#React Specialist

[kamalkafir-blog]

Nightshift CCTV Operator

Job title: Nightshift CCTV Operator Company: Corps Security Job description: of ‘loyalty, integrity, service’, we have become the UK’s most established and respected specialist security services provider… Assignment Instructions. Record all events and actions monitored from within the control room. Respond and react… Expected salary: £13.1 per hour Location: Paisley Job date: Fri, 27 Jun 2025…

[doublel27]

Whaaa?! An AouBoom pair accused of being full of heat!? Shocked. Shocked I say!

Oh…and their next project is…Only Friends Dream On? The second season of a show that’s title is a direct play on Only Fans. Mmm.

Thank you Inn. I am sure they are also romantic. Continue defending their storyline as romance for me.

[nabaath-areng]

It's actually mindblowing to me to be able to eat without coughing my lungs out or get stomach ache. Like I thought I had fixed the stomach ache finally after last years stress. Turns out I didn't know what it truly meant to be free from it. What the fuck!!!

[witchofthesouls]

Pffffft, donor!Tarn getting a slight clue... and then making the wrong conclusions.

Tarn's going to make it everyone else's problem as he strives to be the best donor ever.

Aka, Tarn stumbles upon sex enhancements, and, by Megatron and Primus, he's going to get them to "do you right."

[arklay]

my disability support pension got approved

[agentark]

my friend got engaged recently and we were looking at invite suites........compelled now to make wedding invites for my ocs and their significant others

[waywardsalt]

still kinda. idk grates on my nerves? that in botw and totk (ESPECIALLY totk) nearly every other character revolves around in some form or otherwise plays off of link without link. being a character

[fauville]

what if i killed myself

[wingedcandywasteland]

Hire React JS Developr

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[impliessolutionsposts]

Looking For a React Native Specialist For your First Business Mobile App? Here We Are... React Native Specialist has made a name for itself as a leader in developing mobile apps thanks to years of expertise with the framework. Our team of experts is enthusiastic about using React Native’s capabilities to build dependable, scalable, and eye-catching applications.

[kamalkafir-blog]

Software Developer (.NET)

Job title: Software Developer (.NET) Company: Yolk Recruitment Job description: framework such as Vue, React or Angular etc. Working knowledge of the .NET platform Think this one’s for you If you think… and permanent hires for 1 off specialist needs or for volume campaigns. We support our applicants to navigate the public sector… Expected salary: £35787 – 43759 per year Location: Cardiff Job…

[3st3smt]

Do You ever think that maybe there IS something wrong with you, you just can’t pinpoint what it is? Like you know there is something inside you that’s causing this melancholic sadness but you just can’t figure out what? Does anyone else experience this? I think it also pairs with no motivation for anything but I’m not sure if that’s a separate thing. Also, the feeling you get when someone tells you that it’s just a problem of you not doing exercise or something and you know it would help but you just can never muster up the strength to start and when you do start something independently you drop it really fast again?

[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[johannestevans]

I Am Bad Representation

And I could not care less.

This post also on my website for easy sharing.

Yesterday, I went to my GP and got my testosterone injection administered. It’s an intramuscular injection generally administered to my backside, where the fattier, softer flesh makes the intramuscular penetration of the needle less painful, and also gives it space to settle in the flesh and slowly be assimilated into my endocrine system over time.

Every 12 weeks — 3 months — I get this injection administered. I have been on it for about five years. 

Prior to that, I was on Testogel, a topical form of testosterone where you slather a very strong-smelling slime over your shoulders every day and sit uncomfortably, waiting for it to dry, before you can put your shirt on, and trying not to sweat in the meantime. 

The nurse at my local GP has been administering this T-shot for about a year. 

Previously, I had been prescribed an oestrogen cream to help with the symptoms of vaginal atrophy — when you have a vulva and vagina and you, for whatever reason, have low oestrogen and progesterone, the mucous membranes that make up the inside of your vagina and your labia minora become thinner and produce less lubricant. It can make it harder to produce enough lubricant whilst having sex, make you more prone to tearing, and contribute to muscular pain and discomfort. 

As you might have surmised from how I described the Testogel, this cream was Bad for me. It was very texturally unpleasant and awkward to administer with a little syringe, and I despised it. 

So I made a mistake. I said, hey, can you guys give me a suppository version of the same cream?

The receptionist seemed surprised by how comfortable I was talking about my vagina in the waiting room, but hey. Such is life. 

I receive a phone call the following morning at a few minutes past nine. With delight, the receptionist informs me, “We’ve made a referral to the gender dysphoria clinic for you!”

And I say, “Well, you shouldn’t have done that. Why did you do that?”

And she goes, “Oh.”

“I don’t need to speak to a gender dysphoria specialist. This is for a vaginal suppository. It’s the same thing you’d give to a cisgender woman experiencing vaginal atrophy after experiencing menopause — it has nothing to do with being transgender.”

“Oh. Well. Erm. The doctor just doesn’t feel comfortable prescribing you hormones without you talking to a specialist.”

“What about the hormones you already give me?”

“… What?”

“I was literally there yesterday getting my T-shot administered. You’ve been giving me my testosterone for a year. Is the doctor suddenly going to take me off a medication I’ve been on for eight years? Is he comfortable putting me at severe health risk for no reason?”

“Oh, er, well, I’m sure, um, I don’t — I’m just a secretary, I don’t, um, I don’t know about… I’m sure he wouldn’t… But I can’t guarantee that — “

I was pissed. I made it very clear I was pissed and that I felt this was a waste of time and resources.

I know exactly what happened. Because many doctors don’t actually know anything about much of the medicine they administer unless it comes up on a Google search, they immediately react to base assumptions like “transgender” (or “woman” or “disabled” or “Black”) and attribute any issue you’re having to that. 

My doctor looked at the fact that I’m on testosterone, then saw that I’d asked for oestrogen. Aaaaah!!! That’s so confusing and weird! I must be confused about my gender identity! You can’t just mess with all this stuff and brew it all together!

The fact that I’ve been given a cream-form of the same medication in the past is irrelevant. The fact that what I’ve requested is a LOCALISED form of HRT, which will not impact my broader endocrine system, is irrelevant — he doesn’t know that. The fact that again, the same exact thing can be given to cisgender women, is irrelevant. 

He doesn’t know how any of these medications work. Hormones + transgender = ooh scary!!!!

When you have any sort of chronic health condition — which my transgenderism will be until someone makes an implant for my T — you end up having to learn how a lot of these medications work and how they work together. You have to actually pay attention.

And then you have to manage healthcare practitioners who are acting based on bias and assumptions rather than actual healthcare comprehension. 

And then, infuriatingly, after all this, I was put in the position of having to say, “Look, I’m sorry, I know you don’t know anything about this, and I’m very clearly aggravated, but it feels like I’m being targeted for poor medical care simply because I am transgender, and that my health is being put at risk at random.”

Which is what’s happening. 

But when your doctor tries to do malpractice on you because he’s anxious about the fact that you’re transgender, you’re not allowed to get angry and upset about it, because that makes you scary and intimidating and a Bad Patient. It might make you worthy of even more punishment, or being struck off. 

So that ruined my day. 

I now have to go to the endocrinologist, and hopefully, I’ll be able to say, “I’ve literally been on T for eight years. Do not fuck with me. I do not need a fucking assessment. I do not need to prove for a second time to some stranger that I’m transgender. Just give me the suppository to make my dick work better and fuck off.”

And the endo will just give me the suppository, and my doctor will go back to giving my testosterone every three months, and I won’t have to ruin anybody’s life or publicly embarrass my GP surgery into treating me like a human being. 

It’s so frustrating to have to constantly think about what damage control I’m going to have to do to just be given the basic medication I require to live my life and that I’ve already been on for the better part of a decade. 

The thing about the fact that it feels like this whole thing has put my general life at risk is that it feels like a punishment for caring about my vaginal health and wanting to be able to have comfortable, good sex — and that makes me a bad transgender person.

Cis people don’t want to think about trans men having sex or being sexual beings. That’s gross and scary and weird and uncomfortable. 

Doctors don’t want a patient advocating for their own sexual health or being empowered and knowledgeable about the ins and outs of their own healthcare, let alone contradicting them just because they very clearly not only don’t know how my healthcare works, but because they can’t be bothered to learn. 

Cis people don’t really want trans people to exist, because the concept of trans people disrupts the things they would like to believe about “biological sex” and how it contributes to the roles they choose for each other and pressure one another into.

If they’re okay with trans people existing, they only want trans people to exist in perfect theory. 

They “grieve” over the cisgender children they “lose” when they transition to their correct gender. They don’t want kids and teenagers to be given puberty blockers, but they also don’t want them to get the right hormones — and now even as an adult, I’m constantly put in the position of having to be worried about my T getting stopped at any moment in case a doctor has Feelings about having a transgender patient. 

Because it’s too scary and too hard to actually do any research about my medication. They want our healthcare to go to nebulous “specialists” who, frankly, know more about diabetes and menopause — which is what most endocrinologists study! — than they do about being trans.

Cisgender people are often very fixated on the idea and the narrative that transgender people live in fear and anxiety and self-loathing because we’re so cursed by our bodies and our lives.

But almost every negative experience I have is to do with a cisgender person choosing to make my life difficult rather than any internal issue I have with my actual life or body or gender. It’s cis people using slurs or making places inaccessible, refusing to learn or be educated on any subject, and trying to push any kind of transgender person out of their lives, their facilities, their society.

And so yeah, I’m bad representation.

I’m openly gay and fruity, and I wear sexy fun clothes, and I write erotica and I talk openly about sexual health and resources, and I’m open about being transgender. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality or my gender — or my disability and chronic illness, which I’m also open about, God forbid!

And who cares?

I could be the absolute perfect example of transgenderism — invisible, meek, silent — and I would be treated with the exact same level of disrespect and ignorance. I would just feel like it was genuinely my fault for existing instead of theirs for treating me poorly. 

At the very least I can complain loudly where other people can see and hear me, and it can make other trans people feel better about advocating for themselves and telling cis people and cis-focused systems to fuck right off. 

And I can create bad representation proudly in my own fiction work — trans people who are criminals and assholes and sluts and freaks and actual monsters, who are off-putting and autistic and disabled and weird — and let people enjoy that as well. 

[yey56]

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCHOLOGIST READER

HEADCANNONS: before Leiths backstabbing

When Pierre Leith first introduced you both when you were working in the project "bigger bodies" he though it would be good to have Sawyer a little bit more controlled. Your personality and insistence on defying authority made you a good match.

Little did he knew that eventually you would actually start getting along with the doctor, which meant that he had two insubordinate pricks to worry about.

Reader does have compassion and some kind of affection towards Doey, but they ignore it in favour of their own ambitions and the project.

Thats the reason they try not to use cold as much with Doey, only when it's really necessary.

Before your friendship/companionship started to develope, the doctor usually appeared more to respond to Pierre's demands or to talk to the executives but since he doesn't really like doing it and does it out of obligation, he often ask you to talk on behalf of both of you.

That's how the scientific team, the specialist, Pierre, Ludwig and other coworkers started getting used to you being basically the voice of Sawyer outside the lab.

You had enough trust on each other to be able to talk in behalf of the other. (Mostly you since Harley doesn't seem to eager to socialise).

At first, when Doey was recently woken up and he still was getting used to their new body. You and Sawyer would go together to the interviews to record the development of the experiment. Some day out of the blue, Doey started to react aggressively to the doctor, only to him so he started to avoid going to the interviews with the mass and stayed in the observation room.

The doctor sometimes gets actually happy about some improvement his experiments may have but he expressed it with a poker face, a raised brow and the slightest change in his voice.

*Yarnaby actually starts listening for once*

Sawyer: ah, that's so interesting-actually glad for once-

(Y/N):are you actually happy or you're just being awfully sarcastic??

You never actually talked about what you guys like in terms of food or drinks so since sometimes you went to the cafeteria in the upper levels to get some food, your started to bring him random stuff for him to try and watch his reaction in order to find out what he liked. Basically using him as a guinea pig with trial and error.

Harley suspects that that's the reason you've been bringing random stuff with you and offering it to him.

I think he has certain favouritism for Yarnaby so sometimes he makes you test him more than usual even though he knows that he won't get a different response from the yarn lion other than animal like reactions. With time it just turned into an excuse to spend time with you. Your company is actually enjoyable after all.

You both are difficult people to deal with in a work environment. You both like control over things and you are both willing to go to any lengths to reach your ends.

This also comes with certain differences that sometimes makes both your works a little bit unbearable. On one hand we have you, you tend to joke and slip sarcastic comments here and there without any filter, you're cunning, more than he initially assumed. Harley is not used to this so it makes him get really irritated when you don't seem to take something seriously, even though he respects your lack of filter in everything you say.

On the other hand, there's him, he's controlling and he gets easily angry. He's used to be in control so he tends to lash out whenever he's not the one in charge, a very self centered man. It never fails to annoy you how sometimes he just forgets that you're working there two. This was more noticeable during your early ages working together.

With time you have learned to adapt to each other in order to obtain better productivity. But still sometimes you get on each others nerves.

When it comes to physical contact, you guys are basically the definition of touch starved. Some more voluntarily than others...

But just there are moments when Sawyer can feel your hands brush against his when your passing him the paperwork about the experiments, or how your knees graze slightly when you're seated next to each other in the observation room.

You can feel sometimes his breath against your neck since the doctor doesn't know the meaning of personal space. You are inspecting the experiments from a footbridge and the doctor just stands right there, behind you, observing in silence.

And his voice, you have catched yourselves zooning out hearing at his smooth silky voice. When he spoke to Yarnaby like a pet or when he named the a list of experiments that he was expected to operate that day. The tone of his voice was like a kiss to your ears.

Once he fell asleep in his chair after days of exhausting procedures and since the air conditioner was to high and you couldn't really afford to keep up with the business rate without the doctor, you decided to put your own jacket on his shoulders and retired his glasses to the side of his desk.

When he woke up, he silently put your jacket back in your shoulders, his touch lingering way to long

Headcannons about the reader and the doctors relationship pre transformation. Part two of the fanfic I made is in progress...

I also redesigned the doctors human form: tell me what do you think??

[monstersholygrail]

Do Hybrid!Readers count?

I’m thinking of a monster Reader being kept for research purposes and catching the attention of the newest hire. Cheeky, beastly Reader with an awkward, nerdy scientist who unsuccessfully tries to hide his infatuation. He stares for too long, finds pathetic excuses to work overtime, and pretends to be deeply interested in whatever topic involves Reader. Lately, he’s been spotted reading a book about Reader’s kind, particularly mating habits. For, uh, science, mind you.

Alternatively, it can be a human Reader in a monster lab. I just found the dynamic funny. :)

Aaaah, yes yes! It definitely counts, I love this sorta dynamic. It can be really hilarious and a ton of fun ^_^

None of the Scientists in the lab could really figure you out. You were a giant beast who appeared naturally incredibly threatening. So all the scientists had been a bit hesitant to get in close and really figure out what kind of Hybrid you were exactly.

But they just had to. Because for some reason, some idiot had accidently leaked to the press that they had you in custody. Before they knew it there were countless pictures and articles plastered all over the internet about you. People wanted answers and they sadly had to be the ones to get them. So they brought in a specialist.

The young Scientist stared up at you in awe the first time he met you. He couldn’t actually believe he was meeting you up close. He didn’t know how to react. In fact, he didn’t know anything at all when it came to you. You see, he wasn’t actually a hybrid specialist. He was a scientist, that part was true! Everything else may have been a slight exaggeration on his application.

He just wanted to see you so so bad. He had to. The moment he saw those pictures of you he knew the two of you were meant to be. You were the reason he had never totally clicked with humans, couldn’t keep a partner, and had never fallen in love. His heart was waiting for you.

And now that he was with you, he needed to know everything about you. Not only to sate his own desire but also, ya know, to keep his job. Or else some foolish human might try and separate him from you again. It left him fawning over you constantly, watching you all day everyday, always staying late just so he could be alone with you for a couple hours, and butting in whenever someone tried to talk about you. Because of course he knew you best.

His growing knowledge of you left him convinced you were nearing your heat. Your restless behavior. The way you kept banging against the glass trying to get to him. Over the weeks you had noticed his interest and his care and yours had grown just as much. You had chosen him as your mate and he wanted to be there for you.

The only thing he could think to do was read books on mating behaviors. Of just about every single Hybrid species you could possible be.

Stacks of books surround him in the lab. His interest of you hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others. Not by a long shot. But they brushed off his strange behavior if jt kept him closer to you and them farther away. They avoid him now too, looking at him like the absolute freak he is as they realize what he’s reading.

Their worry doesn’t decrease when he later explains how you need to mate soon in order to keep you in check. They look at him like he’s truly gone insane and maybe he has. The wild look in his eye has only grown more intense the more he’s been around you without truly being with you.

He convinces them with the idea that you’ll be better after you’ve mated. Easier to handle. More open to having experiments done on you while your body is sated and exhausted after being fucked for hours on end. While in reality, from what he’s studied, the opposite is true.

He doesn’t plan on letting them go anywhere within a mile of you. Not with injections, chemicals, and especially not with their grubby little hands. No, only he can touch you. Only he deserves to be near your beauty and grace.

After you mate with him you’re going to be even more wild and destructive, your instincts inflamed and ready to fight. He’s gonna use that to get you two out of that lab if it’s the last thing he does.

Meanwhile the other scientists don’t suspect a thing as they stand a safe distance away from the cage as it opens to let the young scientist inside. The metal door snaps shut once he’s inside and he feels like he can finally breathe now that there’s nothing keeping you two a part.

Mirroring smirks grow on your faces, your expressions speaking of a secret just between the two of you. And as you both finally meet each other in a passionate embrace, you know this will be a wild night that will end with your freedom and a mate by your side.