepared for the spice that only he could taste. Had tears trying to escape then he had to excuse himself from the table and go outside to regain his composure. The whole family was muttering "No aguanta nada" the whole time.

To say he was relieved to hear that you two were going home is an understatement. He preferred more of a quiet environment than one that is loud and makes it very apparent that he's not welcomed there.

When you two arrived at your own place he was ready to just pass out. He was warned that the place was going to be busy, but he thought he could handle it and it wasn't that bad since he was a soldier... he should've listened to you.

The next day was spent inside and not even letting an ounce of the outside in. Krueger dearly needed it to just regain his sanity from the pervious day.

Everything was going fine until when he wanted to prepare something for lunch. He was looking all over the kitchen for the pots and pans until he finally gave up and asked you where you kept them.

"Why are they in the oven?"

"You don't put them in the oven?"

Krueger at one point received a gift that was rooster from you and was so confused why you would gift him this. At first, he thought it was some sort of joke gift from you until he realized it was a genuine gift after a few seconds of silence. Doesn't even know what to do with it, so he ended up giving it to your dad. Dad was not happy.

The one time the both of you went out to dinner, he was not expecting other guests to keep telling you two to have a good meal as it wasn't a thing in all of the countries he has lived in.

Was told by you not to speak at all when you two were out on the streets or else y'all would get jump. Krueger doesn't listen to the rules though.

When you left your Banda music on while doing some chores, he was about to turn it off but he got really into the music.

Got a chihuahua simply because you begged for one and he found it somewhat funny that despite their small sizes they are very protective. Also it was between that or the stray xoloitzcuintli down the street that's been there for around 10 years.

100% brags about thechihuahua, saying he has a vicious dog that could kill anyone. Everyone thought he got a Rottweiler for a long time.

La Quebradita. Trust once you teach Krueger the basics, y'all gonna be making your cousins and their partners jealous. Considering he's part of a PMC and once in the military, he obviously is gonna have some strength. That strength comes in handy when you two want go all out in a Quebradita competition.

Considering Krueger was once part of the military, he obviously would be sort of tidy considering that they engraved that trait into his head when he first joined. So yes, he would help you clean around the house. HOWEVER, laundry duty is always on him. Simply the way that you'll probably fold clothes would just trigger something in him like a sleeper agent.

You'll always have to be the first to initiate any sort of "I love you"s. He doesn't know why, but he just can't bring himself to say it to you.

When Sebastian is away on missions, he often times receive texts from you that revolves around staying safe. He can't help it, but to have a small smile plaster on his face.

There will be some point in the relationship that he would just go off the grid and/or no contact for a few days. It's not that he hates you. It's just that considering the life he has lead, he definitely needs some points to take a step back to recollect in a way. Also to stay away from authorities, but let's not take about that.

Would never go into any sort of detail about his background besides being part of the military. He'd never once talk about his parents or why he's no longer part of said military. To you he's kinda of an enigma. You know so little about him, but he knows so much about you. You that it was unfair in a sense. However, no matter how much you try to get answers, he'd never budge. So after awhile, you start chalking things up to him having a strained relationship with his parents (which in a lot of Mexican households would probably mean that his parents were absolutely vile if you go no contact with them) and possibly leaving the military on his own terms.

Krueger would go great lengths for a mangonada. Me too bro, me too.

[insomniacsystem]

Because I'm in a Shadow Company brainrot mood here's all our OC's/alters bios at least with what were so far willing to share cause anxiety.

Name: Rhys 'Azrael' Grey

Callsign: Shadow 6-1 (based on his SAS callsign Bravo 6-1)

Rank: Captain (promoted)

Race: Native American(Navajo)/Irish

Height: 5'6

Age: 34

Gender: transgender male

Pronouns: He/They

Desc: Azrael is an ex SAS soldier at one point ending up a POW on a classified mission losing multiple members of the squad he was leading along with his fiance that had joined him on the team. After almost a decade of service multiple of his medical issues from childhood were finally diagnosed leaving him with a medical discharge and Azrael being the person he is definitely doesn't accept that as the end of his military career applying to Shadow Company intent on proving his abilities and keeping up his work.

Azrael is almost always found wearing as much covering clothing as possible almost never found without his neck gaiter on to cover the scars that mar the skin on his face and neck a painful reminder of captivity he's determined to keep hidden.(Though Graves and the other Shadows eventually coax him into opening up and wearing it less often)

Personality: Azrael is known for being extremely closed off keeping strong walls around himself to keep others out and away from his emotions and vulnerabilities. it's a major surprise to most to find that his old friends describe younger Azrael from before he was captured as cheery, sweet, and, extremely empathetic many don't exactly believe it considering most see him as cold and unfeeling, even if he does truly care for those around him just from behind his walls where he believes himself to be safer.

Name: Ashton 'Phoenix' Adair

Callsign: Shadow 7-5

Rank: Sergeant

Race: Scottish

Height: 6'5

Age: 33

Gender: Cis Male

Pronouns: He/They

Desc: Ashton is another ex-SAS soldier, having ended up a POW on the same mission as his ex-fiance Azrael, ending in them breaking up shortly after their release as guilt tears away at him, feeling he should have been able to protect his fiance and squad. It's not long before Ashton gets himself into trouble as he goes after the men responsible for him and Azrael's suffering leaving him on the run hiding from certain Russian extremists.

Ashton, with the help of a friend in high places, fakes his death, disappearing to work with Shadow Company on American soil where he's less likely to be discovered, and he still has opportunities to take out the men he's been searching for.

Personality: Ashton is known for being fiery, confident, and extroverted, often found chatting with the other shadows, happily helping out with what he can where he can without complaint.

Name: Vance 'V' Serra

Callsign: Shadow 0-2

Rank: Captain

Race: Mexican/Hispanic

Height: 6'7

Age: 33

Gender: Cis Male

Pronouns: He/They

Desc: Vance is and ex-Marine and has been close friends with Graves since they met encouraging the older man the entire way through starting Shadow Company despite his own contract with the Marines not exactly being up yet he waits out the time separated cheering his friend in from afar until finally he's able to resign immediately transferring himself to work with Graves once again become his right hand man.

All goes well for Vance for the most part the shadows do their jobs damn well and he's endlessly proud of his and Graves' men he's expecting things to go as usual as he's sent out in the convoy with the missiles only to find himself very wrong watching as his men are slaughtered he plays dead knowing damn well they have him outnumbered he's determined to make it back to Graves he waits out the soldiers as they collect the missiles keeping still even as the fire in the car licks at his skin immediately putting himself out and scrambling for a radio as the sounds of cars fade out he finds himself lucky as he's able to contact Graves ULF being able to send a small rescue team despite Shepards refusal to attempt proper rescue saving Vance's life leaving him in the hospital to recover during Las Almas returning to work as soon as he's cleared

Personality: Vance is known for being fiercely loyal to Shadow Company it's commander especially taking care of Graves and the shadows diligently making sure everyone is taken care of and not neglecting themselves his usual calm but happy demeanor soothing to those around him though that's definitely not saying he's not short tempered especially when it comes to defending Graves though the shadows often tease him for it prodding the man about having a crush despite Vance vehemently denying it.

Name: Emris 'Firefly' Hendricks

Callsign: Shadow 7-7

Rank: Sergeant

Race: Native American

Height: 5'7

Age: 32

Gender: Trans male

Pronouns: He/They

Desc: Emris is Shadow Company's most well-known demolitionist, always managing to find himself in trouble for some kind of energetic hijinks, often getting other shadows involved and getting slightly carried away. Emris is usually one of the many shadows messing with Graves in the most wholesome way possible, planting joke motivational posters of Graves and things, much to Graves' embarrassment, though he secretly finds it hilarious the shadows seem to love the posters and things so much.

Name: Arlo 'Icarus' Lyons

Callsign: Shadow 1-3

Rank: lieutenant

Race: American/Irish

Height: 6'5

Age: 28

Gender: Nonbinary (AFAB I swear that's important)

Pronouns: He/They/She

Desc: Arlo joined up with Shadow Company through interesting circumstances one of the few recruits trained by Shadow Company itself rather than coming from another military. Arlo is extremely dedicated to his work and loyal to Graves. the two had gotten along well since he joined Shadow company, though only a few years into his time with them through what he'd thought were harmless hookups to blow off steam, they had managed to get pregnant despite their infertility, despite the bad timing and circumstances, Arlo is understandably ecstatic having wanted kids of his own. though, due to the high-risk nature of her pregnancy, Arlo finds themselves on bed rest though Graves refuses to let him be alone considering, Arlo is single with no family, leaving him and Vance insistant on helping out and make sure he's cared for. he ends up having his daughter, Evie, with only mino8 complications, being age 8 as of the events of MW2 and 11 as of MW3.

Arlo does eventually defect from Shadow Company, joining up for 141 after the events of Las Almas. Despite the guilt he feels abandoning Graves, the young man couldn't cope with continuing to work with them, afraid of events like Las Almas repeating.

Personality: Arlo is known for being extremely sweet and charismatic keeping things running smoothly and arguments to a minimum at least to the best of his ability.

(wip)

Name: Callum Lucian

K9:Umbra (a black Belgian Malinois) (pup pic wip)

Callsign: Ace (0-13)

Rank: Sergeant

Race: American

Height: 5'8

Age:25

Gender: Trans Male

Pronouns: He\They

Desc: Callum is one of Shadow Company's resident K9 handlers. While Callum occasionally uses crutches, his cane, and braces between missions during flare-ups, and to allow his old injuries and chronic pain to settle, he is still incredibly capable in the field. having refused to let his back and knee injury stop him from serving, he joined SC once he'd healed shortly after his original discharge from the military, bringing his K9 along with him as they'd been retired together due to Umbra's strong attachment to Callum.

Personality:

Name: Warren 'Rune' Rivera

Callsign: Shadow 8-8

Rank: Lieutenant

Specialization: K9's

K9's: Nixie (Shepherd) and Nico (black Shepherd)

Race:White

Birthplace: USA/Tennessee

Height: 6'3

Age:35

Birthday: March 5th 1989

Gender:Male

Pronouns:He/they

Medical conditions: left leg amputated just below the knee hearing loss in left ear.

Desc:

Personality:

Name: Maeve 'Artemis' Grey

Callsign: Shadow 0-7

Rank: Lieutenant

Gender: Female

Pronouns:She/They

Age:29

Height: 6'1

Birthplace: Ireland

Race: Irish & (unknown)

Sexuality: Panromantic Greyromantic Asexual

Specialty:

Medical conditions: POTS ADHD Autism

Desc: backstory is still in the works but for now she's a new transfer from the SAS and Azrael's adoptive sister.

Mae is the result of a still secret affair her mother had, which has led to much resentment on her father's part. She, by now, is very aware she's not his biological daughter, but her mother still refuses to give her any information on her real dad, insisting on keeping their family's reputation spotless as usual.

Maeve, the youngest of all her siblings, grew up being taught to resent Azrael, being taught various horrible mindsets by her extremely religious family. For most of that time, she believed them, though as time went on, watching her older adoptive brother be abused so horribly chipped away at her. Her guilt only grew when Azrael ran away at 17 after being outed as trans, leaving her to reevaluate her parent's teachings. One could imagine the feeling of fear she felt when she found she'd started to crush on another girl at 16.

Maeve quickly realized she didn't want to live at home anymore and managed to forge he parents' signature, signing up for the British armed forces at 16, unknowingly following in Azrael's footsteps.

Personality:

[some-triangles]

Politics under the cut

The Vietnam war was famously the first war to be televised. Some people thought this meant it would be the last war, but people often think that and they haven't been right yet. The carnage on the evening news probably spurred the anti-war protests on - although the draft was certainly the main cause, as nothing motivates a person like the prospect of an early death. Either way, the protests did nothing, and the war ended because we lost. Americans contrived a way to blame the soldiers themselves for the horrors they'd seen and the imperial project trundled on.

I'm thinking about this because we're currently in the middle of the first war to be livestreamed. This time around the carnage is not only available in real time, it's interactive - we know the perpetrators and the victims by face and name, and we get direct appeals for aid through our social media feeds, optimized like youtube thumbnails in the hopes that we'll find one displaced person more deserving than another for the disposition of our limited funds. (Where this money ultimately goes is still a black box - the inevitable scammers aside, who are the fixers and coyotes who end up with the cash?) Despite this, protests have been comparatively muted. It may be because we have seen that they don't work. It may be because the powers that be have successfully convinced many of us that being opposed to genocide is antisemitic. It may be because our need to Do Something is being met by dropping fives and tens into various GoFundMes. It may be because it isn't as immediately obvious to people that we Americans are responsible for this war, that we fund it and that Israel continues to prosecute it - indeed, continues to exist - because we allow it to. But I think it's ultimately because none of us are in danger of being sent over there to die.

That urge to Do Something is interesting in and of itself. In stories, the residents of the imperial capital are generally pretty callous about violence at the periphery, or are simply unaware that it exists. Ignorance is no longer an option for us, but where's the callousness? Why do we need to vocally express our opposition to the system that supports and nurtures us, and keeps us relatively safe from violence and hunger? Secure in the knowledge that nothing that we say or do will threaten the empire that protects us, we rail against it. The naked bloodlust of the Israelis is not ideal from a PR perspective but at least it's honest. If they fished a new diary of Anne Frank - a Fatima Ahmed, let's say - out of the rubble, they'd say she deserved it because she probably threw a rock at a tank once. It's a refreshing lack of cognitive dissonance. "It was bad when it happened to us because it was us it happened to" is at least cogent.

Americans, on the other hand, have been hypocrites from day one, and it gets exhausting. How many times do we have to appeal to ideals which were not believed in by the men who wrote them down? How many atrocities must we commit on the way to the formation of a more perfect union before we understand that we're building on a rotten foundation? Our best hope is for a radically nurturing empire that protects trans kids at home while it blows up kids of all genders abroad. Vote accordingly.