#... so yeah i'm in the process to get a diagnosis

[purple-is-great]

I changed my legal gender to male before getting a transgender diagnosis (I'm in the process, the lines are just long) and the military took one look at the diagnosis that my appointments towards getting a transgender diagnosis were marked with (määrittämätön sukupuoli-identiteetin häiriö which I guess translates to unspecified gender identity disorder) and said "Yeah we normally give out medical exceptions for this diagnosis, is that okay with you?"

I hadn't even asked the doctor I saw beforehand for that, the suggestion on the paper was two years of delay so that I could get the actual trans diagnosis

You were sterilized. Because you're gay? I thought that Europe was progressive? Better than American (hi, I'm American) politics and acceptance? Is this still happening? Are you ok?

Back In The Day, Finland still had a law that required you to present a doctor's verification of infertility in order to change your legal sex. Having "transgender" listed as a medical condition opted me out of mandatory military service, so I could have gone if I had wanted to, but I'm not going unless there's an actual need for someone as miserable as me in actual fucking war. Not going unless they make me, but if they make me, I'm not bitching.

Nowadays they've apparently changed that, you no longer need a medical diagnosis of being transgender to change your legal sex, but if you're a trans man and get your ID gender changed between the ages of 18 and 28, you count as a man with nothing medically wrong with you, so your ass is in the military service now.

Finland is weird, but only in the ways it absolutely has to be.

[thefrogdalorian]

Spent my day doing Hot Girl Things and reorganising my shelves and I'm so happy with this one!! Gorgeous gorgeous girls have a little shrine to Din Djarin in their bedrooms 🫢

[ace-but-not-a-pilot]

Nobody can piss you off quite like family can

[byanyan]

gonna need to find that clip from the golden doc where jk's all "hehe :3" while laying on his stomach and kicking his feet as he scrolls on his phone bc that was honestly so byan-coded to me ok like i haven't been able to stop thinking about it. it's been like two months and it's still in my brain

[zooblesbutchpuppygirl]

Hi just wanted to remind everyone that I am deeply uncomfortable sharing Zooble or seeing them shipped with anyone else so if you post content of them shipped with other characters (and don't tag it) or you self ship with them yourself I won't be following back sorry :[

[unicornprincessinthetardis]

"there's no need to worry about it now" says man who's the person who brought it up at this time and thus caused the worrying about it now because he knows (but apparently doesn't care, or at least doesn't know how to properly deal with it because he's neurodivergent too) that you are neurodivergent and have an anxiety disorder

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Residual Effects

Spencer Reid x fem!reader x platonic!James Wilson

wc: 5.8k

note: I came up with this as a second part to Differential Diagnosis, but you can read it as a standalone if you prefer. I hope you like it; I tried to humanize both men as much as possible. In other words, they make mistakes and are foolish, but they're still good guys.

Solving cases almost always left the team with an emotional burden that was difficult to recover from. That's why most took the opportunity to return home, rest, or relax as much as possible before being called upon again. However, this situation had turned out quite well: just a few victims and an unsub who wasn't truly dangerous—just a confused, somewhat unstable man, but not exactly deadly. Plus, it was local, which meant no wasted hours on the jet or the annoying process of packing and unpacking.

That meant good humor. And good humor always manifested itself in the desire to go for a few drinks.

“I’ve got them”

“You spoil us too much, Rossi,” Penelope commented with a cheerful laugh. No one, not even her, balked at the suggestion. Although, in reality, you hadn't decided where to go either.

You and Reid had been left behind, walking out of the building more slowly. He had that slightly hunched posture, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. You too, hands in the pockets of your leather jacket, trying to ignore the slight tingling of tiredness in your back.

“Will you go?”

“Maybe. I'm kind of tired. I'd just go get a soda or something. Are you going?”

“Yeah... I mean, if you go,” he said, and finally looked at you, half smiling, “Then I’ll go.”

Ever since that case in New Jersey, almost a month ago, Spencer had been behaving differently toward you. Not weird or hostile, but definitely not the same. Sometimes he was quieter, shyer, as if he didn't know where to put his hands when talking to you. Other times, he looked for any excuse to be close, to comment on something, to stay a little longer. Just like now. As if being by your side was his priority, even if it meant fighting his social awkwardness.

You were about to say something, maybe a joke about how everyone needed to relax a little, when your phone started ringing. You had to fumble your hands out of your pockets and search for your phone, which seemed to be caught between the fabric and the lining.

Even though you moved quickly, it wasn't fast enough. Spencer managed to read the name that appeared on the screen. His expression changed almost imperceptibly: his jaw slightly tense, his eyebrows a little lower.

"Hello?"

“Is this a bad time to call?” a warm, familiar voice asked.

Hearing it, a smile spread across your face, almost reflexively.

“No! I'm just getting off work. We finished a case, and I was about to go out with my colleagues for a drink. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just... I’m around.”

That simple phrase brought you to a complete stop. So did Spencer. You turned slightly to stand back from the group and hear him better.

“What? What do you mean you’re around? In Quantico?”

“DC, actually. There was an oncology conference today at the convention center. As the head of department, I had to attend. It wasn't anything spectacular, but I'll stay until tomorrow. And… I don't know, I was thinking about you.”

His voice sounded honest, a little unsure.

“I thought if you had time, we could have dinner. I know a really nice Italian restaurant a few blocks from where I'm staying. But if you already have plans, I don't want to interrupt anything.”

Your heart beat a little faster, though you weren't sure why. Maybe because of the surprise, or because of the way he said it. It wasn't just an invitation. He'd been thinking about you.

“You’re not interrupting. Seriously. We were just going somewhere. Nothing planned. If you’re here... I’d love to have dinner with you.”

In the background, you heard Emily playfully call your name. It was clear there were several curious ears.

"I'm at the Hilton, right across from the convention center. Do you want to meet me at the restaurant? Call a taxi, I'll pay for it."

“Oh, no need, I brought my car today. Is 40 minutes okay for you?”

“Perfect. I’ll take a shower and wait for you there.”

"That sounds great to me"

“I’m glad you said yes,” he added, more quietly. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

There was no way to hide your smile anymore, and you didn't try either.

“See you in a bit”

“I’ll be waiting for you. Drive carefully.”

You murmured a goodbye and then hung up. Emily and Morgan, like vultures circling emotional drama, immediately approached.

“And that happy face?”

“A friend invited me to dinner,” you replied without thinking much.

“A friend?” Morgan repeated, raising his eyebrows. “One who makes you smile like that on the phone?”

“He’s just a friend,” you insisted, even though you knew it wouldn’t convince them.

“It’s a he!”

By this point, the rest of the team was speaking more quietly to catch some of the conversation.

“What do you call this ‘just a friend’?” Emily asked with a mischievous smile.

“James Wilson”

Morgan burst out laughing.

“Is he handsome? Smart? Tall?”

“He’s a doctor. We met a few years ago.”

“He better be a cardiologist… because someone here is going to need help,” Emily joked.

While they laughed, Spencer remained silent. He didn't look at anyone, just at the floor.

“Aren’t you coming then?” he asked suddenly, without looking at you.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. I said yes.”

His posture made you feel like you owed him an explanation. He nodded once, briefly, almost as if he had trouble keeping his teeth from clenching.

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Is something wrong?” you asked softly.

“No. I just... thought we'd all go together. But it's okay.”

Emily and Morgan exchanged a look. Morgan, as always, was the first to break the awkward silence.

"Boy, if you want, we can invite the doctor too. Maybe you'll even become friends, you know, nerd to nerd."

“Very funny,” Reid muttered, walking toward the street without waiting for the others to follow.

This kind of behavior was unusual for him, and it made you wonder what was causing it. Your friends thought of a probable cause, but they didn't want to mention it. It was better for romantic matters to be resolved between those directly involved and not through mediation like theirs.

The other curious people had already realized that you wouldn't be accompanying them, because as soon as you got a little closer, they all crowded around you.

“I would love to go with you, but…”

“Say no more. We understand.”

“Should we expect a ring soon?”

“Come on, Garcia,” you laughed at how reckless the comment seemed compared to JJ’s. “He’s just a friend I haven’t seen in years. There’s no mystery to solve.”

You said goodbye to everyone with a hug, except for Spencer, who offered you only a wave. Distant and simple. But that's how he was when it came to contact, so you respected him and tried to take it in the best possible way.

“Have fun, drink responsibly, and don’t do anything you might regret tomorrow.”

“Or in nine months”

Emily winked at you, and the rest of them burst out laughing. Sometimes—most of the time—they were a total nightmare.

At the chorus of jeers, you just shook your head and started walking in the opposite direction. A smile still floated on your lips, but also that stabbing feeling in your chest that you couldn't understand where it was coming from. You're supposed to be excited about the invitation, right?

The drive was surprisingly short, and by the time you parked, you were a nervous wreck. You tried to fix your makeup as much as possible and were thankful there were no chases or anything that would make you sweat until you were smelly. Your hair didn't look too bad either, and you'd picked a nice outfit, thank God.

Then you looked at the bright sign on the building: RPM Italian. Wilson had texted you the address, and honestly, the place hadn’t disappointed at all.

It wasn't hard to find him once you were inside, after all he was the only man sitting, alone, at a table for two.

And it was impossible not to notice.

He wore a light blue shirt, impeccably buttoned to the neck, and a dark-striped tie that gave him a classic, almost collegiate look. The black jacket accentuated his straight shoulders, and the contrast with the restaurant's warm lighting brought out the softness of his skin and the subtle shine of his brown hair, combed to one side but with a few unruly strands falling over his forehead.

He had that kind of presence that made everything around him seem more contained, more intimate. Effortlessly elegant.

And just as you saw him, he saw you too. He looked up as if he'd been waiting for you all along. His smile—quiet, gentle, all his own—littered his face as soon as he recognized you. And that smile—the one you tried to hide—inevitably appeared on yours too.

"Hello"

“Hi,” you replied, moving closer as his gaze scanned your face with an expression as serene as it was genuine.

His cologne filled your nostrils: sophisticated, with notes of wood and something citrusy you couldn't quite identify, but it made you close your eyes for a second. It was a clean, masculine scent, as if his mere presence gave you a feeling of calm. As if it were his natural scent and not that of a fragrance perfectly chosen for him.

He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he said naturally, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.

Then, with a subtle gesture, he pulled your chair out for you.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Even without traffic, the streets are a mess."

“Okay, my invitation was too hasty. I didn't even know if you were busy.”

“Today was a good day, cases don’t always turn out so well,” you began, watching him sit down in front of you.

He asked you to go deeper into the day's events, and you happily shared them with him. A bottle of wine was perfect for accompanying the conversation and, in the process, lifting both of your spirits.

Wilson told you about the conference, how everything had gone, the activities, the hustle and bustle of the day, and a little bit about what had been happening in his life over the past month. The past few years, actually, since the conversation you'd had while in New Jersey lasted only a minute. Although it was logical, after all, you couldn't gossip with him in the middle of such a delicate situation.

Now the night was yours.

“It’s so weird seeing you after so many years, you know?”

You frowned at his confession, not quite sure how to interpret it, and at the same time you smiled at him.

“Is it something bad or…?”

“No! Of course not. I mean, I didn’t think I’d see you again. I figured you’d be like most of the interns we have at the hospital, but when I saw you in House’s office that day, it was like… I don’t know, like I’d gone back in time or something.”

“It was a good time, wasn’t it? My twenties crisis seems like a breeze next to what it's like around thirty,” you murmured, making him laugh. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

"Really?"

“Yes. And I mean that as a compliment, for the record. I mean, you always seemed so… so human. Kind-hearted, gentle, funny. I always wondered what made you House’s friend.”

“He’s not that bad,” he defended him. “He just needs a little help sometimes. And patience most of the time. Deep down, he’s a good man, he tries hard to save patients.”

“I see you and I feel that every time you find a mess you think 'I can fix it,' and I honestly don't know if it's an act of selfless love for the world or some kind of self-imposed moral burden.”

“Are you saying I should stop being friends with House?”

“I’m saying you’re a complex personality. Very bright, polite, and kind, but at the same time, it’s as if something compels you to collect outcasts from around the world to try to rehabilitate them or something,” you smiled. “Forgive me if I took the liberty of assuming things about you. It’s part of… well, you know, my job.”

Wilson didn't seem offended. It was more like he was impressed by what you were telling him, perhaps too close to the truth.

“I can't imagine how complicated it is. The human mind is so… unpredictable. I rely on medical evidence, on tests, on the effectiveness of medications. But trying to understand the twists and turns of humanity—that's a challenge.”

“Sometimes it's enough to look a little deeper. You think you know something, but in reality you're looking at it from the wrong perspective or you're not seeing it objectively. It all depends on the person you are, who they are, their life story, their modus operandi. You have to look at things from the outside. It's like... when you eat something that seemed like the greatest delicacy in your childhood, but, as an adult, you realize it wasn't as good as your memories had led you to believe. Maybe I'm digressing, but…”

“No, I understand perfectly,” he finished. He looked at you with a certain admiration, though with those bright, tender brown eyes, it was hard to tell if it was genuine or just a natural reflex.

You were about to say something more about it when a hand placed on your shoulder made you jump. You doubted it was a waiter touching you so familiarly, and when you turned around, you found yourself staring into the face of your elegant Italian colleague.

“Rossi?”

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I want you to know we're not spying on you or anything.”

“What?” you squealed. He was speaking plural, what was it…? “No way.”

Your answer appeared a couple of tables over. They were all sitting at one of the tables, the whole team, laughing amongst themselves. Almost as if he felt your gaze, Spencer turned in your direction until he met your eyes; a second later, he focused on Wilson.

“It turns out we suddenly had a collective craving for Italian food, and since this is the best restaurant I know…” he shrugged, smiling, “What can I say? It’s just the coincidences of life.”

James watched with some interest and a touch of entertainment, as if he was enjoying the scene he was witnessing.

“Wilson, this is my… he’s my coworker, his name is David Rossi. Dave, this is Dr. James Wilson, one of the best oncologists in the country.”

“Just James,” he murmured, standing up to shake his hand. You could feel the BAU’s eyes on you. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine. How lovely to see our darling so happy.”

You were going to make sure you killed him one of these days. Or if not, at least make him suffer. Your mind immediately went to how much fun the others must be having seeing you blush, and suddenly, you thought you wanted to kill them too. Spencer was the only one who watched everything impassively, as if he didn't want to be there. But he never went places he didn't want to be, so what was happening to everyone?

“Well, I appreciate you coming, but I think it's best if you advise our friends on the dishes. After all, you come here often, don't you?”

“You’re right,” he smiled. “We’ll be there if you need anything.”

You practically shoved Rossi out of your way and tried desperately to ignore how tense the atmosphere had become, at least from your perspective. Wilson wasn't uncomfortable at all; he was even smiling slightly.

“So those are your colleagues?”

"I swear I didn't tell them where I was. They must have heard it on the call or…"

“Does it bother you?” he interrupted. When you looked at him, confused, he continued, “That they’re here, I mean. That they see you with me.”

“No! My God, of course not. What I'm trying to say is, I hope you're not uncomfortable with them being here or anything. They're a bunch of gossip and… I'm sorry.”

“Do they know you like me?”

While that was true, it didn't stop you from freezing completely. You never expected him to express it so shamelessly, so directly and casually. A nervous laugh soon emerged, almost touching disbelief.

"Sorry?"

“Oh, it’s just… I don’t know, I thought you told them about the little conversation when you went to the hospital. Or your friend, anyway.”

“For starters, Reid isn't a big mouth. Second, that's none of their business. And third, you just said I like you, and in any case, the correct tense would be past tense: I liked you. A mild crush that all college girls eventually have, nothing more.”

A chuckle escaped his lips and you dared to look at him.

“Does this amuse you?”

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just… I don’t know, I thought it was really cute when I found out. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of House, but I kept wondering how accurate his conclusions were.”

“House is reckless and an idiot”

“But most of the time he’s right,” he smiled, watching you closely. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I don't. That's in the past, Wilson. Besides, you are older than me.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you're married”

Suddenly, it was his turn to pale. He hadn't even mentioned his current wife, and the way his hand unconsciously went to his ring finger, searching for the non-existent jewel, gave you the confirmation you needed.

And yet, you felt like you'd just hit back. He didn't know for sure if you had ever been—or were ever—attracted to him, and you weren't sure a wife even existed. You were playing the same game, even though he didn't think you knew the rules.

Poor, naive Wilson.

“How… how did you know?”

"I made some guesses. You're not wearing your ring today, but you have a habit of going to that area with your thumb, as if you're used to playing with it. Just like you, a moment ago, I was just throwing a guess into the air."

He remained silent, observing you, as if your comment had activated a mirror he didn't know he needed. His expression didn't show annoyance, but rather a strange mix of vulnerability and respect. As if he felt exposed, yes... but not entirely uncomfortable about it.

Receiving no response, you continued:

“What I find curious is that you decided to forget it today. Maybe trying your luck? Are there a lot of pretty female oncologists at the conferences you attend?”

James didn't answer immediately. His hand slowly moved back from his ring finger, as if you'd caught him in the act. He cleared his throat, his smile barely visible.

“Things with my wife haven’t been going well for a while now…” he said, lowering his voice slightly, as if he knew any misspoken words could backfire on him “It wasn’t a planned gesture. Sometimes, when I’m feeling confused, I just… don’t wear it.”

“That sounds dangerously symbolic. Not wearing the ring, I mean. As if you're subconsciously permitting yourself to be a little less of a husband.”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly “I promise.”

He understood the nature of your comment. And, honestly, he couldn't blame you. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't contacted you as an attempt to escape the routine, to see if maybe you were what his life was missing.

But he wouldn't tell you, of course not.

“Can I say something without sounding nosy?”

Wilson nodded, looking at you with genuine interest.

“Maybe... and I say maybe because I don't have all the answers, okay? But... maybe you should think about whether you're there because you still love her or because you're afraid of being alone.”

He gave a short laugh, with no trace of mockery.

“Would you say that from your own experience?”

“I say this because loneliness often disguises itself very well as commitment. And because there's nothing more exhausting than trying to keep a dead relationship alive just to avoid the silence.”

Wilson seemed to process this more seriously than you'd anticipated. He looked at you as if you were much more complex than he'd initially believed. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly.

“You are quite perceptive.”

“I already told you, it’s my job.”

As you watched him speak, with that polished charm that had once seemed unattainable, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

For years you had idealized him, as if James Wilson were the perfect representation of the thoughtful, brilliant, and emotionally available man who was so scarce in the world. But now, standing before you, you no longer saw the idol you had once fantasized about from a distance, but a real man: one who made mistakes, who made selfish decisions, who could be emotionally irresponsible without even realizing it.

You were still attracted to him (because it wasn't easy to shake off the feeling), but now it was tinged with reality and maturity. You might like him, you might desire him, but you also knew that trying something with him would be like walking on glass: complicated, unstable, and probably painful.

The parallel with your previous analogy –the objective view of your favorite food– felt like a bitter omen.

A comfortable pause settled between you. The restaurant music, the murmurs, the drinks, everything seemed to continue, ignoring the conversation you'd just had. Until he spoke again.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

It wasn't a loaded question. There was no ulterior motive. But you still looked at him with some suspicion.

“Was that a flirtation attempt?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said quickly, his hands raised. “I just… wanted to know. That’s not why I came to you, I just wanted to see you. I thought it would be a good idea to invite you to dinner”

A relaxed smile suddenly appeared. You felt more comfortable now that you knew he wasn't trying to get into your pants, although, to be honest, a month ago you would have accepted the offer without a second thought.

“It’s okay. I'm glad to know I'm not a whim of your midlife crisis,” you admitted. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

You said it sarcastically, and he smiled. You reminded him a little—too much—of House, and he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. He was surprised to think that the passing of time had taken away that insecure little girl, whom he now saw in Cameron, and made way for a worthy apprentice of the doctor. Perhaps that was why you had argued so much during that visit; two such strong personalities didn't get along so easily.

Oblivious to the other person's thoughts, your gaze involuntarily returned to the other table. Something in your chest suddenly tightened.

Spencer.

He wasn't laughing. Not like the others. He was watching you.

His eyes met yours, and for a moment you couldn't read him. He looked confused, annoyed... or just plain hurt. But it was him, after all, so nothing was as simple as it seemed.

“Everything okay?” Wilson asked, following your gaze.

“Yeah,” you answered, looking away from Spencer as if that would make him less important.

He knew who you'd been eyeing. He also wondered if your answer about a relationship was only half-truthful. If you'd been hiding something or had subconsciously been searching for the object of your desire after answering the question.

“House was quite impressed with your friend. He said he was brilliant.” James poured himself a little more wine, not hiding his curious tone “Rare for him to praise anyone other than himself.”

“Reid is… peculiar”

“I read some of his publications. The guy is a genius,” he took a sip. “And he seems very serious. I wonder if he’s always like this or if he’s just trying to kill the man in front of you with his eyes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You knew Spencer was good at keeping his emotions under wraps, but you also knew he had a way of letting them show when he wanted. That was one of them.

Wilson looked at him once more.

“I think I just made an enemy without knowing why.”

“You’re not his enemy,” you said, your voice calm. “He’s just not used to seeing me outside of certain scenarios.”

“Like on a date?”

“It’s not a date”

“But it might seem so”

“Now you’re implying that he likes me?”

“No,” he murmured, without a trace of lying “I’m just saying what I see. Just like you.”

The sudden setback he gave you, with your own arguments, made you laugh while you shook your head.

“You know, of all the things that could have happened, I didn’t expect our evening to go this way.”

“Nor me. But I'm glad it did.”

"Why?"

"Because sometimes it's good to talk things through. To avoid misunderstandings."

“To think that I'm still in love with you, for example?”

“Or assume I’m trying to cheat on my wife with you.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere felt like there was a certain complicity, you could even say a certain unresolved tension. As if you were saying those things, but deep down, you were thinking that if you had kissed at any moment, it would have felt natural.

In a sort of tacit agreement, the topic of conversation changed, and you continued eating dinner as normal. The wine glass in your hand was almost empty, but you did not attempt to refill it. He didn’t either.

You both paused in that strange, comfortable moment that occurs after a long conversation, one that seems to have lasted minutes and yet a lifetime. The murmur of the Italian restaurant was soft, discreet, just enough to envelop you in a bubble where no one else seemed to exist.

At some point, dessert arrived, and with that, the time to say goodbye. You hadn't realized your friends were no longer at the next table, which made you wonder how long ago they'd left.

“It was… nice to see you,” he finally said, that nostalgic smile forming in his eyes more than on his lips “I didn’t know how much I needed it until it happened.”

“Yes,” you replied barely, in a soft voice. “I didn’t know either.”

He looked at you more closely, and then he said it. No drama, no cheap insinuations. He just blurted it out, as if he were confessing it more to himself than to you:

“If one day circumstances were different… I don’t know, I’d like to see you again.”

And there it was. The phrase that left the air suspended between you. You could have done many things with it: laugh, say yes, shake your head, respond with something equally ambiguous. But you did nothing. You just looked at him. And he understood.

He paid the bill without much insistence, and you didn't argue, because you knew it was a way to close the moment; to make everything intact, without cracks. When you left the restaurant, the night air greeted you with a light breeze and the scent of distant rain.

You wanted to say something else, but whatever thought had crossed your mind was cut short by what you saw. Spencer, standing on the corner, hands in his pockets and the collar of his coat pulled up to his cheeks. He didn't seem rushed, but he did seem expectant. When he saw you, his frown softened slightly... until he noticed who was walking beside you.

“Dr. Reid! It’s so nice to see you again.”

The aforementioned greeted him with a nod, trying to be as rude as possible, and saying a soft hello.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“A taxi,” he muttered dryly.

The idea of giving him a ride immediately occurred to you, and as you looked at Wilson, it was as if he'd already read your mind. A soft smile told you he agreed.

“I can take you home.”

“Thanks, but I already called the taxi. It would be very rude to just leave.”

“That’s no problem,” the doctor chimed in. “I could have yours. I was thinking of taking one to get back to my hotel.”

Reid looked at you then, as if seeking confirmation that the option was really valid. Then he looked at Wilson, assessing without hiding it. The moment became intense, although no one said anything.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Either way, James was about to leave.”

“I was thinking of walking you to your car, don’t think I’m a savage,” he joked, and you laughed softly.

That brief, carefree laugh made both men look at you. For a moment, you were the exact center of two opposing universes.

You turned towards the elder.

“If you come back to town, please call me.”

“Same here. Even if you're not in Jersey and want to call me, I'm available.”

You leaned forward to say goodbye, with a hug, and he leaned his head down to kiss you. A simple, polite touch, with no ulterior motives… but not entirely innocent. Because Spencer saw it. Because Spencer felt it. And because you noticed it too.

“Sleep well. Good luck on your return flight.”

“Take care,” Wilson said, before saying goodbye with a last smile.

You gave Spencer a small nod and started walking toward the car. He followed you, but not before saying goodbye to Wilson with a formal handshake. You didn't want to pressure him. You decided to wait. You knew that if something needed to be said, it would come from him.

He walked in silence for several minutes, with his hands in his pockets and his steps slow.

“Did it go well?” he asked, without turning around completely. His tone was calm, but there was a barely perceptible tension in his words.

“Yeah. It was quite nice. I liked the food, the wine… the conversation was good.”

There was another pause.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

You raised an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

“I don’t know if you had plans to go somewhere else afterward.”

You paused before looking at him again. You were almost back at the car.

“We just wanted to have dinner. Sleeping with married men isn't my style.”

Spencer turned his head, now yes, to look at you fully.

“Is he married?”

“As I feared,” you said, with a dry smile.

Your friend didn't know how to interpret that and looked down for a moment. The cold ran through you, chilling you to the bone, and you wondered if you could ask him for his coat to warm you up a little. But that would have been cruel.

“And if he wasn’t?” he then asked, without embellishment, “Would you have something with him?”

The question took you a little by surprise. Not because you weren't expecting it... but because the way he said it was too direct, even for him.

You sighed, letting the warm air escape through your lips.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered. “He’s kind, very handsome, and I like him, but… today I realized there are things about him, emotional things, that I don’t know if I could deal with. He’s full of voids that I don’t know if I want to fill.”

Spencer didn't say anything for a second. He just looked at you, as if trying to read what was behind your words. As if it hurt him that you weren't sure, but also as if he was relieved to hear that you weren't entirely convinced.

When you got to the car, you leaned against the door for a moment, searching for your keys. Spencer stood by your side, his hands still in his pockets, as if the weight of his coat could keep him firmly on the ground. The night was still warm, but you couldn't tell if the trembling in your hands was due to the weather or everything you'd said to each other. And everything you hadn't.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No, Reid, it’s okay. I know you hate doing it.”

Your thoughtfulness made him smile, and he climbed into the passenger seat. You were grateful that it was warmer inside, something that would improve once the air-conditioning was on.

The man snuggled into the seat, staring out the window at the streets, and then you sat for a while enjoying the comfortable silence in the car. The only thing that remained was the murmur of the radio, which had just changed songs. A guitar filtered through the speakers, followed by a slightly nasal voice.

I met her in a club down in old Soho…

Spencer blinked, then tilted his head slightly, as if recognizing an old acquaintance. And when the song reached the chorus, he smiled.

“Did you know this song was banned on some radio stations for mentioning a soda brand?” he said suddenly, without you asking.

You barely turned your face towards him, without taking your eyes off the road.

"Huh?"

“Coca-Cola,” he explained, with that half-smile that appears when he’s about to share a piece of trivia that probably no one asked for but that he finds fascinating. “In the original version it says: 'Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola' But the BBC didn’t allow explicit commercial references, so The Kinks had to go back to the studio to re-record it saying 'cherry cola' just so it could be played on the radio.”

“Are you kidding?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. And it wasn't even because of the song's content. Which, if you think about it, is a lot more scandalous.”

Girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world…

He raised an eyebrow, as if the song had just proven its point for him.

“It was written in 1970. A song about a relationship with a trans person or drag queen, amid the Conservative era. Ray Davies wrote it after his manager realized, too late, that Lola wasn't the woman she seemed. The fascinating thing is that the song never pokes fun at the subject. It's more… tender. Confusing, yes, but honest.”

You chuckled, impressed.

“I've never heard it before. It's a beautiful song.”

You were silent for a moment, listening.

“Also,” he added, in a softer tone, “it’s a good metaphor for embracing the unexpected. Things that don’t fit with what you believed. Or what you were prepared to feel.”

You didn't say anything, because you didn't need to. You just kept driving, while Lola continued singing her cheerful chorus, and you wondered if, in some way, that song sounded a little like what Spencer wasn't saying.

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 1x08, "poison"

the diagnostics department is poisoning its devotees to act just like their idol. chaos ensues.

this one felt good. it feels good to be hit over the head with some over obvious messaging every once in a while, especially when that messaging is very fun, exciting, and character-driven. PLUS we get major house and foreman dynamic development! i am very pleased.

this episode very conveniently comes in thirds, represented by each time chase, foreman, and cameron misstep during the case (in that order). they're confronted with a helicopter mom who reacts, in their view, poorly to how the diagnostics team treats her son. in my opinion, she's one of the first to rationally question their central practice of treating to diagnose, so it's funny how they all immediately get pissed off and write her off as crazy. i'll break down this first and move into other sub-conflicts/plots.

house demands to know why foreman cares so much about the case from the very second he presents the file to house. he's asking nothing but leading questions, of course, because he can tell that foreman's base interest comes from just that - blanket curiosity - rather than a more cameron-esque bleeding heart. house identifies a burgeoning house-ism in foreman, and it's one of house's most dangerous.

chase's tendency to be cavalier causes the mom to toss him off her son's case. he doesn't often weigh the consequences of what he's going to say in conversation, so long as it gets the job done, gets the patient to comply, gets the diagnosis clear and under control. yet another house-ism. yet, unlike house, chase doesn't have the necessary thick skin to bear through the pushback his big mouth gets him.

cameron's stubbornness could not present in a way more dissimilar to house, yet it's their strongest and clearest connection. she's also the last of the ducklings to be sent in to deal with the helicopter mom and, frustrated that she's compromising the diagnostic process, says that "no, it's on you. you need to do better. right now. yes or no." it's easy to put those words into house's mouth, but, not long after, the mom also boots her off the case.

each of the ducklings embody their own house-isms, but to varying degrees of failure. it seems like 1x08 may be highlighting the missing component for us: house combines all 3 of the aforementioned traits, rendering him pretty darn miserable, which makes him less compromising, less kind, and more convincing.

above all else, though, foreman gets the spotlight this time, which is refreshing after several chase and cameron-heavy episodes. while investigating the patient's home, cameron comments that he's "deflecting a personal question with a joke. gee, who do i know that does that?" foreman, understandably irked by this question (because, for nearly the full duration of this show, i believe that foreman does NOT like house), retorts with, "yeah, i'm just like him, except for the angry, bitter, pompous cr*pple part." he misses all the true comparisons to be made between himself and house thus far: their ambition, love of the puzzle, and the same cynical way toward others. and, just like how house md presents love in all its dimensions across several characters, the show will also present these traits in their character foils as equal parts good and bad.

later, when trying to make another appeal to the mother of the patient, she freaks out on foreman, too: "you're just as pompous and superior as [house] is!"

1x08 also presents these foreman/house similarities as inescapable. house is thrilled that foreman isn't making up with the mother by the episode's close, but foreman doesn't know why he would do that at all. never fear - house knows! there's no reason to make nice with her if "you don't care about her. or her son." immediately following this, foreman and house leave together in the elevator, where house smugly realizes that they do, in fact, where the same shoes. ugh, to respect someone so much and detest them at the same time is such an insanely interesting character dynamic.

a brief chase/daddy issues moment rears its head, too. he's able to redeem himself for his prior failures with the patient when he fakes a phone call to the mom from the CDC, since she won't go ahead with house's treatment till she hears their second opinion. not only is this ingenious and horribly manipulative, it also impresses house, a rare thing. i'll never forget the absolute elation chase feels after earning this fleeting approval, complemented nicely by a literal glow passing over their heads between shots.

that's his DAD, you guys.

there's another separate thread i want to highlight happens during cameron and foreman's conversation about house. foreman is upfront about house and vicodin - he's an addict. he uses vicodin to get through the day and can't pass easily through one without it. but cameron is so resistant to this. disputing foreman's diagnosis, she says, "he's not an addict. he has to take drugs. he's in pain!"

there are so many distinctions throughout house md about the root cause of house's addiction, a conflict that will basically tear up his relationship with cuddy and (very nearly) with wilson, too, in the distant future. oftentimes they're insistent that his pain is psychosomatic, therefore "less real," or it's phantom pain, or it's just Not As Bad as he claims. cameron makes a unique divergence from this separation of disability, addiction, and pain, by removing all traces of responsibility from house. it's all pain, so it's all okay. most people claim the opposite and put all the onus on house without factoring in the hand life has dealt him.

this is very in character for cameron thus far, as she wants to bring out the best in house, the kind of "best" that may not even be there in at all.

and, finally, 3 small notes:

hugh laurie has just about Found House at this point. the above picture says it all. he's endearing and funny and still a little evil.

wilson was there. this was probably his most "i, too, am in this epsisode" episode to date. i do love that he showed up solely to read the love poem the 80-year-old syphilis patient wrote for house, give him the test results that he had no business handling, and then leave. and he looked good during it all!

cuddy said like 3 words all episode :(

[guiltycorp]

Even though I loved the writing of LoL Jayvik I really appreciate that Arcane is going for a different approach so far, makes things feel less predictable! Instead of ideological differences driving the divide between them it is more so that they are just... out of sync so far?? I mean, during last season Viktor even before his diagnosis was eagerly meddling with the Hexcore with little regard to safety, then straight up went for the illicit and damaging drug to facilitate the transformation process, then when he ran out of that drug he proceeded to try using Hexcore without it (when he already TESTED that on plants and should have known it would backfire) which killed Sky... At which point he went oh shit, ok, I should stop meddling with this thing and just die peacefully maybe. It's not very clear how much of that he told Jayce aside from making him promise to destroy the Hexcore, but Jayce's surprised reaction in s2 when hearing about Sky makes me think it wasn't much at all...? So Jayce doesn't feel as much of an asshole for, once again, going against Viktor's explicit wishes. He pretty much never has the full picture before being forced to make a decision! Idk it makes him very sympathetic to me ngl, just feeling more and more guilt but continuing to fuck up due to lack of knowledge and experience, is that not relatable? And aside from being entirely unprepared for Viktor's death even after s1 I think it's like Jinx says in this Act too, it was something he could fix for once... Perhaps this is why he agrees to the use of Hextech weapons, too, feeling like it's the only thing he can do to 'help' the people he cares about and protect himself too (I guess killing just 1 defenseless child wasn't enough of a learning moment for him lmao). Despite again, this going very much against Viktor's wishes (and Mel's!! we didn't get her with Jayce after this but I imagine she's not very happy with him either... Viktor&Mel team up when). This time Jayce is the one just going for it and hoping for the best despite knowing very little of how it works. I also love how a lot of us in the fandom and also Singed in the series assumed Jayce would be appalled by Viktor's experiments but instead... he immediately goes even further :D And when Viktor wakes up and goes bye Jayce is like ?? but then by the end of the next episode he starts to realise that ohh alright so maybe yeah they should have stopped... Who'd have thunk. I'm not super up to date with League lore but is it really that difficult to find a sane mage for consultation purposes? ...Also I really doubt that hitting that thing (wild rune?) with his hextech-powered hammer was a good move lmao and yet even in this it seems similar to what Viktor is currently doing. Both continue to use the arcane to try and fix things, Jayce through violence and Viktor through transmutation, but it kind of seems like the same kind of mistake. (they are just pretty bad scientists and always have been and i love that for them lmao)

[pastafossa]

I went through the second half of my ADHD testing today. And we had some time left. She asked me how I was feeling, towards the end, about the questions and the issues I'd talked about, and I told her about my anxiety and guilt over the things I'd mentioned, and my fear even now that I'd get through this whole process just to hear 'It's not ADHD, you're just lazy, just try harder.' When I told her that she gently said, "well I want you to know, you do have ADHD. You have it. You don't have to feel anxious about that anymore." And ya'll, the way I just started to cry.

I have it. I have it, and I class as 'severe' ADHD.

All those times as a kid I got in trouble with teachers for forgetting things or not being able to focus. All of the, 'you do well in reading, you're smart enough to focus on this, too, don't be lazy, you just need to try, why don't you care?'. All of the projects I started but couldn't finish, the forgetting to reply to messages and texts from friends and losing friendships over it, the clutter I can never seem to manage, my shit attention span, the way I couldn't just get shit DONE, the failed attempts over and over and over to organize and task manage and I don't understand, I'm trying, I promise I'm trying, please, I'm trying, why isn't it working. All those years spent wondering why I was such a fuckup when everyone else appeared to breeze through projects and Normal Adult Tasks without forgetting or losing focus.

And now I know it wasn't my fault. That I was trying. That I did care. That I wasn't lazy. My brain just... doesn't work the usual way. I was doing the best I could with the wrong tools, because all my life I've needed a screwdriver and all I had was a hacksaw. And now, NOW I can finally go to to the doctor for medication, go to therapists who can help and I can finally get the right set of tools. I know now one of the reasons I'm so anxious thanks to this: "I've found that people with late diagnoses often struggle with guilt and shame, and a lot of internalized ableism, because they've dealt for years with people accusing them of being lazy or just not caring."

It is so, so gd validating, especially on top of the surprise diagnosis of 'oh yeah and you're on the spectrum and that's why you've always struggled with these other things!' It feels like there's this weight off my shoulders and it's amazing.

[redhoodobsessed]

Diagnosis is...

Jason Todd x Reader

This one is kind of weird i just thought it would be funny and it spiraled from there. You meet your boyfriends family at a very bad time. TW: vomiting, Pregnancy

Jason always took you to the Manor when his family wasn't home. The only member who you were well acquainted with was Alfred and Duke. Even after being together for a year and moving with eachother he wasn't ready for you to meet his family. Truthfully he was worried they would be... too much.

Jason sat you down gently on his bed in his old bedroom.

"You really didn't need to carry me here from the cave I'm not that sick" you sighed as he tucked you into the bed.

"Sure but I wanted to." He went to kiss your lips but you pulled back

"Trust me lover boy you do not want to kiss these lips"

He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek instead "I'll be back at five ok?"

You nodded waiting for him to leave before running to his bathroom and vomiting.

After 10 minutes you went looking around. He only ever took you to the manor when no one else was around but Alfred. But this time even he wasn't here. Bruce was on some big undercover mission in another country basically the enormous amounts of people who were usually here weren't except for Jason and Duke who were taking over the nightly patrol in Gotham. This was perfect for your mission.

You searched every bathroom and medicine cabinet you could find surely in a house this big which was home to the billionaire playboy had to have at least one. You could swear you'd been looking for hours practically torn apart the entire mansion when you heard a sympathic sounding voice say. "Looking for something?"

You turned around to see a redheaded green eyed woman in a wheelchair. Barbara Gordon.

"Uh uhm Sprite?" Definitely not a great answer if you were trying to deceive a world renowned cyber detective who caught you pulling apart her boyfriends medicine cabinet. But she humored you and took you to the kitchen.

"Why sprite?" She said

"The acid from Lemons are neutralising which help relieve nausea. They give it to people in outpatient after things like wisdom tooth extraction at the hospital. Also I don't like lemonade."

"Right, Jason said you weren't feeling well. What are the symptoms?" She was absolutely probing you for information. She saw the frantically thrown about flu medicine and pain killers, you were looking for something specific.

you weren't planning on spilling everything to a complete stranger but you had to tell someone or you would probably go crazy. "Well nausea, slight headache, swollen feet and breasts, late menstruation cycle I would say patient diagnosis would be-"

"Pregnancy" she interrupted her face completely bewildered. Jason Todd got a girl pregnant.

"About 2 to 3 weeks along but I can't know for sure without-"

"A pregnancy test" she interrupted again.

"I would rather go to the Doctor and get a blood test but Jason and I just moved in together and I only realised I was late yesterday."

"We can do a blood test! Downstairs in the cave right now" Barbara immediately started heading to the elevator to the cave.

"That will take a while you don't have a regular pregnancy test here?"

She thought for a second "I don't think so."

So you went down to do the test you were surprised they had every blood test known to man "you know an at home pregnancy test only takes two minutes" you say as you draw your own blood you needed to practice anyway.

"Well we could watch a movie? It's only two hours."

"Yeah only" you sighed and Barbara finished the rest of the process now all you had to do was wait for the results. Your heart almost stopped when you heard the roar of a motorcycle enter the cave thinking it might be Jason.

"It's just the Batgirls their mission ended early." Barbara said pulling up the live security footage of the runway and leaving it up. You almost collapsed from relief.

"Hey Babs! Who's this?" The purple Batgirl said as she took off her Cowl revealing her blonde hair and chipper smile.

"I uhm I'm Y/n"

"Oh Jason's girlfriend! You're sick right?" She glanced over at the screen the blood test now almost halfway done. "What's a HCG test?"

Barbara minimised the window and looked at you as you tried to formulate a lie but it was too late. The other batgirl who must be Cassandra signed something to Stephanie.

"No way!" Her face was in utter disbelief and god you wished Jason had just left you in the apartment. This was not how you wanted to meet his family.

"It's probably nothing it could be anything really." You really wanted to believe that. You wanted to believe it was something crazy rare.

"Like what?" Stephanie said with full curiosity. She definitely didn't seem to realise the invasive nature of that question until Cassandra put a hand on her shoulder. "Right well good luck with that Cass and I are gonna train for a bit."

"Don't worry you can trust them" Barbara's words gave little comfort. Your face was red with embarrassment its not that you didn't trust them it's that you just met them. Their first impression of their brothers girlfriend is that she could be pregnant.

It wasn't long before you heard people talking from the staircase "TIMOTHY BERNIE!"Stephanie yelled "What are you doing here?!"

"Well I was showing Bernard the mansion and i thought id take him to see the cave too i need to check up on a blood test of a rat i found scarecrow experimenting on too. Hey! Are you Y/n?" Tim asked shaking your hand.

You were relieved at the fact that he would be the first family member to not also be wondering whether or not you were pregnant. "It's nice to meet you. Jason talks about you a lot."

"He talks about all of you too I think he's been a bit nervous for us to meet."

"So was Tim. I'm Bernard, Tim's boyfriend" you had been so relieved and distracted by normal conversation without any indication of any possible pregnancy that you didn't see Tim looking at the computers in the med bay.

"Uh who ordered the HCG? Was it an accident or...?"

"HCG? I meant to do a CRP! damn well now I'll know if I'm pregnant or not." At least Stephanie was good at improv

"But this says its y/n's?" Tim said skeptical of the whole situation

"What?! I must of mixed up our blood" ok so she might not win an Oscar but you could work with this.

"Oh yeah I was practicing drawing blood sometimes they have us do it on other med students and if you don't practice uh it's embarrassing." You were definitely not winning an Oscar.

"Right." He was definitely unconvinced. But his angel of a boyfriend noticed your nervous face and came to your rescue.

"Happens to the best of us." He has a very warm and comforting smile Tim has good taste in men.

As time went on your stomach started to churn and you laid back on a medical bed. There was the loud hum of a jet engine and huge doors opening up above you. "Uhh please not Bruce Wayne"

"Bruce Wayne" everyone except Bernard seemed to say in unison "and the results are in."

"I don't want to know" you didnt want this to be such a big deal you didn't want so many people to know and you certainly didn't want Jason's whole family to know before he did.

"Ah miss Y/n I see you've met more of the family" Alfred said walking down from where ever the Jet was parked above you.

"It's been a pleasure" you say truly not wanting to sound rude they had all been very kind to you their timing is just so so poor.

"Ah Jason had told me you're not feeling well. Can I bring you anything Y/n"

"Y/n?" I voice that must belong to Bruce followed behind Alfred. "Oh I didn't know you would be here" Bruce Wayne said cowl in hand his face looking tired. A young looking boy walked towards the bat computer ignoring you. honestly you were grateful for not having to meet another batfamily member.

You were trying to get up but he interrupted "no no please don't get up on my behalf rest its quite late."

You were going to respond but your stomach stirred again and a gurgle went up your throat. Bruce was quick to respond and got you a vomit bag. Great the first thing Bruce Wayne had ever heard from you was the disgusting sound of vomit. "You are quite sick" He put his hand on your forehead automatically. But there was no time to make up an excuse or reason.

"She's not sick, she's pregnant" the young and very rude boy said... definitely Damian.

"Oh uhm is uh.. when did you find out?" Bruce was extremely flustered, but by now you had experienced enough embarrassment for the night and just wanted Jason to come home.

"Just then" with the perfect timing that this family seemed to have you heard Jason and Duke ride into the cave to see an utterly confused Batman standing next to you.

"None of you are supposed to be here." Jason growled as he made his way to you he was about to glare at Bruce when he saw his bright red face he stopped "What's wrong with you?Salina break up with you again?" Jason

"Uhm" Bruce cleared his throat "you're right we're not supposed to be here. We should all go upstairs." He started heading to the stairs but everyone else seemed to be looking at you "now!" He said sternly in his Batman voice the room quickly cleared out after that.

You sighed a breath of relief as Jason sat next to you and pulled you close kissing your temple. "What was his problem?" He asked rubbing your arm and resting his head on your shoulder.

"Well I'm not technically sick."

"Hmm?" He didn't even seemed phased by this he just leaned into you more

"I had to do a test and uh everyone saw the result."

"Is it bad?" This man after a patrol you could swear his head was made of bricks.

"Depends. Do you think its bad that I'm pregnant." You said hesitantly a very small part of you worried that he would say yes but worse is he didn't say anything. "Jason?"

"Uh no!" He moved to face you his forehead pressed against yours "No it's its not bad its just its unexpected and then I'm sorry I'm sorry for all of that and them and wow"

You giggled "Yeah it's not exactly what I was expecting for tonight"

He cupped your cheek and smiled at you "I love you Y/N"

Tears started to well in your eyes "I love you too Jason" He pulled you in for a long kiss. Finally all you wanted all night was to be with him.

Upstairs Dick arrived home to...chaos. Stephanie was talking to Cass about everything they were going to do to prepare for.. something. Tim was yelling at Damian, Barbara and Bernard were telling Duke about the entire night and Bruce sat in an armchair still in complete embarrassment and disbelief.

"Did I miss something?"

[reality-shitting]

It's insane about how many DRs I have that are overall much much better than earth, and then I suddenly decided actually - I Do want children.

It isn't every reality but it is a solid chunk of them. Anyways, yes Diluc would be THE girl dad.

In all honesty, I think the bar for living standards here is in Hell 😭 I think the whole world is fucked rn, call me pessimistic, but that also means that it's not hard for your other lives to have much greener pastures. I wanna be child free here for a LOT of societal and economic issues, but also my genetics are decimated when it comes to physical and mental health, so one of the first things I told Diluc when we got serious was that I didn't want kids.

After some time and learning more about Teyvat, I started coming around to the idea. Culturally, he said the kids in Teyvat are far different than here. He said he sees a lot of kids here as bratty or unthoughtful and that alone made him understand why I wanted to be child free. When he had Albedo create my body, Albedo tampered with my genetic makeup and removed my physical disabilities (In this reality, I have T1 Diabetes, scoliosis, spina bifida, hashimoto's, I'm currently in the process of getting RLS and HS diagnosis, AND Im susceptible to many more auto immune disorders later in life 🙃). So since my genes are going to be immensely healthier, I won't have to worry about bringing a child into the world whose health I could only describe as a curse, and we actively started talking about the possibility of having kids. I know he really wants to be a dad, and I used to be insecure that I wouldn't be able to do that for him. He understood back then and he didn't let it bother him, but I know just how elated he would be if he found out I was pregnant. It's something I actively daydream and fantasize about now. Before our abrupt split, I was actually in the midst of making baby names just to have in my back pocket.

You know that Tiktok of the brother playing dolls with his younger sister and the sister tells him to "use his girl voice"? That'd be us. I'd be the one cackling behind the camera. There's so many wholesome scenarios I can think of that he would do as a father that I think a lot of people may not see as "in character" and gosh, I just can't wait to experience them.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah- FUCK THIS REALITY, WTF????????

[mortallychaotickingdom]

I don't even know how to begin since with this post I don't want to fish for sympathy in order to excuse my umpteenth disappearence but rather explain what happened behind the scenes.

In short, it was another long and frustrating period of crisis, both as a person and as an artist; I constantly felt overwhelmed by everything and struggled to focus and deal even with the most basic tasks. With the advent of the New Year I decided to seek for help since I was tired of just surviving. After some research and a couple of impulsive decisions I signed up for a program to receive an ADHD diagnosis. I don't even know what I was expecting from that, I believe that I was just seeking for answers and someone who would tell me that I was not beyond repair. The whole process was quite long and and hearing that I could have been diagnosed as a child if my parents weren't careless idiots made me feel quite remoreseful but at the same time I want to focus on the present rather than on the past.

So yeah, in the end, I got formally diagnosed with ADHD with some discreetly high possibility of being AuDHD (but for now I can't afford to get a proper diagnosis for that as well sigh…). It was definitely an interesting rollercoster of emotions; going through grief, relief and frustration for having spent most of my life feeling broken, misunderstood and unworthy. Having an answer did not repair all the pain and feeling of inadequacy I have felt for my whole life but it had certainly helped me to know myself better and now I feel rather silly for always forcing myself into a mold I couldn't fit in when all I had to do was to change the mold to better fit myself.

Now things are already going better since I am slowly learning to base my expectations on my needs and necessities rather than on pleasing others; the path is still long but I am proud to say that I'm making great progress! I am not sure if I'll be back or not for now since the idea of being on socials still feel very scary and overwheling but I just wanted to let you know that I am still alive and actively working to improve my quality of life thanks to these new information.

Thank you so much for your patience if you managed to read this messy wall of text and I wish you a wonderful day!💕

[loversandantiheroes]

I don't know that I've talked that much about the general state of..like...me in awhile, and since it hit me that I'm like 3 years post-covid and at least that into the yawning abyss of this temp hiatus, I reckon it's due.

Physical/mental health stuff under the cut, general whining alert, etc.,

I don't even remember now when I officially put up the hiatus notice, but it's more or less been on since I wrapped the third chapter of Hotel Hobbies, and that feels several decades ago at this point. Initially it was just a really bad combination of creative burnout (self-inflicted bc why enjoy your creative outlet when you can throw yourself on the fire to keep it burning), my at the time untreated mental health issues, and back-to-back online/fandom friendship disasters that just left me feeling like more of a crater than a person.

Since then things have been very up and down. Some of the friendships mended, some never did and have left some lingering sore spots on things I wish I could still enjoy. I managed to get my ass to a doctor and started the process of getting back into treatment for my depression, finally got a diagnosis for ADHD at the ripe old age of 38, got into therapy, and spent a lot of time bouncing between medications trying to find something that works for me. Sadly, that process is still ongoing.

In the process of all that, though, I finally brought the issue of the god-awful persistent fatigue I've been dealing with to my doctor, and asked to be referred to cardiology. After three weeks of wearing a heart monitor and a quick lay-down/stand-up EKG, they confirmed POTS. I don't know if it's a gift from Covid, or an unfortunate result of the sheer amount of stress I've dealt with in the last decade and change, but it's a fucking bear to deal with, and I can't say I recommend it. Doc is also of the opinion that I have an a-typical case of PCOS. Just collectin' all the acronyms.

Suffice it to say that, while it absolutely could 100% be so much worse, it does turn out my physical health is...less than ideal.

On top of that at the tail end of last year, the month before the election, I finally realized that my burnout isn't just an "oh tee hee you wroted too hard" thing. Apparently caregiver burnout is an actual thing. And uh. Well, I fit the bill. I had hoped to be able to use this year to start shifting things around and try to work on that, try to give myself some more room to breathe and find some way to take the weight off of my shoulders (I'd started looking into adult daycare for my dad to give me a literal break once in awhile).

And then, well. November. And now we're here. And the fascist fucks are chomping at the bit to take away all the things that keep us afloat. My health care. My job. Dad's healthcare. His social security. It's an ugly-ass Sword of Damocles situation.

So yeah. I don't really have a point to draw to in all this except to say that I'm fucking tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, the whole nine yards. I've been running on empty for a long time, and it's proving a lot harder than I'd hoped to try and fill that tank up. And with as uncertain a future as we're facing right now, I don't expect it's going to improve all that much for a wee while.

I keep thinking that I should've made a patreon back before they changed all fees and such, but honestly, even if I had, I still don't have anything I can offer in exchange. I've got like three stacks of brain fog at all times, and my ADHD meds only work on one of 'em. I can hardly string a coherent sentence together most days. If you've wondered why I've been quieter than usual, or less responsive in messages, that's why. Fuckin' Pyramid Head clompin around up there.

Anyway, I guess, all this to say that I'm sorry that I haven't been able to get back to writing or painting. Believe me, I wish I could. I miss it terribly. But the spoons are too few and the fog is too thick.

It will get better, I hope, if circumstances allow. I hope they do. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared shitless these days.

But yeah. Miss you nerds💖

[autism-autobot]

Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 59:

Part 58:

"Hey, um... why is Wukong wearing that breathing mask? He's not getting sicker is he?"

"No, he isn't any sicker than he was yesterday. His body just needs time to rest and heal as part of the recovery process. As for his mask, that's just to give him his lung medicine. No need to worry."

Wukong just laid there, curled up and cozy with his favorite blanket. He was wearing a beanie Savage gifted to him for Mother's Day as well as the Bluey pajamas Macaque had gifted him.

Macaque climbed onto the bed and stuck his head as close as he could to Wukong's heart without disturbing his nap.

Macaque yawned and did a big cat stretch before curling up and instinctively "making biscuits" as Jing called it with the extra blanket Wukong wasn't using.

Nezha: My father told me about your condition. Just wanted to check in and make sure you're okay.

Mac: Yeah, I'm fine. I guess I'm just a little weird sometimes. If it freaks you out then too bad.

Nezha: I accompanied Wukong to his family reunion. It's going to take a lot more than you acting like a cat to freak me out.

Mac: Good, 'cause I wasn't about to stop any time soon.

Nezha: I'm fine with that.

Mac: ...

Mac: So...

Nezha: ?

Mac: Jing told me that you have a reincarnation disorder too, right?

Nezha: I do indeed, though mine is on the opposite side of the spectrum from yours.

Mac: Opposite side of the spectrum?

Nezha: Haven't you and my father talked to the specialist about reincarnation disorders?

Mac: Only about mine.

Nezha: Well, since you didn't know, I have a reincarnation disorder that affects my physical body but not my soul.

Mac: Mine is the opposite.

Nezha: Correct. Some people experience one or the other like us while others may experience both or have it affecting their lives in different ways than ours.

Mac: Like how?

Nezha: My disorder causes difficulties with my cardiovascular system. Others may have their nervous or other bodily systems affected or multiple at the same time.

Nezha: Your reincarnation disorder affects your soul because of how far along you were in the reincarnation process. Do you know how much that was?

Mac: The specialist estimated about 75-85% of the way. The bone demon acted as a buffer to my symptoms so I've been experiencing them more and more as time goes on.

Nezha: Others may experience more or less severity of symptoms depending on how far along they were when they were brought back to life. They may also have things acting as "buffers" for symptoms, which is why some people go without a diagnosis or treatment until later.

Nezha: And reincarnation is not a singular step-by-step process as you may have been told. Some people have different aspects of their souls changed or reset.

Nezha: Doctors tend to categorize the different types that have been observed but it is not an exact science. Have you been told the name or category of your disorder?

Mac: Yeah. It's in the Split-Soul category. Mine's called Interrupted Faunal Transmutation Disorder (Moderately Severe). Yours?

Nezha: Improper Nelumbo Nucifera Cardiovascular Procession Disorder (Type III).

Mac: Type III?

Nezha: There are different types, I think at least five, mine affects my blood flow as well as well as how my blood transfers oxygen throughout my body.

Mac: Yikes. Also, why can't they just have abbreviations for these things? Those words are mouthfulls!

Nezha: I agree. Though mine does have an abbreviation. Albeit one created by those who have it rather than by doctors, so it's an unofficial title.

Mac: Which is?

Nezha: Type III Lotus Heart.

Mac: That's way easier to remember. How old were you when you were diagnosed?

Nezha: About 14 I think.

Mac: ...

Nezha: What?

Mac: ... Jing said you were young when you were diagnosed but... I didn't realize how young you were. That stuff sounds like a nightmare for a kid!

Nezha: Well, life does not care for one's age, I've found. Don't worry about it. I'm quite used to it.

Mac: I mean, I know, but... damn.

Mac: You seem to not care too much about it but what about Wukong? He's your partner, albeit a platonic one but... what does he think about all of this.

Nezha: He is understanding and cares for me greatly but he doesn't smother me with worried attention like my eldest brother did.

Nezha: He first found out centuries ago back when he still tended the horse stables. I started having issues while out riding one day and he gave me first aid until someone else who knew of my condition and where the nearest hospital was located could take over and help.

Nezha: I don't know what his initial reaction was but he was as kind to me as he always was.

Mac: Is that why he held back all those times you fought before? Cause he didn't want to hurt you?

Nezha: ...

Mac: ???

Nezha: Maybe... I honestly never thought about that.

Mac: I remember hearing how badly you wanted to beat him in a fight just a few years ago, you could probably beat him just fine now.

Nezha's face looked horrified. It was obvious to Macaque that he had either forgotten about everything that happened between himself and Wukong in the past or just about that particular detail in their relationship prior to Wukong's sickness.

Mac: Do you... want me to leave?

Nezha: If you would not mind, yes.

Mac: *shadow teleports*

Nezha: *takes a deep breath* *puts his laptop aside* *curls up next to Wukong*

SWK: *sneezes*

Nezha: *laughs softly* You were awake the whole time, weren't you?

SWK: Not really, I woke up when you guys started talking about kicking my butt in a fight. Don't know what you guys were talking about beforehand.

Nezha: Medical stuff.

SWK: Glad I slept through that then.

SWK: *opens his eyes* *notices Nezha's expression* Are you okay, Daffodil?

Nezha: I... I just wish you weren't so sick. And yes, you're recovering but your illness took so much from you. You can't use a single one of your powers, your strength is all gone, and what's worse, your body has been turned skeleton wrapped in pale flesh.

Nezha: I never lied once any time I called you beautiful, because you will always be beautiful. It's just that... it was so hard to see you get so sick and the light in your eyes was faded for so long, it... it hurts me.

Nezha: It hurts me so much to suffer because I love you! It is the price I'm willing to pay to love you, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Nezha: I tried to keep a hopeful smile for you. I tried to convince us both that everything will be okay, and I know it will someday but... *sobs*

Nezha: It hurts!

Nezha: It hurts and I know you're hurting too but-

SWK: *pulls him into a full-bodied hug*

SWK: I knew from the start that my suffering was hurting you. You could never hide anything from me. I never called it out because I knew you were saying and doing those things to keep us both sane.

SWK: And I'm grateful you did. Thank you. You got us through our darkest moments and we're almost through.

SWK: It's okay if you can't keep a smile on your face, you've already done it for as long as we needed. It's okay.

SWK: You can let go now.

SWK: It's my turn to comfort you.

Nezha: *breaks down crying*

Nezha: *is having a full emotional breakdown*

SWK: It's okay. Let it all go.

SWK: I'll be here to pick up the pieces.

SWK: Just like you did for me.

Part 60:

Masterpost

@istopaskingmemate @weaverpop @ainnur @cutvdo @starrclown @fruit-fight @swkbiggestdefender @vivyainou