#we're making. some sort of progress i think

[daemonhxckergrrl]

cis people will "not understand" nonbinary identities and see you as Quirky AGAB. maybe Quirky Man bc masculinity assumed default.

progressive cis people (including cis queers) will see any kind of nonbinary identity as Woman-Lite.

trans men, transmascs, Genderfuck Boy Dykes, fluid-flux-complex-eldritch-beings etc. ie ANYONE WHO IS TRANS BUT NOT A TRANNY, NOT TMA, NOT TRANSFEM* will put us in the Quirky Man zone bc "ooh gnc genderfuck goals 😍".

Allure of the Tranny is a real phenomenon and y'all wanna wear us like a cute aesthetic, able to point at folks whose transfem identity you've erased as some sort of a justification/pass.

like calamity.sys, we're some kind of nonbinary girl. we have complexity. headmates makes it more complex as well. we're part girl part Thing, dog, cyborg, a Creature, faggy w/ it and very importantly...transfem. I'm a tranny first.

coming out as nonbinary was a Bad Idea. using they/them ever was a Bad Idea.

y'all will look at a girl 2 years on E, noticeable tits, cute dress, dangly earrings, and last thing you'll think is "some kind of woman". maybe you'll homour us if ur feeling nice and we keep quiet. can't have shit, can't give an inch, have to cut off entire parts of ourselves bc playing the role of "binary trans woman" barely get us treated with respect. dickhead.

*fighting over terminology is a distraction at this point. I like having terms that r unambiguous in context and in intent but y'all won't let us have shit no matter what terms we use.

it really is so tiring how people have endless patience and understanding and nuance for the complexities of nonbinary genderqueer identities until you're transfem. the amount of girls who would love to be able to be treated like something other than "binary trans woman" but can't cede any ground without getting relegated to the "genderfuck man" zone is staggering. myself in-fucking-cluded. people love to yell at me about how tma/tme is a harmful binary that excludes nonbinary people AS IF IM NOT A NONBINARY GIRL YOU FUCKING MORONS. but you forgot that was an option didn't you. tired of it

[thebisexualdogdad]

Hey friend can you do the fluff poly a to z for Nolan x Male reader x Tim?

a = affection; is anyone more overly affectionate than the others? when it comes to physical vs verbal, who prefers what?

John is a lot more affectionate than Tim, John shows affection both physically and verbally where Tim is much more subtle about it, Tim will cuddle with you on the couch but he's not really one to hold hands in public.

b = bed; what’s the sleeping situation like? are there regular sleeping arrangements - does anyone like to sleep alone?

You usually end up in the middle because John gets up at least twice a night to go to the bathroom and Tim wants to be on an end in case of emergency leaving you in the middle, not that your complaining about that.

c = comfort; when someone’s feeling down, how do the rest look after them?

Tim can be clueless when it comes to comforting someone, he's just like, “uh you want pizza? A beer?” John on the other hand is like let's have a weekend getaway and forget about all our worries.

d = dates; what do dates look like? who usually plans them, or are is it a group affair?

John is the usual date planner, he's always looking for new places to check out and he's the one who always finds the best coupons to save some money. Tim, “really Nolan another coupon?” John, “hey we need to save some money for the Rams game we're going to next week, those stadium beers are expensive.”

e = events; who drags everyone else to their family/friends’ events?

John is the social one, he's always planning get togethers with your friends and when Henry comes to town John has an entire itinerary of things he wants to do.

f = fights; are arguments something that happen often? what are they over, and how are they resolved?

Arguments with Tim are about him pushing you away when things get hard because he thinks that is what's best for you. Arguments with John are about him constantly putting himself in danger. How do you resolve them? Well that's a constant work in progress.

g = getting together; how did it all come about? were there any pre-existing relationships between them?

You transferred to the mid Wilshire station and upon meeting Tim and John you realized you were attracted to both of them and they both wanted to be with you too. They didn't know if they would be able to share you so it was pretty awkward at first trying to figure everything out but you eventually found the relationship worked and everyone was happy in it.

h = hobbies; does anyone share any hobbies/passions? how do they include the rest of their partners in them?

Tim's are sports, John likes to read. John sort of likes sports but no where near the degree Tim does so he's able to follow along when you guys watch/go to games with Tim but when it comes to big events like the superbowl he's more interested in the party aspect versus the actual game. John is a fan of classic literature, you and Tim were actually kind of surprised at how much John reads.

i = in sickness and in health - when someone falls ill, who’s the carer and who’s the germaphobe? is there anyone that resists being looked after?

Tim is the germaphobe who stays very far away when you're sick, sleeping on the couch still feels too close he genuinely considers staying at a hotel. John is the caretaker who has no fears of getting sick, he's convinced he has an immune system of steel.

j = joker; who’s got the best sense of humour? do they like to tease and banter with everyone else?

John is the jokester and he often makes references you and Tim don't understand. Tim, “is that like an old person thing?” John, “old?? I'm only a few years older than you??”

k = knowing; who can read their partners like a book? is there anyone who’s got their walls up, even around their partners?

You're starting to break down Tim's walls slowly brick by brick. You've gotten a pretty good read on the two of them and know when something is up.

l = lavish; is there anyone who really likes to treat their partners/show them off? how do the rest tend to react - who revels in it, and who’s made shy by it?

You show off John and Tim all the time, why wouldn't you when you have two handsome boyfriends like them plus you want to make sure they know how much you love each of them.

m = memories - is anyone more on the sentimental side?

Definitely John, he remembers every single important step in your relationship and treats them all like anniversaries. The day you met, your first date with him, your first date with both him and Tim, the day you moved in together etc.

n = nights; what’s the nighttime routine like when they’re all together?

There is a lot of you having to wake up John cause he fell asleep on the couch while watching TV before bed and Tim often goes for a run before bed.

o = open; how open is everyone with one another?

John is like an open book, he was very honest about his feelings from the beginning. Tim struggled with being vulnerable but eventually let his guard down opening up to you.

p = pda; what’s pda like with them? is there anyone who loves it, and anyone who’s less fond of it? what actions/words does it manifest as?

Like stated before Tim is not big on affection and certainly not in public, the only time he stops caring is when you are at an event and you dance together and he forgets about everyone else in the room letting himself relax. John always has his arm around you, kisses your cheek and generally tries to have you as close to him as possible (well besides at work cause Grey would definitely write you up for that).

q = quiet; who prefers to spend their time with their partners out and about, and who likes to spend it at home?

Tim prefers nights at home, John prefers going out. The only way to convince Tim to go out is if it's a double date with Angela and Wesley or Nyla and James.

r = romantic; is anyone a bit of a sap for their partners?

Don't let Tim's tough exterior fool you he's down bad for you he's just not good at showing it but he would put his life on the line for you without a second thought.

s = sharing; is there anyone who’s particularly territorial of their partners?

It was definitely a learning experience for Tim and John having to share a partner. They both had to be open and honest about their feelings which brought a lot of deep conversations. Tim had a harder time getting used to being in a throuple and it was particularly annoying having people at work asking him questions about your relationship telling them it was none of their business.

t = terms of endearment; nicknames! who’s crazy on them, and who do they make cringe? what’re the go-to’s?

John calls you babe and dear, Tim doesn't really do nicknames and mostly calls you by your last name at work and first name at home.

u = urge; who’s the most impulsive? who do they loop into their plans, and who entertains their antics?

Obviously John has some problems with impulsivity, sometimes you get yourself wrapped into it while Tim is scolding you guys for being so reckless.

v = vacations; how do holidays go? are they big exotic trips, or the occasional staycation?

You guys mostly do weekends away, Catalina, palm springs, San Diego etc. Easy vacations to unwind from the stress of the job is best and you make sure to have one on one weekends with each of them to spend quality time together.

w = worthy; how are insecurities handled? is anyone more self-conscious than the others?

Tim is the more self conscious one, he sometimes thinks he isn't good enough for you or feels like you don't know how much he loves you because of how much more open John is than him. You constantly need to reassure him you know fully well what you mean to him and how your life wouldn't be the same without him in it.

x = xoxo; who checks up on their partners a lot when they’re apart? do they call, or are texts enough to make them feel close?

You get texts from John all day long asking how your shift is going and when you have lunch together he's catching up like he didn't see you at home only a few hours ago.

y = yearn; who misses their partners the easiest (ie, calls them to hear their voices when all they’ve done is run to the grocery store)?

You're very grateful to work with your boyfriends because if you didn't you would miss them a lot more. It's hard when one of you gets assigned to the occasional weeks of night shifts since you only get to see each other as one of you is clocking out while the others are clocking in at the station.

z = zealous; who was especially eager in their pursuit of the relationship? was anyone more reserved in their want for it?

You all had your reservations about the relationship but mostly because of work, if things didn't work out that was gonna make things real awkward and the last thing you needed was I told you so lectures from Grey about creating unnecessary drama in the workplace (don't get me wrong Grey wants you all to be happy but he also has to look out for the station and make sure it stays a healthy work environment).

[queerlycarter]

i wanna start hrt but i should get all my health bullshit sorted (by which i mean diagnosed) first rrrrrr

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Five

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — I listened to Never Be (5sos) exclusively while writing this chapter. Make of that what you will.

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

They sat in one of the smaller meeting rooms off the admin hallway. Too clean. Too bright. Harper sat stiffly on one side of the table, Oscar next to her, foot bouncing under the chair. Chris sat across from them with his hands folded in front of him.

Harper thought Chris looked like Oscar — or, she supposed, Oscar looked Chris.

Chris was just older. Somehow calmer than her stony faced, rarely phased boyfriend.

Although that wasn't hard right now — she wasn't sure Oscar had been calm since she barged into the boys dorms four days ago, all wide-eyed and panicked.

Chris cleared his throat gently. "Okay. First things first—you're both fine. No one's angry at you. We're not going to panic. We're just going to figure this out."

Harper nodded once. Her hands were fisted around her skirt and her shoes tapped against the floor with every nervous motion.

Chris looked between them. "That said, I'm going to ask you both some questions that might feel a little uncomfortable, but they're important. Okay?"

Oscar groaned softly. "Dad..."

Chris gave him a dry look. "You don't get to be squeamish now, mate."

Harper actually let out a breath of a laugh, but it sounded more like a cough.

Chris turned to her gently. "Harper. Have you seen a doctor, or just taken the pregnancy tests?"

"Just the tests," she told him. "I—uh, I don't have a GP here. My mum takes me to doctors all over the country. Private clinics. Some in London, some in Geneva. It just... depends where she is."

Chris nodded slowly, absorbing that. "Okay. That's fine. We can sort that out. But you do need to be seen by someone soon — someone consistent. I'll speak to your mum, just to make sure you're healthy and everything's progressing safely—"

Harper's head snapped up.

"You'll speak to my mum?" Her voice was sharp, incredulous. Her eyes were wide now, panic blooming behind them. "No. No, no, no. You can't speak to my mum. She'll lose it. She'll be even angrier if I let someone else tell her."

Oscar shifted beside her, already on edge. "Dad—"

Chris held up a hand, not unkindly. "Alright. I hear you, Harper. I do. I'm not going to call her out of the blue."

"She'll think I'm doing it to humiliate her," Harper went on, fast now, tripping over her own words. "Like I'm trying to ruin her reputation or something. She'll go nuclear. She always does when she doesn't feel in control. And this—" she gestured vaguely to her stomach, her voice cracking, "this is like her worst nightmare."

Chris watched her for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"Okay," he said gently. "Then we make a plan. You'll be the one to tell her. In your own words. On your terms. But we can't avoid this, Harper. She's your mother. She's part of this, even if it's hard."

Harper nodded, small and quick, but her hands were shaking now.

Oscar slid his hand over hers under the table, gave it a quick squeeze. She didn't look at him, but she didn't pull away either.

Chris remained calm, his tone steady. "I also need to ask—are either of you, um, involved with anyone else? Right now or before? I don't need names or details. It's just about making sure you're both medically okay."

Harper flushed red, heat creeping from her collar to her cheeks. "No," she mumbled. "Only ever Oscar."

"Only ever Harper," Oscar echoed, a beat late and way too loud.

Chris gave a small nod. "Okay. That's good to know. But we'll still need to get you both checked out. Full screenings, just to be safe."

"My mum's going to want us to see someone on her books," Harper said under her breath, eyes flicking away. "For... confidentiality reasons."

Chris blinked. "Confidentiality?"

"She—she's kind of a big deal," Harper admitted. "She founded La Ruche. It's a fashion label."

Chris's eyebrows rose, just slightly.

"And my dad was... J.J. Whiatt."

Chris leaned back, exhaled slow. "Jesus. That complicates things."

Harper's bottom lip wobbled. "I'm sorry."

Oscar shifted, dragging Harper's chair closer to his, one arm sliding protectively around her shoulders. He whispered something just for her — soft and steady — and she nodded, breathing a little slower.

Chris sat forward again. "Look, I don't want to overwhelm you. I know this is scary. But you need to tell your mum, Harper. Nothing can happen here until she knows, and things need to start happening." He stared at them for a beat. "I'll give you until tomorrow morning. If you haven't told her by then, I'll do it myself. Okay?"

There was a pause.

Then Harper whispered, "Okay."

Chris gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you. You're part of this family now, Harper. Our family. That means than I'm going to look out for you, same as we do for him."

Oscar looked up, throat tight. "Dad?"

Chris met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Oscar said. "Neither of us meant for any of this to happen."

Chris nodded. "I know. But it did. And now we handle it — like adults."

Oscar didn't respond right away. Then he reached across the table and hooked his pinky around Harper's. Held it tight.

Chris noticed. Didn't say a word. Just flipped open his notebook.

"Okay," he said. "Let's make a to-do list."

—

They sat outside Oscar's dorm window, backs against the brick wall, knees bumped together. It was stupid cold, but neither of them cared. Harper was wearing his blazer — it was two sizes too big on her and covered her skirt and made it took like she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.

She was quiet. Had been for a while.

Oscar kicked a loose stone. "You okay?"

Harper shrugged, but it wasn't a real answer. Her arms were wrapped around her knees.

After another minute, she muttered, "My mum wasn't always like she is now, you know."

Oscar looked over. She wasn't looking at him.

"She used to laugh at my jokes. Braid my hair for ballet. We used to bake Christmas biscuits together and she'd make my birthday cake every year from scratch."

He didn't say anything, just listened.

"When I was nine," she said, voice weirdly flat. "Me and my dad went on a ski trip. He thought it'd be a good bonding experience — just the two of us."

Oscar turned his full body toward her, heart sinking. Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist.

"There was a helicopter," she said. "We were flying off the mountain. There was a storm. It wasn't — nobody expected it. And we went down."

Oscar stared at her. "Wait, what?"

She nodded. "I don't remember us actually going down. I just remember waking up. I was so cold. I couldn't feel my legs. My back hurt. And my arm was... all messed up." She looked down at her hands. "Everyone died. The pilot, his co-pilot, and my dad. But I just... didn't."

"Jesus," Oscar whispered.

Harper gave a weak little smile. "Yeah."

He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the right words for helicopter crashes or dead dads. So he just sat there, panicking quietly.

She didn't seem to expect anything, though. "I've got some scars," she said. "On my back. From the crash. I usually hide them." She smiled at him, a bit wry. "I guess I got good at it."

Oscar frowned and shifted closer to her. "Wait, like... real scars?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, fake ones."

He blushed, and she sighed. Then, carefully, she tugged the back of his blazer and her white shirt up. Just enough to show him. A couple of pale, rough-edged marks trailed across her lower back, like lightning marks carved deeply into her skin.

Oscar's heart thudded at the sight of them. His throat thickened. "Shit," he said, because what else was there?

She pulled her shirt back down quickly and looked away. "It's gross. Whatever."

"No," he said fast. "No, it's not. It's not gross, it's... I dunno." He raised his hand to touch her and then dropped it again with a flush in his cheeks. "Sorry. I just — I can't believe I never noticed."

That made her snort, just a little. "It's fine. My mum didn't even visit me until three days afterwards," Harper said with a shrug. "When she did, she acted more like she was visiting some stranger in hospital than her daughter. I was crying in pain and she that I needed to suck it up because I should've just been grateful to be alive. And then she said that my crying was making people uncomfortable."

Oscar clenched his jaw. "She sucks."

Harper smiled at that, but it was a sad kind of smile. "She started treating me different after that," she said. "Like I'd made her life harder by surviving."

Oscar reached out and bumped her knee with his. "You didn't."

She sniffed. "Feels like I did."

"I can't believe you survived a helicopter crash," Oscar said after a bit, eyes still on the horizon. "You might be the luckiest person I know."

She gave him a look. "Osc. I'm pregnant. At fifteen."

He grinned faintly. "Okay, yeah. But still."

Harper choked on a laugh. "Right. Thanks," she mumbled.

"For what?"

"For not saying something stupid."

Oscar shrugged. "Just wish I could make it all better for you."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Me too."

—

Oscar slipped out of the library after study-hour and ducked behind the music building, phone pressed tight to his ear. He already knew what was coming. His dad had warned him. Still, nothing prepared him for the moment her voice broke through.

"Oscar."

It was sharp. Cracked down the middle. He flinched.

"Mum—"

"I trusted you." Her voice rose — not angry, exactly. More stunned. Wounded. "I trusted you to go to England and be smart. To focus. To take this opportunity seriously."

"I am taking it seriously."

"Clearly not seriously enough if you're knocking up boarding school girls in your dorm—"

"Mum." He winced. Cut her off. "Please don't talk about Harper like that."

There was a pause. A huff. Not quite crying. Not yet. "I'm not talking about her. I'm talking about you. My son. The one I thought had more sense than this."

Oscar pressed a hand to his forehead. The wall behind him was cool against his back. "I didn't mean for this to happen." He felt like a broken record. "Neither of us did."

"No one ever means for it to happen." Her voice was tight, clipped. "And now what? What do you think happens now, Osc? A fairy-tale ending?"

"No." He was quiet a second. "No. I think we just have to deal with it."

Another pause. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller. "I feel like I don't even know you right now."

That one hurt more than anything else. He stared out across the courtyard, eyes stinging. "I'm still me, Mum."

"Are you?" she snapped. Then softer, more pained. "God. You're still a baby yourself. You're fifteen."

"I know."

"You're fifteen, Oscar. And I've seen fifteen. I was fifteen. When I was your age all I cared about was Billy Joel and which shop would sell me my next pack of cigarettes."

He breathed through his nose. "I know."

Nicole didn't answer for a long time.

When she did, it was quiet. Flat. "Your father's there now?"

"Yeah."

"So, what's the plan, Oscar?" She asked on a sigh. "Are you going to raise a child together at boarding school? Split custody between the boys and girls dorms?"

"We haven't even decided anything yet."

"God," she muttered. "Oscar, I just—" Her voice cracked. "I wanted so much more for you."

He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Jesus," she breathed. "Okay. Okay. I need to... I'll call you later. I'm not—I'm not in a good place to say anything else right now."

"Okay." He hesitated. "Mum?"

"What?"

"I really am sorry."

Silence.

Then, "I know, Osc. I know."

She hung up.

Oscar leaned his head against the wall, the guilt crawling under his skin like it belonged there.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and stared at the astroturf where the year eights were playing tackle rugby.

And he sat there until the next bell rung.

—

Harper sat on the cold stone steps just below the landing outside the girls dorm — the one spot on campus where phone reception was always strongest. Her knees were pulled to her chest, Oscar's racing hoodie baggy and warm on top of her school uniform. She'd been staring at her phone for ten minutes.

The screen glowed.

Mummy (Victoria)

She tapped the call icon before she could think too hard.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times—

"Harper?" Victoria Whiatt's voice was sharp, brisk. "It's a school night. Why are you calling?"

Harper's voice caught in her throat. She tried to swallow it back down. "I — Hi, Mum," she whispered. "Can you... would you be able to come to Haileybury, please?"

Silence.

"It's just that... I need you," she said, the words tumbling out. "Please. Mum—Mummy, please." She closed her eyes tightly, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I need you to come. I'm scared and I don't know what to do."

"Harper," her mother said, voice clipped with impatience. "What's going on? Have you done something wrong? Are you in trouble? God, do I need to call my lawyers?"

Harper pressed the heel of her palm to her eye. She didn't want to say it like this. She'd planned to be calm. Clear. Strong. But now her whole body was shaking and she was begging her mother — calling her mummy out-loud for the first time since she was eight — and it had all turned into a big mess.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. But I need help. I don't know what to do, and I'm scared, and—"

"You're what?" Victoria's voice was suddenly thin. "God. Jesus fucking Christ. Harper Grace — tell me you're joking."

Harper's breath hitched. "I'm not. I just—Mum, please. Please come. I need my mum. I need you."

The silence was suffocating.

When her mother finally spoke, her voice was tight. Controlled. "How far along?"

"I don't know. A few weeks. The test said three plus. I need to see a doctor but—"

Her mother cut her off with a low curse. "Christ. You're fifteen. Fifteen, Harper. You're still a child!"

"I know," Harper said, her voice breaking. "And I promise that I didn't mean for this to happen. But it has and I know that I'm stupid and an idiot and all of the other horrible things you want to call me right now — but I'm scared and alone and I need you to help me, mum."

Her mother didn't respond right away. Harper could hear something rustling — maybe papers, or her mother's laptop.

"Mum?" She whispered.

"I'm in Milan," Victoria said stiffly. "I have a show tomorrow."

"I don't care about your show." Harper's voice rose, desperate. "Please. Please just come."

A long pause.

"I'll be on a flight tonight."

Harper let out a tiny breath, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Is it his? The kart boy? Is it his baby?" She asked.

Harper nodded. "Yeah. Yes. I — Yeah. It's his baby."

"Right then. I'll be there at seven a.m. tomorrow morning." Was all her mother said. And then she ended the call.

Harper curled tighter into the stairwell wall, phone still clutched in her hand.

And then the crying started — not the quiet, clenched kind she'd perfected over the years.

But loud, messy sobs that racked her chest and made her shoulders shake.

Jane found her less than a minute later.

She didn't ask questions. Just dropped to the step beside her, wrapped both arms around her like she could hold her together, and pressed her cheek to Harper's hair.

Harper sobbed into her shirt.

Five minutes later, Oscar rounded the corner in his uniform — blazer unbuttoned, tie crooked. He paused mid-step when he saw them. Just froze.

His breath caught.

Harper, curled in on herself like something broken. Jane holding her. The echo of her crying bouncing up the stone walls.

Oscar's stomach dropped.

"Shit," he whispered, voice barely audible.

Then he moved.

He jogged the last few steps, dropping to his knees on Harper's other side. His bag hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Hey, hey," he said gently, reaching for her, brushing her hair back. "I'm here."

Harper turned blindly into his chest without thinking, her sobs still shuddering through her.

Jane shifted, giving him space, her face tight with worry.

Oscar pulled Harper into his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other steady at her spine. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't have to.

He just held her tighter.

"Love you," he whispered, barely more than a breath.

"Love you too." She hiccuped.

—

The classroom was cold despite the sunlight cutting across the desks in crooked lines. Harper sat with her arms folded over her notebook, pen resting in the crease of the spine. She wasn't writing. Just breathing.

Her eyes were still red and swollen.

Oscar slid into the seat beside her, spinning his pencil once before leaning close.

"You good?" He murmured.

She didn't look at him. "Not really."

He was quiet for a second, then said, in a low, overly serious voice, "The eagle is landing near the river tonight. Nest secured. Feathers ruffled, but holding."

Harper blinked at him. "What?"

"It's code," he said, a bit flustered. "My dad. Staying at the hotel near the river. He's had the heads up that he'll be meeting the Mothership tomorrow."

She winced. "Please don't call my mother that."

"Operation Parental Peace Summit is a go. He said he'll be there when she arrives. You, me, him, Queen Doom herself — roundtable discussions. Treaties. Diplomacy."

She gave a faint, exhausted laugh. "You're so ridiculous. I don't know what you're saying, Oscar."

"Code is effective," he whispered. Then he smiled at her, all teeth — and she realised that he was just messing around. Trying to make her smile.

It'd worked.

Harper hesitated, staring at the lined page in front of her. "I think..." she started. "I think the idea of not keeping — it — makes me feel worse than I thought it would."

Oscar's expression softened immediately, his eyebrows coming together. "Okay." He said quietly.

She kept her voice low. "I'm not saying I've decided. Just — I get this tight feeling in my chest when I imagine... not going through with it."

Oscar nodded slowly. "Okay."

Before either of them could say more, the teacher turned from the whiteboard.

"Mr. Piastri. Miss Whiatt. Something to share with the class?"

Oscar straightened, fake smile already in place. "Just discussing international conflict resolution, sir."

"Save it for Model UN." The teacher glared at them.

Harper hid a smile, ducking behind her hair. The teacher turned back to the board.

Oscar passed her a note under the desk.

I'm on your side whatever you decide.

Harper traced the edge of the paper with her thumb.

—

The next morning, Harper waited just outside the school reception, blazer buttoned unevenly and hands fidgeting with the hem of her pleated skirt. The courtyard was grey and thick was early morning mist, the kind that clung to skin and made her hair frizz no matter what she did to try and stop it.

She'd been up since five. Couldn't sleep. Could barely even manage the breakfast bar that Jane had shoved at her. She'd brushed her teeth twice and still felt sick.

Her fingers trembled as the black town car pulled up — sleek and silent.

The suit-clad driver stepped out and opened the back door.

Victoria Whiatt emerged like she was stepping onto a runway. Designer coat, dark glasses even in the morning haze, heels clicking across the old stone. She didn't look like she'd spent the night on a plane. She looked like she was ready for a press release.

Harper stood up straighter without meaning to.

Her mother's eyes scanned her. Once. Head to toe. "You look haggard."

"Hi, Mum," Harper said quietly.

Victoria took off her sunglasses slowly. "Is that really what they make you wear here? I don't remember it being so — juvenile."

Harper blinked.

"Your skirt is creased. And the buttons on that blazer — God, Harper, how hard is it to dress yourself like a normal, respectable person?"

"I—I didn't sleep much." She managed.

"I should think not." There was a long pause. Victoria looked around at the school buildings like they were beneath her. Then her eyes snapped back to Harper. "So." Her voice was sharp. "Where is he?"

Harper's fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. "He's with his dad. They're—waiting for us to go to meet them at the hotel he's staying at."

Another pause.

"I don't want a performance out of you," Victoria said coolly. "I don't want tears or sentiment. I want honesty. I want facts. And I want to know how you could possibly be this irresponsible!"

Harper flinched. But she nodded. "Yes, Mum."

"Fix your blazer," Victoria muttered, already turning away. "And get in the car. Which hotel?"

"The nice one. The one you stayed at when I first moved here," Harper said, forcing her voice to stay even.

Victoria exhaled slowly. "Of course. The one with the mediocre wine list and the doorman who talks too much."

She opened the passenger door with a perfectly manicured hand. Harper moved around to the other side, heart pounding against her ribs.

They sat in silence for a moment as the driver pulled away from the school gates.

"So, they've got money then?" Victoria asked, eyes still on the road ahead. Her voice was light, sharp as a needle. "That's nice. I'm sure it'll make this a lot easier."

Harper turned her head slowly, looked at her mother. The way her profile was all angles and detachment, like she was discussing stocks or seating charts — not the life growing inside her daughter.

"I want to keep the baby," Harper said.

The words landed like a brick dropped into a still pond. The ripple of them filled the car.

Victoria blinked.

Then blinked again.

Her head turned, slow and deliberate, until her eyes locked with Harper's. "What did you just say?"

Harper held her gaze. "I said I want to keep it. The baby."

Victoria stared at her like she was speaking another language. "You're fifteen."

"I know."

"You're going to ruin your life."

Harper's throat tightened, but she didn't look away. "Like I ruined yours?"

Victoria's lips parted, then closed. She looked out the window again, something flickering behind her eyes. "This isn't a dog, Harper," she said finally, voice thin and brittle. "You don't just get to decide that you’re going to keep it. You're still a child — you're not old enough to make that decision. God, imagine it, Harper Grace. Imagine what people would say? Your father's name—"

Harper swallowed, hard. "Dad would've understood. He would've hugged me. Told me he loved me. He might've been disappointed — but he wouldn't have treated me like you are right now."

Victoria's jaw tensed. Her fingers curled against her lap, white-knuckled. "You don't get to invoke him," she said, low and venomous. "Not when you've made a circus out of everything he built for you."

Tears burned the corners of Harper's eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "I'm not trying to hurt you, mum," she whispered. "I'm just trying to do what feels right in my gut. For me. For Oscar. His dad—"

"Oh, wonderful," Victoria snapped. "The 'pit crew' is standing by." She made physical quotations around the words.

Harper flinched again. Looked down at her hands. "Please, Mum. Please don't shut me down like that. I'm scared, alright? I know that this was my fault, mine and Oscar's. But we've talked, okay? We've talked about it, about keeping it or not. And we — we both agree that it feels right to keep it."

Victoria was silent.

Then she sighed, the long, tired kind that Harper remembered from fittings and fundraisers and end-of-term reports that were anything but a 99 or above.

"I'm not shutting you down. I'm here, aren't I?" She bit out. "God knows why I even bothered. We could've done this over the phone."

Harper knew that was the closest thing to an "I love you" that she was going to get.

NEXT CHAPTER

[xxchromies]

Admittedly the way people talk about motherhood makes me a bit sad. Both in the world at large and on here. It's true that as women we have essentially been treated as incubators and the natural capability of our bodies was/is exploited and used to keep us in line. But I really do think that motherhood, carrying and raising children, is beautiful and something to be appreciated. We literally have the power to create life and men don't. True, not all women can give birth but anyone who can give birth is a woman. And while I capitulate that we used to be treated like incubators in the past, some people use this term to even describe pregnancies that are wanted. And I think it's a bit misogynistic to compare something as cold and machine-like as an incubator to something women are naturally able to do. It feels objectifying.

I feel like a lot of radical feminists talk about pregnancy as if it were a travesty. As if you've become corrupted by an evil force. I know that pregnancy can have a serious impact on a woman's body but sometimes I feel like the way people talk about pregnancy on here is misogynistic towards women who want to be pregnant. I don't think it's really that progressive to talk about something that women's bodies are naturally able to do as if it were some sort of curse. Many of us see it that way because men used to use our reproductive capabilities as a way to control us, and still do to an extent. We can't stoop to their level. It's not inherently a bad thing.

I've also noticed that a lot of societal messaging seems to imply that pregnancy is an inferior state. Both misogynists and radical feminists talk about it as if it means your life is over. That you're nothing more than a mother now. That you've been defeated by the patriarchy. And while I understand that the feminist perspective is different (it's critiquing the misogynist perspective), I've never really seen radical feminists try to empower mothers or talk about how we can change the way society views motherhood. A lot of them seem to think no women should be mothers at all. Motherhood is just going to be a part of our reality. We're living things and it's in our nature to reproduce. It is ultimately a choice but human nature is powerful. Antinatalism is not going to happen, sorry. And I feel like pregnancy is mocked. Women are mocked for things like morning sickness and cravings. Pregnant women often aren't taken seriously because of their "hormones". There's a reason why so many people find m-preg so humorous.

In many ways it does suck to be a mother, but that's because of societal issues. I do believe it's misogynistic to denigrate the concept or pregnancy as a whole. I'll never believe that something women's bodies are naturally able to do cannot coexist with female liberation.

[justpizzaisgood]

Someone once pointed out the similarities between these two promo arts, and i think that it could contain have some really good symbolism.

They could represent Pomni's and Ragatha's relationships with the other cast members as the show progresses.

Let's start with Pomni. When we're introduced to her, we see her as an outsider to the circus. She's lost, confused, and scared. But as the show progresses, we watch her forming deeper bonds with the rest of the cast, starting with Ragatha, then Kinger, then Gangle, and finally Jax. Jax is the most significant representation of this because we see him as an antagonist at the show's start from how he pushes around and bullies Pomni when she was still adjusting. Yet from the latest episode, it's kind of flipped and she seems to be the only one he trusts enough to have deepish conversations with.

Ragatha on the other hand, is introduced as sort of the mom of the group. She tries to comfort Pomni and gives her a tour. She helps her adjust to the adventures and tries to stop Jax from antagonising her and Gangle. She partipates in group activities a lot: the adventures, Pomni's breath-holding experiment, softball practice with Gangle and Jax. Based on all this, we think, she must be the most established person in the cast right? She should have some connection with the rest, since she acts like the leader/mom of the group.

Unfortunately, the opposite is slowly being revealed. First, Zooble hints that she's too nice to criticize Caine's adventures. Then Gangle admits that Ragatha doesn't always seem genuine. Then Jax reveals that her being too nice and happy makes him feel like she's trying to take advantage of him. We slowly realize that she isn't as connected to the others as she first seems. It turns out, she doesnt seem to have deep connections with anyone in the group, save for Pomni and maybe Kinger. It also feels like Ragatha sees herself as slowly losing connections with everyone. The end of episode 5 visually stresses this:

How does this tie in with the promo art?

Let's assume Pomni is watching the sun RISE. Sunrises represent a new day, with new opportunities, and therefore change. Even thoughshe seems to start the day alone, she has the chance to change that. And it shows. As the day (the show) progresses, Pomni makes friends and is adapting to the wackiness of the circus.

As for Ragatha, she's sitting alone at night. Nighttime can be seen as a time of rest, contemplation, and even as a moment to spend time with loved ones or friends after a busy day. Yet Ragatha spends it alone. Even the moon isnt present in Ragatha's promo art, while it seems like the sun is greeting Pomni. Both in the episode's end and in the promo, Ragatha seems to be contemplating the reality of her relationships with others. At the end of the day, Ragatha is all alone (literally in episode 5 lol), even though the during the day it doesn't seem like so.

So yeah that's what i got from it: the promo art represents the two's developping relationships with the cast members, and how they're going in opposite directions.

Could be just a theory and the two promo arts are just promo art. But who knows.

[avelera]

Thinking about Hob Gadling in 1589, or rather in the decades leading up to 1589 when we see him as Sir Robert Gadlen

Thinking about how he went north, twice, to come back as his own son, presumably to build the myth of the Gadlen family. Before that, as a soldier, a brigand, and a tradesman in printing, he probably didn't have enough money to need to "leave it" to a son, because he'd had no real assets. No houses, no businesses, nothing besides his weapons and armor, the proverbial clothes on his back, and what spoils of war could be carried with him.

But to make money you have to spend it, you have to have it, you have to invest it. 1389, the year of Hob gaining immortality, corresponds to the birth year of Cosimo de' Medici, the man who would establish the great banking dynasty of Florence, Italy. I note this because this transformation in Europe corresponds with Hob's progress through immortality and rather roughly corresponds to when, as I see it, he would have moved from an individual soldier of fortune to make his living to needing some sort of continuity of identity if he was going to move beyond that.

In this instance, pretending to be his own son (or relative) would be a necessity to inherit his own wealth so he could carry it forward for the next 10-30 years, before he'd have to reinvent himself again. The money to buy a knighthood would be the work of generations.

I'm thinking about Hob building himself up from being a printer's apprentice (because printing was so new a trade that it was probably one of the few where he could get in as a man perpetually in his 30s, most apprenticeships would require you to begin as a child) to gaining his knighthood. By his own admission of faking his death twice by 1589, he'd be Robert Gadlen the Third, possibly the Fourth (not that this was a naming convention back then for commoners, but more to illustrate where 1589 Hob stood in the line of his own fictional family inheritance).

The first half of the 1500s in England under Henry VIII still saw a predominance of nobility holding the lion's share of power, but it did see something of a shift where you had noteworthy men rise to great heights from common origin, like Thomas Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell (yes, I'm rewatching Wolf Hall, why do you ask?).

But now to the point that got me thinking about this: imagine Hob in the 1500s. At the beginning of the century he is the first of his name, building his fortune. Robert Gadlen, who made his money in the printing business then invested it, through a great stroke of luck in to the powers-that-would-be that century: the Tudor shipyards. Hob building himself from very nearly nothing, peasant stock, nothing more than a soldier and a brigand before that. It's still grubby to build oneself up from trade, better to have been born to wealth of course, this isn't American Yankeedom and we're before the Puritans, where showing one's hard work was a virtue rather than an ugly necessity of the common people. But Hob still did it, with his own hands.

Imagining Robert Gadlen II, and Robert Gadlen III, the "scion" of a family on the rise, sniffing around the edges of the Tudor court, eventually finding his way in, having enough gold to buy himself a knighthood.

Imagining Robert Gadlen, meeting one of those common men in the service of Henry VIII, noting with chagrin their own common birth, the sons of blacksmiths and butchers, unlike Sir Robert, whose father was a man of means who left a growing fortune to his son.

And I can't help but imagine Hob smiling, a little slyly because he did it, he slipped passed the censors, no one knows of the fact he was born to peasant stock almost 200 years ago, and no one ever will. As far as anyone knows, he was born wealthy, a gentleman in the rising social consciousness that all it takes to be a gentleman is to have the money to act as one.

But I can't help but wonder if that smile would be just a little uncomfortable, too. Because no one will ever know. No one will ever know that Sir Robert Gadlen didn't inherit his money, that he's not some child of nepotism and generational wealth who has never worked and never starved. He is the founder of his own family, he built it himself and with each generation that goes by he has to leave more and more of that story behind him. Except with Dream.

[foone]

I want a human zoology textbook.

Zoology, as in the study of animals. Like, a study of how humans work, done by an author that is not human.

I specifically want this for a couple reasons:

1. Descriptive, not prescriptive: don't tell me what the author thinks humans should do or how they should be. Tell me what they do. Observationally!

2. No bias towards "nature". I don't particularly care what the author is imagining humans are like in some "garden of eden" unfallen state. I want it to reference how humans ARE.

3. No morality applied to this! What do humans DO, not what you think they should do, or how they should be. And most importantly, no self-censorship in order to avoid offending some of the humans that disagree with ways people live.

And the reason I want this is because of how biology textbooks/wiki pages get written, where even if they try to be progressive they're still written from this weird perspective where they're explaining based on old ideas and the progressive stuff gets a footnote.

Like it'll be "humans have two genders, male and female. This is determined from their chromosomes, XY for male and xx for female."

And then you scroll past two pages for men and another two pages for women, and then it has one subsection that covers non-binary people and intersex people. And it's like: well then integrate that into your main statement!

It's like the author's worldview is still "there's two genders and everyone is born as one" but they've been forced to accept there are some weird exceptions but the core worldview is unchanged. And it's understandable! Wrong, but understandable: the grew up in a world that is quite strong on the "there are only two genders" ideology and doesn't like to remember that intersex people exist.

But like, imagine if you tried to do this as a zoologist. You're like "hey, all bees are female!" and then someone points out the rare male drones and they're like "oh okay I'll update my zoology textbook."

And now it reads:

All bees are female. Most are workers, and one is the queen.

(a couple sections go pass)

Drones: recent science has discovered that some bees are born male. These rare exceptions live short lives where they fertilize a queen and then die.

And it's like, no? Drones are very important to how a hive lives and they can't survive without them?

And we're constantly doing the same thing to humans and it's just bad science. Like, sure, maybe you could have the theory that "humans come in two genders: male and female" but as soon as you see one non-binary person, you have to discard that theory: it has been proven false! It's like not believing in other galaxies after Henrietta Swan Leavitt figured out how Cepheid Variables worked.

Add to that the "nature" thing. Like, you can make a sort of argument about nature vs artificial settings for a lot of species: the whole alpha/beta wolf thing came about because it turns out wolves act differently in captivity compared to the wild, so it makes sense to study how the vast majority of wolves live, not a small group you stuffed into a small area with unusual conditions. It's like saying the lifespan of goldfish is under 5 minutes, based on your study of them in this dry box you put them in.

But humans are different: we are tool-users who build new environments for ourselves. And while you can talk about how humans living in different environments act differently, it doesn't make a lot of sense to call one of them "artificial". All of them are made by us, and humans always do this. This means all environments are natural (because building environments for ourselves is what we naturally do) and all environments are artificial: we always alter our environments to better suit us! That's one of the things we naturally do!

And as for morality, it's about not ignoring things humans do regularly because you think it's weird or you think they shouldn't.

Like that tweet where someone pointed out that lots of species can change gender. Clown fish are a big one, some frogs, a couple birds, some lizards, and humans.

And people often have an immediate knee-jerk reaction of "that doesn't count!" for the last entity in that list. Why? Because we do it (usually) with clothes and makeup and medication, instead of just "naturally"? Bullshit. We're naturally TOOL USERS. Of course we use tools to change gender. We use tools to do EVERYTHING. That's natural for us.

So yeah. I think it'd be refreshing and enlightening to have a zoology textbook written about humans with this detached non-human perspective. An unbiased description of what humans are and do, rather than one irrevocably tinged with ideas of what humans should be and should do.

Basically I want to load up Vulcan Wikipedia and check the "Humans" article.

[homunculus-argument]

I think if we're going to make any sort of progress as a society, people who actually are in positions of unearned privilege should be allowed to casually aknowledge that without either having to grovel about it or be accused of boasting about something they did nothing to obtain. There was some guy on reddit who didn't understand why people always assume he's an idiot, like not only did people assume he's wrong every single time he opens his mouth - even about something he had a degree in - but were genuinely surprised every single time it turned out that he is actually correct.

And he just wanted to know what he could possibly be doing wrong to get treated like this, why do people talk over him and correct him incorrectly and talk down at him like he's a toddler, what's he doing wrong that makes people do this. And someone pointed out that this is unfortunately just what people do to people who aren't able-bodied white men from one of the specific Approved cultural and social class backgrounds.

And OP replied that he literally is all of those things, and people still talk at him like he's stupid, and he doesn't understand what he does wrong to make them do that. And he wasn't just downvoted to Hell but all the way down to the deepest pits of Tartarus for that comment. Like people were thoroughly offended and sickened that he'd say something like that. And then downvoted him for asking what he did wrong.

I mean come on. The dude wasn't going "why do people not give me the respect I am naturally entitled to as a white man" or some shit, he was very clearly asking it as a "I am literally playing this in Easy Mode with training wheels on, how can I possibly operate this so thoroughly wrong that despite of allthat I am still losing".

You would also be asking what you're doing wrong if you were shooting fish in a barrel and somehow kept missing all of them.

[bongosinferno]

A devastating and confusing thing about the Fallout setting, when you explore the pre-war aspects, is what the creators think about pre-war America. In the first games we only get hints of the pre-war world, but they seem to be some sort of wild fascist nation invading Canada. In Fallout 1, the first thing we're introduced to of the pre-war society is seeing a soldier shoot civilians and laughing.

Now, for the first 2 games and New Vegas we don't really know much. What we know is that there's a fascist military group known as the enclave who were a sort of US deep state even before the war, and that the government teamed up with corporate interests to preform vaguely MKULTRA-ish experiments with the Vaults. Basically, the government was an extreme version of the 50s American jingoism and McCarthyism.

This is well and dandy, I guess issues come up more when we get to the later games, especially 4, where it seems like none of this extreme plotting and societal civil unrest which would exist is seen. The society as presented in 4 also seems quite progressive, gay people are featured in the opening, and none of the baggage of say, civil rights not existing are included. Now on a baseline, I don't want settings to be more conservative, homophobic and sexist etc., but it becomes a very confusing setting when it's displayed both as this jingoist extreme thing with fascist tendencies aswell as a progressive place where everyone is seemingly equal. If you're focusing on the 50s as your setting, and American nationalism in the 50s, then you can't have McCarthyism spoofs and anti-communism as a societal paranoia norm while also general equality is the norm without misunderstanding why McCarthyism and nationalist jingoism is bad. A massive harm done in anti-communist paranoia is how it degrades and vilifies any progressive movements (women's rights, civil rights, homosexuality) as being morally un-American and therefore connected to communism. To ignore this just makes any critique of MacCarthyism and jingoism weird!

Basically, pre-war America in Fallout 4 becomes this both sides thing where America is both pure and equal and white fences in every instance that we see as the player (the intro), while also supposedly being this dystopic MacCarthyist hellscape that's broadcasting gladly about their war crimes in Canada, and wants to root out communism. I guess the only fix for this issue without getting into the fine print like they had to do is just not to focus too much on the pre-war world.

[johnbleepingzoidberg]

(tumblr said fuck you and blurred them all to hell so pls click for better quality)

making transformers fusions inspired by steven universe like it's 2015

bonesaw: drift + ratchet + wheeljack

constellation: starscream + optimus prime

prosecutor: knock out + breakdown

descriptions/backstory/blabbing/progress pics under the cut!

--

1st is named Bonesaw: drift + ratchet + wheeljack; they transform into some sort of medical/ambulance helicopter, using their sword blades (cuz we're using idw drift and tfp wheeljack here) as propellors. a very strong fusion, but they can't stay fused very long because i feel as though ratchet wouldn't like being fused, and they'd all argue a bit too much

2nd is Constellation: optimus prime + starscream; this is the one that started it all because ive been on a bit of a starop kick and had this whole animatic playing in my mind of Constellation taunting megatron like garnet does jasper in Stronger Than You LOL. they transform into a space shuttle and the name comes from, yk, STARscream and Orion. if this is thru the lens of starop, theyre fairly compatible, until starscream's impulsiveness and optimus' patience/humility causes them to split

3rd is Prosecutor, pronounced like "PROSE", emphasis on the "rose": knock out + breakdown. not 100% set on the name but his design felt flowery/rose-esque esp since im gonna go with a dusty pink/lavender so i wanted something elegant/floral and yet tough LOL. not 100% sure about his alt mode yet, im thinking like a hummer or a jeep or something???? idk. something Fashionable yet tough. theyre probably constantly fused. like, theyre so close/attached at the hip they fuse without even realizing it until someones like "oh, hey, prosecutor"

ANYWAY this was just a fun little art exercise more than anything, again inspired by the fact Stronger Than You was on a starop playlist i was listening to and thought itd be really funny if megatron was taunted by both his exes for being single LMAOOO

some wips/other scribbles:

[murderbot-moodboard]

I've made good progress on moving out of my apartment, but my body is currently hating me for it, so I'm awake and you're getting some more thoughts about episode 6.

Something I noticed about episode 6 was how relatable all the characters felt to me throughout the episode. (Even LeeBeeBee's motives were understandable on some level, even if I disagreed with them and wouldn't make the same choices right now, who knows if I would make some of the same choices if I'd lived her life.) I don't think they were necessarily more relatable than in previous episodes, but rather that I noticed because the situations they were dealing with were extreme, and they were all having understandable human reactions to them. The way Mensah acted while performing surgery on Murderbot, steeling herself to do something hard and unpleasant by muttering and vocalizing and wincing the whole time, is exactly how I (and I think many or most people) deal with that type of task. (You know, the type you can't totally dissociate from by thinking about Star Trek characters, or partially dissociate from by pretending you're a Starfleet officer gathering samples of alien plants on a planet. Something many or most people would also do, of course.)

And the way the rest of Preservation Aux reacted to LeeBeeBee's sudden violent death was also relatable. I've never been in a situation quite like that, thankfully, but if I were, I think there's an equal chance I could have any of their responses to it. I just think it really speaks to the good writing, acting, and directing that all of the humans felt realistically human, not like they were reacting a certain way just because it was convenient for the plot.

I also think it's interesting how this episode means that in this alternate universe, it's no longer true that Ratthi has never seen Murderbot kill anyone up close (and Murderbot wants to keep it that way). I wonder if the writers thought about that specifically when writing this part, because Ratthi's extreme gut reaction (pun intended) to violence feels completely believable for his character. This change also introduces an interesting dynamic to Ratthi's relationship to Murderbot that we didn't see in the books as such, so I'm really looking forward to finding out how Ratthi reacts to Murderbot after this and whether he still wants to try to understand Murderbot (as he mistakenly thought he understood it before).

The episode really walked an interesting and difficult tonal line, balancing both the comedy and the horror. To me, when Gurathin said, "Now that she no longer has a head!" it struck me as the punch line to an awful dark joke that I wanted to laugh at, but I felt a touch of guilt for considering laughing about it. That sort of describes the whole mood of that part of the episode, and a little bit of the earlier parts as well. We're given insight into one of Murderbot's favorite Sanctuary Moon episodes, which has a ridiculously implausible plot which is simultaneously sad, and yet it's the episode Murderbot finds soothing. There's a discordant disconnect between the values it's learned as property in the Corporation Rim and the values Preservation Aux hold without always understanding why anyone would think differently. Murderbot itself is a contradiction—a killing machine who wants to protect its clients, and a person who denies its need for or interest in connection while still demonstrating how much it actually cares. The jarring aspects of the episode feel appropriate for the way they show cognitive dissonance forming in all the main cast: cognitive dissonance that threatens their ability to trust each other (and for Murderbot to trust itself).

So, basically, I think this episode was supposed to feel like a wakeup call, reminding both Preservation Aux and us the viewers who Murderbot actually is. How everything plays out now will depend a lot on the leadership of Mensah, and I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next.

[zshiftsrealities]

Hii what's your fav thing about ur s/o? And what's your dynamic and acts of love to eachother?😜

OMG ASFII I LOVE YOU HII thank you for blessing me with this divine opportunity to talk about the love of my life <3333 cause i've been wanting to for a while now !! long post ahead btw.

01. my favorites of katsuki bakugou what i find most charming about him : personality, and appearance.

katsuki’s best quality, to me

my most favorite quality of katsuki would have to be, the way he shows concern for people around him.

given that, in the beginning, we don't see much of it, and he is shown as more : selfish, only focused on being the best, impulsive, rude, and whatnot – a memorable moment for me was when katsuki paid kirishima back the money he spent on the binoculars for the rescue mission.

he doesn't show his care and concern as one would think, but rather does in his own way, in a very katsuki way. and for someone like him who's always put on such a strong front infront of everyone, that i think is big progress.

and as seen later on in the media, he's actually very understanding, attentive, and has a kind heart underneath all that loud and brash personality of his.

what i admire most about him

i would say he kind of reminds me of myself, and i relate to him to some extent, but that was never really my reason for liking him. it just ... happened.

i think it was his will to keep on going despite all the injures he suffered during the fights, only focusing on victory even when in pain, that made my heart open up to him, and a sort of respect and admiration took home in it as i watched him fighting in the final war arc.

that sheer will that made him stand up over and over again, even when shigaraki was talking down on him – which katsuki in any other scenerio would NEVER tolerate, because he's the best, ofcourse – is what i admire most.

and the whole self-reflection thing, recognizing his lacks and that maybe he still has a long way to go, all while fighting someone beyond his level, and still not giving up.

god, i can keep talking about him, but you get the point. i believe he is someone who, as i watch him, can learn alot from. and what he has trouble getting around, can help him out in those areas, even when he doesn't explicitly ask for help.

because i know he won't, and neither would i. so helping each other despite that, and without rubbing it in the others face or making a big deal out of it, means alot to both of us.

favorite physical attribute(s)

from the physical aspect, i love his eyes and his smile the most. oh, and his spiky hair. and his face when he's calm or too focused on something to care about keeping up his angry and 24/7-pissed-off persona. and that cocky smirk that's on his face every other minute. god, he's so adorable :(

02. katrina (katsuki & karina) 's dynamic how our (seemingly opposite yet similar) personalities blend and work together.

hyper x calm

but our places are constantly changing. i suppose it depends mostly on how we're feeling that specific day. it's like matching each other, one way or the other.

hyper (him) x hyper (me) | calm (him) x calm (me) | hyper (him) x calm (me) | calm (him) x hyper (me)

grumpy and loud bf x quiet and reserved gf

oh this boy does NOT lower his volume ever. he's crazy loud, and i think we all know that already. grumpy and touchy most of the time.

while i remain on the quieter and more reserved side mostly (or did so in the beginning atleast), like shoto.

talker x listener

but he does most of the talking. when i do though, hes just as attentive. surprisingly, we talk often, and alot. ever since we became good friends. maybe because of the similarities, or the differences; whichever one it might be.

++ both me and katsuki are very attentive to small details, so that's a huge plus point.

03. acts of love towards each other how the two of us express our love, care, and concern for the other.

my love language(s) : words of affirmation, quality time

i know compliments mean alot to katsuki, even when he doesn't say so himself. when he does something and wants to be praised for it, and the smug look that graces his face after getting that praise – it's childish almost.

or when he feels down, talking to him. trying to console him, but not outright. because he would 100% give you a look and just shut down further, or just get up and leave.

so you talk about other things, even when he doesn't join the conversation at first, and once you feel like he'll be fine talking about what's bothering him, start reassuring him, without even asking what happened, because you know already anyway.

and he knows what you're trying to do, and once you're done he tells you he didn't need that – but you can still tell he's somewhat better than before.

katsukis love language(s) : quality time, acts of service

katsuki is the type of guy to show his love and care more through his actions than wording them. and it doesn't even have to be a grand gesture. it's as simple as holding the door, waiting for you after schools over, or as you're tying your shoelaces – or better yet, tying them for you.

small things, so simple yet they make you feel important. that make you feel like you atleast matter to someone. belong to someone. and one person is enough to belong to.

and when you feel down, he does the same you do for him. he sits around, trying to get you to talk about it. he's not good with that kind of stuff so he struggles. but seeing him struggle like that makes you laugh.

and he gets all embarrassed saying “i'm trying, dammit. don't laugh at me”, so you tell him you're grateful for that – for his attempt at consoling you, and about whatever was bothering you. talking to katsuki really does help. his undivided attention is on you as you open up to him. you feel seen and heard with him, always.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 8: It's a natural progression

genre: will ever write something not angsty?

word count: 6793

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you and spencer finally give into the tension that's been growing between you, but what happens now?

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

I decided to give you all a pause from Abigail because we're now turning into an Abigail Hater Club HAHAH

This is the third time you’re saying this, but you’ll keep saying it until Spencer hears you. “I am not relocating.”

“Y/N, if she found out where you are, we need you to be somewhere else,” Spencer groans, but you have no mercy on him; not this time. Not after everything. 

His hair is pointing everywhere, surely from the way your stubbornness is making him tug at it like he needs the sting on his scalped to remind him to focus. It’s been almost thirty minutes of you two arguing, and this isn’t exactly the conversation you wanted to have when you first woke up that morning. In fact, you could have lived your entire life without having this conversation and you would probably have been a very, very happy woman. Alas, things never really seem to go your way even when they are going right. And right now, you are far, far away from things going right. 

“I am not going to relocate!” You say again, exasperation getting to you the more he insists. Now, your hands are flying around you and it’s like you two have switched places for a second– while he seems tense and immobile, you are gesticulating like crazy, trying to make a point with your entire body; you are not leaving. “I’m done relocating! I’m done being am active case that doesn’t move on! I’m done being thrown around like a doll! Maybe that’s her end game, Spence– have you thought of that?! That she gets some sort of… of… sadistic satisfaction from seeing me squirm away every single time!” You cry out, brows furrowed in frustration. Nothing is making sense to you, and your anger only grows. Why is he so okay with sending you away like it means nothing to you? Why is he not using that big, beautiful brain of his to find other solutions than just rid of you? “I can’t keep running! I can’t keep stopping my life anymore, Spence, I can’t! I–“ 

An odd sense of coldness comes down on you, like a wave crashing against the walls of your stomach, spreading through your veins, cooling down your stressed out brain. It takes you a little while, but you finally understand. You understand his hesitation, his silence, and you understand it as an answer. “I’ll go home,” You mumble, looking down at your hands. They laid lifeless on your lap, almost like they are now tired from all the talking through them. “Yeah, I– I think that’s the best idea. It’ll be relocating, right? I’ll g back home. You must be tired of me here, anyways, and–“

“Don’t.” 

The ice in his voice startles you enough to have you scoffing. “Excuse me?” 

“Don’t make this about something that it isn’t,” His voice is in that whisper-scream pitch that you’ve heard him using with other people. Never you, though. Spencer never got this aggravated with you before, not even when you kept leaving your tea bags inside your empty mugs until they were dry. This, the way he is talking right now, is beyond annoyance. This is anger. Spence is angry at you and that doesn’t make you feel any better. “I’m trying to keep you safe.” 

“The give up already,” You whisper back, slowly getting up from where you’re sitting. “Because I’m not going anywhere that is not my own apartment across the street.” 

The package is still sitting on his counter, and you hate that you can feel it burning deep in your soul. At first, he didn’t want you looking at it, trying to keep you away, but you don’t like when you Spencer keeps secrets and you just push away his hand that is reaching for you. This sounds a bit insane, now that you think back to it, but when you first see the book cover, so familiar you can quote some of its content, you laugh. It’s a daring move, but an effective one– Kill Me If You Can, by James Patterson and Marshall Karp, is all about the chase. And all about the run. “That fucking bitch,” You whisper to yourself, grabbing the book and opening it to the cover page, where her inscription would obviously be– Dear Y/N, Check-mate. What now? XOXO Cat.

You’ve never hurt a book before, but you have half a mind to rip that one to shreds with your bare hands. 

“No, no, no, you are relocating and that’s the end of it.” 

To Spencer, you are the sweetest of the sweets– sugar pours out of your lips and he had the pleasure to taste it. No way he will risk losing that now, not before he can have a chance to douse himself in them. But every time you cuss, every time you frown, he swears that sugar gets the slightest hint of bitterness, and every time he blushes because of it, every time he lets out a sharp exhale with his eyes fixated on you, he can’t help but wonder how well that bitterness would mix in with your sugar. 

Right now, though, you are about to get downright rotten. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Spencer Reid?” His full name sounds wrong when you feel this pissed off. “You’re not my dad!” 

“No, I’m not your dad, I’m your boyfriend, and I’m trying to keep you safe!” This time he screams; he truly, really screams, neck veins popping out and face reddening with the strength of his words. Spencer revels yet another side of himself to you. “I’ve lost enough, okay?! I’ve lost enough… First Maeve, then Gideon, and, a-and, and now you– I can’t lose you! You can’t die, you can’t die on me, and it’s like you keep trying to! You refuse to cooperate, you-you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and you’ll drive me insane! So please, don’t… don’t let me lose you…” 

The way his voice dies out should’ve been enough to get you to quiet down, but tensions are high and now you feel like you’ve just been hit with a brick to the face.

“You’re my what?!” 

This is news to you, though it doesn’t seem to be news to him. You’ve been dreaming of hearing that word slipping from his mouth, you won’t lie, but not like this. Not in a fight, and your first fight at that. 

Spencer seems shocked at your surprise, and you two go quiet for the first time in what feels like hours. 

“Am… Am I not?” You are still in awe of how Spencer can go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds. A second ago, he looked like he was about to rip his hair out of his head and now he was back tohis normal bright, wide eyes and fidgeting hands. Whiplash isn’t enough to describe how you’re feeling, staring at him with your mouth hanging open, willing for words to come out but failing every single time. “Oh god, I’m not. I’m sorry, I just assumed that after last night we–“

“Wait, stop, stop, stop!” You shriek, hands going up to cover your face. “I need a second to think!”

“No, you don’t, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just forget everything I said, I just–“

“I might not have an eidetic memory, but I don’t think I can ever forget what you just said,” You breathe out, hands shaking as you pushed your hair back and away from your face. “Spence… you thought we were dating?”

This has him paralysed. “That’s what you want to talk about? Right now? After everything I said?”

“I want to talk about everything,” You do, you really do; but you need to get this out of your chest right now. You need to start clean. “But we need to talk about this first… because I need to know how to act when we get to the rest of it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Spence, we kissed,” You whisper, hands sliding down your face with a frustrated groan. “And I thought that maybe… I don’t know, I thought we were going somewhere good, you know? Somewhere at all! But then we got to the room and you just pushed me away!” 

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to!” Spencer defending himself like this feels like you’re living in an alternate reality. To be honest, even if you had had the chance to talk to him like you initially intended to, you weren’t really sure what you’d do after. It wasn’t a situation in which you could predict an outcome, not when it comes to Spencer– he is too good in hiding form the world. Too good in hiding from you. “Y/N, I swear, that’s all! I wanted more, I always want more when it comes to you but I don’t want to get greedy and scare you off.”

“What about the next morning?” If you don’t sit down, you think your legs will buckle under you. So you sink onto the couch, head on your hands trying to keep you from looking at him with hopeful eyes. Spencer doesn’t want to pressure you and you don’t want to pressure him– and just like that you two fall in a cursed, never-ending dance. In a game where both are in defence, no one wins. One of you has to either take a risk or go home crying. And you’re oh so tired of going home crying… “The next morning you didn’t kiss me or, or, or talked to me! I woke up and you weren’t even in bed!” 

“I wanted to make you breakfast in bed,” This is getting more and more ridiculous by the second. Had you really jumped the gun here? “But when I got out of the shower, you were already freaking out about Abigail!”

“What– But what about after?!”

“After we talked about Abigail, I got a call from work and you were almost pushing me out of the door yourself!” This time around, you don’t ask anymore questions, not when you can see how exasperated Spencer is getting. “You said–” 

“Now is not the time to quote me,” You say as softly as you can. Though sometimes it can sting, having your words thrown back at you, you can’t help but smile every time he does it. The secret is in knowing Spencer isn’t trying to hurt you, but simply attempting to logically solve whatever issue he has to face. What he doesn’t seem to understand though, is that sometimes, the issues of the heart, aren’t logical to begin with. 

“I’m just trying to… I don’t know what I’m trying to do, but this is all a bit misunderstanding,” He shuffles closer to you with that look in his eyes that you’ve seen before in the mirror, your own familiar desperation glaring back at you with that lost, confused glint of what will happen next? “Please, I don’t… I don’t have much experience but I– I don’t want to lose you. Y/N, please… help me.” 

“Spence, what do you mean?” 

“Help me,” He whispers again, worry sketched on his face like it belongs there. His breathing is shallow, and you notice the way his hands wrangle each other in his lap. If anything, he’s trying, and failing, to hide from you for the the first time. As gently as possible, you reach up with a small smile playing on your lips, and you press your thumb to the lines between his brows, soothing them in a back and forth motion. “Help me, I don’t know what to do.” 

The way he chuckles in that coy way he does whenever he feels like he’s out of his league is what pushes you forward, the carefulness of your actions clashing with the eagerness in your kiss. You’ve been waiting for this all day, and everything inside you melts when you feel his hands reaching up hold you close, cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing he has ever touched. There is a slight shake to them when his lips move over yours and you can’t help but smile, laying your smaller hands over his– I got you, you want to tell him. I’ll help you. 

“Y/N…” His words hit you with a puff of air, lips brushing against each other every time he speaks. If Spencer pulls back an inch, you follow; if you try to put some distance, he follows. The wall between you two that had been shaken before was now completely shattered, bulldozed by his hands sliding down your neck, your sides, tugging on your waist until you’re as close as you can possibly be. Until you’re on his lap, surrounded his arms, overtaken by him and him only. “Don’t go home.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” You promise, laying your head on his shoulder like you’ve done many other times before. “I’m not relocating.” 

“Y/N–” 

“Who’s Maeve?” 

His body tenses underneath you horribly, and you hate that it’s all because of you. “I–“ 

“You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to,” You say, pushing his hair away from his panicked eyes. “I just want you to know I heard you. I heard you talking about Maeve and Gideon and me, and I think if we want to start… whatever this is… we need to lay our cards down,” It’s a risky move, if anything. Not only are you asking him about his past, you will also allow him to ask about yours, and that is only fair.

“But what is this?” He asks, eyes sharp on yours while you play with his hair to try and distract yourself from the reality of it all. “What are we?” 

“I mean, you said you were my boyfriend, right?” You don’t want to be the one to make a decision this big, but then again, it shouldn’t be all him.

“Then what are you?” He mumbled, eyes threatening to shut the more your fingers run through his hair. “Are you my girl?” 

A move you don’t really expect from Spencer, but that is welcome nonetheless. The way you two look at each other, like teenagers all giggly about confessing, is equal parts pathetic and hilarious. But it’s the way you two chose to go about it and that is all that matters. Until you remember that this is reality, and you’re not a teenager anymore– there are higher stakes at play here that have to be addressed. There is heartbreak in the end. Pain. Hurt. Fear. That’s what you had before, waiting for you in the end of a very dark tunnel, and you’re scared that’s what will be waiting for you this time around, too. Not because of Spencer, but because of you.

“Joshua McMannon,” You mumble, slowly climbing out of his lap and sitting on the other side of the couch. Like a barrier, you bring your legs up, hugging your knees close to your chest in an action that Spencer will surely read right– separation, space. It happens whenever you talk about Josh, the wave of shame and embarrassment that paralyses you inside-out. The self-loathing. “He was uh, a big shot new player in the stock market, worked for some big firm I forgot the name. We met in a bar, I think. I know this sounds crazy but I blank on a lot of memories that include him, it’s– it’s hard to think back.”

“Y/N–“ 

“No Spence, I can’t ask about you your past without telling you about mine, that’s not how it works,” You say with such a tone of finality that he doesn’t even try to fight you on it. “So please, just… listen to me. The entire thing, because it makes me look dumb and foolish, I know it does, but I want to be honest with you, I don’t want this coming back later to haunt us, okay? So just… don’t judge me to harshly. Please.” 

His silence is enough to encourage you to keep on going. 

“You know a bit about it and there isn’t much more to tell, to be very honest,” There are some undertones of anxiety in your voice, and you know he hears it. You know he wants to move, pull you back to him, comfort you, anything. But he respects the shield you’ve put up and he listens, just like you asked. “He was one of those guys that love the chase, you know? Likes showing off, too, so I was always uh, well dressed and all that jazz. Josh hates when I– no. Sorry. Josh hated when I looked sloppy. He worked hard to play hard, according to him, so he wanted to show things off. Expensive restaurants every day, expensive clubs every night… expensive girlfriend all around.”

“No,” Spencer quickly blurts out one of the many words he’s surely holding in. “No, Y/N, you’re not something to show off, you’re not a thing!” 

“You’re sweet,” You chuckle. “But I was a thing to Josh. Something he owned, remember? And I fell for it, Spence. I was so, so stupid and desperate that I said nothing, I just went along and played into his fantasy until I couldn’t anymore. So I started talking back. Saying ‘no.’ You know what happens next, I guess. You know his type. I didn’t.” 

Gulping, you look down at your hands embarrassedly. Spencer would’ve clocked Josh on the dot. He would’ve known who he was and what he’d do in a second. You, on the other hand, hadn’t been so smart. Probably still aren’t. Probably never will be. It’s hard, not putting yourself down when you’re telling the smartest man you know about such idiotic mistakes.

“Y/N, don’t even think about it,” Spencer hisses and all restraint is gone. He is sliding down the couch to sit close to you, and his hands sneak under your knee and give a gentle tug. He’s trying to respect your need for your own space, but he needs to make sure you’re listening to him. “You’re not dumb. You are not stupid. You are a kind woman with a heart too big for assholes like him, and I won’t have you thinking this was your fault. Sweetheart, this is all his fault. You had nothing to do with that, you… you were just in love.” 

“I wasn’t, though,” You whisper, shaking your head slowly. “I really liked him. Like, a lot. But I didn’t love him.” 

“It doesn’t matter, sweet girl,” He gently put your legs over his, hands holding onto your calves like it’s his lifeline. “There is no scenario in which this is your fault. None. Do you hear me?” 

“I hear you,” You’re not lying– you hear him, you truly do. But believing him is a whole other thing, and you’re not sure if you’re there yet. “I’ve been hearing you, Spence. Every time you explain something new or you tell me some more fun facts, I hear you. It’s just that this time around it’s a little bit harder to process, that’s all.” 

“This is a fact like all the other facts I’ve told you,” With one more pull, you get closer and closer to his body until you can feel the press of those perfect lips against your forehead. “It’s irrefutable– none of this is your fault, angel. None of it.” 

Nodding, you relax onto his hold, head resting on his shoulder when you deliver the final blow. “Him hitting me wasn’t my fault, I know that much. I ran after that. It sounds a bit drastic, but I had never been in the position before and Josh is someone with a lot of influence back in New York. I would have never survived in there and I would’ve been scared all the time.” 

“He touched you?” The way he says it, voice sharp like a knife, makes you look up at him with squinted eyes. “Where?”

“What does it matter?”

“Where did he hurt you?” 

Chuckling, you grab his hand and lean your cheek onto it. “Right here,” You whisper, turning a little to drop a kiss on his palm.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Everything about  him screams comfort, from how his thumb gently caresses your face to the way his lips pull downwards in disscontempt. You know that by now, he’s making a mental note to run Josh’ name through Garcia, but that is something you will deal with later. Despite their good intentions, that is not a door you want to open any time soon. “I–“ 

“You will do nothing about it, Spencer Reid,” You say with as a teasing warning. You don’t know that, but Spencer wonders how can you smile while telling him about such terrible memories; how could you withstand pain so well without telling anyone about it before. “Whatever happened happened and it’s done. I just wanted to be honest and give you the full picture before… we make decisions.” 

“And what do you think this will accomplish, huh? That it will change my mind? Make me regret it?”

“I don’t know Spence,” You groan. “I’m just… trying to be honest.”

“And I appreciate that, Y/N,” This time, he kisses you on the lips, but it’s too fast and too light to satisfy the yearning inside of you. “But nothing will make me change my mind. Much less that asshole. I want you. I’ve wanted you since I met you, I–”

His pause lingers in the air with a something heavy over it. This time, you shuffle on his lap to try and get a better look of his face, legs holding you up on each side of him. It’s such an intimate position to be in, you straddling him with his hands dragging from your waist to your thighs then back up again; your hands playing with the little curls by the nape of his neck; his lips, opening and closing and opening again in what feels like failed attempt after failed attempt to tell you something. 

“I– I think I’ve wanted you since Maeve died.” 

There is a lot to unpack in this sentence, but you keep your expression clean of any reaction. He doesn’t need you gasping and fawning over him… he just needs you to listen.

“And I know it sounds messed up and weird, but like, the metaphorical you, you know? The you you are but disembodied and– and now I’m not making any sense, but I mean it.” 

“I know you meant it,” You whisper, nails gently scrapping his scalp. “It’s okay, you can not make sense, I’ll figure it out. I’m good with puzzles.” 

“You are terrible with puzzles, angel,” He chuckles and your shoulders relax a little. “I’ve seen you trying to put together that Pride and Prejudice poster puzzle… I think you’re just good with me.” 

“Hm, I think so to,” You smile. “Why don’t we start from the beginning then? Tell me your story.” 

Nodding, Spencer tugged you a bit closer and you like it– this tugging habit of his, the need to have you pressed against him winning against his need to keep the germs at bay. In a very simplistic way, it makes you feel special. 

“Maeve… I loved Maeve,” He admits, eyes looking into yours with an insecurity that is misplaced– though you are not above feeling the poke of jealousy down deep in your gut, you are mature enough to know when you are being an absolute idiot, and you smile at him. “I love Maeve, but I am no longer in love with Maeve. I mean, she’s dead, so…” Spencer clears his throat for a second, and when he’s ready– only when he’s ready– he continues. 

There is real pain in his voice as he tells you the entire thing, and there is real pain in your voice as you call him name oh so carefully. The tears in his eyes are few, but they are there, and you thumb them away as gently as you can. In your hands is the shell of the man you know, his words slowing down as his brain surely relieves memories he wishes to delete. 

“Spencer,” You call, his eyes shut so tight you think he might just hurt himself if he continues like this. “Spence, I’m so sorry that happened.” 

“It was my fault,” He whispered as if he is in a confessionary. “Diane Turner. That was the name of the girl that killed her. We were trying to negotiate with her and… and I failed.” 

“Spencer, no,” Oh how the tables have turned. “The girl was going to kill Maeve no matter what, and I’m sorry that it came to this. I’m sorry–“ You can’t even say it, confused with your anger and how it makes your hands shake. 

She blindfolded him. 

She read his letters, his fears, and she made them real. 

That is enough to have you wishing you had shot her yourself. 

“Sweetheart,” He chuckles sadly, bigger hands coming to encage yours in a futile attempt to extinguish your anger. Bringing your knuckles to his lips, he kisses each and every single one of them, and for a moment you think he knows– he knows you’d be someone you’re not, for him. Someone who hurts other people. And you think he’d hate himself if that ever happened. “It was a long time ago…” 

“But it wasn’t your fault…” You move until you embrace him, body covering his like a blanket willing to keep him from the cruel, cruel world around you two. “No matter how long ago it was.”

“I guess that’s just something we both have to learn,” His voice is muffled by your sweater, and you pull back a little. When he offers you his pinky finger, you don’t need any explanation, wrapping yours around it with a giggle. “Something we’ll help each other learn.” 

“It’s a deal,” You whisper, leaning forward and dropping a slow kiss to his lips. “Sealed with a kiss.” 

“Does this mean that now you’re actually my girlfriend?” He asks after a while and you laugh, loud enough to burst the bubble you two created. 

“If you want me to be, yes.”

“I want you to be, in case you haven’t noticed by now,” God, you love when he jokes, the casual tone of his voice making you both relax. “But I also want to be your boyfriend.”

“Hm, you want an awful lot, don’t you?” Pushing his hair back, you smile impossibly wide. “Good think I want a lot, too.” The way he kisses you makes you believe that you truly are the only girl in the world, even if just his world. “Now you have to tell all the guys that hit on you that you are taken.” 

“Spence, what guys?!” You snort, eyes wide when you try to move and sit next to him. He is quick to catch you, though, and place you back on his lap. 

“Just because you don’t notice people flirting with you doesn’t mean they don’t!” 

“Okay, wait a second, I notice–“

“I’ve been flirting with you for months!” He says in that way that makes his voice go a tone higher, his smile so wide and bright that you can’t help but laugh. 

“Maybe you’re bad at flirting?” 

“Even Garcia noticed,” Spencer points out and you groan, knowing that if you admit defeat he will forever gloat. “But that’s okay. We got there in the end.”

“We did… which is why I’m not relocating.” 

“Y/N, this is for your safety.” 

“I’m safer closer to you,” You whisper. “Spence, I won’t be safe with god knows how many strangers surrounding me in a location I have no clue how to navigate. Here, I have you and I’m in a familiar place– I know the closest subway, bus stations, taxi points. I know the owner of the cafe down the street, I know your neighbours, hell, I even have Abigail! Isolating me is not safe. Please.” 

For a moment, you wait. You’re unsure if you got through to him, his eyes looking at you so intently that it’s a little embarrassing. Everyone knows his brain works differently– it works faster, better, more precisely. Whenever Spence zones out like this, it’s not because of lack of attention, but simply because he’s thinking… and what a wonderful thing it is to see him think; to see those theories taking form in his beautiful head, to see those honey coloured eyes working out probabilities that you’d never even get close to understand. He’s a special one, and you love that about him. Because you love him.

And as much as everything between you two is new, this feeling is quite old. 

This growing warmth in your chest, expanding like rivers of gold adoration through your veins. 

It’s not surprising that you love Spencer. 

It’s only natural, considering how much he loves you. 

How you know it? 

“Yeah, okay. I’d feel more comfortable with you here with me, anyways.”

Well, it’s obvious. 

“And you’re right, you know?” He continues, speeding through his words as if he’s trying to convince you and him both. “You know this area well. Cat has managed to get through us easily, and I don’t know what I’d do if she found you and I was the one to send you all alone to strange place where you can’t ask for help…”

“That won’t happen,” You promise, shaking your head at the terrifying thought. “So does that mean I’ll stay here or go home?” 

The reason you enjoy asking Spencer obvious questions is because sometimes, times like this, you get to see his personality shinning like a beacon in a dark night. His sassiness is so refreshing that you can’t help but giggle every time he lets it out. “Don’t be ridiculous,” He mumbled, rolling his eyes like the little know-it-all he is. “You’re obviously staying here. You’re my girlfriend, you’ll stay where I can protect you. Which is also something we have to talk about.” 

“Nooo,” You are so tired of talking about things at this point. “Can’t we talk about it tomorrow? Please, I just want to spend one nice evening with my boyfriend without discussing the fact that his psychopathic stalker wants to kill me.” 

“Y/N, that is not funny!” He gasps when you chuckle. “Sweetheart, I just want you safe. I think it would be important for us to have a plan if someone ever breaks into my apartment, for example. You should know where my gun is and–“

“Woah, woah, woah, no way!” You shriek, climbing off of his lap and standing right in front of him. The though of having to use a gun makes you nauseous. “I don’t want to know where your gun is, and I don’t want to even think about the possibility of having to actually point it at someone!”

“Okay,” Spencer says softly, getting up too and coming to hug you. Despite people thinking that Spencer is not quite adept to human touch, he has gotten quite good at comforting you, knowing exactly how to hold you and how to talk you down of your rising panic. “That’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll talk about it another day, we don’t have to overwhelm you right now, it’s alright, my angel.”

For a moment, the two of you just… stand there, swaying from side to side while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. “Can we just be normal for a night and watch a movie?” You finally ask, looking up at his smile because right now, that’s the only thing that matters to you– him. 

“Yeah, let’s watch a movie.”

For a few hours, life is perfect. 

For a few hours, you get to kiss him like you’ve been meaning to. Touch him like you’ve been meaning to. You get to run your hands through his unruly hair, pushing it back and feeling its softness slip between your fingers like the finest silk that ever was. He touches you, too, albeit a bit more reservedly. His fingers find the sliver of skin on your hip, thumb caressing back and forth, sending shivers up and down your spine. His lips brushed against your cheeks, your neck, your collarbones.

For a few hours, you laugh and smile and chat. You memorise more fun facts to put on your little notebook later, now secure on the left bedside table, right next to where you lay every night. He tells you how the movie doesn’t make logical sense and how they have physics all wrong. He points at the screen and his voice gets higher and higher with his passion for correcting fiction and you can’t help but shut him up with a languid kiss. 

For a few hours, you two are just a couple. This is just a date. And this are just good.

But the higher you climb, the better it gets, the harder you’ll fall. This might just be what Cat wants– you, in perpetual anxiety, always looking over your shoulder, always scared of losing the little you were able to build in your new life. From what Spence and his team have told you about her, Cat’s main skills are all mental; manipulation, gaslighting, coercing. Is this how you’re going to end? Terrified with ever step you take, antsy at your boyfriend’s house while watching a movie, giving up on your bookshop so that strangers don’t have such an easy access to your life? 

For a few hours, you didn’t have to worry about that. 

For a few hours only… because once the second movie is done, you two are forced to pull apart thanks to the incessant knocking on Spencer’s door. “If this is Abigail again,” Spencer warns as he gets up, lips all swollen from kissing and making out. “I will arrest her.” 

“On what grounds, agent?” You hug a pillow close to you, completely ignorant to your current messy hair and blushed face. 

“Cockblocking,” It’s so rare to hear such a word coming from someone like Spence that you can’t help but burst out laughing. “JJ?”

The name has your smile slipping a little. Why is JJ here? Did something happen? The moment Spencer opens the door, she’s marching inside, her beautiful blonde hair floating in the air as if she is some sort of magical being. “Spence, what the fuck?!” She cried out, completely oblivious to your presence in the couch. “Why are you not picking up your phone? I’ve been calling– Hotch mentioned something about you not taking Y/N to a secondary location, are you insane?! You can’t take care of her all by yourself, she’ll–“

You clear your throat as loud as you can, smiling sadly at her when she turns around with a shocked expression. “Hi, JJ.”

“Y/N, I’m– I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were here…”

“She is,” Spencer suddenly sounds quiet, eyes cast down as if he’s a child who’s been caught red-handed doing something wrong. But then he raises his head, chin high and chest puffing out a little. “And she’ll stay here with me. Y/N doesn’t want to be moved to a secondary location, and considering we don’t know who Cat’s secondary is, I wouldn’t say it’s wise for us to do so. She’ll be alone in an unknown place. I… I would prefer if she’s here. With me. And officer Kaper.”

JJ’s eyes go wide and you can understand her surprise to hear her usually shy and quiet co-worker being so adamant. Hell, even you are a little bit surprised. “What you prefer?! Spence, this is not about what you prefer! This is about– oh my god, you two were making out.” 

Her observation is so dry that you almost choke on air. “What?!” His voice is a dead give away. Or maybe it’s the way you wince, looking away from her, that gives you two away. “JJ, this is none–“ 

“You are having an interpersonal relationship with a victim under our protection in an active case,” It’s the way she describes you as a victim, as if that’s the only thing you are to her, that makes you exhale harshly. “Yes, Spencer, this is my business.” 

“Uhm, technically–“

“Y/N, I’m sorry, but not now,” She speaks to you like a mother, and from what Spence has told you about her, you know that she has two wonderful boys. Two kids for her to mother. You, however, are not one of them. 

Slowly rising up from the couch, your voice is shaky when you speak, but your proud of yourself regardless– confrontation is not your best suit, some might say it’s your worst suit, but there is no escape this time around. Not if you want to stay with Spencer. “I’m sorry, JJ, but yes, now. I’m the one this is all happening to. I’m not a passive participant in all of this and I do get to make choices, even if those choices are against your recommendation. I chose to stay here. Not Spence.”

“Why here? Why not–“

“I know the area!” You basically squeak, frowning deeply at her. The JJ you know is sweet and soft-spoken. This JJ is… well, not that. This JJ is someone who gets the job done. This JJ sees you as a job. And that hurts. “Cat knows you guys, she has shown us again and again that she is one step ahead– look at what happened to Officer Kaper. He has a family! His wife and kids were there and– fuck, JJ, if something happens here, I know where to go! I know where to run to, I know the back alleys, I know the people… I can’t handle you guys taking me away from everything I know again. I can’t, I’m sorry, I just can’t, I–“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re not going anywhere,” In a second, Spencer is by your side, arms pulling you into his chest. “You’re stay here, sweetheart.” 

“Spence–“

“JJ, do you think I’m stupid?” The question shocks the words out of both of you. “I calculated the odds, okay? I know the risks. I know the pros and cons. But do you know what else I know? I know that when we thought Maeve was safe, her stalker was in her apartment. We put her under protective custody, and Diane still got to her. She could’ve been with me, I could’ve saved her!”

JJ doesn’t speak, and neither do you. You are frozen in place. Spencer had told you about Maeve just hours ago, described the entire thing, told you all the details of what happened back then… but he never touched on the now. On how he feels now. On how he remembers the whole thing now. On how it still affected him now. You can feel the anxiety on the way his breath shudders. The anger in his words, the regret, the fucking guilt As gently as you can, you circle his waist and squeeze. There is a part of you that hates doing this in front of someone else, giving them a part of this reality in which only you and Spencer exist; but he need to know you’re still here. Next to him, where he can keep you safe. “Maeve wasn’t your fault, Spencer,” JJ whispers, and you see in her a glimpse of the woman you’ve met before. “It wasn’t your fault…” 

“But this is!” He shouts back, stopping himself from lurching forward thanks to your body glued to his. Instead, he cradles your head closer, shuts his eyes tights, and let out the most pitiful exhale you’ve ever heard. “This is my fault… Y/N wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for me.” 

“Spence–“ You can’t even deny it. Logically, it is his fault this is happening– Cat is after you simply because she’s after him. That is undeniable, and you lose yourself in the endless search of what to tell him, how to comfort him. This is your Spence. Your boyfriend. And you don’t want this type of phantasmagoric guilt hovering over his head over the course of your relationship. This is how things end before they begin. 

“I won’t let her take Y/N away from me,” When he looks at JJ again, you gasp. His eyes shine with a determination you’ve never seen before, jaw tense and hands holding you to him like he means in. This time around, you know he means is. “Not now, not ever.” 

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[kiragecko]

The Husband and I just made some really exciting progress in problem solving together, and I wanted to talk about it!

Our eldest, Nq Stickperson, really struggles to clean up or throw stuff away. Our house is filled with piles of papers, some of them a decade old. Old wrappers are hidden under them, and he gets distressed and cries if we try to throw the wrappers out. Our attempts to support him have been really ineffective, and the kid is a teenager now! We're wanting him to be able to be independent some day, no matter how long in the future that is.

Yesterday, Husband and I sat down for date night, and tried to work through the problem. Why weren't we effective? What was stopping us?

Pretty quick, it became obvious we weren't on the same page, but we couldn't figure out why. I kept getting defensive before we had really gotten anywhere. He was getting flustered, and then passive as I got more worked up. We had to keep resetting.

I decided to make my context as clear as possible, and talked to the Husband about I would have needed if I was in my son's place. I would have needed to be told that what was being asked of me was painful and awful. Getting rid of beloved possessions HURTS! I would have needed someone to walk me through how I actually felt then - the constant fear of loss, the stress because there was so much stuff that I could never actually find what I cared about, the distress about never being allowed to bring anything home, because there wasn't room for it. Someone to help me recognize that I'm in pain NOW, and even if the fix will hurt MORE, that pain would end. This pain isn't going to without action. And then comfort and sit with me while I ranted about how much the situation sucked, and CHOOSING pain was a garbage choice, and I hated this.

Then the Husband brought in what he would need. He would have needed someone to walk him through all his stuff and see if he cared about ANY of it. Stuff just shows up in his life, unwanted and in his way. He struggles to organize, or recognize if things can be thrown out. Someone walking him through those executive function tasks is his main need.

And that cleared up what our issue was. The Husband kept starting by talking about how our son's stuff wasn't wanted or valuable. I'd dig in my heels, feeling like our son's emotions weren't being validated. And it would be so early in the discussion, we didn't have anywhere to fall back to!

After realizing this, we were able to stop making it about us, and actually talk about our son.

I tend to give him a lot of support STARTING, because executive dysfunction is real and mean, but almost none for the actual organization and prioritization. "Sorting" and "thinking" are nearly synonymous for me, so I'm not even sure HOW to walk someone through it! That's just ... how thinking works? Just do the thinking thing on the objects? But my son isn't good at organization, and just ends up lost and abandoned by someone who said they cared.

Meanwhile, my husband tries to help our son recognize that he doesn't CARE about this stuff, so he can let it go. But my son does care. A lot. So that doesn't work either.

Eventually, we realized that my Husband could break down organization further than I could, and suggest simpler tasks for me to support our son through. We realized I could get Stickperson to neatly stack his papers. Maybe I could put them in folders after, if he was okay with that.

-

I told my son the plan this morning and he got excited and wanted to do it before school. He choose papers to hand to me and told me what group they went with. (More organization skill than he's shown before!) I made little stacks, and slid the stacks into folders. Then I labelled the folders.

3/4 of the living room sheets dealt with in 5 minutes! He's spent HOURS trying to deal with them, moving them around, crying because he can't let go of anything. I haven't been allowed to touch them because he was afraid I'd throw them out.

Now we have three folders and I can see the floor. All because my Husband and I worked through our own issues enough to actually see our son's.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Calling all homebrewers!

Recently I've had an idea bouncing around my head that I want your help in refining: Building out the exploration pillar of the game by making the party's "camp" into a mechanic that players can interact with by upgrading it.

LOTS of RPGs give your party a home base/camp that you return to between missions and upgrade over the course of your adventure. D&D is no stranger to this, but building a base tends to be a high level/retirement sort of goal, and instead I want the players to be given a set of options from the very beginning. Think of this potential camp system like its own early game skill tree where upgrades can be unlocked with GP or quest rewards, which gives players a very tangible reason to partake in those early game low-stakes side quest.

As someone who's shifting more and more to the "one adventure per level" model, I specifically wanted this camp system to be a way to reintroduce a player driven progression back into the game. Likewise, the camp's upgrade system could give us a mechanical backbone for building out a codified exploration system, which has been something I've been wanting to knock out for a while.

Here's some of the upgrade paths and their uses I've been tinkering with:

Provisions- In addition to generally tracking how long it's going to be before the party goes hungry/needs to return to town, "enhanced" provisions are a consumable that gives the party temporary hitpoints every time they're used. Advanced provision upgrades grant more temporary hitpoints.

Supplies- Need an item in a pinch? Good thing you loaded up when you were last in town. Digging through your camp's supply allows you to retroactively have purchased an item off the equipment list below a certain GP threshhold. Upgrading your supplies means more chances to grab things, and a higher quality of item grabbed.

Shelter- Camping out under the stars can be picturesque, but not so much when it's raining. These items specifically shelter the party from different types/qualities of weather and the passive threats of the environments they're exploring.

Draft- That's right, we're playing with carrying capacity. Rather than making it a problem of individual inventory management, we keep the challenge of managing the party's encumbrance by making it simple and slot based, applying to large or bulk items (primarily loot and the camp upgrades we're acquiring). Pack animals and wagons can add to this total but limit the party's camping opportunities to roads and navigable terrain. Are they a caravan hauling house wagons and trade goods? or are they packing light to travel across rugged landscapes?

Camp Followers- NPC allies and hirelings that act as their own upgrades: a cook that makes the best of provisions, guards to prevent the camp from getting robbed, a quatermaster who ensures that things are packed more efficiantly, a merchant who pays out shares every time the party land in a new market. Having a cast of characters follow the party through their adventures

My question for you dear readers is if there's anything I'm missing. How do you think I should handle the encumbrance system? How should this information be presented to the party in the most efficient way possible? Eventually I want to evolve the camp system into a background for running a proper stronghold, or a ship's crew, but I want the foundations to be strong before I do.