i can literally always make more blood. renewable resource. NOT sharing it would be so selfish on my part. there’s no justification for it.
you know damn well.
Tags:
#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #vampires #blood #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #scrupulosity cw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
In case you’re a buffoon (like me) and thought someone was out here meticulously hand-poisoning applesauce:
An FDA spokesperson said that one of the agency’s theories for the WanaBana cinnamon applesauce contamination was “economically motivated adulteration.” (…)
Economically motivated adulteration, or “food fraud,” can occur when a cheaper ingredient is added to a product to enhance it or bulk it up, but is not disclosed, according to the FDA. One example, the agency said, is when lead-based dyes are added to spices to give the product a certain color.
We love cutting corners to maximize profit at the expense of our consumers
Turmeric is also frequently affected by this. A lead compound with a bright yellow color can be used.
I’m not gonna dox myself by saying precisely what I do for a living, but I am involved in public environmental health, and in the past have conducted home investigations in child lead poisoning cases. For years, foreign spices have been a problem, particularly for immigrant families who visit relatives overseas and bring spices back from south asia in particular.
During and immediately after covid, however, we started finding domestically sold spices coming back from lab testing with high lead results. Sam’s club, wal-mart, etc. We used to tell families to buy domestically instead of bringing things back from India, Pakistan, etc, but even that isn’t safe anymore.
You might – might – be safer with higher end organic products but I really just don’t trust anything anymore. This isn’t a new issue, but it’s definitely becoming more widespread.
if the spice you’re using is water-soluble, you can mix it with water and then use a water testing kit. they sell water-testing kits at the hardware store; ones that you send off to a lab are more reliable (but also more expensive).
you can also buy lead-testing swabs on the Internet. some of these are not reliable, so I’d recommend testing the lead-testing swabs. use a swab on something that you know is lead (a fishing sinker, a car battery, etc) and another swab on something that you know is lead-free (most things in your home, hopefully) and make sure you get the expected results.
note that lead-testing kits are not food-safe, so you should not just put pipettes / test swabs / etc into your spice jar. spoon out a small amount (onto a plate or whatever), test that small amount, and then throw that small amount away. (and then wash the plate.)
gonna add this consumer reports investigation from a couple of years back that made the rounds. they looked into a bunch of american spice brands and found that this is a huge problem across brands, regardless of whether or not it’s organic (exact quote: “CR’s tests could not determine whether one brand was consistently better or worse than any other. And organic products did not have consistently lower levels than conventionally grown ones”).
I highly recommend reading through the article @alugard linked because it gives a lot of good information.
Also, close to the bottom, it gives a rundown of the spices that were tested with a helpful visual graphic for which brands and which spices were more concerning or less concerning, starting with this disclaimer and table:
[Text description: A screenshot with the header in larger bold text that says “CR’s Herb and Spice Test Results”. Below it in smaller text is a paragraph that reads, “CONSUMER REPORTS tested 126 herbs and spices from 38 brands for arsenic, cadmium, and lead. (We did not test spices that tend to be used in baking, such as cinnamon and nutmeg.) We tested two or three samples from different lots of each product. Our findings are a spot check of the market and cannot be used to draw definitive conclusions about brands. The products are organized alphabetically by type. Within each group, the products are listed according to the degree of concern. Regularly consuming ¾ teaspoon or more daily of a product in one of the concerning categories could, over time, pose a health risk to children as a result of the combined levels of the three heavy metals. Unless noted, they could also pose a risk to adults. The more red boxes next to a product, the higher the concern.” Below the paragraph is a graphic of four categories: a green circle with a white checkmark in it, labeled ‘No Concern’; a single red circle labeled ‘Some Concern’; two red circles next to each other labeled ‘Moderate Concern’; and three red circles next to each other labeled ‘High Concern’. /end text description]
Whiiiich is definitely helpful if you’d like to be more careful with what spices you use based on the information available. (That said, they only tested 38 brands, and there are a lot more out there than that. Again, I highly recommend reading the article.)
Tags:
#here’s the other thing I was referring to re: turmeric #food #home of the brave #PSA #poison cw #what’s the warning tag for brain damage‚ I feel like that should have a specific tag
I actually used to hate it! Like, actually despise it! Yellow was too bright, too loud, discordant, unruly, and clashed with everything. Nothing like what I wanted in my life, nothing I wanted to be.
When I first moved away from home, everything I owned was black. Jet back. As black as I could get. Smooth, cool, sleek, discrete, calm, unassuming. Flexible, cohesive, agreeable black. Fashionable black.
I had a really, really bad time. Unrelated to the decor. It was my first year out of a toxic place I’d grown used to my whole life, my first year acknowledging a mental illness I’d believed to be normal, my first year fending for myself with very little money or sleep or companionship.
I’d grown up on instant white rice and unseasoned ground beef. One day I realized that everything I’d been raised on tasted like cardboard. While out on an assignment, I passed a tent with a woman selling spices, and bought myself some turmeric. I went home and tried making curry with it. It was so yellow.
Another time, my professor took us out to a modern art gallery. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but when we got there, the whole building had been painted bright sunshine yellow.
The artist’s theme was “happiness”.
What it is. How we make it. How to share it.
All bright, lovely yellow.
The house I grew up in was beige. The walls were white. The appliances were post 9/11 stainless steel. My job was to be quiet, compliant, presentable and agreeable.
Black goes with everything. Black is neutral. Black is quiet, reserved, elegant and mysterious.
Yellow is warm. Yellow does what it wants. Yellow tastes sweet and spicy and hot and cool, like a summer breeze, like sunflower petals, powdery like dust on a long dirt road and soothing like well-worn linen.
I still like the look of black. I like the look of most colors. But I like the way that Yellow makes me feel.
Do you understand?
Thank you to everyone in the notes sharing why they love yellow!
Tags:
#art #fanart #comics #storytime #colourful #I love this #(…though I did not notice the fridge horror the first time I read it) #(even though I know I had read https://marginalrevolution.com/marginalrevolution/2023/09/they-got-the-lead-out-turmeric.html by then) #((possibly I hadn’t learned yet that even rich countries struggle with spice contamination to a significant extent)) #((even if not *as* much)) #(let us hope that the turmeric was‚ uh‚ not *too* yellow) #poison cw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
now that’s a lot. Dabbing unicorn Love Is Love Zipper US Flag.
The best part is that a lot of these are vertically oriented and they only have a left-facing flag background to edit it over, which results in a ton of the american flags being flown upside down, which is a symbol of distress.
Alright, so the crimes against vexillology are uncountable so we’re not going to count them. Instead I’m going to say that my first reaction to “American flag skull + autism” was to automatically parse all American flag skulls as the Sport Death flag and go “makes perfect sense, Senior House (RIP) had tons of autistic people”.
#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #it got better #flags #home of the brave #juxtaposition #computer generated images #embarrassment squick? #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #war cw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
the “bad guys” in hallmark movies end up always being the most respectful men ever.
because they will find out their girlfriend of 3 years (that they were about to propose to) went off to a random farm in minnesota, hours away from were the two of them built a life together, and she decided to just… stay there without even consulting him.
and then he decides to take a trip to make sure she’s okay, because this is generally alarming behavior, and then sees that she literally fell in love with her ex within one (1) week- and he wasn’t there, but you can TELL that they’ve made out a couple times.
and then she just strings him along for a few days, until fucking christmas eve, when she just breaks up with him and is like “i know we used to have the same values, but i’ve never loved you. mark makes me happier than you ever did. and you ONLY care about work, whereas i like christmas and fun, like a Good Person.”
and then, after finding out his entire relationship was a lie and he had his life turned upside down in a week and he got dumped on christmas, this guy’s just like “ok yeah that makes sense. i only wish you the best of happiness with mark. i hope you guys build a great life together in christmastreefarmville. thank you for everything.”
An AU where two Hallmark Christmas Bad Guys are both getting flights back to New York after being dumped by their respective Smalltown Blonde Girlfriends, and they bond over their shared experiences and fall in love in the departures lounge
Probably he is still in shock. Right? He looks out of his taxi window (it’s not technically a taxi, just some guy named Corey who offered him a ride to the airport, because Uber doesn’t operate in fucking Tinyville, Bumfuck Middle-Of-Nowhere, Utah) and tracks water droplets racing each other down the glass, because of course it’s raining, and his bad knee is killing him.
Levi sniffs and rubs at his eyes and then pulls out his phone and books a ticket back to New York, wincing as four hundred and twenty-six dollars are deducted from his bank account.
And, like, he should definitely be more upset.
He just got broken up with. He was engaged, for God’s sake. A four-year relationship… over. Just like that.
Probably he’ll be more upset once he’s home. When he starts packing up Anika’s stuff into boxes so she can come collect them after New Year’s. He’ll have to do all that processing and he’ll put away all the pictures that are up and probably he’ll remember all the good times they had together and flashes of their relationship will play out in slow motion in his mind. Like a movie montage.
Levi catches his reflection in the passenger side window and starts, pulling his thumb out of his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started biting the nail.
Corey drops him off at the train station and he books a ticket to Salt Lake City and Levi wants to tip him for the ride but when he turns back the car’s gone, and it’s started snowing again.
He re-wraps his scarf so it covers his ears and turns back. He has to jog—ow ow ow—to catch his train.
Once arrived at the airport, Levi’s gotten over being baffled and has started being mildly pissed.
You’re obsessed with work, Anika told him. You barely make time for us anymore. Yeah, he’d had to pull some long hours for the last few months, but for good reason—he’d been working towards a huge promotion and a raise and he thought she’d be happy for him.
He’d gotten the promotion, by the way. Editor in chief. He’d tried calling her first, a whole bunch of times, and then she hadn’t picked up, so he’d decided Well, fuck it, and flew out to Doodootown, Utah to break the news himself.
He thought it would be nice. Spend the few remaining days before Christmas with Anika and her family in their hometown, then flying back home for Christmas and New Year’s and starting 2023 off with renewed vigour and excitement.
Then, of course, Anika told him that she wouldn’t be flying back with him for Christmas. Or at all.
Which, well. Okay.
She didn’t even congratulate him.
He checks in, and the lady at the desk asks him whether he wants to drop off his carry-on luggage for free, since the plane is very full, and Levi shrugs and says okay and watches his suitcase disappear behind black rubber flaps.
His flight leaves in four hours.
Levi decides to pay the extra fee so he can stay in the fancy lounge, because he thinks he probably deserves that at this point. It’s quiet here, though, so he orders a tea and claims a table over by the window, stretching out his right leg with a contented sigh.
There’s an empty table in front of him, but at the next one sits a man who looks so miserable it’s impressive.
The man is slouched in his chair, dark hair mussed and suit a little ruffled. The cuffs of his slacks are damp, and so are his knees. He’s leaning his head against the window, eyes closed, holding a bloody tissue to his nose. A purple bruise is starting to form on his cheekbone.
Levi stares.
Damn. And he thought he was having a rough day.
Should he say something? Probably not, right. Like, that would be weird, right?
Then he notices the small, black velvet ring box the man is fiddling with and it’s like all the air’s punched right out of his lungs.
Damn.
Levi looks down and takes a sip of his tea, then hisses and curses under his breath because it’s still way too hot and he’s an idiot.
When he looks up again, the man is eyeing him with mild amusement.
And there are a hundred thousand ways that Levi could have handled the situation, but before he can think about ways to not embarrass himself further he hears himself say, “Ouch. Haha.”
Somebody please shoot him.
The man raises an eyebrow. Levi gives an awkward cough, then takes another sip of tea and somehow feels betrayed when it burns his tongue again.
“Maybe you should give it a second,” the man says.
“Maybe,” Levi says, “I should.” His ears are burning.
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas plays over the speakers.
Levi desperately wants to ask about the ring box. And the bloody nose. And whether there’s a correlation. But then again it is so definitely not his business, so he just stares down at his tea and watches steam rise.
There’s a sharp sigh from across the table. “She said no.”
Levi’s head snaps up, ready to defend himself, because it’s not like he actually asked, but then the guy looks so tired and bitter that he immediately deflates and feels both like an asshole and an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, which still feels lame but better than whatever he had going on before.
The guy gives a wry smile. “Gonna, you know. Return this. She, uh, said no to the whole relationship. So.”
Ah.
“I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand over his face, “I don’t mean to dump all this on you.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Levi says quickly, and then before he can think about it too much, he adds, “I get it.”
The other guy looks immediately doubtful.
Levi bites the inside of his cheek. “Four years,” he says with a shrug. “Engaged and everything.” He gives a thumbs down and blows a raspberry.
“Aw, shit, dude,” he says, sitting up straight. He removes the tissue from his face, and seeing as he’s no longer bleeding, stuffs it in his pocket. “That sucks.”
Levi shrugs again, suddenly weirdly self-conscious. He traces the rim of his teacup with a finger. “Yeah, well. I didn’t get beat up about it.” There’s a moment of silence, then he sneaks another glance. “Levi, by the way.”
A corner of the guy’s mouth twitches. “Xavier Ortega.”
Levi gives a half-hearted salute. “Fuckin’, enchanté. Or whatever.”
Again, Xavier almost smiles. Levi thinks—Levi thinks he’d like to see Xavier smile. Properly.
And then he thinks, What.
No, he’s just—Xavier just looks like he could do with a cheer-up. That’s it. And, well, so could he, really. They’re both in similar boats. Although it looks like Xavier got the shorter end of the straw here, Levi thinks, considering his ruined suit and, you know, face. Still a nice face, though. Symmetrical. Strong cheekbones. Dark eyebrows over dark eyes and a straight nose and—whatever.
Whatever.
He just got broken up with.
God, why’s he trying to justify this to himself? Why is he feeling weird about this? He’s not even gay. And even if he—even if he was, it’s not gay to acknowledge that a guy is good-looking.
But, like, it’s fine. He’s not—whatever.
Xavier has a split lip, he notices now that the tissue’s not hiding half his face. “Got you good, huh?”
Xavier rolls his eyes. He looks away for a moment, hesitating, then stands up and pulls the chair from the table between them, spinning it around and flopping back down at Levi’s table.
Levi thinks he must look quite surprised, because Xavier says, “I mean, this is easier for conversation purposes. Unless you’re fine with the yelling across tables situation—”
“No, no,” Levi protests. “No, you’re right, this is—easier.” He clears his throat and says, “So, what was her name?” before mentally kicking himself, but Xavier just looks at him weird.
“Well, her name is Chloe. We just broke up, she didn’t die.”
Levi nods, puckering his lips. Right, yeah. Yes. “Is she… nice?”
“Well, she cheated on me.”
“Ha,” Levi says with no humour. “Samesies.”
Xavier lets out a dry chuckle at this, then rubs at his eyes. “Wow. Happy Christmas to us, right?”
Levi raises his teacup and gives a ghost toast. “Merry Christmas to us.” He downs his tea, which is at a palatable temperature now, then says, “Do you want a drink?”
–
So Chloe and Xavier had been together for almost five years. The whole story is… disturbingly similar to Levi’s whole deal, actually. Chloe decides, two weeks before Christmas, to take a trip back to her hometown, gets pissed when Xavier can’t just take ten days off work to come with her, goes anyway on her sister’s advice, meets up with her childhood nemesis who turns out not to be so bad after all and also cleaned up unfair nice, and then when Xavier went after her because hey, she hadn’t been answering his texts and he was planning to pop the question over the holidays, she decided to dump him.
“She looked me in the face,” Xavier says, head in hands, “and told me she was happier there than she’d ever been with me.” He looks up and runs his fingers through his hair. “And I mean, sure, we’d had our rough patches, but, you know. We were gonna work it out.”
Levi hums. “Yeah, no. I get it.”
“So I said, Are you fucking serious right now, and I guess I raised my voice a bit, and then Mr Goddamn Farm Guy comes storming out and squares up to me and I don’t even know who this dude is, and I tell him to get out of my face, and he fucking decks me. Like, completely unprompted.”
“Rough,” Levi says solemnly.
“Yeah,” Xavier says, exasperated. “And he didn’t even apologise.”
Levi whistles low. It’s quiet for a moment while they both nurse their drinks, then Xavier vaguely gestures at him and says, “So what’s your Christmas Tragedy?”
Levi gives a lopsided grin. “Well. Anika goes home to Middle Of Nowhere, Utah, ‘cause she said she wasn’t feeling great. Wants me to go with her, I can’t ’cause I’m pulling long hours for an upcoming promotion, she’s pissed. When she gets back there she rekindles things with her ex—”
“Augh,” Xavier says. “Brutal.”
“—and last I heard the plan was for them to start a combination bakery and tearoom together. So.” Levi grits his teeth. “Hope that works out for them.”
Xavier looks at him over his glass, then, after a moment of careful silence, says, “You’re allowed to be mad at her, you know.”
“Fuck her,” Levi says immediately. “Like, seriously. Why even get engaged to me if she was so miserable? Just break up with me instead of, fuckin’, cheating, and then acting like I’m insane for going to check on her after she just ignores all my calls and texts and goddamn emails. We were going to get married in February, for fuck’s sake. Fuck her.” He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes til he sees stars.
There it is. The upset. Figures that it’s the saying it out loud that really drives home how betrayed Levi feels. Especially when he’s talking to someone whom he doesn’t have to explain it to, because Xavier gets it. Xavier gets it better than anyone ever will, probably.
It’s not quite the movie montage Levi had been preparing for. Rather, what Levi remembers now are all the moments that Anika said things that cut, or did things that bruised. How she’d roll her eyes when Levi got so excited he got the wiggles. How she refused to entertain the idea of getting a dog, even after he begged. How she’d get annoyed with him when his knee acted up and told him to suck it up and stop being such a crybaby. How she’d give him the cold shoulder when she was upset with him and he couldn’t read her mind about it and let it build until she exploded out of nowhere.
Little things that didn’t seem like such a big deal in the time, but that added up to something like a balm for the sharp sting of betrayal.
Because that’s what it is, at its core. That’s why Levi is angry.
More betrayal than heartbreak.
And even though it will hurt for a while still, there’s something that tastes oddly like relief at the centre of his chest, cool and welcome like a breeze on a suffocating July afternoon.
Xavier stays silent. After a moment Levi blinks hard and opens his eyes and finds Xavier looking at him strangely.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Fuck ’em.”
Levi’s stomach squeezes.
He glances wildly around, trying to find anything to look at that isn’t Xavier’s face, and settles for the screen hanging from the ceiling that displays flight information.
“Oh, look at that,” he says. “I should get to my gate.”
“Right,” Xavier agrees quickly. “Yeah, of course, so should I.” He picks up his leather briefcase. “Where are you going, by the way?”
Levi laughs. “How wild would it be if we were on the same flight, huh?” He stands up and winces, ignoring Xavier’s questioning look. “New York City. The 9:15. You?”
They make their way over to gate B9 mostly in silence, a general air of What the fuck is happening hanging between them. Not quite uncomfortable, but definitely baffled.
“So this is weird, right,” Levi says, dropping into a boarding zone chair. “Like, really weird.”
“Right,” Xavier says softly. Then, eyes trained on the huge Christmas tree and determinedly not looking at Levi, he adds, “Cool, though.”
Levi is—Levi is a little speechless. “Yeah.” He feels kind of floaty. He can’t stop looking at Xavier’s ears, because the tips have gone red. “Yeah. Pretty cool.”
God. Fuck.
–
Their seats aren’t next to each other, because that would have been crossing the line from freaky coincidence into absolutely fucking insane, but Levi pulls some strings and switches seats with the nice lady who’s next to Xavier, because it’s an exit row seat with more leg room and he has a bad knee. He tries not to look too pleased with himself as he sits down.
Xavier gives him a look. “So do you actually have a bad knee, or…”
Levi slaps a scandalised hand to his chest. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing. You think I’d lie about being disabled?”
“I don’t know you that well.”
“And here I thought we had something.” Levi sighs. “I broke my kneecap when I was a teenager. Never healed right.”
“Ah. Sports? Don’t tell me you were a football kid.”
Levi doesn’t know why he feels suddenly bashful. He always feels kind of stupid telling people how he got his injury; the reactions usually range somewhere between mild disapproval and straight up judgment. “Uh, no. Parkour. Actually.”
Xavier’s eyebrows vanish into his hairline.
After a moment of questioning silence, Levi shrugs. “I misjudged the distance between ledges. Fractured my kneecap. But I was stupid and an idiot, also, so I didn’t wait for it to fully heal before going back out, and now I am a human weather antennae.”
“Huh.” Levi would say Xavier looks almost impressed. Mostly sort of exasperated, though. “You know what, now that you say it, I feel like that checks out.”
Levi narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, maybe you look like the type who would break his kneecap doing parkour.”
“And what kind of type is that?” Levi is halfway to miffed and sort of offended, but then Xavier grins wide and he forgets to be annoyed.
“You tell me.”
It sounds too much like an invitation to be a coincidence.
Levi can’t remember the last time he spent so many hours talking uninterrupted. Or, well, talking to someone who was actually listening to him and actively engaging in conversation. Someone who was interested in him.
Levi can’t remember the last time he enjoyed talking to someone this much.
He cracks a joke that makes Xavier laugh softly, and the noise goes straight through his spinal cord like an electric shock, and then it becomes a game, a challenge, trying to make Xavier laugh like that again.
Xavier shows him pictures of his dog, a wonderfully fluffy brown-and-grey mutt named Captain, and Levi thinks he might actually pass away over how cute he is.
“I always wanted a dog,” he says after cooing over a picture of Captain showing his belly for ten minutes. “Like, really bad. I want a dog so bad. But Anika doesn’t, so it never happened.”
“Well,” Xavier says loftily, “Nothing’s stopping you now, is there?”
That is an excellent point. Levi tells him so.
Then he starts thinking about how nice it will be to have the apartment to himself for a while, and then he feels guilty for being relieved about it, about Anika not being there, and then he ponders how weird it’ll be to be alone for Christmas.
Levi’s never been alone for Christmas before.
His family lives in Alberta, and he can’t really afford another short notice round flight, and anyway the plan this year had been just him and Anika, and they’d had a reservation for brunch on Christmas day, and Levi thinks he should probably cancel that, and that’s just a fucking bummer.
After a moment of thinky silence, Levi quietly asks, “What are you gonna do for Christmas?”
Xavier blows out a long breath. “I don’t know. I think I’ll try to see my sisters. They live a state over, though, and it’s all very last minute, I—we—were supposed to spend it at Chloe’s, and I’m not big on Christmas celebrations myself, you know, my family’s culturally Jewish, so… I’m not sure.”
Most of the rest of the flight is quiet, and a little sad, but also nice, and when the seatbelt light flicks on and the crew announces the imminent descent Levi can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.
The plane lands. Impatience in the cabin spikes; everyone wants to get home, it’s the holidays, it’s cold. Levi gets up and winces, catches Xavier’s eye as he reaches for his bag and hands it to him.
Xavier is gonna call a cab. Levi is as well.
They’re standing outside.
Levi shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Well,” Xavier says.
“Right.”
“It was nice meeting you, Levi. The circumstances were… less than ideal, maybe, but…”
Levi looks at him. A purple bruise is blossoming on his cheekbone, crawling up around his eye. The tip of his nose is red from the cold. His eyes are dark but if he pays very close attention he can tell where the iris ends and the pupil begins.
And okay. Okay.
He might be a little gay.
“But nice,” he whispers.
Xavier smiles, looks down. Is it—would it be totally weird to ask for his number?
But then Xavier’s cab is there, and he tips an imaginary hat at Levi before turning away. He hands the driver his luggage.
The sharp stab of panic between his ribs takes Levi totally by surprise. As does the fact that when he blinks he’s closed the distance between him and the cab and is holding onto the door.
Xavier looks at him, eyebrows raised.
Levi didn’t plan this far ahead, or at all. He blinks, feeling rather sheepish, then when Xavier’s eyebrows start disappearing into his hairline he blusters, all at once, “So I have a brunch reservation. On Christmas Day. I was, you know, supposed to go with Anika, but, you know. And it would suck to have to cancel. And it doesn’t have to be weird, or anything, we’re just two guys being dudes, getting brunch.” He snaps his mouth shut, absolutely horrified. What the fuck was that?
Xavier’s mouth parts a little.
God. Shitballs. Fuck. Abort. “But that would be weird, right? You know what, never mind, it’s fine, forget I said anything, it’s—”
“Levi,” Xavier says, exasperated. He covers his face with his hands. Then he says, muffled, “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice. I’d like that.”
Oh.
“Are you—are you sure?”
He must sound really incredulous, because Xavier snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Slowly, Levi grins. “Okay.”
“Okay.” They stand there for a moment, and then Xavier’s eyes go wide and he says, “Wait, I should—hold on.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, hesitates, then pulls out a small rectangular object and holds it out.
Levi’s grin goes lopsided. “Xavier Ortega. Are you handing me your business card right now?”
To his credit, Xavier looks away sheepishly. “My phone number’s on there.”
Levi accepts the card, hoping passionately that Xavier doesn’t notice his hand is shaking. “Okay. I’ll text you, then.”
“Okay,” Xavier says. Then, tentatively, “See you soon, then?”
Levi takes a deep breath and steps back, cheeks burning, and probably not just because of the bite of winter chill. Something in his stomach twinges, and he says, “Yeah. See you soon.”
Tags:
#Christmas #storytime #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #embarrassment squick #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued to ensure proper timing
two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon – despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene – is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you’re willing to give it a shot.
you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.
youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just… no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!
she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.
you dont say anything to that.
after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i’ll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.
you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.
you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.
tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be “afternoon” in your mind – 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she’s maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she’s wearing torn jeans – naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.
she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er… I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.
riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido… oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.
you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you’re gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it – some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.
amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i’ll be right back.
riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.
except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.
what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.
she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.
you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn’t. you say i hadn’t really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer’s choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you’re gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer’s always right.
you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.
eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.
riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.
riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she’ll just replace them with living ones when she’s done. you don’t know how to respond to that.
she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.
for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.
in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.
you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.
amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.
another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa’s birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn’t throw a birthday party if there wasn’t some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?
another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids – mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.
there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.
rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we’ll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?
ADDENDUM:
by the way she says. whoever did your top surgery was a total fraud. i can see the scars. you say top surgery always leaves scars. she says not when i do it. she says do you want me to fix the scars? you say i actually kind of like the scars. she says oh. she takes a sip of her diet coke.
she says do you want me to give you more scars?
Tags:
#Wildbow #(despite never having read Worm I caught on to it being future-Bonesaw in like paragraph 2) #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #medical cw #unsanitary cw #body horror? #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
So, every once in a while, I have to rant about something online before I just start blabbing to some poor unfortunate Wendy’s employee about niche internet pornography. Sometimes in the middle of that rant I realize I might be onto something, and have to share it with others who might benefit.
Today, that subject is the Omegaverse, and the squandered potential for worldbuilding therein.
Now, this post is gonna have some very broad generalizations about the genre, because while I’m certain there’s plenty of authors who do put a lot of thought into the pedantic details I’m about to have a Category 5 Autism Event about, it’s been difficult to find them amongst a sea of painfully mediocre fics.
For every stellar Locked Tomb Omegaverse fic set in a modern day Taco Bell (Seriously, I want to engrave Double the Meat onto a satellite and launch it into space so that extraterrestrials can see the peak of human civilization) there’s like… a million and one Alpha Male/Omega Female pairings written by Conservative Mormon housewives that dare to ask such questions as “What if a man and a woman could have a baby?” and “What the hell is consent?”
But I’m not here to be mentally ill about yet another space being drowned in heteronormativity. Nor am I gonna be a dick about the first fics written by teenagers who’re just dipping into fan communities, because my terminally online since the age of 11 ass would be a huge hypocrite for that.
No, instead I’m here to talk about genitals, and deliver just enough sciencey technobabble to justify my passionate opinions about the potential of what is, ostensibly, werewolf porn.
So, for those who’ve somehow gotten through all these paragraphs but have zero idea what the Omegaverse is, the basic gist is that there are three sex categories that’re separate and occur within the usual sexes that humans already have. Effectively, this means that male, female, and intersex individuals can also be Alphas, Betas, or Omegas.
So, to understand these categories, there’s a pretty simple rule. Alphas can get Omegas pregnant, regardless of physical sex. Sometimes Alphas are bigger than normal, and Omegas are more petite, but that’s not quite as much of a core “rule” to follow, and more just dependent on people’s tastes. Betas usually follow standard human dimorphism, though I have seen some people headcanon them as a sort of halfway point between Alpha and Omega.
There’s some more details, too, like the presence of knotting (where the base of the penis swells and prevents pulling out during orgasm), heat cycles and rut (where the mating instinct goes into fucking overdrive in the most literal sense), pheromones, bite marking, and sometimes that whole… imprinting thing from Twilight.
So, taking this all into account… Omegaverse fiction has the potential for a BARE MINIMUM of 6-9 SEXES before even taking the vast spectrum of gender identities and presentations into account.
Do you see what I’m on about now? When our society is still struggling with the concept of being nonbinary, and barely ever even acknowledges intersexuality as existing, any Omegaverse setting would be radically different on a biological, psychological, and sociological level.
Can ya see now why I get frustrated when it gets stripped down to compulsive heterosexuality with wolf dicks?
Now, with all the standard tropes laid out like this, we get back to the question that started this all, the question that should be a no brainer when it comes to smut… What them genitals look like? What does a female Alpha, or a male Omega have down there? I have three concepts in mind, and explanations on how they could work from a scientific perspective that’s just barely not bullshit enough to overcome suspension of disbelief!
So, the first thought, and the one that initially appeals to me as a nonbinary person… they just look trans. This concept is really simple to work with, because we can just look at real life trans people and just tweak things a little bit. Maybe primary and secondary sexual characteristics operate independently naturally, or maybe there’s HRT for it. It’s a pretty common method, too, and I enjoy seeing it… but it feels like it needs something more?
Don’t get me wrong, this one’s basically my personal gold standard for shorter Omegaverse stories, especially fanfiction, but it’s also just… swapping parts around. Great for ease of access, but hard to differentiate from the trans experience. Definitely a go-to if you want to play with transition in an alternate society, though.
For the other two, I have to explain a bit about fetal development and reproductive organ equivalents. Also a bit of genetics, too, because it’s where we’re gonna fuck around and build a lot of theoretical bullshit around a little bit of real knowledge.
So! Some of you may have heard that every fetus starts as female, but might not know some of the mechanisms at work when that changes, and how finicky they can be. This is also fun to throw at TERFs, because ambiguity throws a wrench in the simplistic arguments of reactionary bigots. :)
So, the usual arrangement of sex determining genes is often simplified to XX=female and XY=male. This leaves out other variations like Klinefelter syndrome (XXY) which affects 1 in 500 people under the AMAB umbrella, causing some degree of infertility, autism symptoms, and a somewhat androgynous body shape. (I’ve been checked for this one! It came up negative, but reading about it was enlightening.)
Now, the presence of a Y chromosome (usually) causes the proto-organs to change function, and develop into the male-aligned reproductive systems at roughly, say… 6-8 weeks? (Unless, of course, there a deficiency in the 5α-Reductase enzyme, which causes a delay in some of this process, resulting in a child that appears female, then just… grows a dick during puberty when the higher levels of testosterone overcome the deficiency and finish off the primary sexual trait development.)
Hey, wanna know the fun thing? Even that is an oversimplification. The whole Y chromosome doesn’t mean shit unless the sex-determining region Y gene is in the right place. It can just… fuck off and attach to the X chromosome. If this mutation occurs in XY individuals, it causes Swyer’s syndrome, resulting in a female aligned reproductive system that just doesn’t include functioning ovaries, just purposeless ambiguous gonads. Pair that fucky X chromosome with another X chromosome, and you get a male with XX chromosomes.
Plus, if someone has a faulty androgen receptor? Well, partial androgen insensitivity can leave things ambiguous, but if it just doesn’t work at all? Yeah, everything will develop along the female blueprint, despite the fact that the gonads are testes.
I swear this is still about the porn.
So, with the information we have about these real, existent conditions, we have a good idea of reproductive development, and the mechanisms at play. Now, there’s still some theory that’s not been definitively proven yet, but the current consensus on the primary sexual equivalents are as follows:
The clitoris forms into the penis, while the vaginal canal doesn’t form.
The ovaries become testes, or stay as undefined gonads.
The salpinx become the vas deferens (these are the tubes that transfer eggs or seminal fluids, respectively. More on this later.)
And finally, and the most theoretical, the uterus is believed to become the prostate. (There’s sometimes a little pocket, or divot in the prostate, and the arrangement makes sense, but it’s still up for debate.)
But how do we use this for our fuck fics, you ask? How do we take your failed medical career, and translate it into Destiel’s babies ever after? Well, it’s quite simple! We just have to add the bullshit!
So, most alterations to the SRY gene or the androgen receptor tends to just wholesale alter the whole array, and the midway point usually results in infertility and difficulty with sexual function, but what if we could change this? What if, for the purpose of our fiction, we can mix and match everything, and somehow make it all functional and neat? Well, fasten your fuckin’ seatbelts, because we’re finally at the theories I made while delirious due to a combination of sleep deprivation and the after effects of eating an entire ice cream cake to myself over the weekend.
So, the firmest idea, and the idea I’ll be using because I am WAY too deep into this to not write Omegaverse unironically, is what I’ve dubbed the Primary/vestigal system for f!A and m!O characters.
So, this theory would require that we shove two things into suspension of disbelief. One, we have to completely fuck with androgen and estrogen receptors to mix and match the development of primary and secondary sexual characteristics. Two, I have absolutely no idea how you’d be able to tell when this is going to occur. Maybe genetic testing, or maybe it’s just a surprise? Depends on your style of story.
Effectively, we’d base this off the delayed primary sexual characteristic development mentioned above. Alpha Females would operate similar to the real thing, being born looking typically female, before puberty hits and the Alpha genes take over for the genital development, while secondary characteristics still follow a feminine shape. Maybe the gonads stay inside, but function as testes? Sure, sperm production is more effective around 1-2 degrees lower than normal body temperature, but it doesn’t stop entirely.
For Omega Males, the process would occur in reverse. Maybe the testes just change course and go back into the abdomen to become ovaries, or maybe they don’t descend at all and the first clue this is happening would just be finding a vaginal canal forming?
I like this one primarily because it feels like a less 1 to 1 allegory for being queer, but still feels kind of relatable? You can, of course, still have the end result resemble the first method mentioned waaaaay up past the sciencey bits, but I kind of like the idea of there being a vestigial remnant of the birth parts left behind. I like the ambiguity, and the chance to explore how this would affect someone appeals to me.
Now, my last theory is mostly for the lulz, but this must be DOCUMENTED for POSTERITY’S SAKE.
So, Omegaverse started with m/m shipping with mpreg, right? Well, a lot of the earlier fiction just… describes typical cis male anatomy, with zero explanation for exactly how this is all occurring. There’s just… anal sex, and then that somehow forms babby.
Well, what if I told you that I’ve figured it out? See, remember how I mentioned that the prostate is theoretically what became of the fetal uterine tissue? Guess where the prostate is? Guess. GUESS.
THE ASS IS WHERE!
So, we just have to bullshit the prostate back into a functioning uterus, but leave the placement in close proximity to the anus. Now, the other problem is that that would mean that there’s an opening leading to the colon, which… look, I have no idea how birds and lizards keep their cloaca from getting infected, but connecting other tracts to the asshole doesn’t usually end well.
So, we have to find a way to seal it up when not in use. Now, the cervix serves this purpose in the real world, opening to let in fluids, or let out discharge or, y’know… a baby, but that’s really expensive so most of us settle for having a breeding kink that we never act on, and instead impose on our favorite blorbos who don’t have to pay for health insurance.
But still, even with a butt-cervix, bacteria’s still likely to get in, so we need a firmer block. I’ve suggested a little flap like the epiglottis in the throat as a second line of defense. If it can protect your trachea from wayward chicken nuggets, then hey! It might not be terrible for keeping sepsis at bay!
Unfortunately, layering extra protection over the bussy business zone ain’t gonna cut it. Hell, as self cleaning as the vagina is, infections happen all the damn time, even if your hygiene is good. So, we need to take that self cleaning nature, apply it to the bussy business zone, and crank it up to eleven. Just constant mucousal discharge, pushing all the bad back out.
So, yeah. Your favorite Omega Man’ll have a rectal womb covered with a secondary internal assflap that’s constantly discharging a steady stream of slime (just consider it free lube!), but if you can make it past that, you can live your dreams of gettin’ that bussy mpregged by cumming in they gay ass. Then they’d just kinda… poop out the baby, presumably.
So there you have it! Three in-depth explorations of how Omegaverse genitals can work! I’m gonna go take my psych meds and fucking SLEEP.
First: omg this is beautiful. good shit op.
But also, I actually have prostate-related knowledge™ to add to this post that makes it even more fun!
See, the cells that compose the prostate also have an equivalent in the Skene’s gland! Which lubricates the vagina and is responsible for squirting.
Thus, the Self-Lubricating Anus of your fevered fanfictional dreams is *right there*, and ready to serve both pleasurable and self-cleaning purposes!
Tags:
#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #biology #meta #story ideas I will never write #nsfw text #unsanitary cw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #cissexism cw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
When you’re lamenting with friends online about how far apart you are, or a far-away friend is sick or going through some bullshit, don’t forget that you can just send them some Thai food. You can 100% send them some chocolate dough balls from domino’s or whatever. You can order pizza for both of you and compare your results. Most restaurants let you tip your delivery guy in the app. Get your friend some chicken makhanwala and sit in the dark together.
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#you must be at least a level 5 friend to unlock fine-grained location data #and restaurants are so expensive for what you get #(unfun fact: did you know that the Walmart-US website won’t let you pay with a Canadian credit card?) #(and don’t get me fucking started on Paypal’s international-transfer fees) #that all said‚ though‚ a while back I did have a pack of KF94s shipped to the person I’m reblogging this from #which in many ways fits the spirit of the thing #give your (not-so-)local extrovert the gift of accessible public spaces today #proud citizen of The Future #food #the more you know #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
now that’s a lot. Dabbing unicorn Love Is Love Zipper US Flag.
The best part is that a lot of these are vertically oriented and they only have a left-facing flag background to edit it over, which results in a ton of the american flags being flown upside down, which is a symbol of distress.
Alright, so the crimes against vexillology are uncountable so we’re not going to count them. Instead I’m going to say that my first reaction to “American flag skull + autism” was to automatically parse all American flag skulls as the Sport Death flag and go “makes perfect sense, Senior House (RIP) had tons of autistic people”.
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#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #flags #juxtaposition #home of the brave #computer generated images #war cw? #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it’s just gone. even people’s old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that’s just something I made up. I wasn’t even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don’t get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I’ve never even looked at go like “man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it’s so clean” or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I’m like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what’s out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it
…don’t they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I’m not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..
Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.
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#in 2011 there was a set of filk lyrics‚ ”Hark‚ the Weeping Angels Sing”‚ going around Tumblr #the blog I read it on was run by a Doctor Who fictive who deactivated a few months later #(I gather that a while after that‚ that system was discovered to now be running a blog making fun of ”cringy” multiples) #(so this probably *does* count as someone deleting stuff because they think their past self is too cringe) #(although I *think* it was someone else who actually wrote that OP) #can’t find any copies of those lyrics anywhere #I wrote down what I could remember‚ and recorded myself singing it #but I’m missing a verse #I still wonder if there are any other remaining copies that I just can’t find #(*my* post about it doesn’t show up on search engines‚ after all) #((though if you search the title‚ my SoundCloud page for it does show up)) #101 Uses for Infrastructureless Computers #amnesia cw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
Brinens and Things 