"Death before Detransition" does not mean that I will kill myself if I can't access hormones or be referred to by my preferred language.
It means that there will always be another way. There will always be a stockpile, or distributors, or ways to synthesize the medicine we need. And even if that fails, there will always be community. There will always be identity. There will always be expression, and identity, or some piece of the trans experience, whether it be societal, physiological, or even completely internal, in perpetuity, that lives through every transgender person.
âDeath before Detransition" means that the only way to erase my reality as a transgender woman is to put me in the ground.â
I'm honestly speechless. Is this original work? It's incredible.
I'm honored that you think I said this best. It is far from a new idea, however, and this is only me typing the words of many, many transgender people before me in my own words.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
The Black Egret is a species of bird that occupies African, coastal streams, rivers and flats. They use a unique and effective fishing strategy called Canopy Feeding. This is when they cloak their wings around Themselves to shade the water and entice fish into their seemingly safe shade.
Want to hear from sex workers about what our work is really like? Interested in why so many trans and intersex people sell sex? Looking for leftist theory on prostitution?
Get any of my books on the topic of sex work, in paperback or e-book formats, from my online shop.
Please share around, it can be hard to get the word out about this kind of writing because platforms censor and suppress mentions of sex work so heavily!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Scrolled down the MF DOOM tag trying to find the mac and cheese image and I couldn't so anyway here it is literally one of my favourite images of all time
this is not a drag on fanfiction but if you find yourself consistently saying âwow fic is better than most published stuff!! and itâs free!!â it might be a sign that your brain is ready for and craving more complicated literature than the books you are used to gravitating towards
Iâve read fanfics that are better than some published novels. Iâve read published novels that are better than some fanfics. Iâve read books that do some things I like better and some things I like worse, and ditto with fanfics. This post is blatantly not saying âstop reading fanficâ or âfanfic is bad,â itâs saying âthere is a much bigger world of literature out there than the books you are comparing your fanfics to and you will probably enjoy those more complicated novels better than the novels you are currently reading.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
The Scales of Seduction by Rien Gray [historical fiction, retelling, erotica]: An erotic lesbian monster novella reinterpreting the Medusa myth. Romance between Medusa and a basilisk warrior. Transfem butch protagonist.
Reverse Tomboy by Auto Anon [literary fiction, autofiction, essays]: A novella about a trans woman who struggles with relationships, familial dynamics, and reclaiming her masculinity after transitioning. Comes with an essay on transfeminine butchness and masculinities. Transfem Jewish butch protagonist and author.
Hot Girls with Balls by Benedict Nguyen [litfic, satire]: A contemporary satire novel about two trans lesbian volleyball players, who have to grapple with the anxieties of stardom as well as their their own off-court relationship drama. Transfem Asian-American protagonist. Transfem author.
Little Blue Encyclopedia (for Vivian) by Hazel Jane Plante [litfic]: A trans lesbian mourns her straight trans friend, and comes to terms with her death by writing a personalized encyclopedia/love letter about the latter's favorite obscure TV show. Transfem soft butch protagonist. Transfem author.
Herculine by Grace Byron [litfic, horror]: A disaffected and traumatized young woman arrives at an all-trans girls commune founded by her toxic ex-girlfriend, only to discover something sinister afoot. Transfem butch love interest and side characters. Transfem author.
Our Monsters by Jemma Topaz (mystery, erotica, satire): In a futuristic city inhabited by monsters, a human woman tries to solve a series of grisly murders, while romancing several monster girls. Transfem butch love interest (poly romance, not the only love interest). Transfem author.
Always open to recs. Transfem butches are loved and appreciated, and I don't tolerate invisibilization of transfeminine people when speaking of butchness and lesbian masculinity.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
The Scales of Seduction by Rien Gray [historical fiction, retelling, erotica]: An erotic lesbian monster novella reinterpreting the Medusa myth. Romance between Medusa and a basilisk warrior. Transfem butch protagonist.
Reverse Tomboy by Auto Anon [literary fiction, autofiction, essays]: A novella about a trans woman who struggles with relationships, familial dynamics, and reclaiming her masculinity after transitioning. Comes with an essay on transfeminine butchness and masculinities. Transfem Jewish butch protagonist and author.
Hot Girls with Balls by Benedict Nguyen [litfic, satire]: A contemporary satire novel about two trans lesbian volleyball players, who have to grapple with the anxieties of stardom as well as their their own off-court relationship drama. Transfem Asian-American protagonist. Transfem author.
Little Blue Encyclopedia (for Vivian) by Hazel Jane Plante [litfic]: A trans lesbian mourns her straight trans friend, and comes to terms with her death by writing a personalized encyclopedia/love letter about the latter's favorite obscure TV show. Transfem soft butch protagonist. Transfem author.
Herculine by Grace Byron [litfic, horror]: A disaffected and traumatized young woman arrives at an all-trans girls commune founded by her toxic ex-girlfriend, only to discover something sinister afoot. Transfem butch love interest and side characters. Transfem author.
Our Monsters by Jemma Topaz (mystery, erotica, satire): In a futuristic city inhabited by monsters, a human woman tries to solve a series of grisly murders, while romancing several monster girls. Transfem butch love interest (poly romance, not the only love interest). Transfem author.
Always open to recs. Transfem butches are loved and appreciated, and I don't tolerate invisibilization of transfeminine people when speaking of butchness and lesbian masculinity.
Warnings: ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP (not Joel); descriptions of abusive; bruising; protective!Joel; asshole boyfriend; swearing; fighting; post apocalyptic setting; violence; Jackson not playing about abusive men
.
The first thing you notice about Jackson is the sound.
Not the windâyou're used to that. Not the distant groan of the infectedâthat's become background noise to your life.
Itâs laughter.
Real laughter. Bright. Careless.
It hits you harder than the cold.
You and Drew stand at the wooden gates, dust clinging to your boots, exhaustion weighing down your bones. Your settlement burned three nights ago. Smoke still feels lodged in your lungs. You havenât said the word "dead" out loud yet.
The guards on the wall above you exchange looks.
âWeâre not looking for trouble,â Drew calls up, hands raised but confident. Too confident. âJust somewhere to rest.â
You stay quiet. Youâve learned silence keeps you safer.
Thereâs murmuring above. Then the gates creak open.
And thatâs when you see him.
A broad-shouldered man steps forward from inside the walls, flanked by another man with lighter hair and wary eyes. The broad one studies you first. Not Drew.
You.
Dark eyes. Weathered face. A jaw that looks like itâs clenched more often than not.
You donât know his name yet, but you know the type. Survivor. The kind whoâs lost too much and trusts too little.
His gaze shifts to Drew.
It hardens.
âThis is a town,â he says, voice low and rough like gravel dragged across wood. âNot a charity.â
Drew offers that easy smile heâs perfectedâthe one thatâs gotten you extra rations, safe shelter, and better trades. âWeâre willing to work.â
The man doesnât return the smile.
You feel it thenâthat strange pull of tension in the air. Like a wire drawn too tight.
The lighter-haired man steps forward. âIâm Tommy,â he says. âThatâs my brother, Joel.â
Joel.
The name fits him. Solid. Heavy.
Joelâs eyes flick back to you.
âYou hurt?â he asks.
The question catches you off guard.
Before you can answer, Drew does. âSheâs fine.â
Joel doesnât look at him. Not once.
Heâs still watching you.
You hesitate, then shake your head. âJust tired.â
Something shifts in his expression. Subtle. Almost imperceptible.
Tommy nods. âWeâve got procedures. Quarantine first. Just to be safe.â
You expect Joel to turn away. To lose interest.
He doesnât.
As youâre escorted inside, you can feel itâthe weight of his stare between your shoulder blades.
Drew leans closer to you as you walk.
âSee?â he murmurs. âTold you weâd find somewhere better.â
You nod, but your eyes drift.
Joel is still standing by the gate.
Still watching.
Not you.
Drew.
And thereâs something in his expression you recognize instantly.
Distrust.
.
Quarantine ends on a gray morning.
Two full days in the small wooden cabin at the edge of town. Two days of Drew pacing. Two days of you pretending you donât jump at every sudden knock.
The knock comes just after sunrise.
Drew reaches the door first.
When he opens it, Joel Miller stands on the porch, broad shoulders filling the doorway like he owns it.
His eyes move past Drew.
To you.
âIâll need you,â he says.
Not both of you.
You.
Drew frowns slightly. âFor what?â
âPatrol.â
His voice is even. Calm. Final.
You stand from the small table by the window. âI can go.â
Drew turns toward you. âWe just got cleared.â
Joel doesnât respond to him. He keeps looking at you, waiting.
âYou can handle it?â he asks.
âYes,â you answer.
He nods once. âGear up.â
Drew steps forward a fraction. Not aggressive. Not quite.
âI can go instead.â
Joelâs gaze finally shifts to him.
âSheâs already been assigned.â
Thereâs nothing else to say to that.
.
Outside the cabin, the cold air bites sharp and clean.
You fall into step beside Joel as you head toward the stables.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
Snow crunches under your boots.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
âHow big was the place you came from?â
âSmall,â you say. âMaybe thirty people.â
"How long were you there?â
âThree years.â
"Is that where you met him?â
You hesitate, just slightly. âYeah.â
He adjusts the strap of his rifle. "Are you married?â
The question catches you off guard. You shake your head. âNo.â
A beat passes.
âHowâd that happen then?â
You stare ahead at the treeline beyond Jacksonâs walls.
âThe council paired people,â you say carefully. âMen and women. Said it kept things stable.â
Joel is quiet for a long moment.
âYou agree to that?â he asks.
âYes.â
Too fast. You can feel itâthat weight again. His attention isnât loud, but itâs thorough.
âYou sure?â he asks.
You nod. Your eyes donât meet his. He doesnât push.
.
The patrol is routine.
Perimeter sweep. Fence inspection. Clearing a small group of infected caught in a snowdrift near the north ridge.
You move well. Efficient. Careful with ammo. Calm under pressure.
Joel watches. He notices how you donât panic. How you listen when he gives instruction. How you never once look back toward town.
When you finish, he hands you a thermos from his pack. âHere, drink," he says.
You take it. Your fingers brush his glove for half a second. Warm. Solid. You donât know why that registers. It just does.
.
When you return to Jackson, Drew is waiting near the stables.
Drewâs hand settles at the small of your back. Joelâs eyes drop to it. Then back to your face.
Your shoulders shiftâjust a fraction inward.
.
Over the next two weeks, Jackson settles around you.
You work mornings in the stables. Sometimes kitchen duty. Once, inventory with Maria.
Drew finds carpentry work quickly. Talks easily with the other men. Volunteers often.
Joel watches.
He leans against fences. Fixes tacks that don't need fixing. Takes patrol routes that pass through town at certain hours.
He tells himself itâs routine.
He notices how Drew answers when someone asks you a question. How he steps in just a little too quickly. How you rarely look at anyone for long. Especially not Joel.
One afternoon, Tommy finds him sitting outside the workshop, staring across the street.
âYouâre doing it again,â Tommy says.
Joel doesnât look away. "Doing what?â
"Watching'."
Joel exhales through his nose. âNew people.â
Tommy follows his line of sight.
Youâre standing by the well. Drew says something. You nod immediately.
âYouâre interested,â Tommy says lightly.
Joelâs jaw tightens. âIâm concerned.â
Tommy raises a brow.
Joel finally looks at him.
âSettlement paired men and women,â he mutters. âDidnât like how she said it.â
Tommy studies him for a moment.
âYou think heâs trouble?â
Joel looks back toward you.
Drew laughs at something one of the townspeople says. His hand rests on your shoulder now. You stand still as a statue.
Joelâs voice lowers.
âI think,â he says carefully, âshe doesn't look like someone who chose.â
Tommy doesnât joke after that. He just nods once.
.
Itâs late afternoon when it happens.
The sky is heavy with incoming snow, and the air is sharp and metallic in your lungs. You volunteered to help move supplies from the storage shed near the east fenceâdried beans, flour sacks, and a small crate of preserved vegetables.
Drew insisted on helping.
You carry more than you should.
Two sacks balanced against your chest, a crate hooked awkwardly in your elbow. The ground near the shed is unevenâfrozen mud turned brittle and ridged.
You know better. Your boot catches anyway. It happens fast. Your balance tips. The crate slips first. Then the sacks. You hit the ground hard, palms scraping against packed frost as beans scatter across the snow.
For a second, thereâs just ringing in your ears.
Thenâ"What the hell is wrong with you?â
Drewâs voice is sharp.
You push yourself up quickly. âIâm sorry. I didnât seeââ
âObviously you didnât see,â he snaps, stepping closer. âYou never pay attention.â
Your chest tightens.
You drop to your knees, scrambling to gather what you can before the snow ruins it.
âIâve got it,â you murmur.
âYou always say that,â he says, leaning down close enough that you can feel his breath. âYou think people donât notice? You embarrassing me like that?â
Your fingers tremble slightly as you scoop beans back into torn cloth.
âI didnât mean to.â
âNo, you never mean to. Thatâs the problem. You donât think.â
The words hit harder than the fall did.
Behind the storage shed, just around the corner, two figures have gone still.
Joel had been checking the fence line with Tommy. They werenât meant to hear anything, but they do.
Joelâs posture changes first. Tommy glances sideways at him, then back toward the voices.
Drew keeps going.
âYou think this place is yours already?â he mutters. âYou think they like you?â
âI donâtââ
âYou donât what?â His tone lowers. âDonât forget where you came from. You need me.â
Thereâs the real crack.
You nod automatically. âI know.â
Joelâs jaw tightens so hard it aches. Tommy shifts his weight slightly, uncomfortable now.
Thereâs a long pause. Then Drew exhales. And just like that, his tone changes.
âJust⌠be more careful,â he says, almost reasonable. âAlright?â
You nod again. You donât argue. You donât defend yourself. You just gather the last of the spilled food.
Drew finally crouches to helpâbut not before brushing frost off his own jacket first.
Joel steps around the corner deliberately then, boots crunching against snow.
Drew straightens immediately.
Mask back on.
âDidnât see you there,â Drew says easily.
Joel doesnât look at him.
He looks at you.
Your palms are scraped raw. Red against white snow.
âYou hurt?â Joel asks.
You shake your head. âIâm fine.â
Joel holds your gaze a second longer than usual. You look away first. Of course you do.
Tommy steps forward, trying to ease the tension. âWe can grab fresh sacks from storage.â
Drew smiles lightly. âWould appreciate it. She just lost her footing.â
Joel finally looks at him. Thereâs nothing explosive in his expression.
"The ground didnât seem that uneven,â Joel says mildly.
Drewâs smile tightens. âGuess some people are clumsier than others.â
Silence stretches.
Joel bends and picks up the crate from your hands without asking.
His fingers brush yours. He doesnât say anything else. But when he straightens, his eyes meet yours again. And this timeâyou donât look away immediately.
.
Later that night, Tommy sits across from Joel at the table.
Neither of them mentions it at first.
Finally, Tommy says quietly, âYou were right.â
Joel stares at the wall.
âShe apologized,â he says. âFor falling.â
Tommy nods. Joelâs hands curl into fists against the tabletop. âThat isn't how someone talks to a person they respect.â
Across town, in your cabin, Drew is calm again. Easy. Talking about future work assignments. Like nothing happened. Like it never does.
.
Friday nights in Jackson belong to the The Tipsy Bison. Lantern light glows warm against the wooden beams, boots thud at the door as people stomp off snow, and somewhere in the corner someone plays a guitar just slightly off-key. Laughter comes easier here. It fills the space in a way that almost makes you forget what the world used to be.
Youâre seated at a long table near the back, cheeks warmed by both the fire and the drink in your hand. And youâre smilingânot the polite, measured smile youâve perfected over the years, but something looser. Real.
Maria sits beside you, elbow propped casually on the table as she studies you over the rim of her glass. âYou clean up nice,â she teases.
You huff a soft laugh. âThis is the same sweater.â
âStill,â she replies, smiling. Then her tone shifts, becoming gentler. âYou settling in alright?â
You nod automatically. âYeah. Itâs good here.â
âAnd you and Drew?â
The question is light. Curious. Harmless.
Your answer isnât. Itâs immediate, smooth from repetition. âWeâre good.â
Mariaâs eyes linger on you a second longer than is comfortable. âHow long have you been together?â
âThree years.â
"Are you happy?â
âYes.â
Too quick. Too practiced.
You lift your drink before she can read anything more from your face. Across the room, Drew stands at the bar with a few of the carpenters, laughing easily. He hasnât looked at you in a while.
But youâve looked at him.
Several times.
Your eyes flick up every few seconds, checking, confirming. You donât realize youâre doing it. Maria does.
A chair scrapes against the floor as Tommy Miller drops into the seat across from you with easy familiarity. âYou ladies gossiping without us?â he grins, setting down fresh drinks.
Behind him, slower and quieter, Joel Miller takes a seat at the edge of the table. Not too close. Not too far. His presence is steady and deliberate.
You glance at him. Heâs already looking at you.
You look away first.
Conversation flows easily after that. Patrol routes, weather shifts, and someoneâs horse throwing a shoe earlier in the week. Tommy tells a ridiculous story that makes you laughâreally laughâyour shoulders loosening, your head tipping back slightly as the sound escapes you unguarded.
Joel notices everything.
Especially your eyes.
Even while you laugh, they move. Scan. Count. Check.
Drew.
Still at the bar. Still talking.
Until he isnât.
He turns at the exact moment you laugh, catching the expression before you can temper it. Something in his posture changesâsubtle but sharp. He doesnât hurry over. He finishes his drink first, says something to the men beside him, and then makes his way toward the table.
You see him coming.
Joel sees the second you do.
Your laughter fades mid-breath. Your spine straightens. The ease drains from your posture like water through a crack.
Drew stops beside you. "Are you having fun?â he asks, tone light and controlled.
âYes,â you answer carefully.
His hand closes around your wrist. Not violently. Not enough to draw attention. But tight enough that your fingers pale beneath his grip.
âTime to head home,â he says.
The table quiets in that subtle, almost polite way people do when tension enters a space.
âOh, already?â Maria asks.
âEarly morning,â Drew replies smoothly. âShe needs the sleep.â
You donât argue. You donât hesitate. You stand.
âGoodnight,â you say softly to the table.
Joelâs gaze drops to Drewâs hand. The grip hasnât loosened. When he looks up at Drewâs face, he sees it clearly nowânot open anger, but possession. A silent claim.
Sheâs mine.
âNight,â Tommy says, trying to keep the tone easy.
Drew nods and guides you toward the door. You donât look back.
.
He tells himself heâs just heading home. That itâs on the way. That it doesnât mean anything.
But his steps are slow as he passes the cabin assigned to you. A faint light glows through the thin curtains. He shouldnât stop.
He does.
At first, thereâs only silence.
Then Drewâs voice, muffled through wood. âYou think I didnât see that?â
A pause.
Your voice answers, quieter. âI was just talking.â
âYou were laughing.â
âIt was justââ
âDonât lie to me.â
The words arenât shouted. Theyâre controlled. That makes them worse.
Something hits wood insideânot hard enough to splinter, but hard enough to make a point.
Joelâs hands curl into fists at his sides.
Inside, your voice again. Smaller now. âIâm sorry.â
The word lands heavy in his chest.
Footsteps. Movement. The murmur of low, tense voices he canât fully make out.
Every instinct in him tells him to kick the door in. To drag Drew out by the collar and end it.
But he canât.
Not without proof. Not without you asking. Jackson has rules.
And you havenât asked.
The noise eventually fades. Silence settles thick and suffocating behind the cabin walls.
Joel stands there longer than he shouldâlong enough to make sure it doesnât start again. Long enough to feel useless.
When he finally turns away, his jaw is set hard.
Because this isnât a single moment anymore.
Itâs a pattern.
And Joel Miller does not ignore patterns.
.
You donât leave the cabin for three days.
At first, no one thinks much of it. New people get sick. New climates hit hard. Stress catches up.
When Maria asks Drew about you on the second afternoon, he smiles easily and says, âShe isn't feeling well. Just under the weather.â
He says it like heâs inconvenienced but patient.
Maria doesnât entirely buy it. Neither does Joel. He hasnât seen you once since Friday night. Not at the stables. Not at the well. Not at dinner. Your cabin curtains stay drawn.
âShe doesn't seem the type to hide from work over a cold,â Joel mutters to Tommy Miller as they stand near the gate.
Tommy watches Drew across the yard. âMariaâs already clocked it.â
Sure enough, that evening Maria reassigns patrol rotations.
âDrew,â she calls, clipboard tucked under her arm. âYouâre out early tomorrow. East ridge.â
Drew hesitates for half a second. Then nods. âSure.â
Joel doesnât miss the flicker in his eyes.
.
The next morning, Joel waits. He watches Drew leave through the gates with the patrol group. He counts until theyâre out of sight.
Then he turns and walks toward your cabin.
He tells himself heâs just checking in.
The knock is firm but not loud. Thereâs a long pause before you answer. The door opens barely an inch. Just enough for one eye. Half your face.
âYes?â
Your voice is thin. Joelâs chest tightens at the sound of it.
âYou alright?â he asks.
âIâm fine,â you reply quickly. âJust under the weather.â
His eyes narrow slightly. âYeah?â
You nod. He studies the door. The way youâre bracing it with your shoulder. The way your body is angled to keep most of yourself hidden.
âThen why are you hiding behind a door?â he asks gently.
âIâm not hiding.â
âYou are.â
Your fingers tighten on the edge of the wood.
You try to straighten your voice. âItâs just a cold. I donât want to spread it.â
Joel doesnât answer immediately.
Instead, he pushes lightly against the door.
Not forcing. Just testing.
You resistâbut not hard enough.
The door opens another few inches.
And thatâs when he sees it.
Darkened skin along your forearm. Yellowed at the edges. Deep purple near the center. Finger-shaped.
Joel goes completely still.
You realize too late whatâs exposed and try to pull your sleeve down.
âItâs nothing,â you say quickly. âI bruise easily."
Joelâs eyes lift slowly to yours.
âOpen the door,â he says.
You hesitate. Then something in you gives out. The door creaks open wider.
Joel sees you fully now. And the air leaves his lungs. The bruises donât stop at your arm. They mark your collarbone. The edge of your shoulder where your sweater slips. Faint discoloration shadows your jaw, partially hidden but not enough.
Some are fresh. Some are days old. All of them tell the same story. Joel steps back like heâs been physically struck.
For a second, he canât speak. You rush to fill the silence. âHe didnât mean it,â you say quickly. âHe justâhe gets upset sometimes. Itâs notâit's not like before. Heâs trying.â
Your voice shakes now. Youâre defending him. Joelâs expression fractures.
âLike before?â he repeats quietly.
You realize what youâve said and shake your head. âI just meanâit's stressful. New place. He doesnât like not being in control.â
Joelâs jaw tightens so hard it trembles. âHe isn't supposed to be in control of you,â he says.
âHe kept me alive,â you whisper. âI needed him.â
Joelâs voice softens, but it doesnât lose its steel. âNeeding someone isn't the same as belonging to them."
Tears sting your eyes now, but you blink them back stubbornly. âHe didnât mean to,â you repeat. âIt was justâI laughed. And he thoughtââ
Joel closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, something has settled there. Not just anger. Resolve. "Jackson, donât let this happen,â he says quietly.
You look confused. âWhat?â
âWe donât allow men to hurt women here.â
Your breathing picks up. Panic creeping in.
âNo, you canâtâif he finds out I toldââ
âYou didnât tell,â Joel interrupts gently. âI saw.â
He steps forward carefully, like approaching a wounded animal.
âI'm not asking you to fight with him,â he says. âYou donât have to do anything right now.â
Your back hits the wall behind you.
Joelâs voice lowers further.
âBut you aren't staying here alone when he gets back.â
Silence hangs between you.
Then he extends his hand. Not grabbing. Not demanding. Just there.
âCome on,â he says softly. âWeâre going to Mariaâs.â
Your chest feels tight.
âWhat if heâs angry?â you whisper.
Joelâs eyes darken.
âThen he can be angry at me.â
.
Maria doesnât hesitate.
The second you step into her house and she sees your armâreally sees itâher expression changes. Not shocked. Not pity.
Fury. Controlled. Focused fury.
She doesnât ask you to explain. She doesnât ask what you did or why it happened. She simply turns to Joel and says, âGet Tommy. Now.â
Within minutes, Tommy is there. Then two council members. Then more. Word spreads quickly in Jackson when it needs to.
You sit at Mariaâs kitchen table, hands trembling in your lap. You donât understand why everyone is moving so fast. Why do they look so certain?
You keep trying to soften it. âItâs not that bad,â you say once.
No one agrees.
Joel stands behind you. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your back. He hasnât touched you yet. Heâs giving you room.
But he hasnât stepped away either.
The council gathers around the heavy wooden table. Oil lamps flicker. Boots scrape against floorboards. It doesnât feel dramatic.
It feels procedural.
Maria speaks first. âSheâs not going back to that cabin.â
Tommy nods once. âAnd he wonât be staying in this town.â
Your breath catches. âYou donât have toââ
âYes,â Maria says firmly, meeting your eyes. âWe do.â
You donât understand. In the world you came from, this was private. Managed. Endured. Explained away. Here, itâs treated like a threat. Because it is.
They donât argue long. Thereâs no shouting. No debate.
Maria folds her hands on the table. âWeâve handled this before,â she says. âAnd weâll handle it the same way.â
One of the council members nods. âHeâs banned.â
Your chest tightens.
âIf he crosses back over the river,â Tommy adds evenly, âheâll be shot. No questions.â
The certainty in the room makes you dizzy.
âThatâs extreme,â you whisper.
Joelâs hand settles on your shoulder thenâheavy, steady, grounding.
âNo,â he murmurs quietly near your ear. âIt isn't."
Youâre shaking now. Not because you want Drew to stay. Because you donât understand why theyâre choosing you.
Joel notices before you do. Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders. Itâs warm. It smells like leather and cold air and something solid.
His arm comes around you. Not tight. Not claiming. Protective.
âItâs okay,â he says softly. âYouâre alright.â
The front door slams open. Boots thunder across the floor. âWhere is she?â
Drew storms into the room, snow melting off his shoulders. His eyes find you immediately.
Then they land on Joelâs arm around you.
His expression shiftsânot confusion. Ownership threatened.
âWhat the hell is this?â he demands.
Maria rises calmly. âSit down, Drew.â
âIâm not sitting down,â he snaps. âYou put me on patrol, then I come back and sheâs not in the cabin?â
Joel doesnât move his arm. Drew steps closer. âGet your hands off her.â
Joelâs voice drops low and dangerous. âCareful.â
The room stills.
Maria speaks before it escalates. âThe council has made a decision.â
Drew laughs sharply. âAbout what?â
âAbout you,â Tommy answers.
Maria doesnât waver. âYouâre banned from Jackson.â
The words land hard. Drew stares at her like sheâs lost her mind. âOver what? A misunderstanding?â
No one responds. He turns to you. âTell them. Tell them it wasnât like that.â
Your throat closes. Joel feels the tremor run through you. His arm tightens slightlyânot restraining, just steady.
Drew notices.
âYou think this is funny?â he spits at Joel. âYou think you can just take whatâs mine?â
The word echoes.
Mine.
âShe is not property,â Maria says coldly.
Drew ignores her. âThe settlement before gave her to me. Thatâs how it works. You donât just undo that because she got emotional.â
Joelâs jaw tightens.
âShe isn't an object,â he says quietly.
âYou donât get to decide that.â
âNo,â Maria says. âWe do.â
Guards move toward Drew. He looks around the room and finally understands. No one is backing him. He looks at you one last time. âYouâre really choosing this?â
Youâre still shaking. But you lift your head. And you donât answer. Joel feels the shift in you.
Drew scoffs. âYou wonât last a month without me.â
Joelâs reply is calm. âWeâll take that risk.â
The guards move to escort him out. Thatâs when he turns reckless. He shoves one of them hard enough to stumble and lunges forwardânot at Maria, not at Tommy.
At you.
Joel reacts before anyone else.
He steps in front of you, shoving you back behind him as Drew swings wildly. The punch glances off Joelâs shoulder instead of your face.
The room erupts.
Tommy and the guards tackle Drew before he can swing again, slamming him into the wall. A chair overturns. A lamp wobbles but doesnât fall.
Drew thrashes, shouting now. âSheâs mine! You donât get to take her!â
Joel doesnât move from where heâs shielding you. His entire body is a wall. You can see the fury in himâcontrolled, barely contained.
âGet him out,â Maria orders.
The guards drag Drew toward the door as he continues yelling threatsâat Joel, at the council, at you.
âYouâll regret this!â he shouts. âYou think heâll keep you? Youâre nothing without me!â
The door slams behind him.
Silence follows. Thick and ringing.
Joel turns immediately, hands on your armsâcareful, scanning you for injury.
âYou hurt?â he asks.
You shake your head, tears spilling freely now.
Outside, Drewâs shouting fades as heâs hauled toward the gate.
Joel pulls you into him then. Firm and steady, your face tucked against his chest, his hand braced at the back of your head like heâs anchoring you to something unmovable.
âYouâre safe,â he says, voice rough but certain. âHe isn't coming back."
And for the first timeâ
You believe it.
Death Before Detransition @turtleonatree - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook