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dexlexia · 10 months

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ultra paradise - zoro x reader

part of the monster (energy) series

pairing: roronoa zoro x reader rating: 18+ summary: The Thousand Sunny landed on Bakemono Island, it was a small island full of luscious fields. Lots of crops were grown there, which enticed the crew to stock up on some supplies for the continuation of your journey. But unlike a lot of times where you were interested in the anthropology of the islands you visited, you were currently hold up in your room. tags: sick fic, fluff & smut, bath sex, sick sex, gentle sex, anthropologist!reader

buy me a coffee

The Thousand Sunny landed on Bakemono Island, it was a small island full of luscious fields. Lots of crops were grown there, which enticed the crew to stock up on some supplies for the continuation of your journey. But unlike a lot of times where you were interested in the anthropology of the islands you visited, you were currently held up in your room.

Day four of the ship's anthropologist having a massive cold. You spent most of your day in bed, shivering up a storm and being tended to by Chopper. Zoro hung around most of the time, you two had a close partnership. You weren't too sure on what to call what you had, but you enjoyed it. While most people were off the ship and onto the island, you stayed behind to not spread whatever you were battling.

Which meant Zoro had been asked to stick around, but as Chopper asked him, you knew that he actually wanted to stay. Zoro rarely ever got sick if ever, it's like he was immune to any illness thrown his way. But you knew he was secretly worried about you, especially when he grazed his hand against yours while you laid in bed. His hands were behind his back so the reindeer couldn't see what he was doing. You visibly relaxed in your bed when he did that.

"I need you to keep an eye on her, okay?" Chopper asked, "I'll bring some more fruit on board in the hopes it'll help. But you have to watch her."

You peeped up, "I'm not going to die, ya know. It's just a cold." You then fell into a fury of coughs, you covered your mouth with your elbow before you placed your head back on the pillow.

Zoro looked over his shoulder at you, "Sounds like you are."

You shot him a look before you turned your head back to the doctor, "Chop, I'll be fine. Zoro doesn't have to watch over me. I'm a grown adult, I can take care of myself." You didn't mind Zoro's company, but you were certain he had better things to do than make sure you didn't die from a simple, measly cold. But the doctor was firm and soon you two were the only ones on the ship.

Zoro grabbed a chair from the front of the room and dragged it over where your bed was. He kicked his legs up onto the bed beside your body and reached out for you to hold your hand. There was something softer in his eyes as he looked at you. Your gazes met and you sighed. He asked, "I bet you're trying to think of a way to sneak off of here."

You looked away briefly, "No, I don't."

"Uh-huh. Sure. I guess that's why Chopper left me in charge, because our little researcher here would get out otherwise." He leaned more forward and kissed your knuckle, "You're going to have to go through me first if you want off this ship." And gave you a wicked smile.

You sat up in bed and pulled him into a soft kiss, "Wouldn't be hard, I could get you drunk.... or pussy drunk." You then pulled away further to cough into your elbow. Your lungs ache from the constant coughing, "Wouldn't be hard to take down the great swordsman."

He cupped your face and pressed a kiss on your flushed cheek, "Not if I got to you first, or better yet just let the cough get to you and I'll be carrying you back to bed." He rubbed his nose up against your face softly, soon his kisses went further, "Even if we were in a head on fight, you'd lose. You're unbalanced, you move your head too fast and you get dizzy. But don't worry, I'll protect you."

His words were comforting, you pulled him in for another soft kiss. Your hands cupped his face, they must've felt clammy against his skin. You were feeling weak again from the sickness that ravaged your body. Eventually he pulled your hands off his face gently and said, "I think it's time to get some more rest. I'll see what the cook has in the fridge."

You laid back in bed and pulled the covers up to your chin, "Just don't burn the ship down." You coughed once more into the blanket before you got into a comfortable position to sleep. As you closed your eyes, Zoro got up and touched your head gently. He said something you couldn't make out and you heard his heavy footsteps leave the room with a click of the door closing.

The gentle waves rocked you to sleep as you hooked your arm under your pillow and got comfortable. A loud yawn left your lips and before you knew it you were fast asleep. You weren't asleep long, by the time you opened your eyes again the sun was still out and Zoro was back at his seat in front of you with his legs propped up and his head tilted back. He was loudly snoring as he kept his arms crossed and his swords close by.

You slowly sat up with a small grunt, you pushed hair out your eyes. You felt gross all over, your shirt you wore to bed was stuck to your back thanks to the sweat. With a groan, you got out of bed. You didn't get far before Zoro got a hold. of your wrist. You froze and looked down.

"Where are you goin'?" He asked.

You coughed pathetically into your arm then responded, "I'm going to the baths. I feel disgusted. I'm pretty sure I can handle it on my own."

"Yeah and what if you slip and fall? I'm not picking up your brain matter off the floor." He got up, leaving his swords resting against the chair as he said, "Where you go, I follow. Now let's get you clean." Soon the two of you made it to the shared bath and he started to undress you, his expression didn't change when he got a faceful of your breasts when he undid the bra you wore.

He was on his knees in front of you, pulling down your shorts and underwear. He held onto your middle, with his face rested against your stomach as he guided you out of your bottom half's clothing. When he was done, he stayed there for a moment and exhaled deeply when you ran your fingers through his short green hair.

"Even if I don't say it a lot, I'm still worried about you." He admitted, "I could kill a thousand bad guys for you, but I can't kill this cold on your body." He kissed your hip gently before he pulled away. Your eyes met and he dropped his shoulders, "Next time can you do me a favor and instead get in trouble with some bandits so I can kick their asses?"

You smiled as you watched him rise to his feet, "I'll make sure next time to not get sick, only captured by bandits. How does that sound?"

He leaned in for a kiss, "Sounds great." He gave you a quick peck before he guided you to the bathroom. He tried his best not to be aroused by the sight of your nude body so close to him. It's not like this wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, he had seen you nude multiple times in multiple different positions. But yet every time he was still left gobsmacked by your figure.

He helped you into the massive bath, but when you got in you slipped a tiny bit and splashed water all over Zoro. He groaned, but nonetheless still helped you into the warm bath. He looked down at his soaked clothes and said, "Guess I have to change."

You looked at him with innocent eyes, "You could always join me. It's better to bathe more than once a week ya know." You pressed up to the edge of the massive tub and kept your gaze locked on him.

"I don't need a bath." He responded.

"Aw c'mon, Zoro. What if I have a coughing fit so bad I pass out? If you're in the tub, I won't drown." The green-haired man was weak to your advances. He knew he had to look out for you. So wouldn't it be best if he got in the tub with you. His good eye traveled to the top of your breasts that he could see over the edge of the tub.

"What if someone comes in and tries to kill us?" He asked.

"Then you can scare them off with the sword you keep in your pants.' You stuck your tongue out playfully.

He rolled his eye and started to get out of the top part of his outfit. You reached out of the bath and helped him out of his hanamaki, soon enough he was naked. He left his clothes in a heap of the steps that led to the tub before he slipped in and put you in his lap. You could feel his hardening cock up against your backside. He wrapped his strong arms around you and asked, "Is this better, princess?"

"Yes it is, swordsman." You caned your neck to softly kiss him. He soon moved you so you were straddling his waist, the kiss deepend even though you had to take a minor break for you to cough into your elbow. When the fit was over, Zoro pulled you in for another kiss. You moaned into the kiss and felt Zoro's hands wander your body. "Shit." You moaned.

"Yeah, that'll keep you from running away." He whispered in your ear. His cock now stood at full attention, his large hands kneaded your hips as you adjusted yourself to be seated on his cock. The initial stretch made you dig your hands into his shoulders but eventually you relaxed and sank down his entire length.

"Should you really be fucking the sick girl?" You asked as you grip relaxed. Heat was rising in your cheeks. You enjoyed having sex with Zoro, the feeling was immaculate.

"Yeah well, if it keeps her from running onto shore then so be it. I'll do anything to keep you safe." He pulled you in for a searing kiss before he started to move your hips up and down on his length. You gripped onto his chest tightly once more as he moved you. It was like you weighed nothing to him. In reality no matter your size, you'll never be too heavy for Zoro.

"You feel good, Zoro." You moaned, "I bet the other guys envy your cock." You giggled a little, almost feeling superiority that you might be fucking the guy with the biggest cock on the ship.

He chuckled, "Yeah, the cook gets mad. No fair that someone like me should have something so... Impressive." He then suddenly pushed his cock as far as it would go inside of you, which caused beautiful noises to spill out of your mouth. That only made the swordsman more aroused by you.

"Well, I think it's perfect." You started to roll your hips to your own accord, you still held onto the larger man as you continued to move up and down his cock. The swirl of pleasure in your stomach made your heart leap. You rode his cock with determination as you let out more impressive moans.

Zoro licked his lips and went back to kissing you, silencing those impressive sounds as he bullied his cock up against your cervix. The tight squeeze of his cock inside of you made you moan loudly into his mouth. It was almost suffocating having you so close to him, but he wanted it so badly. His lips soon traveled down your neck as you continued to work his cock. "That's it, princess. Moan for me."

"Please, Zoro." You moaned loudly as you rolled your hips against the swordsman. Your body felt hot all over, not only from the warm water and the mild fever, but also the feeling of Zoro's cock stretching you open. You were letting the swordsman take you bare back. And the feeling of skin to skin made your stomach tie in knots. It was a euphoric feeling, especially when his large hands started to grope your breasts.

"Yeah, that feels so good. You feel amazing, princess." He purred as he continued to raise and drop you onto his cock, letting you both put in the effort to make you both orgasm. The water splashed around you as you moved your hips.

Your nails dug into his broad shoulders as you continued to move up and down on him. You pulled him into another searing kiss as you felt pleasure wash over you. it was an immaculate feeling, Zoro was the perfect partner for a pirate on the high seas, he always knew how to make you cum. Even when you two are in the bath on an empty Thousand Sunny.

"I want you." He said

"You got me." You replied.

"You made me so worried." He admitted, "I lost a bit of sleep over it. I was worried about the news that your condition had gotten worse. That you weren't going to make it. I don't want a life without you."

"I feel the same way, Zoro." You replied, "I worry for you all the time. WIth all the scars, I get worried that you're going to get yourself killed."

"Nah, princess." He said, "I'm not going yet." Then pulled you in for another kiss. Your bodies still moved together in a need for release, his large hands dug into your hips as you cupped his face to make out once more. The world seemed quiet around the both of you. Just two loves together in an intimate moment.

"Oh, Zoro." You moaned, "Never leave me."

He grabbed your ass as he slammed his cock into you, "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." Then went in for another searing kiss. He could tell you were getting tired so he had to pick up the pace, "You're stuck with me for the rest of our days, sunshine." He groaned as he started to move quickly,his pace was brutal which left you a moaning mess. Once again you held onto his shoulders for support as he fucked your body.

"You feel amazing." You voiced as you felt ever so close to your orgasm. Your hips moved on their own as you bounced on his cock. The closeness you felt in that moment was like nothing else, "Please, Zoro."

"Ah, don't worry, princess." He moaned, with a few more harsh thrusts deep in your pussy you both finished. Your back arched and you let out a loud moan that echoed in the room. He leaned forward and bit you hard on the chest as he finished inside of you. When you were both done, you slumped into Zoro's arms. Letting your head be cushioned by his chest. He held onto you for a few moments as he tried to regain his breath. He peppered the top of your head with kisses as you both calmed down.

Eventually his cock slipped out of you, and you leaned over to grab the sponge, "Here." You said, "Let me clean you." But he soon grabbed the sponge from you and told you to turn around so he could wash your back, after all you were the sick girl. His hands on you made you relax. You coughed into your elbow and let the swordsman pamper you.

"I meant what I said." He said as he washed down your front, "I would like to be with you."

"Yeah?" You looked over your shoulder, "I'd like to be with you too." You fully turned around to face him, he lowered the sponge and leaned in for a softer kiss. When he pulled away, you pulled him in for another kiss. While you two kissed, he washed your body down with the sponge.

When he pulled away, he looked at you and said, "Now let's get the sick girl all cleaned up and back in bed. Before the crew comes back and finds us like that." He washed your shoulders, "You gotta help me, princess."

You giggled and rolled your eyes before you grabbed another sponge and started to wash yourself as well. You felt at peace, although still sick. You could get used to Roronoa Zoro taking care of you when you got the sniffles.

#roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa #zoro smut #zoro x reader #zoro x female reader #op fanfic #op x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #one piece smut #zoro roronoa smut #the monster energy series #dexlexia writes

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prickly-paprikash · 5 months

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I'll be referring to Mizu by her canon identity (she/her) since that is what the series creators choose to call her.

My favorite thing about Blue Eye Samurai is that the plot does punish Mizu for her single-mindedness and wrath against the Four White Devils. Ringo is horrified by her act of allowing Akemi to be forcefully brought to the Shogun because, in her eyes, Akemi would be safer there—but it can also be stated that she did this because her path to revenge cannot be bogged down by things such as friendship or affection.

It does not necessarily mean that the plot wishes to punish her for her vengeance itself.

Blue Eye Samurai, I believe, isn't going down the route of Vagabond or Vinland Saga (two special stories close to my heart) where the protagonists there learn the value of forgiveness and letting go of their hatred. Here, Mizu is even explicitly called an Artisan, her works are of Death. Swordfather calls himself an artist of Blades, whereas he refers to Mizu as an Artist of the Sword, both single-minded in their endeavors.

Anger must fuel her, but it cannot blind her. Like an artist, her strokes must be purposeful. Her hand steady and controlled. Her canvas cannot be tainted with the blood and wounds of the innocents. Not Ringo's. Not Akemi's. Not Taigen's.

Don't get me wrong, I love narratives that explicitly put down the thought of vengeance. That these stories dissuade the thought of "An Eye for an Eye" and pushes their protagonists down a path of wisdom and peace.

But anger and vengeance and *satisfaction* are also very human things to feel and pursue. The Princess Bride showcases a tale of vengeance without causing collateral damage. I believe Mizu is learning to move away from her identity as a mere instrument of punishment; a spirit of revenge. Instead she chooses to become an Artist.

It's why she takes up body writing at the series finale. Art must be pulled from different perspectives and sources. One cannot be stagnant in their field. Just like how an Archaeologist will have some mastery over Anthropology to better understand the past, an artisan needs to know other expressions of art.

I think that's beautiful. Not dissuading vengeance, but refining it. Directing it. Guiding her bloodlust into masterful strokes of her blade.

#blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #Give me more Netflix #you cowards

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

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By: Robert Lynch

Published: April 7, 2023

In my first year of graduate school at Rutgers, I attended a colloquium designed to forge connections between the cultural and biological wings of the anthropology department. It was the early 2000s, and anthropology departments across the country were splitting across disciplinary lines. These lectures would be a last, and ultimately futile, attempt to build interdisciplinary links between these increasingly hostile factions at Rutgers; it was like trying to establish common research goals for the math and art departments.

This time, it was the turn of the biological anthropologists, and the primatologist Ryne Palombit was giving a lecture for which he was uniquely qualified — infanticide in Chacma baboons. Much of the talk was devoted to sex differences in baboon behavior and when it was time for questions the hand of the chair of the department, a cultural anthropologist, shot up and demanded to know “What exactly do you mean by these so-called males and females?” I didn’t know it at the time but looking back I see that this was the beginning of a broad anti-science movement that has enveloped nearly all the social sciences and distorted public understanding of basic biology. The assumption that sex is an arbitrary category is no longer confined to the backwaters of cultural anthropology departments, and the willful ignorance of what sex is has permeated both academia and public discussion of the topic.

Male and female are not capricious categories imposed by scientists on the natural world, but rather refer to fundamental distinctions deeply rooted in evolution. The biological definition of males and females rests on the size of the sex cells, termed gametes, that they produce. Males produce large numbers of small gametes, while females produce fewer, larger ones. In animals, this means that males produce lots of tiny sperm (between 200 and 500 million sperm in humans) while females produce far fewer, but much larger, eggs called ova (women have a lifetime supply of around 400). Whenever scientists discover a new sexually reproducing species, gamete size is what they use to distinguish between the males and the females.

Although this asymmetry in gamete size may not seem that significant, it is. And it leads to a cascade of evolutionary effects that often results in fundamentally different developmental (and even behavioral) trajectories for the two respective sexes. Whether you call the two groups A and B, Big and Little, or Male and Female, this foundational cell-sized difference in gamete size has profound effects on evolution, morphology, and behavior. Sexual reproduction that involves the union of gametes of different sizes is termed anisogamy, and it sets the stage for characteristic, and frequently stereotypical, differences between males and females.

My PhD advisor, the evolutionary biologist Robert Trivers, was at that doomed colloquium at Rutgers. It was Trivers, who four decades earlier as a graduate student at Harvard, laid down the basic evolutionary argument in one of the most cited papers in biology. Throwing down the gauntlet and explaining something that had puzzled biologists since Darwin, he wrote, “What governs the operation of sexual selection is the relative parental investment of the sexes in their offspring.” In a single legendary stroke of insight, which he later described in biblical terms (“the scales fell from my eyes”), he revolutionized the field and provided a broad framework for understanding the emergence of sex differences across all sexually reproducing species.

Because males produce millions of sperm cells quickly and cheaply, the main factor limiting their evolutionary success lies in their ability to attract females. Meanwhile, the primary bottleneck for females, who, in humans, spend an additional nine months carrying the baby, is access to resources. The most successful males, such as Genghis Khan who is likely to have had more than 16 million direct male descendants, can invest relatively little and let the chips fall where they may, while the most successful women are restricted by the length of their pregnancy. Trivers’ genius, however, was in extracting the more general argument from these observations.

By replacing “female” with “the sex that invests more in its offspring,” he made one of the most falsifiable predictions in evolution — the sex that invests more in its offspring will be more selective when choosing a mate while the sex that invests less will compete over access to mates. That insight not only explains the rule, but it also explains the exceptions to it. Because of the initial disparity in investment (i.e., gamete size) females will usually be more selective in choosing mates. However, that trajectory can be reversed under certain conditions, and sometimes the male of a species will invest more in offspring and so be choosier.

When these so-called sex role reversals occur, such as in seahorses where the males “get pregnant” by having the female transfer her fertilized eggs into a structure termed the male’s brood pouch and hence becoming more invested in their offspring, it is the females who are larger and compete over mates, while the males are more selective. Find a species where the sex that invests less in offspring is choosier, and the theory will be disproven.

The assertion that male and female are arbitrary classifications is false on every level. Not only does it confuse primary sexual characteristics (i.e., the reproductive organs) which are unambiguously male or female at birth 99.8 percent of the time with secondary sexual characteristics (e.g., more hair on the faces of men or larger breasts in women), it ignores the very definition of biological sex — men produce many small sex cells termed sperm while women produce fewer large sex cells termed eggs. Although much is sometimes made of the fact that sex differences in body size, hormonal profiles, behavior, and lots of other traits vary across species, that these differences are minimal or non-existent in some species, or that a small percentage of individuals, due to disorders of development, possess an anomalous mix of female and male traits, that does not undermine this basic distinction. There is no third sex. Sex is, by definition, binary.

In the 50 years since Trivers’ epiphany, much has tried to obscure his crucial insight. As biology enters a golden age, with daily advances in genotyping transforming our understanding of evolution and medicine, the social sciences have taken a vastly different direction. Many are now openly hostile to findings outside their narrow field, walling off their respective disciplines from biological knowledge. Why bother learning about new findings in genetics or incorporating discoveries from other fields, if you can assert that all such findings are, by definition, sexist?

Prior to 1955, gender was almost exclusively used to refer to grammatical categories (e.g., masculine and feminine nouns in French). A major shift occurred in the 1960s when the word gender has been applied to distinguish social/cultural differences from biological differences (sex). Harvard Biologist, David Haig documented that from 1988 to 1999 the ratio of the use of “sex” versus “gender” in scientific journals shrank from 10 to 1 to less than 2 to 1, and that after 1988 gender outnumbered sex in all social science journals. The last twenty years have seen a rapid acceleration in this trend, and today this distinction is rarely observed. Indeed, the biological concept of sex in reference to humans has become largely taboo outside of journals that focus on evolution. Many, however, are not content with limiting the gender concept to humans and a new policy instituted by all Nature journals requires that manuscripts include a discussion of how gender was considered in all studies with human participants, on other vertebrates, or on cell lines. When would including gender be appropriate in a genetic study of fruit flies?

This change is not merely stylistic. Rather, it is part of a much larger cultural and political movement that denies or attempts to explain away the effects of biology and evolution in humans altogether. The prevailing dominant view in the social sciences is that human sex differences are entirely socially constructed. In that interpretation, all differential outcomes between men and women are the result of unequal social, economic, and political conditions, and so we do all we can to eliminate them, particularly by changing our expectations and encouraging gender-neutral play in children. This received wisdom and policies based upon it, however, are unlikely to produce the results proponents long for. Why is that?

Because sex differences in behavior are among the strongest effect sizes in social, and what might be better termed, behavioral sciences. Humans are notoriously inept at understanding differences between continuous variables, so it is first useful to define precisely what “statistical differences between men and women” does and does not mean. Although gamete size and the reproductive organs in humans are either male or female at birth in over 99 percent of cases, many secondary sexual characteristics such as differences in upper body strength and differences in behavior are not so differentially distributed. Rather, there is considerable overlap between men and women. Life scientists often use something called the effect size as a way to determine if any observed differences are large (and therefore consequential) or so small as to be ignored for almost all practical purposes.

Conceptually, the effect size is a statistical method for comparing any two groups to see how substantially different they are. Graphically, it can be thought of as the distance between the peaks of the two distributions divided by the width of those distributions. For example, men are on average about 6 inches taller than women in the United States (mean height for American women is 5 feet 3 inches and the mean height for American men is approximately 5 feet 9 inches). The spread of the height distributions for men and women, also known as the standard deviations, are also somewhat different, and this is slightly higher for men at 2.9 inches vs 2.8 inches for women. For traits such as height that are normally distributed (that is, they fit the familiar bell curve shape), one standard deviation on either side of the mean encompasses about 68 percent of the distribution, while two standard deviations on either side of the mean encompass 95 percent of the total distribution. In other words, 68 percent of women will be between 60.2 inches and 65.8 inches tall, and 95 percent will be between 57.5 to 68.6 inches. So, in a random sample of 1000 adult women in the U.S., approximately 50 of them will be taller than the average man (see figure above).

A large effect size, or the standardized mean difference, is anything over 0.8 and is usually seen as an effect that most people would notice without using a calculator. The effect size for sex differences in height is approximately 1.9. This is considered to be a pretty big effect size. But it is certainly not binary, and there are lots of taller-than-average women who are taller than lots of shorter-than-average men (see overlap area in figure). Therefore, when determining whether an effect is small or large, it is important to remember that the cutoffs are always to some degree arbitrary and that what might seem like small differences between the means can become magnified when comparing the number of cases that fall in the extremes of (the tails of their respective distributions) of each group.

In other words, men and women may, on average, be quite similar on a given trait but will be quite different in the number who fall at the extreme (low and high) ends of their respective distributions. This is particularly true of sex differences because natural selection acts more strongly on men, and males have had higher reproductive variance than females over our evolutionary history. That is to say that a greater number of men than women have left no descendants, while a very few men have left far more. Both the maximum number of eggs that a woman produces over the course of her reproductive life versus the number of sperm a man produces and the length of pregnancy, during which another reproduction cannot occur, place an upper limit on the number of offspring women can have. What this means is that males often have wider distributions for a trait (i.e., more at the low end and more at the high end) so that sex differences can be magnified at the tail ends of the distribution. In practical terms, this means that when comparing men and women, it is also important to look at the tails of their respective distributions (e.g., the extremes in mental ability).

The strongest effect sizes where men tend to have the advantage are in physical abilities such as throwing distance or speed, spatial relations tasks, and some social behaviors such as assertiveness. Women, meanwhile, tend to have an edge in verbal ability, social cognition, and in being more extroverted, trusting, and nurturing. Some of the largest sex differences, however, are in human mate choice and behaviors that emerge out of the evolutionary logic of Trivers’ parental investment theory. In study after study, women are found to give more weight to traits in partners that signal an ability to acquire resources, such as socioeconomic status and ambition, while men tend to give more weight to traits that signal fertility, such as youth and attractiveness.

Indeed these attitudes are also revealed in behavior such as age at marriage (men are on average older than women in every country on earth), frequency of masturbation, indulging in pornography, and paying for sex. Although these results are often dismissed, largely on ideological grounds, the science is rarely challenged, and the data suggest some biological difference (which may be amplified, indeed enshrined, by social practices).

The evidence that many sex differences in behavior have a biological origin is powerful. There are three primary ways that scientists use to determine whether a trait is rooted in biology or not. The first is if the same pattern is seen across cultures. This is because the likelihood that a particular characteristic, such as husbands being older than their wives, is culturally determined declines every time the same pattern is seen in another society — somewhat like the odds of getting heads 200 times in a row. The second indication that a trait has a biological origin is if it is seen in young children who have not yet been fully exposed to a given culture. For example, if boy babies are more aggressive than girl babies, which they generally are, it suggests that the behavior may have a biological basis. Finally, if the same pattern, such as males being more aggressive than females, is observed in closely related species, it also suggests an evolutionary basis. While some gender role “theories” can attempt to account for culturally universal sex differences, they cannot explain sex differences that are found in infants who haven’t yet learned to speak, as well as in the young of other related species.

Many human sex differences satisfy all three conditions — they are culturally universal, are observable in newborns, and a similar pattern is seen in apes and other mammals. The largest sex differences found with striking cross-cultural similarity are in mate preferences, but other differences arise across societies and among young children before the age of three as boys and girls tend to self-segregate into different groups with distinct and stereotypical styles. These patterns, which include more play fighting in males, are observable in other apes and mammal species, which, like humans, follow the logic of Trivers’ theory of parental investment and have higher variance in male reproduction, and therefore more intense competition among males as compared to females.

If so, why then has the opposite message — that these differences are either non-existent or solely the result of social construction — been so vehemently argued? The reason, I submit, is essentially political. The idea that any consequential differences between men and women have no foundation in biology has wide appeal because it fosters the illusion of control. If gender role “theories” are correct, then all we need to do to eliminate them is to modify the social environment (e.g., give kids gender-neutral toys, and the problem is solved). If, however, sex differences are hardwired into human nature, they will be more difficult to change.

Acknowledging the role of biology also opens the door to conceding the possibility that the existence of statistically unequal outcomes for men and women are not just something to be expected but may even be…desirable. Consider the so-called gender equality paradox whereby sex differences in personality and occupation are higher in countries with greater opportunities for women. Countries with the highest gender equality,24 such as Finland, have the lowest proportion of women who graduate college with degrees in stereotypically masculine STEM fields, while the least gender equal countries such as Saudi Arabia, have the highest. Similarly, the female-to-male sex ratio in stereotypically female occupations such nursing is 40 to 1 in Scandinavia, but only 2 to 1 in countries like Morocco.

The above numbers are consistent with cross-cultural research that indicates that women are, on average, more attracted to professions focused on people such as medicine and biology, while men are, again, on average, more attracted to professions focused on things such as mathematics and engineering. These findings are not a matter of dispute, but they are inconvenient for gender role theorists because they suggest that women and men have different preferences upon which they act when given the choice. Indeed, it is only a “paradox” if one assumes that sex is entirely socially constructed. As opportunities for women opened up in Europe and the United States in the sixties and seventies, employment outcomes changed rapidly. However, the proportions of men and women in various fields stabilized sometime around the early 1990s and have barely moved in the last thirty years. These findings imply that there is a limited capacity for outside interventions imposed from the top down to alter these behaviors.

In the cold logic of evolution, neither sex is, or can be, better or worse. Although this may not be the kind of equality some might want, we need to move beyond simplistic ideas of hierarchy.

It is understandable, however, for some to fear that any concession to nature will be used to justify and perpetuate bias and discrimination. Although arguments for why women should be prohibited from certain types of employment or why they should not be allowed to vote were ideological, sex differences have been used to justify a number of historical injustices. Still, is the fear of abuse so great that denying any biological sex differences is the only alternative?

The rhetorical contortions and inscrutable jargon required to assert that gender and sex are nothing more than chosen identities and deny what every parent knows require increasingly complex and incoherent arguments. This not only subverts the public’s rapidly waning confidence in science, but it also leads to extreme exaggerations designed to silence those who don’t agree, such as the claim that discussing biological differences is violence. The lengths to which many previously trusted institutions, such as the American Medical Association, go to deny the impact that hormones have on development are extraordinary. These efforts are also likely to backfire politically when gender-neutral terms are mandated by elites, such as the term “Latinx,” which is opposed by 98 percent of Hispanic Americans.

Acknowledging the existence of a biological basis for sex differences does not mean that we should accept unequal opportunities for men and women. Indeed, the crux of the problem lies in conflating equality with statistical identity and in our failure to respect and value difference. These differences should not be ranked in terms of inferior or superior, nor do they have any bearing on the worth or dignity of men and women as a group. They cannot be categorized as being either good or bad because it depends on which traits you want to optimize. This is real diversity that we should acknowledge and even celebrate.

Ever since the origin of sexual reproduction approximately two billion years ago, sexual selection, governed by an initial disparity in the size of the sex cells, has driven a cascade of differences, a few absolute, many more statistical, between males and females. As a result, men and women have been experiencing distinct evolutionary pressures. At the same time, however, this process has ruthlessly enforced an equality between the sexes, ensured by the fact that it takes one male and one female to reproduce, which guarantees the equal average reproduction of men and women. The production of sons and daughters, who inherit a near equal split of their parents’ genetic material, also demands that mothers and fathers contribute equally to their same- and their opposite-sex children. In the cold logic of evolution, neither sex is, or can be, better or worse. Although this may not be the kind of equality some might want, we need to move beyond simplistic ideas of hierarchy, naively confusing difference with claims of inferiority/superiority, or confusing dominance with power. In the currency of evolution, better just means more copies, dominance only matters if it leads to more offspring, and there are many paths to power.

The assertion that children are born without sex and are molded into gender roles by their parents is wildly implausible. It undermines what little public trust in science remains and delegitimizes other scientific claims. If we can’t be honest about something every parent knows, what else might we be lying about? Confusion about this issue leads to inane propositions, such as a pro-choice doctor testifying to Congress asserting that men can give birth. When people are shamed into silence about the obvious male advantages in almost all sports (but note women do as well or better in small bore rifle competition, and no man can match the flexibility of female gymnasts) and when transgender women compete in women’s sports, it endangers the vulnerable. When children are taught that all sex differences are entirely grounded in mere identity (whether self-chosen or culturally-imposed) and are in no way the result of biology, more “masculine” girls and more “feminine” boys may become confused about their sex, or sexual orientation, and harmful stereotypes can take over. The sudden rapid rise in the number of young girls diagnosed with gender dysphoria is a warning sign of how dangerously disoriented our culture can become.

Pathologizing gender nonconforming behavior often does the opposite of what proponents intend by creating stereotypes where none existed. Boys are told that if they like dolls, they are really girls trapped with male organs, while girls who display interests in sports or science are told they are boys trapped with female organs and born in the wrong body. Feminine boys, who might end up being homosexual, are encouraged to start down the road towards irreversible medical interventions, hormone blockers, and infertility. Like gay conversion therapy before, such practices can shame individuals for feeling misaligned with their birth sex and encourage them to resort to hormone “therapy” and/or surgery to change their bodies to reflect this new identity. Can that be truly seen as progressive and liberating?

The push for a biologically sexless society is an arrogant utopian vision that cuts us off from our evolutionary history, promotes the delusion that humans are not animals, and undercuts respecting each individual for their unique individuality. Sex is neither simply a matter of socialization, nor a personal choice. Making such assertions without understanding the profound role that an initial biological asymmetry in gamete size plays in sexual selection is neither scientific nor sensible.

Robert Lynch is an evolutionary anthropologist at Penn State who specializes in how biology, the environment, and culture transact to shape life outcomes. His scientific research includes the effect of religious beliefs on social mobility, sex differences in social relationships, the impact of immigration on social capital, how social isolation can promote populism, and the evolutionary function of laughter.

I've said before that I learned more about evolution as a result of combatting evolution denial from the religious than I ever did at school. It's similarly true that I've learned more about sex, biology, chromosomes, genes and hormones as a result of the sex-denialism and anti-science attitudes of the gender cult.

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loonylatias · 4 months

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love the gym leaders that just refuse to have a regular gym building. to me, becoming a gym leader is the the real world equivalent of having a masters or doctoral on a specific field like anthropology or entomology. they are all insanely-skilled academicians who are really focused on their specific field/type.

agatha definitey had to drag blaine from spending all his time around the volcano in cinnabar and the pokemon there. lance definitely had to fight claire from spending all her time inside the dragon's den instead of her actual gym. wallace was at all times five seconds away from sending a search party for steven since he spends a lot of time training inside whatever cave he stumbled on.

elite four members are probably more insane. they only have to spend time at the pokemon league when a trainer get eight badges. these bitches can do whatever they want with their time. malva even had time to join the mafia.

#pokemon #pkmn #agatha #blaine #claire #lance #steven stone #wallace #pokemon league #pokemon gym leaders #pokemon gym leader

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thejournallo · 2 days

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Explain the basic: Symbology

Desclaimer: Everything I will talk about is information that I got from books and sites online and even videos on YouTube. In my years of practice, I learned as much as I could out of curiosity and what works best for me. I suggest you do the same by learning as much as you can on your own (I will be here making posts teaching this kind of stuff) from multiple sources.

As always, I will love to hear your thoughts! and if you have any questions, I will be more than happy to answer them! If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog (that is always appreciated!). If you are interested in more methods, check the masterlist!

what is "symbology"?

Symbology is the study or interpretation of symbols and their meanings within various contexts, including cultural, religious, spiritual, and artistic. Symbols are visual or conceptual representations that carry specific ideas, beliefs, or values. Symbology involves understanding the significance, origins, and interpretations of symbols, as well as how they are used and perceived by different individuals or groups. In fields such as anthropology, psychology, literature, and religious studies, symbology plays a crucial role in analyzing and understanding human culture, communication, and expression.

why is symbology important for a witch?

Symbolism is extremely important for a witch to learn because there are many ways in which you will need it. Symbolism is one of those things that is everywhere because everything can have a meaning. A good example could be the interpretation of dreams. Even if the dreams seem so strange and stupid, there is always a meaning. Another great example is receiving signs, and by that, I mean receiving signs from deitis, entitis, the universe, etc. But those are not the only cases. symbology comes in handy for a witch; knowing what symbol to use is also very important for a witch because you don't want to attract a bad thing to you.

There are symbols for everything, and they are everywhere.

how do i know is a symbol i use is good or bad?

It always depends on you and your culture. A quick search could help you avoid a lot of damage on you and your culture. A quick search could help you avoid a lot of damage to yourself, but this also depends on what you believe in. For example, I don't believe that satanism is bad, but I believe in bad people practicing satanism in the wrong way (and that goes for every religion and culture). I work with Asmodeous, and I don't see anything bad with it or his symbol (in demonology, every demon has a symbol with their name; it is pretty cool), but another person may see it as bad and dangerous and will avoid using it. It is as simple as that.

some realy popular symbols and their meaning:

-Pentagram/Pentacle: The word "pentagram" refers only to the five-pointed star, not the surrounding circle of a pentacle. Pentagrams were used symbolically in ancient Greece and Babylonia. Christians once commonly used the pentagram to represent the five wounds of Jesus. Often used as a symbol of protection, the pentacle consists of a five-pointed star within a circle. Each point represents an element (earth, air, fire, water, and spirit) and the circle symbolizes unity and wholeness.

-Moon: The moon is a powerful symbol in witchcraft, representing cycles, intuition, and the divine feminine. Different phases of the moon (waxing, full, waning) hold different meanings and energies.

-Triple Moon: This symbol consists of three moons—waxing, full, and waning—enclosed within a circle. It represents the phases of the moon, as well as the stages of a woman's life (maiden, mother, crone).

-Crescent Moon: A symbol of the waxing and waning moon, the crescent represents growth, change, and transformation.

-Ankh: Though originating from ancient Egyptian culture, the ankh is also used in modern witchcraft as a symbol of life, fertility, and divine protection.

-Symbols of the Elements: Various symbols represent the four classical elements—earth, air, fire, and water. For example, an upward-pointing triangle represents fire, while a downward-pointing triangle represents water. An equal-armed cross is often used for earth, and a stylized swirl or feather represents air.

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arthur-r · 21 days

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on my way to academic advising appointment and i’m so scared. cause like i am NOT good at being a history major, like it’s the most applicable major to my goals i THINK but i’m not like a lyndon b. johnson nerd if that makes sense?? like i’m interested in history on a lot more of a local and personal level, or at the same time a holistic and universal level?? i would do anthropology if it weren’t for not actually fitting anthropology either and hating their classes worse too. i’m looking at minoring in folklore which is kind of getting there, and i’m interested in the history classes my school has to offer but i just kind of know that i’m doing it wrong. like public history classes in curation and presentation aren’t really the point. history of librarianship is supposed to be supplemental to NORMAL history. i want to major in historical identity. i want to major in how history is preserved and engaged with and identified with or rejected. and that’s what a fucking history major is but it’s just not quite right. and i don’t want to talk to some weird old white man about why i’m looking at latin + folklore + queer visual culture + geographic information systems as potentially being my four classes next semester which are NONE OF THEM HISTORY. if i take history next semester it will be history of technology or history of education. WHICH IS FUCKING HISTORY. i guess i just feel so guilty for not actually being that interested in political economy. and like come ON i’m actually so fucking engaged in the real kind of history too, i’ve been studying immigration history and being so fucking invested. i HAVE OPINIONS about lyndon b johnson (i fucking hate that man like thanks for passing civil rights but that’s a bare minimum and he used it as a way to sneak in the permanent existence of an undocumented labor class of latin americans to uphold capitalism through exploitation and fear. so FUCK YOU LBJ) but anyway the point is the intersection of everything i want to do with my life all branches off of history. but it’s just not really that simple. i’m glad i’m at the school i chose and not in colorado but it sure would be handy to be getting a fucking BACHELOR OF INNOVATION in museum studies and heritage management. instead of just hanging around the in-between, taking the most incredible classes but living in the unfortunate reality where they all count for different, tangentially related fields of study. anyway the stupid advisor man is probably a really good guy. i just feel so embarrassed showing up to his office like “yeah i’m studying history. i don’t know what years were the french revolution” you know???? anyway next semester i’ll be taking a class about public folklore (coolest thing in the world) and third level latin, and then maybe something for science breadth, maybe a history class about education or technology or MAYBE the history of the american west, which just might not be very relevant to me if i stay in the midwest shdhdf like i’m so interested in mexican-american history but i’m centralizing pretty heavily in midwestern migrant experiences which are less studied and more personally relevant, and “the west” is mostly like the gold rush and stuff anyway. which i’m supposed to be INTERESTED IN as a history major but i’m not really!!!! and i might take a class about making websites and databases because i want to, and maybe a class about the history of textiles because that’s so fucking cool. but this isn’t what they WANT from me so i’m really anxious. somebody just looked at me weird for walking out of the women’s restroom and it made me think about how the problem is that my academic interests are nonbinary i’m fucking careerqueer or something AKA indecisive and weird and unemployable. but also the coolest in the world. ANYWAY wish me luck and i got this. but spooky scary!!!!

#vent cw #college talk #THIS IS SO STUPID but i just feel like the academic advisor is gonna hate me….#like it’s FINE this is a bachelor of arts it’s okay to be a weird little humanities kid it’s FINE #i just feel a bit strange. ok appointment in twelve minutes gonna head upstairs wish me luck!!#me. my post. mine.#delete later #long post #PS sorry for being a little strange past few days it’s cause i haven’t been sleeping. will be normal tomorrow if all goes well

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welcome-to-green-hills · 2 months

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What’s the difference between an anthropologist and an archaeologist? 😃 And what do archaeologists do when they’re not digging at excavation sites?

Oooh! Okay!❤️🤩❤️

An anthropologist is a scientist who studies human beings. The ask questions like, “what makes us human?” And “How can we define ourselves as human?”

We ask these questions through four (or five if you want to get technical) categories:

Linguistics

Cultural and Social Development

Biology

Archaeology (ME!)

and Applied Anthropology

Linguistics pretty much answers how languages not only changed through time, but how they’ve influenced culture and changes in society. It’s pretty common to have Linguistic Anthropologists work in a language lab where they play with words all day. They also make it a point to connect language with reading. If you ever talk to a linguistic anthropologist, ask them about cranial cap ripples.

Biological anthropologists help with the biological and organic portion of humans and nonhumans. You get primatologists (primates), forensic experts, retired doctors, paleontologists (human evolution), molecular scientists, and those that practice alternative methods of medicine. If you ever meet a biological anthropologist, as them how many ways to Sunday you can study teeth.

Cultural Anthropologists is very open in interpretation. I say that because it’s always advancing in its field with new discoveries every day. Cultural anthropologists study social groups. They immerse themselves in artwork, written/spoken literature, music, humanities, material goods, women’s rights, gender and sexuality. and social engagement. Kinda like how it’s a Tumblr norm to say, “I like your shoelaces. Thanks, I got them from the president.” They learn behaviors and manners, physical and non-physical telling of what makes that society function. If you ever meet a cultural anthropologist, ask them what their favorite cultural greeting.

Archaeology is a field in anthropology that’s commonly classified as a “historical science.” We use the scientific method to answer questions about the past and continuously ask “why?” We’re not Indiana Jones, many of us frown upon the comparison. We’re environmentally conscious of what we do when looking through historical records and digging at different sites. You need an understanding of history, linguistics, biology, and cultural practices for what site you work at. When archaeologists aren’t digging, they’re considered “shovel bums.” They travel around from one agency to the next (if they’re freelance) and dig year-round. We practically live out of a suitcase. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m not a shovel bum. I’ve made my archaeological work through museums and conservation labs.

Applied Anthropology is a newer branch in anthropology. They ask the question, “now what!?” They look for practical solutions. They question a bit more and ask, “now what do we do? How can we make this more efficient for humans?” If you ever meet someone in this field, ask them their stance on Cyber-Anthropology (I.E., video games, AI, robots). You’ll get a mixed bag, but you might come out wiser.

SAPIENS.ORG is an anthropological magazine that’s designed for anthropologists, as well as those who are learning/interested in the field. Free subscription. Scope them out if you’re interested! And know that I’m always up for chatting about it here. I know that I’ve gotten some DMs from y’all wanting to know more about it. Know that my inbox is open.

#I hope this helped you my dear #mystery anon #off topic #I am an anthropologist #I am an archaeologist

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legendsobsessions · 5 months

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(@wingsofachampion) Hiya! What's anthropology? -Tropius

It's the study of people! There are four main sub-fields:

-Archaeology (most common sub-field, my own area of expertise though every anthropologist dabbles at least a little) is the study of people from the past via their material remains. "Material remains" can be anything from bones to pottery, the sort of things you'd expect to find at a digsite—anything that provides insight into how those who came before us lived.

-Cultural anthropology is the study of culture more broadly. It aims to describe and understand differences in culture, like how some regions have more cultural emphasis on battling than others.

-Physical/biological anthropology is the study of human biology and how it affects us. Why are knees so prone to being terrible? What in distortion is going on with people who are sensitive to aura? Questions that have to do with genetics, how we are—that's physical anthropology. (Or biological anthropology—both terms for the field are commonly used.)

-Linguistic anthropology is the smallest sub-field (one of my professors jokingly said a long time ago that having a linguistic anthropologist on the university staff was a luxury item, and the older I get the less I think he was actually joking) and has to do with how language affects culture.

While anthropologists tend to specialize in one field, all of them work in conjunction. For example, material remains from an ancient culture might be written in a script that only a few people still speak, necessitating archaeologists and linguistic anthropologists to work together.

#pokeblogging #pokeblog rp #pokemon irl #rotomblr

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sharkface · 1 month

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i thought anthropology was just the study of ancient humans tho?

Not exclusively. Anthropology is most broadly defined as just being the study of humans and humanity, but there are four major fields under anthropology; Archaeology, physical anthropology, linguistic anthropology, and cultural anthropology. Which means all study of ancient humans is anthropology, but not all anthropology centers ancient humans.

It's a very large category of social science, but cultural anthropology (the one I want to go into) is, most simply, the study of communities and societies. Most people envision this as being the study of countries and cultural groups within them, but generally speaking the study of any group of people belonging to a community with its own distinctive activities, social rules, language, etc constituting a culture will fall under the general jurisdiction of anthropology.

Subcultural study is a pretty niche field, but it's still anthropology!

#ask

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jades-typurriter · 10 months

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Copper Badge/Robber Stripes

A commission for @totalcudgel, who was my first customer outside of my group of friends and very enthusiastic for the whole process! Her sona gets her gender transed and her species swapped by one of her OCs. Hope you enjoy!

CW: TGTF, weight gain, some slightly more visceral descriptions of changes

“Nine-one-one, what is the location of your emergency?”

“Sheriff Sam? Oh, thank God I got someone who actually knows what they’re doing! Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called in and been told to try Animal Control instead?”

“Well, I’m the only one at the station-house at this hour.”

“With overtime, I hope. You’re about to do some real good!”

“Good one. Location of your emergency?”

“Okay, listen. You know the dirt road that forks off from main street? The one everyone uses during game season, goes straight into the woods—”

“Please don’t tell me another deer-headed hiker didn’t get shot by a hunter.”

“No, this is bigger, MUCH bigger! I set up some trail cams just a ways off the trail, and—”

“Sir, I’m not going to tell you to call Animal Control, but I am going to remind you that Bigfoot is a citizen of the United States, and that I cannot arrest him for walking around in his own backyard.”

“It’s not—”

“Kidnapping is kidnapping, even if it’s ‘an anthropological breakthrough’, sir—”

“IT’S NOT BIGFOOT! If you can believe it, it’s weirder than Bigfoot!”

“…Weirder how?” The sheriff sighs, kicking his feet up on the table.

He wasn’t lying—the station was totally dead this late at night, and he most certainly was not paid enough to stay this late and field false alarms all night. Someone had to keep an eye on the town overnight, and none of the other cops were willing to do the job most nights. They were either much younger than himself and had social lives to attend to—plenty of them were fresh out of college and still had drinking buddies, or were looking for someone to settle down with—and those his own age had already done so. As the most senior officer—And the only one with nobody to go home to, he thought, before pushing the self-directed jab out of his mind—he volunteered for the job most nights.

Of course, there were plenty of people whose biological clocks inclined them toward night work, but if they’re more alert at night, they’re better suited to working the beat than to waiting around playing operator. Sam himself was a human, but the station was fairly diverse; no owls, but they’re just the most obvious choice. Coyotes and foxes were plenty active after sunset, and mountain lions were comfortable working before opening and after closing. There were plenty of raccoons around town, as well, though none happened to be on the force. Sam lamented this, in passing. He’d always had a soft spot in his heart for raccoons.

“Soft spot” might be putting it a little bit lightly: most of his crushes and romantic flings had been with raccoon women, and he’d always wondered at the dexterity and agility of the wild, four-legged kind. Something about leaping over fences and scurrying up walls, slinking through the grass just out of sight… His office was littered with knickknacks and decorations that evoked the stripey little critters, which he had always played off as being cops-and-robbers-themed decor to add a little levity to the station-house, but it was fairly safe to say that what he had was a little bit of a fixation. Nothing wrong with that, though—everybody was more interested than usual in something.

“I, look, I don’t know how to explain it, exactly,” stammered the caller, “but I need you to just bear with me. I’ve been called crazy plenty of times, and I know that telling you about all these weird, indistinct linear shapes I saw moving past the trail cam isn’t gonna help much, but BECAUSE it’s on the trail cam, you can just come see it for yourself!” Sam heaved another sigh, looking around at the empty office.

“Fine,” he grumbled into the receiver. It had been a slow night. “Am I going out to the camera itself, or am I meeting you at your—”

“SHIT, it’s back!” the caller cried. Sam could hear him frantically tapping at his keyboard—taking screenshots, maybe, or zooming in, or posting to a forum for conspiracy theorists. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Don’t you think they’ve seen plenty of those photos, bud? He groaned, internally. You splurge on the good trail cam, or are we gonna have another grey smudge to show for your triumphant discovery? He wondered, briefly, if the town really needed a night guard; it was always something ridiculous like this. But I’ll go even crazier without something like this to keep me busy, and worst case? It’ll be good for a laugh.

“It’s, Sam, I’m telling you—are. Are you laughing?”

“No, no,” the sheriff replied, pretending to clear his throat. “What’re you seeing?”

“You’re not gonna believe it ‘til you see it with your own eyes! It’s just this, this mass of zig-zags and odd angles as it goes by the camera, I—I can’t tell if I’m even looking at something solid! It’s dark, and then light again, in a way that doesn’t quite make sense, somewhere between tendrils and, and some kind of—”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go straight to the camera and tell you what I see.”

“Just don’t hang up! I want to hear every little detail about this crazy thing.”

Begrudgingly, the sheriff obliged, calling him back on his personal cell phone and answering his constant stream of requests for updates during the uneventful drive down main street and to the hunting trail. The camera wasn’t too far into the woods, according to the caller; Sam could just park on the trail and walk a few dozen yards to get there.

“SAM!” shouted the caller. “BE. CAREFUL. I haven’t seen the thing in a little while, but the camera just went black—I think it might’ve broken it, and it’s still nearby!”

“Did you consider that shouting into the phone might be bad for my health, if there’s some unknown creature prowling around?”

“I—”

“Just keep quiet a minute, ‘kay?” Sam muttered, crouching low and turning off his flashlight. The trees were thin here; he was able to navigate by the moonlight, quickly spotting its glint on the metal shell of the camera. It sat nestled into the edge of a bush in the middle of a clearing. It was shoddy camouflage, but at the very least, there were no Bigfoots, Abominable Snowmen, or any other undiscovered form of folk gallivanting around. What he did see, however, was a bushy, striped tail scampering out of the clearing at his approach.

“Well, I hate to be the most recent man to call you crazy,” Sam spoke into his cell, suppressing a pang of distaste for the descriptor—”man”, not “crazy”. “But it seems like we’ve got a false alarm. I just saw a raccoon running away as I walked up.”

“A raccoon?” Spluttered the caller. “But—but the shapes on the camera! They—”

“The shapes were black and white, weren’t they? ‘Dark and light’ all over, lots of squiggly lines?”

“Well, yes, but—but I couldn’t make out any concrete shapes!”

“That’s the point of the stripes, pal. They break up the silhouette so they’re harder for predators to see. Like zebras.”

“Like… zebras?”

“My guess is, it just got too close to the camera for you to make ‘em out clearly,” he continued as his boots crunched across the grass. “Either one raccoon was playing ring-around-the-rosie with your little setup, or a mama was passing by with a line of her kids.” He crouched down again when he was close enough to see the culprit for the camera’s blackout: a cheap little mask, probably fished out of the garbage by one of the little guys. He waved into the camera at the concerned citizen on the other end of the line dangling it up for him to see. “They didn’t break anything, either—just left you a little gift!”

“I… Man, this is a letdown.”

“You’d rather send me alone to fend off some kind of formless alien yeti?”

“Hey, you’re the one who signed up for the dangerous job, aren’t you? It’d be for the greater good of science!”

“Yeah, well, like I told you earlier: kidnapping’s kidnapping, even for science. You have a good night, now.” He heard the beginnings of a huffy retort before he clicked his phone closed, and turned to hike back to his car. He’d keep the mask, he thought; it’d be a cute little keepsake of a funny story like this, and the black eye-ring shape of it would make a perfect addition to his collection. He wondered why a raccoon would be so interested in a camera to begin with.

Maybe it thought it was a can of food? Wouldn’t be the first time someone left trash out here and attracted a wild animal. He scowled. There were signs all over the hunting trail reminding people not to get the wildlife hooked on table food. It would just get him more panicked calls about harmless critters! Well, he shrugged, any night I get to see one of those little guys is a good night. Maybe the hunters being lazy litterbugs isn’t that bad.

He walked back into his office not long after, already thinking of good places to hang his “new” domino mask. His keys were still practically jangling in his pocket when he heard a voice from the—now-open—doorway.

“You really do love raccoons, don’t you?” said the stranger, toward whom Sam immediately wheeled around, letting out a yelp that was decidedly unbefitting of a cop of his stature. His hand flew to his belt for the bear spray he’d brought with him; suddenly, he was glad to have given credence to the town kook, and to have prepared accordingly. Even more than being followed into the building, he was taken aback by the intruder’s appearance: they were a roughly person-shaped mass of light, like a sunbeam stood up from the window it poured in through and started walking around.

“Oh, silly me,” they interrupted themself, “this might be a bit much for a first impression. Sorry for straining your eyes like that!” Sam blinked the light out of his eyes, as reflexive as when one’s eyes pass over the sun, and when he opened them again, he was instead looking at a raccoon person. He didn’t recognize them from town.

“Who… who the Hell are you?”

“Well, we just met a few minutes ago! I know my manners haven’t been at their best tonight—not introducing myself, not knocking—but surely you wouldn’t forget so soon. Maybe you’ll recognize me more easily like this!” Sure enough, the next time Sam blinked, the figure was again replaced, this time by a wild raccoon. “How’s this? Better?”

“Are you—did that guy actually pick up something supernatural on his camera?”

“I’m flattered that you think I’m ‘super’! I think you’re wonderful too, Sam,” the being cooed. “My name is Vello, by the way. Sorry again about that!”

“How do you know my name? How do you—” The sheriff did a double take, gesturing at his office behind him. “—How do you know about the raccoon thing?”

“Word gets around fast in a small town like this, don’t you know?” The critter winked before scampering around the doorframe, out of sight. The glowing figure from before stepped back into view, dimmer this time.

How considerate, Sam grumbled to himself, brow furrowing in both confusion and consternation.

“Why don’t you tell me more about it?” Vello prompted him. Sam felt oddly… exposed, by the request. Awkward. Like someone had stumbled upon a sketchbook, or a journal of poetry drafts, and wanted to see more. Not to mention, a total stranger was doing the asking—but the being seemed so genuine, approached it so gently. “Couldn’t be the weirdest thing you do tonight, could it?”

“Why the interest, anyway?”

“It seems to me that you’ve got some tangled feelings about it!” Sam scowled. Dead to rights. Not like the other officers hadn’t caught him stammering for an excuse about it; he was just pissed that it was so obvious. Hell, though, he reasoned, If God or some shit is in my office, I’d better just roll with it. I doubt the bear spray would actually do anything.

“Well…” The sheriff looked back and forth between the stranger and the stash. He scratched the back of his neck, almost anxious. “I dunno, I’ve always just liked them. It feels like it’s deeper than that, somehow, but… that’s weird, right? I try not to talk about it too much, try not to think about it too much. I don’t wanna creep anybody out—there are raccoons all over town, right? I try to just enjoy them in a… in a normal way. I guess.”

“Normal? You say ‘normal’ like you mean ‘good’, dear. ‘Acceptable’. What makes you think that your feelings aren't acceptable?” Sam winced.

“Well, pal, the fact that I have to try not to talk about it too much. I, uh…I think about raccoons a lot.”

“Oh, I know you do!”

Sam blinked, then blinked again. At first, he thought that he’d been stalked the old-fashioned way. Vello was real cozy talking about all this, though, including stuff that even a stalker couldn’t figure out. Given what he’d just done to show off, he might literally know his thoughts. Not that that’s any more comfortable, he groused.

“I really don’t mean to intrude,” Vello apologized, “but—”

“Then what the Hell are you doing it for right now?”

“Oh, no, I could tell just by looking at your face! The raccoons, though—that I could tell just being near you. There’s a reason it was my first choice of disguise earlier!”

“So that was you on the trail cam.”

“Well, I hadn’t realized there was a camera. I hope I didn’t cause the one who called you too much discomfort; looking at me when I’m not decent tends to… give people a headache.”

“Didn’t seem any crazier than usual to me,” Sam shrugged.

“Wonderful! Enough about your friend, then,” he said as Sam rolled his eyes, “What could be wrong with thinking often about something you love?” Sam’s cheeks grew warm at the choice of words—was affection even the right way to describe the way he felt about raccoons?

“Well, like I said, I don’t want to make anybody else uncomfortable. You hear about cat people all the time, sure, but raccoons are certainly more… out there, as an animal to associate yourself with. Not to mention all the people around town who happen to be raccoons.”

“Are you afraid they’ll think you have…” Vello’s voice took on a conspiratorial hush, like a father giving their thirteen-year-old a talk about how to stay safe while dating. “...a ‘thing’ for raccoons?”

“I don’t want to make them feel objectified,” Sam replied bluntly, rehearsedly.

“Have you ever dated a raccoon, Sam?” The heat in Sam’s cheeks intensified, and he looked away from Vello again.

“...I’ve only dated raccoons.”

“And did you ever treat them like objects?”

“Of course not!” He snapped, whipping his head back around to face the glowing shapes “I gave ‘em all the world, when I had ‘em! But…” Vello waited patiently for him to find his words, finally offering some when it seemed like none were coming.

“But it just never felt right?”

“...No.”

“And what about it didn’t feel right about it?”

“Me, if I’m being honest. I was happy as could be with those ladies, but… I dunno. I guess I never felt good enough for them, or… like I couldn’t be myself around them?”

“How so?”

“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about it, since you seem to be able to be anybody you want,” Sam began. Vello cocked his head at the remark, but continued listening. “But being ‘me’ feels sort of like an act. Not like I’m pretending, really—I’m not trying to lie to anybody—but I feel like I’ve got a mask on around them all the time.”

“What are some things that you feel are part of that mask, Sam?”

“That right there, for one. Never felt too strongly about my name. But who the Hell am I without it, right? Can’t just decide to be somebody else.”

“Whyever not? People change their names all the time. For fun, for marriage, for a fresh start.” Sam grunted in acknowledgment, thoughtful. Vello prodded him further: “Do you have a name you’d prefer?”

“Hmm,” he grunted again. His lip curled—not out of contempt for the idea, but reluctance to dig deeper.

“Anything at all come to—”

“Sally.”

“Sally?”

“Sally.”

“A lovely choice,” Vello beamed. Literally. “May I ask—”

“I don’t really know. It’s just a name my brain keeps coming back to, same way it comes back to raccoons. I figured, if it’s so special to me, that I’d name my daughter that someday, but if you’re asking what other name I’d pick for myself… this is the closest one to feeling like a part of me.”

“As good a reason as any!”

“Shame I couldn't use it.”

“Oh? Why would that be?”

“Because I’m not a woman?” Sam said plainly, turning up a palm and quirking an eyebrow at Vello.

“Do you wish you could be called Sally?”

“What is this, some genie shit?”

“Of course not!” Vello laughed at that, a good-natured, from-the-belly kind of laugh. “I mean, I grant wishes, but there’s no need for that kind of formality!”

“Right,” Sam muttered, skeptical.

“I’m just curious about what it is that you want! If calling yourself Sally would make you happier, then why shouldn’t you? Actually, don’t answer that—I don’t think it’d be very productive to go back and forth about names being fake and all that.”

“Fake?”

“What, do you think I was born with a name you folk from around here could pronounce? I picked it myself!”

“Why Vello, then?”

“I liked the ring of it,” he chirped.

“Huh. That simple?”

“That simple.” Sam crossed his arms, looking at the floor in thought for a moment. Before he could convince himself out of that promising, tantalizing train of thought, Vello pushed further. “May I ask what else you wish you could change about yourself?”

“I don’t know where I’d start, bud.”

“May I make a suggestion.”

“Sure,” the sheriff scoffed. “Shoot.”

“If you’re envious of a feminine name, is it possible that you’re envious of other feminine traits? Or perhaps even, the traits you find admirable in raccoons?”

“Envious? No, no, it’s sorta like what other people describe when they talk about love. The butterflies, the nerves, the excitement. When You talk about jealousy, especially from girls wishing they were ‘as pretty as hose other girls’, it always comes off… bitter. Angry, sometimes. I’ve never felt that way looking at one of my exes, and definitely never when I look at a wild raccoon.”

“Ah,” begins Vello, “but that isn’t quite true, is it? Even with the wild ones, don’t the stripes seem lovely? Don’t you find their faces cuter than any other animal—haven’t you wondered what a snout like that would feel like? How you would look if the rings around your eyes were natural, instead of from exhaustion? Haven’t you ever thought, just once, that a tail like that would suit you nicely?”

“...I wouldn’t say it’d suit me,” he began hesitantly, then reluctantly added: “But I have thought, on occasion, that it might be fun to have.”

“And when you were with those women, wasn’t there something more than the attraction?”

“I don’t see what you mean. Wouldn’t that just mean… loving them very strongly? That wasn’t the issue; I said earlier, my problem was that I didn’t feel like myself around them, even if they made me happy.”

“Think about why you didn’t feel like yourself, dear. When you were near them, wasn’t there a nagging feeling of wishing you could be even closer than skin-to-skin? Didn’t you wish you could see what they saw, feel what they felt? Perhaps you thought of it in terms of… wondering what made them seem so genuine, compared to what made you feel so artificial?”

Sam crossed his arms. Once again: dead to rights. He didn’t like the feeling.

“I know I promised I wouldn’t keep poking around in there,” Vello acquiesced, keeping his hands where the sheriff could see them, “but it seems like you need a little help connecting those dots, friend.”

“So what are you suggesting? That, because I’m always coming back to this… obsession, with raccoons, that it’s like the name I picked out?” His heart quickened as he brushed closer and closer to those feelings—ones he had spent a long time trying to ignore, out of concern for appearances or out of cold practicality for his unfortunate, but immalleable, reality.

It was like feeling a statue under a tarp—acquainted, almost by heart, with all the shapes underneath, but being afraid to pull the fabric away. Afraid that he would lay eyes on it, and never be able to forget its beauty, never be able to stop longing to bask in its beauty. Afraid that he would have to leave it behind anyway. It had been better to leave it, covered, in the corner of his mind where he could safely ignore it; the gentle, knowing tilt of Vello’s head told him that he wasn’t the only one aware of its presence.

Maybe, with someone else who could appreciate the work of art for what it was, he could bear to tear away the tarp.

“Maybe you’re onto something, then,” Sam continued, shakily. “I lay awake thinking about my exes, thinking about all these tacky striped clothes and pelt hats and everything. I think about them, and while I love them—I cared a lot about those girls, and I think the critters are a wonderful part of nature—love isn’t the only thing I feel. It’s like when you think about your hobby, or how I used to get when I thought about graduating from the police academy. There’s a passion. Like I’m the starring kid in a musical, and they’re playing the number about all his hopes and dreams on my heartstrings.”

“Now I think you’re starting to get it,” Vello encouraged him; he had waited patiently while Sam mulled it over, and nodded along as he finally opened up. “So, Sam—”

“Sally,” the sheriff blurted out, eyes fixed on the being like a lost sailor watches the North Star. “Please.”

“Sally, dear,” Vello corrected himself. Something about hearing the name directed at her made her head swim a little; it was like receiving applause after one’s first time playing onstage. Did she just feel recognized? Seen? How did just a taste of being treated like a woman feel so… right? “What is it that you want?”

“You said you grant wishes?” Sally choked.

“I can help you, yes!”

“No monkey’s paw nonsense? No ironic genie rules?”

“Heavens, no. I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you—or have had this conversation with any others like you—if I didn’t want to help. No ifs, ands, or buts, no strings attached.”

“Can you do it for me? Can you… Can I try being like them?”

“Just tell me what you want to try first,” Vello said, a smile palpable on his featureless face.

“Let’s start… let’s start with the tail,” she resolved.

“Would you do me just one favor, first?”

“You said no strings,” Sally said, warily.

“It’s not a string, per se. Just something I think will be fun! Help you get into the experience, maybe.” The sheriff sighed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Why don’t you put this on?” Vello grinned, holding up the little domino mask. Sally patted her pockets—she hadn't set it down anywhere, but she didn’t have it anymore. It was the same one. What the Hell was with this guy? If she weren't in the makings of a great mood, she’d have snatched it out of his glowing hands. “C’mon. Worst case, it’ll be good for a laugh.”

“Pfft. Fine,” she said, cracking a begrudging smile. She snatched it—playfully—from him and reached up to tie it around the back of her head. “Is it working? Do I look like a raccoon yet?”

“You tell me! Do you feel any different?” She opened her mouth to tell him no, of course not, you wingnut, but all that came out was a surprised little yip. The small of her back felt strange, like there was pressure under the skin. Her belt was suddenly uncomfortably tight, and her shirt, tucked neatly into her waistband like it normally was, began to rumple and come loose as though something were snaking its way out of her pants. She could feel—could move—something, though the sensation was indirect, sort of foreign, like wiggling her ears. It wasn’t long enough for her to see yet, even if she tugged her shirt up and craned around to look down over her shoulder.

“Lord, this thing is itchy,” she griped.

“Oh, careful! Don’t scratch that while it’s still growing in,” Vello cautioned. “That would be, uh, your spine.” She winced and endured the sensation, a growth spurt pushing out instead of up. Her tailbone gave a downright strange crunching sensation as it stretched, then split, into a new vertebra; her skin pulled like taffy as it slid further away from the base of her spine, making way for the next new disc, then the next, then the next. A shudder shot through her each time, hammering against the base of her skull.

She felt the unmistakable sensation of a five o’clock shadow all along the new limb, followed by prickles all over, like a million tiny blades of grass tickling her skin. For each new vertebra, a new ring around her tail. Soon enough, she had a brand-new, puffy little appendage sitting just above her rear, long enough for her to wrap around her waist and examine firsthand. It was surreal, flicking around in her hands, like one of those demonstrations she’d seen of robots being controlled by their inventor’s thoughts. To reach out and touch it, to see something so fluffy and cute and feel both the fur between her fingers and the fingers in her fur—something clicked into place in her brain. This was hers. It was her.

“This is…” Sally fumbled, awestruck and frankly so overwhelmed—so surprised that she was overwhelmed, that this felt so good—that she struggled for the words. “This is really something. You, uh, you said that was my spine stretching out?”

“Mhm!”

“So you can’t just, y’know, poof a tail onto me?”

“No ma’am,” he explained, shooting more sparks right into her brain. “I can only really move things around. It looks like I change instantly when I do it because I don’t have your anatomical concerns. You, I have to be more careful with! Don’t want to hurt you, now do we?”

“And here I thought having your bones twisted and moved around like that would’ve hurt like Hell.”

“I’m being very careful,” he beamed.

“Right.” She was well past questioning anything Vello said, at this point. The results spoke for themselves.

“So?”

“Uh, so?”

“So what’s next?” He pushed, excitedly.

“Oh! Oh um, shit, let’s see,” she searched her thoughts frantically, so swept up in the thrill of everything that she nearly forgot to be flustered at her next proposition. “Can we try making me more… ah, shit,” she said, rubbing her face with her hands, bracing to spit it out. “More ladylike?”

“Certainly! Any specific requests?”

“Well, all the girls I’ve had eyes for have been on the heavier side. Maybe if I like having a soft tail so much, I’ll like being a soft woman too!” she said, half-joking, full of enthusiasm. “Do I have to, y’know, do something else like the mask, or…?”

“Oh, no. I can just—” Vello began, trailing off with a vague gesture in Sally’s direction.

“Woah.” Immediately, she began to feel changes: her hips creaked as they widened, and her once-broad shoulders groaned as they pinched inward toward her spine, narrowing and sloping downward. Her legs lengthened a few inches, snapping and squeaking like rhubarb or bamboo as her bones warped under Vello’s guidance, and her torso shortened by a few more inches than that. She was smaller overall, and a touch more slender, but much leggier in comparison. Her legs began to fill out as well. Her thighs, at first, merely brushed against each other as she shifted her weight around, her eyes darting from limb to body and back in wonder; within moments, they were like pillows stuffed in a bag from a furniture store, straining against the confines of her work pants and pressed firmly against each other, even with her feet slightly apart.

The changes progressed further and further up her body, testing her pants’ limits even more harshly as her rear softened and grew. If she hadn’t just sprouted a tail, she’d have found the weight in the area to be an unfamiliar sensation; even with her five whole minutes of experience, she quickly had to learn to adjust her balance. Finally, the button gave way, and the zipper was torn open by the force of her growing hips. Even so, the garment was stuffed taut and drawn tight as a suspension bridge, and even so, her butt bounced slightly when she moved. She knew that if she were in the nude, it’d be wobbling outright—rippling, even.

Next was her shirt’s turn to be put through its paces. Her tummy changed gradually at first: the outline of the bottom of her ribs softened, then faded away entirely; her flat stomach grew to a bit of a bump, then began to squish down the tiniest bit under its own weight; a muffin top began to spill over the waist of her pants. Quickly, rolls started forming—her belly had grown soft enough to fold, to pool on top of itself. When she moved, her stomach took half a second to catch up to her, and its weight was palpable as she turned to admire her burgeoning figure. The way it stretched her button-up looked almost like an over-stuffed plushie: pulled tight in a way that seemed like you could sink your hand into it, and like it would make for an excellent pillow.

Her chest grew in much the same way, starting out as a single extra layer of padding and becoming larger, more rounded, bound more strongly by gravity as they expanded. Perky at first, they quickly became heavy enough to squish down onto themselves, though, supported by her tummy as they were, they still seemed plenty bouncy. Her nipples puffed up beneath her shirt, becoming broader and softer—right up until her chest filled out the top of her button-up, and they were pressed to tightly against the fabric as to be plainly visible through it. Another button gave, zipping right past Vello, and then another. Her face grew flushed at the sight of her own cleavage; the way she was enraptured by every little bounce with her breathing, by the way her shirt cupped and supported them, it was like she was a teenager seeing her first pair in person all over again. Except these, she got to keep!

A few final changes happened above her shoulders: her brows thinned, her cheeks filled out, and her Adam’s apple just about disappeared with one flustered gulp. She tested her new voice, shaky from excitement though it was:

“Listen, Vello,” she began, face burning. Her voice still carried years of wear, exhaustion, but it was a bit higher itched; a raspy contralto instead of her old gravelly grumble. “I know you have a real good read on the things I enjoy—and please don’t mistake me, I am enjoying this—but I don’t think this much of a figure is… office-appropriate.”

“No? But, dear, you aren’t too encumbered by the new changes, are you? You can still run well enough, especially with legs like those, and—”

“No, trust me when I say that this is… exceptionally curvy, for us mere mortals. Maybe it’s just me, another one of those things I was worried about being creepy over, but… can we just dial it back a little with the body fat?”

“Well, as long as it’s what you want. I can’t say I understand, though. You seemed thrilled about it just a second ago!” Vello waved again, and Sally lost a cup size, two waist sizes, and a few inches off her inseam. She breathed a sigh of relief, and her clothes finally stopped screaming for mercy.

“There’s such a thing as too excited about a body, Vello.” He looked at her blankly—even more than you would expect for someone without a face.

“I guess I just wouldn’t get it.”

“Maybe not,” she said, fiddling with her tail, “but get this!” She turned around, having wrapped her new raccoon rings ‘round her neck like a boa. “Isn’t this cute?”

“Oh, that’s an excellent idea! If you like your new fur so much, we could cover the rest of you in it!” Sally’s heart began to pound again at the suggestion.

“Yes. Let it rip, mister genie, make that my third wish! I think I know the answer already, but I wanna find out for sure if what I liked about those ladies really did run deeper than skin-to-skin!”

“Silly,” Vello chuckled, “I already told you I’m no genie! But your wish is my command,” he obliged her, dramatically waving his fingers around as though he was casting the final part of some grand spell.

First, her skin began to tingle—all over, just like when Vello started to grow her tail, she felt the ticklish, pokey sensation all over. Goosebumps formed on her skin, running from the base of her skull all the way to her toes, and from each little bump erupted a thick, strong follicle of fur, cascading along her body in bands of black, white, and all the shades of gray in between.

Her toes themselves also began to change: she felt a dull pressure in her feet, like the kind she had felt after a long car ride without a chance to stretch her legs. Along the bottoms of her feet, the skin thickened into paw pads; when she looked down at her hands, she saw much the same thing, and likewise felt pressure building there, like she had gone too long without cracking her knuckles. She extended her fingers, gently, and then flexed them—one by one, they crunched and popped, becoming thicker, rounder as they curled. The bones in the delicate joints slid past each other, shortened, grew stouter, and by the time they were done, they were a cute little pair of paws, each digit topped with a retractable claw.

The changes in her legs were more extensive than that, however; they would continue all the way up her legs and up into her hips. Her ankles cracked, tarsal bones gnashing against each other as they began to borrow length from her shins, and they strained as more and more of her weight was slowly forced forward onto her toes. Thankfully, as if to help her maintain her balance in real-time, much of the mass of her calves (and a little from her thighs) shifted to her rear end, the muscle there bulking up to help support the weight on her new digitigrade legs. She bent her knees—now considerably higher on her leg than she was used to—one at a time, shivering with relief as her bones cracked through the last tremors of reorganization, then popped up. She tentatively put one paw in front of the other, strutting around in a little circle, testing the limits of her new legs and ecstatic to find how nicely she bounced across the floor on them.

Her face, once again, was the site of the finishing touches. Her nose elongated into view of her eyes, and the end became wet and cold in the still air of the office, even in the warmth of Vello’s glow. Her teeth shifted—a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she got her braces off in high school—and the ligaments in her jaw snapped and stretched as it realigned itself, struggling to keep up with the sprouting of her snout. Whiskers shot out from the fur near the end of her nose, each one with an accompanying pinch, like it had been plucked by a tweezer and pulled out to its proper length; her ears migrated along the sides of her head, rounding out as they went and coming to rest at the top of her head. She reached up, feeling the shape of her new features with her equally-new paws, and realized she could no longer feel the mask. It struck her that she must have an all-natural mask now, and she suddenly felt like a child on Christmas morning.

“Vello,” she cried, whirling around to face him again, “we gotta find a mirr—oh.”

“A mirror?” He asked coyly, peeking out from behind a full-length vanity mirror. It was another impressive magical maneuver on his part, but she was distracted: the sight of herself in the mirror was enough to move her nearly to tears. It was really herself! The first time she had looked in the mirror and felt more than apathy, than resignation, than “acceptance of the luck of the draw”. She liked what she saw. She loved it! Her paws covered her snout, overcome with emotion; after a moment collecting herself, she watched it move in the mirror, still unable to believe that what she was seeing was real. Eventually, she stepped around the mirror and threw her arms around Vello—something she now had to reach slightly up to do.

“This is wonderful,” she mustered, trying not to sob into his shining shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You’ll be happier this way, won’t you, dear?”

“Happier than I knew i could be!”

“That’s all the thanks I need.” She pulled away to look at him; he could tell by her face that she was unsatisfied with the answer. “Maybe look out for other people like yourself?”

“Who want to change their gender, or who want to change their species?”

“Either!” he replied, eagerly. “And both! Just be willing to hear them out, you see. And if they aren’t sure how to say it quite yet, don’t be afraid to give them a nudge in the right direction.”

“Pay it forward,” she mused. “I can do that, for sure. Looking out for the people in this town is my job anyway, right?” She paused for a moment before a realization set in: “Ah, shit. My job. I’m gonna have to answer so many questions…”

“A perfect opportunity to reintroduce yourself then, my dear!”

“Hah. I guess so!”

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I take off, Sally?”

“Vello, I think I’m better than I’ve ever been. Thank you.”

“You’re very, very welcome. See you around!”

“See—” she blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, Vello was gone, mirror and all. “—you.” Huh. That’s that, she supposed. She glanced out the window; the sun was nearly up, which meant that her shift was about to be over, and that the station-house was about to be flooded by her coworkers. She decided it'd be best to get the Hell out of there for now; she could figure out an excuse for everything that had happened after getting some proper rest. She fiddled with her badge—surely, they’d believe it was her as long as she had it, right? The glint of the early light on its polished metal distracted her as she walked out to her truck. It took until the sky started changing color around her to snap her out of her admiration. The sheriff laughed to herself.

Guess some of these changes really do go further than skin-deep, she mused. Figures that I’d go straight from collecting stripey things to collecting shiny things. If she was honest with herself, something felt right about that, too. A lot felt right, now. More right than it ever had.

#writeblr #trans author #transformation #furry writing #trans #tgtf #transgender #raccoon #furry fiction #indie author #commission #short story #technically. like its one chapter but its WAY longer than usual totalcudgel was a good sport about it

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