#How do I reference a local image in React

[mjonthetrack]

*disc: this fic contains graphic material such as rape,assault,homicide,explicit language,etc. It is a work of fiction based on the show Criminal Minds, It will be an alternate universe meaning it will NOT follow the time sequence or character plots exact to the show. I do not own these characters aside from my own oc and do not own the images used.

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Continued

Next Morning – Briefing Room

Coffee steamed in everyone’s cups, but no one had touched theirs. The map of Atlanta’s surrounding counties glared at them in red and yellow markers. Hotch stood at the head of the room, eyes scanning the board.

Hunter sat furthest from everyone else—silent, posture perfect, suit clean, shoulder bandaged under it without mention.

“Another child went missing late last night,” Garcia said, her voice strained over the speaker. “From a foster care group home. Left no signs of forced entry. I’m sending you traffic cam footage from three blocks away.”

The tension had shifted.

Not because of the case alone.

Because of her.

The silence when she walked in that morning had said it all. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since the rescue. And when Morgan tried to check on her before they left the hotel, she’d answered the door just long enough to say, “I’m fine. Don’t do that again.”

Now, Reid kept stealing glances at her from across the room, jaw tight, thoughts dark.

She was back to how she’d been her first week with them—only colder. Sharper.

More unreachable.

He didn’t get it.

Why would she pull away after everything they’d been building—after the way they’d looked at each other for weeks? After everything Eli said?

Morgan leaned over to Prentiss and whispered, “Something’s up.”

“No kidding,” she murmured.

“She’s gone back to version one of herself, and I don’t buy it. Not after how close she was getting with—” He cut himself off, glancing toward Reid, who was visibly holding something back.

“What is it, boy genius?” Rossi asked gently, like he already knew he wouldn’t get the full answer.

Reid’s voice was low. “She’s hiding something. And she’s doing it alone.”

“Don’t push her,” JJ added carefully. “She’s like a loaded spring right now.”

Hunter stood suddenly. “If we’re done speculating, I’m taking the footage to local PD for cross-reference. I don’t need a partner.”

No one had even offered. She still preemptively rejected them.

Reid flinched. Morgan clenched his jaw.

Hotch didn’t stop her—but he watched her leave with narrowed eyes. “We follow up at the foster home. Morgan, Prentiss—go. Reid, JJ, you’re with me.”

They didn’t say it, but they all noticed:

She’d bled for this case, and they were still on the outside of whatever hell she was walking through.

———

Later That Day – Case Field Work

Hunter followed a lead to a rundown community center. She swept rooms without backup. When one of the local detectives questioned her being alone, she brushed them off.

But the damage showed.

In her stiff walk. Her flinch when a door slammed too hard. The tension in her jaw when anyone touched their earpiece. She was unraveling at the seams in slow motion.

And her phone buzzed constantly in her pocket.

She never checked it in front of anyone. Never reacted. But every time it lit up, her posture shifted. Her breath hitched.

The texts were still coming.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: “You think you’re tough. You’re nothing without me. They’re all going to die if you forget that.”

UNKNOWN NUMBER: “Look at you. Acting like you don’t need anyone. You always needed me, Hunter.”

———

That Night – Hotel Bar

The team reconvened for food, tension thick. Hunter didn’t come down.

“She’s breaking protocol now,” Prentiss said as she sipped her water.

“She’s working the case like she’s got a gun to her head,” JJ added.

“She does,” Reid muttered without thinking.

The others froze. “What?”

Reid shook his head quickly. “I just mean—she’s acting like she’s being watched.”

Morgan looked at him sharply. “You know something?”

“No,” he said, too fast. Then softer, “No. I just… I see it. The hyper-awareness. The disconnect. That’s not strategy—it’s fear.”

Rossi said nothing but exchanged a look with Hotch.

No one mentioned Eli.

Because no one thought to.

———

Later That Night – Hunter’s Hotel Room

She stood in front of the mirror, running water over her bruised ribs. One from the case. Another from pressing into a corner too hard when the blast went off. But some were old. Some had never healed right.

Her phone buzzed again.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: “Keep them out. Or I’ll show you what happens when you don’t obey.”

There was a photo this time. Blurry. A side-angle of Prentiss getting coffee earlier that day.

Followed by another. JJ in the hallway. Then Reid.

Her stomach dropped.

He had someone watching them. And she couldn’t warn anyone without risking everything.

She grabbed the edge of the sink, her knuckles going white. The walls were closing in.

She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

But the look in her eyes—

It wasn’t fire anymore.

It was silent panic.

———

Day Three of the Case – Temporary Field Office

Hunter was the first one in the room that morning. No one saw her come in. She was seated at the end of the table, arms folded, files stacked in front of her in perfect order, eyes dark and unreadable.

She looked put together. Clean suit. Hair tightly pulled back. But the façade was cracking.

JJ noticed first—the slight tremor in her hands as she flipped a page.

Prentiss noticed next—the quiet way her knee bounced, just barely.

Reid noticed everything.

But Hunter didn’t look at any of them.

She didn’t offer a word.

Not to Morgan.

Not to him.

Not anymore.

And that silence carried weight heavier than anything they’d encountered in a case thus far.

Hotch walked in last. His expression unreadable as he took a long glance across the room, eyes briefly resting on Hunter. Then on each of them. Tension had gone beyond professional concern. It was personal now. Fractured. Bleeding into every interaction.

“Prentiss, JJ,” Hotch said evenly, “you’re her shadow. Don’t make it obvious. But she doesn’t go anywhere alone.”

That earned him a few looks.

“She’s pushing herself harder than any of us, and something’s off. It’s affecting morale. I want eyes on her until we’re back in Quantico.”

Prentiss nodded slowly. “You think she’s hiding something?”

“I think she’s breaking down,” Hotch replied. “And I’m not going to wait until it costs one of us.”

Midday – On-Site Canvassing

Hunter stood stiffly outside a shelter, giving clipped instructions to the local officer. JJ and Prentiss flanked the sidewalk under the guise of support. She didn’t say a word to them unless she had to.

When Morgan joined, file in hand, trying to offer help on the interview rotation, she barely looked at him.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Morgan.”

“You do need to stop acting like we’re the enemy,” he shot back, losing the gentle tone he’d been holding onto.

“Then stop following me around like one.”

That one hurt.

Morgan stepped back, the look in his eyes more sad than angry now.

“She’s not sleeping,” JJ muttered to Prentiss a minute later. “You see the bags?”

“She’s not eating either,” Emily added. “She didn’t touch anything all day yesterday. And this morning? I think I saw her gag after one sip of coffee.”

“She’s spiraling,” JJ whispered.

———-

Later That Night – Back at the Hotel

Reid was the last to leave the case board.

Rossi lingered with him.

“She’s not talking to you anymore either, huh?” the older man asked quietly.

Reid didn’t answer right away. He pressed his lips together and stared at the profile on the wall—half-finished, incomplete. Just like her.

“It’s like she flipped a switch,” Reid finally said, voice strained. “And not the normal way. She’s shutting all of us out—especially me.”

“She was letting you in before.”

Reid nodded. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“She’s a soldier, Reid. Sometimes silence is how they scream.”

Reid swallowed hard, throat tight. “I just wish she’d scream at me, then. Because this silence? It’s…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “It’s killing me.”

———

Next Morning – Briefing

Prentiss and JJ returned from the morning check-in and gave Hotch a silent shake of their heads. No improvement. If anything, she was getting worse.

She didn’t respond when Garcia popped up on the screen.

She didn’t even look up when the next victim was announced—a young teen found alive but brutalized. Hunter’s hand twitched when she saw the photos.

But still—nothing.

Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a look he didn’t often wear: disappointment.

“I don’t recognize her anymore,” he muttered under his breath to Reid.

Reid nodded, trying to ignore the pang in his chest. “She won’t even make eye contact. I thought we were—”

“I thought I was her brother,” Morgan added. “And she just cut me off like I was no one.”

“She’s not Hunter anymore,” Reid said quietly. “She’s just surviving.”

Hotch finally spoke, eyes still on the board. “Let’s find this bastard before one of us breaks apart trying to hold her together.”

———

Meanwhile – Hunter’s Room

The door was locked. Curtains drawn.

Hunter sat on the edge of the bed, knees tucked to her chest, phone in hand.

New messages blinked on the screen.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: “Told you. If you talk, if you act out, they bleed.”

A photo came through. JJ—her coat spotted with blood from the near miss at the community site earlier that day.

Another text.

“Keep playing the silent game, baby. Don’t forget who owns you.”

She dropped the phone to the floor.

And finally, finally—silent tears hit her knees.

But when she came downstairs two hours later?

Suit clean. Expression blank.

Back to the ice queen.

Like nothing had cracked.

Not yet.

———

Night Sweep – Abandoned Warehouse Sector

The team moved silently, boots echoing faintly on crumbling concrete. Morgan, Reid, and Hunter were leading opposite flanks, spreading out in three-man cells across the massive grid of forgotten space and shadowed walls.

The air was cold. Still.

But Hunter felt like it was crawling with eyes.

She kept looking over her shoulder. Every creak of the building had her flinching. She had her weapon drawn, safety off, jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached.

Morgan’s voice crackled over the comms: “North corridor clear.”

Reid’s voice followed: “West corridor—nothing yet.”

Hunter didn’t respond.

Her hand shook violently, and when she caught her own reflection in a broken shard of glass, something inside her snapped.

She spun around, gun raised toward nothing but empty shadows, heart hammering—

And then she screamed.

A gut-wrenching, animalistic scream that echoed off the walls.

“I KNOW YOU’RE WATCHING ME!”

It caught the whole team. Static buzzed with movement.

“Hunter?” Reid’s voice cut in, panicked. “Hunter, come in—what’s happening?”

But she couldn’t hear him anymore.

She dropped to her knees, the gun falling beside her. Clutching her head, sobs burst from her like a tidal wave—loud, hysterical, broken.

“Just kill me already!” she shouted to the empty space. “I can’t—I can’t do this—I’m doing everything you want, I’m playing along—I cut them off—I shut up—I shut up! So just—just kill me and get it over with!”

Footsteps pounded down the corridor.

Reid and Morgan reached her at the same time, weapons lowered.

Reid dropped to his knees beside her, reaching out instinctively. “Hunter—Hunter, look at me—”

But she shoved herself back, eyes wild, soaked in tears, shoulders heaving.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please. Please just—just go.”

Morgan’s heart shattered as he took in the sight: her trembling form, the sheer terror on her face. Not of them. But of something—someone—she still hadn’t named.

Reid didn’t move. He couldn’t.

“Hunter,” he said quietly. “Who’s doing this to you?”

She just shook her head, eyes glassy. “You’re all gonna die. If I say anything—you’ll die.”

Morgan looked to Reid, jaw clenched. “She’s being threatened.”

“She thinks we’re being watched,” Reid added, eyes narrowing. “And whoever’s behind it… they’re in her head.”

———

Later That Night – Hotel Command Room

Hotch paced as the team recapped what happened.

“She’s spiraling,” Prentiss said flatly. “Not just emotionally—psychologically. We need to pull her off the case.”

“She won’t go quietly,” Rossi muttered.

“She was screaming for death,” JJ added softly. “That’s not a metaphor. She meant it.”

Reid stood near the wall, quiet for the first part of the briefing. But now—he stepped forward.

“I want to talk to her alone.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Reid—”

“Someone is threatening her. Controlling her. I need her to trust someone again—and right now, no one’s getting through. But I think I can.”

Morgan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “She’s not the same person I grew up with.”

“She’s not the same person I fell in lo—” Reid caught himself. “She’s not the same person I knew either.”

Hotch finally nodded. “One shot. But if she doesn’t open up, we’re pulling her. We can't afford to lose her—or one of us.”

———

Meanwhile – Elsewhere

In a dim, windowless room, across state lines…

A guard leaned over Eli’s desk. “They’re on the case. Still no one suspects you. No surveillance yet.”

Eli smirked, eyes glinting in the low light.

“Of course not. She’s too good at keeping her mouth shut.”

He leaned back, watching the screen—a grainy live feed of Hunter sitting on the edge of her hotel bed, silent and broken.

“I taught her well,” he muttered.

Then he looked straight at the camera. “She’s gonna be mine again. Just gotta keep her afraid. Keep her obedient. And soon…”

He grinned.

“I’ll take care of Wonder Boy too.”

[ifwebefriends]

My Child Lebensborn review/thoughts/rambles

So the other day, I played a game called My Child Lebensborn and I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings about it. It’s kinda intense with its themes and story (TW below) so if you’re in a good headspace right now, I really think that you should play it or watch a let’s play on YouTube. It’s like 4-5 hours long. The game is on most consoles as well as android and iOS. It costs $3 and a part of that goes to the Children Born of War Project so while I’m usually pro-piracy, this is one game that I really think you should not pirate. I played the iOS version which you can download here.

The game is described as a “dark tamagotchi” where you play a struggling single parent in 1951-1952 Norway and care for your young adoptive child (either the male Klaus or female Karin, you choose). Klaus/Karin is a “Lebensborn,” an Aryan child born out of wedlock of a German soldier and a Norwegian woman during the occupation of Norway in WWII. You have to balance caring for the child both mentally and physically, work, investigating the child’s origins, and keeping up with local news. A lot happens to the child over the course of the game that you can’t do anything to prevent, you can only impact how the child sees the situation and how they may react to it. It’s a really good and educational game about an aspect of war that I wasn’t really familiar with until now and while it’s not really the most “fun,” it’s a very fulfilling and engaging experience.

The story is basically entirely told through text and mostly happens to the child outside of the home so most of the disturbing stuff happens off-screen but it’s still heavily referred to and feels like a punch to the gut.

If you have a hard stomach and think you can handle it, stop reading this post now and go play it as I’m about to give trigger warnings that could spoil the game and then go into my personal thoughts about it.

Trigger warning for: references to war, bullying, assault, poverty, abandonment, references to Nazism, attempted murder, being forcibly tied up, being urinated on, ethnic discrimination, cruel family members, cruel teachers, and child sexual assault.

Direct Spoilers below

So I don’t think I ever want kids IRL but the way that Karin had MY WHOLE HEART and I wanted to be the best parent ever for her 🥺 like that is my DAUGHTER and you WILL NOT TOUCH HER

Karin baby you deserved so much better I’m sorry I could only do so much for you 🥺🥺🥺

AHHH I DIDN’T BUY THE FOX TOY IN TIME IT WAS GONE BEFORE I HAD THE MONEY FOR IT FUCK

I wish I had chewed out the grandparents more during that visit with them fuck them

The bullying was so fucking cruel like what the hell that’s a child who didn’t ask to be born under these circumstances have some compassion!!!!!!

The way that I clocked almost IMMEDIATELY that Karin was sexually assaulted since she didn’t want to be touched (I don’t know where I learned the warning signs but I did)

I wish there was an option to fucking murder Mr. Solheim

I choose to believe that Karin and the parent ended up somewhere good where people were more tolerant, I have to believe that

I chose to investigate the parents as much as possible, be as honest with Karin as I could, and tried to keep some hope and cautious optimism alive in Karin while still being sensitive to her feelings and not forcing her when she didn’t feel like doing something and I was very satisfied with how things turned out, she trusted me fully by the end

I wish that Karin was more trusting of others by the end but I don’t know how much control I had over that

Here are my chapter complete endcards to further describe the choices I made:

Image ID in ALT Text

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: The Odd Squad UK Trailer

Well, 8 days after my birthday really ain't bad for a belated gift. At this point I'll take what I can get.

Even if it means I have to crawl out of sleep to do it.

*deep sigh*

So you might be thinking, "Hold on, we got a new trailer?" And to that I say yes. Yes we did. PBS grew enough balls to actually give Odd Squad some love during a programming initiative that has absolutely nothing to do with it. And they put it on Vimeo, apparently, which puts all the audition videos that have been unearthed (for OSUK, OSMU, and Odd Squad) in an entirely new light.

But wah wah wah, you didn't come here to read my ding-dong ramblings. You came here to watch me be the biggest loser to ever lose at losing and dissect a 30-second trailer on a weekend. You know how movie trailers stuff all the important bits about a movie into 30 seconds? This is the telly equivalent.

Below the break, I'm going to shred this trailer to pieces, scream, cry, and of course, analyze. Come join me, if you dare.

So I'm going to reiterate a point I made in the Seren's Studies essay for the gadget competition video in regards to Ozzie, in that he's wearing an outfit that looks like it belongs to some kind of Flight department. (And yes, my headcanon about there being a boat that can travel in the sky shall remain strong in spite of this trailer. Whether it will be shot down like a cannonball through a boat that can travel in the sky remains to be seen.)

But anyway. We have him carrying a box (transferring departments?), what looks to be some kind of agent in the back (Security?), and what looks to me like an old Nissan logo against a map (of the UK? yes, of the UK, duh). Off to a hell of a start here.

The trailer doesn't give us the name of this girl -- which is odd, considering she's one of the protagonists -- but just as a refresher: this is Orli, who is from the Canadian side of the Niagara Falls (because of course) and transfers to the UK precinct in order to help with rising oddness rates. My guess is that, while Ozzie transfers from departments, Orli will transfer from precincts. Essentially, she's there to help Americans like myself (and also children, and also parents) understand British terms and culture. Which is fine, because otherwise kids would understand jack about how the United Kingdom does things beyond what's represented in media.

And we have a look at our first villainess! This is The Trifler, named after a British dessert and armed with the power to turn things into...well yeah, trifles. If you've been keeping up with the news, then you're probably aware that a BTS photo of her was found last year when OSUK was getting off the ground. Now, we have her in an official capacity!

I will say that I love the wordplay used here. Combining the British and American definitions of the word "trifle" into a badass introductory phrase is absolutely beautiful and I want more of it.

Haha lol shot from the press release big funy now laugh.

...Wait, hold on, does that mean the image used for the press release was a BTS photo? Because this sure as hell isn't the same angle.

Oh my God.

Not my absolute dumb ass thinking the context of this scene was a welcome party for Orli, only for the celebration to be for a fucking movie opening that got the attention of local news outlets and Eric Stonestreet.

...Okay, the telephone box is great too, and if there's not another Doctor Who reference they can yote in there then we riot, but I- a fucking opening of a movie?

...

Hold on, I'm noticing the Odd Squad logo on the popcorn and the cup.

This is Odd Squad: The Movie opening in the UK, isn't it.

Ah yes. Because I sure would fuckin' love to relive the joy I had when the "Odd Beginnings" two-parter decided to make the movie an in-universe piece of media. Look, I me- you guys had to be there when I recorded the Seren Reacts video. I was taken aback. I nearly fell off the bed. I was tempted to go to the neighbors and sit on their picnic table and cry. And that was when the COVID pandemic was a new thing!

And now I get to experience the hell all over again, four years later, when the pandemic is (largely) over and I'm in my mid-20s.

Look, if they're keen on torturing me like this, then that's how you really know it's a return to form. All they need to do is drop the word "serendipity" somewhere in there and I'll launch myself off the cliff and into the water and hopefully not on a pointy rock.

Normally I'd say how happy I am to see the tubes again after they got one dedicated episode and a handful of appearances and mentions besides that in Season 3, but..."Down the Tubes" is one of my favorite episodes for sleep-talking Oswald alone. And in Season 3, my total count for favorite episodes I can count on only one hand.

Worth noting, though, that in addition to the UK Headquarters being located in an abandoned train station, the tubes are named after the London Underground. Because...y'know, the Tube, and...yeah, they couldn't pass that pun up because they need Britain money somehow.

See, this is how you can tell I'm an Odd Squad veteran.

I can, with about 90% accuracy, pinpoint the context of a scene only seen by few. For example, I can tell you that this is Orli fighting with a woman over tour bus tickets by playing RPS. Because fuck her American money, American money does not net you tour bus tickets to tour the UK and...uh...well, I don't know if Ozzie has any pounds to buy any.

Ah? Aaaaaaaaaahh? Man, I'm good!

Unless Oddmented Reality had some (and please don't ask me, I've never played it), we've now had flying books in every season bar Season 2.

Honestly, that's a sin.

If this means the return of cold opens, then bless them.

It's 12 episodes with 11-minute time limits, though, so I'm a little wary...but bless them. Season 3 had only a select few before they laughed and tossed the concept out, so this is a good return to form.

Also, this is hella good camera work.

I'm...at least inclined to believe this is Ozzie attempting to boost workplace morale by getting a few agents-in-training to cheer.

Which is great, but I'm just thinking of Olympia asking Otis how he feels about his cheerleading skills and and him telling her they're perfect. It works, because Ozzie kinda looks like Otis!

Hey, hey, you guys remember aaaaaaaall the way back in "Zero Effect" where they had that shot of the agents cheering?

You guys also remember the last episode of OddTube S1?

This is like a mishymashy of that and it is glorious.

Also, our first look at the girl who is, by every sense, part of the Flight department. And Onom, even though he got a mention in the gadget-making competition video.

A few folks were asking about this, so I feel the need to clarify that this is a thing in the Oddverse that has been done numerous times before, especially in the first two seasons. You don't wanna blow 10 seconds of airtime on having two agents find the nearest tube entrance, let 'em phase through the floor.

'Tis magic, baby.

I can also predict, with about 70% accuracy, how the OSUK premiere is gonna go.

...

It's gonna end with Ozzie being transferred/promoted/demoted to the Investigation department, isn't it.

Look, the franchise's timeline is a bitch and scares all the neuroscience people at Harvard Medical School, but I did this before with a simple Season 3 trailer and I got a fair bit of it right. When a few OSUK episode titles and synopses come out, then we'll see if I'm gonna reach for the stars or fall hard on my ass.

Okay, I'm inclined to take the logic applied to New York City and apply it here, in that it's too much money and effort and time to edit every piece of signage here into a Shmumber-fied equivalent...

But that's a fucking McDonald's ad up there near the top, and let's be honest, that's one of the most gobsmacking things about the whole damn trailer. We already have a Burger King replacement, so having a McShmumber's is absolutely not out of the question.

(Also, that meal deal is $5 USD. If you're an American, I don't need to explain why this makes me more irrationally angry than it should.)

Besides that, Orli, this is a one-way, two-lane (with possible merger) street, which can absolutely be seen in areas like this in the United States and I don't know why I'm bringing this up since agents cannot and have not been automotively inclined.

"No, that's not odd. It's Britain."

Dumb lil' American I am (who is, in fact, aware how British people drive), but I gave a visceral cough at this line. This is the kind of shit OSMU should have gotten, and failed to deliver.

That aside, though, Ozzie has a bit of a different icon on his shirt now. It's either the London Bridge or a black H, and I know Fergie would cry her eyes out looking at it, bless her soul.

"I'm blue! And if I were green I would die! If I were green I would die, if I were green I would die, if-"

Okay, okay, I had to get that out of the way. I'm sorry. I'm never sorry.

The smartwatches were also something seen in BTS photos back when OSUK was first announced to be a thing. Still running on that Apple technology and crushing creativity.

Perhaps the best sleep paralysis demon I've seen since Yui in the Precure All-Stars F movie.

All right, I'm starting to see the massive differences between this Headquarters and the Headquarters of yore. Keyholes, the blue thing meant to be a simpler copy of the metallic circle structure, the...I mean it do be fuckin' big...

Also, we got our first look at a moving breathing Chef O, who's on promotional material at the very least but isn't exactly a main character. Sort of like what Oksana was: a side character.

Hey, it could be worse. It could be a Ginormouse coming to eat you up for lunch.

(For the non-believers: this is the Oddverse. I'm not explaining shit.)

I see somewhere in the crew of this show we have a boomer who still believes in the usage of the digital camera in the year of our Lord 2024.

No, but seriously. It wasn't believable in 2014 when Otto owned one, and it's less believable now. I've been more frustrated about this than about the badge phones, because there's only so much ironic low-tech stuff I can take before I drop everything and leave.

I was gonna write a joke about how they used to feed cocaine to mice in the 80s for anti-drug PSAs, but someone apparently wrote it for me. Which, unsurprisingly, is not the first time that's happened.

That's on you for not being Odd Squad-savvy.

All of you.

Yes, even Captain O.

-------------------------------------

And that's it. A short trailer, but a hell of a goodie. I'm honestly hyped for this return to form, especially as we approach the franchise's 10th anniversary. Hopefully, the crew has at least learned from its mistakes with Odd Squad Mobile Unit, and will make the most out of these 12 episodes.

And because even this show isn't immune to the curse: if you like what you see here and want more episodes to come beyond the 12 we're getting, watch the ever-loving hell out of this show. Legally, of course. Boost its ratings. The crew is definitely up for making more.

...And donate to your local PBS station if you got a Lincoln or two lyin' around. That too.

Thanks for reading. If you want to view the trailer for yourself, you can do so here:

[soylent-crocodile]

Sleigh Beggy (Monster)

(image taken from Ancient Magus Bride, produced by Wit Studio)

(I love Magus Bride a bit too much, tbh, so I simply HAD to convert Chise to Pathfinder's setting. The nature of magic in Magus Bride is fundamentally different from than in Pathfinder- the tl;dr being that all magic comes from a fey source- so I deliberately tied the template to Fey and changed the rules a bit. I wonder how a sleigh beggy PC would play out. If you're curious, the word "Sleigh Beggy" is a corruption of "Sleih Beggey", a Manx word that means something akin to a generalized "Faerie". To my knowledge, the sleigh beggy as a magically gifted human is entirely original to the manga.)

CR2 CN Medium Humanoid

Sleigh beggy are a rare quality arising in humanoids of many races; they are naturally attuned with the rich magic of the First World. This is a blessing and a curse; it draws magical creatures to the sleigh beggy and gives them a natural affinity for magic (almost all sleigh beggy are sorcerers, or have the capability) and for fey creatures, but mages and fey alike may wish to use the magic inherent in their body for their own purposes.  

Sleigh beggy typically run in the family- it is comparable to a recessive gene, something that shows up occasionally within a bloodline. These bloodlines also almost always carry the touch of magic in them, although this magic does not necessarily tie the beggy to fey.

How a sleigh beggy reacts to her condition varies. Many attempt to hide their condition for fear of being hunted; and indeed, few sleigh beggy survive past young adulthood, between the strain of their magic and the threat of being poached. Those who do pursue magic find themselves incredibly gifted, and many chose to live in the First World, where those who would use them at least have the courtesy to keep them alive and intact.

This red-headed young woman is followed by a cheerful sprite, but she herself appears incredibly tired and frail.

Misc- CR2 CN Medium Humanoid HD3 Init:+1 Senses: Perception: +7 Aura: Fey Magic 30ft Stats- Str:8(-1) Dex:14(+2) Con:8(-1) Int:12(+1) Wis:14(+2) Cha:21(+5) BAB:+1 Space:5ft Reach:5ft Defense- HP: 10(3d6) AC:14(+2 Armor, +2 Dexterity) Fort:+0 Ref:+3 Will:+5 CMD:11 Offense- mwk Quarterstaff +1(1d6-1) CMB:+0 Speed:30ft Feats- Alertness, Familiar Bond (B), Improved Familair, Toughness Skills- Bluff +10, Knowledge (Local) +2, Knowledge (Nature) +2, Perception +7, Sense Motive +5, Spellcraft +5 Spells-  1 (DC16, 7/day)- Alarm, Color Spray, Disguise Self, Grease 0 (DC15)- Ghost Sound, Mage Hand, Mending, Message, Prestidigitation Special Qualities- Destined Bloodline, Familiar (Sprite), Fated +1, Feycharm, Magical Flesh, Touch of Destiny Ecology- Environment- Urban (Temperate) Languages- Common Organization- Solitary Treasure- Standard (mwk Quarterstaff, Leather Armor, Potion of Moment of Greatness, Potion of Cure Light Wounds) Special Abilities- Aura of Fey Magic (Su)- Fey creatures within a sleigh beggy’s aura of fey magic gain a +2 Morale bonus to skill checks and concentration checks and a +1 bonus to caster level of spells. Feycharm (Su)- The starting attitude of all Fey and creatures native to the First World towards a sleigh beggy is increased by two steps. Magical Flesh (Su)- A sleigh beggy’s body is imbued with fey power, making them detrimentally valuable. The flesh of a slain sleigh beggy can be used to replace 500gp worth of material per hit die of the sleigh beggy when crafting magical items, and a limb or major organ can be used to replace 100gp worth of materials.

Making a Sleigh Beggy

“Sleigh Beggy” is an inherited template that can be added to any humanoid (referred to hereafter as the base creature). A sleigh beggy gains the following abilities;

CR: Same as the base creature Feats: A sleigh beggy gains Familiar Bond as a bonus feat. A sleigh beggy with levels in a class that grants a familiar instead gains Improved Familiar as a bonus feat.  Additionally, a sleigh beggy who has levels in a casting class that does not grant a familiar gains the deliver touch spells, scry on familiar, share spells, speak with animals of its kind, or spell resistance special abilities for their familiar from Familiar Bond, and a sleigh beggy who wishes to take an improved familiar with the Fey type reduces the required level by 2.  Special Qualities: A sleigh beggy gains the aura of fey magic, feycharm, and magical flesh abilities, as above. Abilities: A sleigh beggy gains a -4 penalty to Constitution and a +4 bonus to Charisma.

[heyimash06]

OC masterpost / intro

hi so like 90% of the content on this blog is gonna be OC stuff (namely my OCverse) so i figured i should introduce the important ones / my main characters (so some of my non-OCverse / secondary OCs aren't going to be included) (i might make another posted for some of them another time idk man)

this post (hopefully) won't be too long, just a brief intro to each character so you know how to refer to them in asks or smth idk :D

all my yapping will be under the cut ! if you for some reason want more info on each of them, their toyhou.se pages will be linked (though i will admit half of them are empty bc i procrastinate orz). there's no space for images if i want this to be a reasonable length, so please refer to their pages for art of them / their physical appearances zsdkfj

✧ Will Callas ✧

gender non-conforming transmasc (he / they / xey)

aromantic achillean

22, born April 6th

loves arcade games, woodcarving, glitter, and strawberries

Probably the one you'll see the most about, Will is certainly a character. On the surface, he's very confident and flirty, always charming others to get what he wants and never letting words or insults phase him. Just past the surface, however, they are kind of a mess. Anxious and clingy with very low self-esteem, xey're always looking for something to fill the void of self-love their abusive upbringing left them. Sex is what usually ends up filling that void, his craving for quick dopamine hits and validation leading to hypersexuality. He's flawed, but he does his best to be a good friend to those he cares about. Something that certainly does not help his rocky mental health is the god that's apparently been possessing him since he was a child that only recently made itself known with the expectation that he'd just give up control of his own body. It reacted very poorly when he'd refused, and now the two live in mutual detestation, always fighting for control over Will's physical form in one way or another. Despite that major annoyance, xey're doing mostly alright, for now. Xey have a major crush on Ronan that xey refuse to say anything about, fearing the rejection xey see as inevitable due to... everything about xem, but it's thankfully not enough to completely derail their life (most of the time).

🐚 Ronan McMurray 🐚

cis male (he / him)

pansexual

23, born July 6th

loves panting miniatures, TTRPGs, the beach, and jewelry

Ronan is the other half of my comfort ship, so he's also probably going to be mentioned a lot. Honestly, he's just doing his best, which has been going pretty well for him, so far. He's awkward and shy and a massive nerd, but he's also incredibly kindhearted and a very hard worker. With the goal of a PhD, he's currently enrolled in college for Psychology and does modeling for local publications and magazines on the side (making a bit of a local celebrity). He cares deeply for his friends and family, though he worries a lot about disappointing them somehow. His sweet and gentle nature does lead to problems, though, as he's currently struggling to figure out how to tell an ex-partner from high school that he doesn't want to talk to them anymore after reconnecting in college, not wanting to be too mean or to leave them all alone with no friends. They were kind of a bad partner, but they've been acting as though Ronan had never broken up with them for cheating on him. It doesn't help that he's head over heels for Will, helplessly and hopelessly smitten but too scared to admit it. Will's been open about being aromantic and not wanting romance in the past, so he wants to respect that. If only he knew...

ᥫ᭡ Eros Callas ᥫ᭡

AMAB demiboy (he / they / dove)

demihomosexual

24, born February 14th

loves history, mythology, the color pink, and musicals

While more of a major-minor character, Eros is still a character I really like and want to use more. He's Will's older cousin and the only person they had to rely on, for a bit. Eros is pretty inexpressive and struggles with empathy, but his own experiences with shitty family and poor mental health make it easier for him to empathize with a lot of people. Dove's currently enrolled in college for an Anthropology degree, wanting to learn as much as dove can about doves special interest (and maybe make a career out of it, too, if dove's lucky). They try to not let it consume them too much, but they worry a lot about Will, between xeir disregard for xeir own safety and health to the deity inhabiting xeir body that only seems to want to cause problems. He feels very protective over his friends in general for varying reasons, though especially Will due to their bond, often acting as a mom friend when the others do something stupid. It tends to spark arguments, with how stubbornly independent Will and Jessie both are, but they usually get settled by reminders that he's only trying to help. Of course, dove is occasionally overbearing and dove is usually called out for it, but dove is able to stay in doves lane, for the most part.

🔪 Jessie Zhao 🔪

cis male (he / him)

asexual biromantic

22, born May 18th

loves arcade games, art, horror media, and cats

Admittedly, Jessie is a lot less developed than the other three, partially because I've had him for the least amount of time. Even still, I have a decent-enough grasp on who he as a character, namely a snarky, sarcastic person that likes to tease and call his friends names, but wouldn't hesitate to stand up for them should anyone else do the same. He's Will's best friend of close to a decade, and shares a lot of similar experiences and struggles. He's hypocritical about his coping mechanism, saying he's perfectly okay to keep smoking, but Will needs to knock off their hypersexual tendencies because it's not healthy. The pair can argue in circles for hours about it, especially since Will is just as if not even more hypocritical than Jessie is about the subject. Despite this and the many other conflicts they've had, the pair remain extremely close due to the years they spent supporting each other and making fond memories over shared interests. Jessie himself is currently enrolled in college for a Graphic Design degree, though he's not a huge fan of it, so far. He doesn't hate it enough to quit, but god does he still hate school. Though he's reckless, a workaholic, and often self-destructive, Jessie is trying to get better and improve as a person, wanting to be his best self for those he cares about.

duo / ship names

i will likely use these as tags when talking about character dynamics !! only one is a ship name, the rest are all platonic.

Turtledove -> Will x Ronan, my beloveds. they're not canonically dating yet but some day....... icl it was named that bc i associate Will with doves and turtles live in the sea / ocean, which i associate with Ronan, and it sounded cute.

Magic Dove -> Will and Eros ! the cousins ever. named after the fact i associate them both with doves and the fact that Will (and possibly Eros) is capable of using magic.

Cabinet Men (subject to change LMAO) -> Will and Jessie, besties for the resties. named after their shared love of arcade games + a Lemon Demon song (bc i had no other ideas).

Seafoam -> Ronan and Eros, bros for life. named after Ronan's association with beaches / the sea and Eros's namesake being the greek god, son of Aphrodite (who was born from seafoam).

Bleeding Heart -> Eros and Jessie, the poor saps that have to watch Turtledove go back and forth. named because in Jessie's old lore (when he belonged to a friend of mine), he was a serial killer, and Eros is associated with everything love-related.

TBD -> Ronan and Jessie, the mega-creatives of the group. i don't have a name for them yet bc i don't think of their interactions very much tbh.

[lily22223]

A Step-by-Step Guide to Building a Food Delivery App Like DeliveryBee

Hey there! If you’re a restaurant owner, small business, or enterprise looking to tap into the booming food delivery industry, you’re in the right place. As someone who’s passionate about technology and business growth, I know how game-changing a food delivery app solution can be for businesses. With platforms like DeliveryBee leading the way, there’s never been a better time to invest in your own food delivery app.

But where do you start? Don’t worry—I’ve got you covered! In this step-by-step guide, I’ll walk you through the entire process of building a successful food delivery app, just like DeliveryBee.

Step 1: Define Your Business Model

Before diving into development, it’s crucial to define your app’s business model. Here are the most common types:

Restaurant-to-Customer (R2C): Your restaurant manages everything, from orders to deliveries.

Aggregator Model: Multiple restaurants list their menus on your platform, and customers order from them.

Delivery Service Provider: You act as a middleman, offering delivery services to restaurants without in-house drivers.

Choosing the right model will help shape your food delivery app solution and determine the features you need.

Step 2: Identify Key Features

A successful food delivery app isn’t just about ordering food—it’s about providing a seamless experience. Here are the must-have features:

For Customers:

✅ User-friendly registration and login ✅ Real-time menu browsing with high-quality images ✅ Multiple payment options (credit card, digital wallets, cash-on-delivery) ✅ Live order tracking and estimated delivery time ✅ Reviews and ratings

For Restaurants:

🍽️ Easy menu management 🍽️ Order notifications and tracking 🍽️ Analytics dashboard for sales insights 🍽️ Customer support tools

For Delivery Drivers:

🚀 Route optimization for faster deliveries 🚀 Earnings dashboard 🚀 GPS tracking for seamless navigation

Step 3: Choose the Right Tech Stack

Now, let’s talk about the backbone of your food delivery app development company—the technology stack. Here’s what I recommend:

Frontend: React Native or Flutter (for cross-platform apps)

Backend: Node.js with Express.js or Django

Database: PostgreSQL or MongoDB

Real-time tracking: Google Maps API or Mapbox

Payments: Stripe, PayPal, Razorpay

If you’re not a tech expert, don’t worry! Partnering with a reliable food delivery app development company can help you choose the best tech stack and handle the heavy lifting.

Step 4: Develop and Test Your App

Once the tech stack is in place, it’s time to develop your app. This involves:

UI/UX Design: Creating a visually appealing and user-friendly interface.

Backend Development: Building the server-side logic for processing orders and payments.

API Integration: Connecting third-party services like Google Maps and payment gateways.

Testing: Running multiple tests to ensure smooth performance and security.

Step 5: Launch & Market Your App

Your app is ready! But launching it without a solid marketing plan is like opening a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Here’s how to get customers on board:

📢 Social Media Marketing: Run targeted ads on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. 🎁 Referral Programs: Offer discounts for customers who refer friends. ⭐ Influencer Partnerships: Collaborate with food bloggers and influencers. 📍 Local SEO: Optimize your website for local searches to attract customers.

Final Thoughts

Building a food delivery app like DeliveryBee isn’t just about technology—it’s about creating a seamless experience for customers, restaurants, and drivers alike. Whether you’re a small business or a large enterprise, a well-designed food delivery app solution can take your business to the next level.

If you’re ready to bring your idea to life, consider working with a top-notch food delivery app development company to make your vision a reality. After all, the future of food delivery is digital—why not be part of it? 🚀

What do you think? Are you ready to build your own food delivery app? Let’s chat in the comments!

[theothin]

@lilietsblog continuing from this post in order to not have this conversation buried under the other one before it.

so my position on "AI" art is - video game opponents have a better claim of being an "AI" than the image generating machine, much like the text generating machine. at least they are trying to imitate what a real AI would do, internally. at least they are reacting to circumstances based on a model of the (simplified digital) world;

What do you mean by "what a real AI would do"? Real AIs have existed for decades, with all sorts of levels of complexity. Most of them haven't gotten this kind of pushback about the label.

As for an internal model of the world, current LLMs do have those. They can, for example, form records identifying the United States as a country bordered by Canada to the north, Mexico to the south, the Atlantic Ocean to the east, and the Pacific Ocean to the west, consisting of 50 states, 3.8 million square miles of land area, and a population of 333 million. They can form these records about anything, and draw conclusions about actions to take based on those records - and some of those records are wrong, but that's no different from humans.

- the "art" part is giving the machine the prompt, not what the machine does. any more than photoshop is the one doing art when you add a gradient or a filter to your picture. just because the process is obscured and randomized doesnt make it any less mechanically programmed;

I think this is mostly a philosophical question. Suppose I type out a paragraph outlining an image I want and put that paragraph into an AI art generator, and I also send that exact same paragraph to a human artist as a commission. Am I more or less of an artist of one of the resulting pieces than the other? Does it matter?

Of course, commissions are usually iterative - and the creation of AI art can be, as well. I think a lot of people think of "AI art" as referring specifically to the process of inputting a sentence or paragraph and getting an image, but LLMs are complex enough to support all sorts of more complicated processes.

Personally, a type of AI art generator I'd love to use is one that involves a chat interface that allows you to give feedback based on previous images it has generated and to use them as reference points for future ones. For example, it might generate an image of a character you requested, and you can say, "keep these aspects but change these other ones". Then once you get something you're happy with, you can tell it to classify the image as an example of how that character is defined for the purposes of the project in question, to keep it as a reference point for future images. Ideally with the ability to save local records of your interactions with the AI in question, so you can reopen it later and maintain progress on the project, rather than needing to maintain a consistent session.

I think there's good odds that someone has already made a tool like this, so if anyone reading this knows of one, please let me know!

- like, art is communication. the image generator isn't communicating anything to you, it doens't have an internality to communicate. the prompter does. and they're not communicating with the AI, they're communicating with the viewer. like using text to speech or something like that. a technological intermediary;

Sure it is. It's communicating its understanding of the subject matter, in terms of the parts of the world it has studied and the resulting thought-code it has written into itself. Which is also a thing a human might do, through the exact same process.

- art is NOT in fact universally accessible. "i am disabled and I do art and teach art" is not an argument any more than "well I am disabled and I don't need a wheelchair" is an argument against wheelchairs. there are different disabilities??? i mean like everyone can do SOME form of art but they arent fucking. mutually substitutable. not everyone can draw a picture and i dont mean in a skill way. someone could have been a fantastic artist and then lost the ability bc their hands got fucked up;

Well said.

- speaking of mutual substitution, machine generated art is not the same medium as traditional and digital art any more than those are the same medium as photography. the means of obtaining the result are categorically different, come with categorically different challenges and skill requirements. you wont judge a photo on how photorealistic it is and you wont judge a painting on how difficult it must have been to stage. machine generated art is a third thing and must be clearly labeled in any situation where the difference between a photo and a painting too would be relevant;

No, medium is the material an art piece is made of. Painting, photography, and digital art are distinct mediums. Human-drawn digital art and machine-generated digital art are two techniques within the medium of digital art.

Technique can be relevant, but it's a smaller difference than the difference between a painting and a photograph, and mixing techniques is more straightforward than mixing media. A piece of digital art can be 1% human-drawn and 99% machine-generated, 99% human-drawn and 1% machine-generated, or anywhere in between.

If a human uses an AI to generate an image, then draws their own digital image using the AI-generated image as a reference, should they have to describe their drawing as machine-generated? Does this change if tracing is involved?

This is another situation where I think it's best to not find ourselves in the position of having to ask the question in the first place.

- aaand the means by which it is obtained are sketchy as hell. in a perfect future utopian UBI reality it maybe wouldnt be a problem but in the current now reality it hella is. and regulation based on existing flawed legal frameworks is a better solution than "waiting for the underlying issue to be solved" much like "homeless shelters" are not a better solution to the problem of homelessness than "housing for everyone" programs but are hell of a lot better than nothing;

What means do you take issue with, and what laws do you propose? I most often see people making these arguments in the context of advocating for using copyright laws against AI, but I was under the impression that was not your position. Has that changed?

And I'm not talking about waiting and hoping. I'm talking about taking existing frustrations around the job market and putting that energy towards UBI advocacy now, rather than wasting it on seeking laws that will cause more harm than good.

- also I think it would still be an issue in the perfect future utopian UBI reality because its a deepfake machine. its just a fact of life for photos but people not wanting the machine to read their art style and learn to replicate it are valid regardless of monetary concerns. what the machine does in remixing images is not in fact the same as a human looking at the picture and reverse engineering the technique by which it was done / having thoughts and ideas about how to do a similar thing. it is ethically and practically different so there you go, youre both wrong and im right. praise me :P

Faked images will be an issue regardless of UBI, and they have been an issue long before they were possible with machine image generation. Meaningfully addressing faked images needs to come from building public awareness and skills in fact-checking, it will never be enough to use methods that depend on the expectation of being able to know the technique used to create them.

It is valid for people to feel whatever desires they happen to have. When those desires are unreasonable, others are not obligated to act in accordance with them. The desire to exclude one's art from machine learning is one such unreasonable request.

When a person looks at an image, their brain writes code corresponding to that image, tags aspects of it with known identification, and uses the resulting code as a possible reference for future actions, including art. That is not a metaphor, it is 100% literal: brains run on computer code that forms reference points based on data recorded from billions of observed images, and they act based on a mix of imitation and extrapolation. It is the exact same process as LLMs use.

@lilietsblog continuing from here:

"the ability to formulate open-ended instructions to itself" does not strike me as proof of intelligence, no, when those instructions result in the "how do you know where the nearest mcdonalds is" kind of interaction. its just another layer in the cake of stupid

I didn't say "proof" of intelligence. I'm saying it is literally what thinking is. If you would define "thinking" another way, what definition would you use?

LLMs reason in different ways than humans do, and that reasoning can lead to odd conclusions. But reaching odd and potentially stupid conclusions is, as we both know well, not proof of an absence of intelligence, just of a different perspective. Those are issues to work on, but they're issues of implementation, not indications of a fundamental lacking.

Even if current LLMs might not yet fully meet the expectations for "human-like" intelligence, I think we can pretty definitively say that they can match or surpass the intelligence of some animals, which is still plenty of reason to describe them as AI. Perhaps the best comparison is birds, which can be plenty smart as animals go. Do you think current LLMs are unable to match the intelligence of a bird?

[inkandpen22]

First Meeting

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Y/N begins her 1st day as a member of the BAU and Spencer is immediately taken by her

A/N: I’m always adding new one shots for Reid so if you’d like to be tagged lmk!

Masterlist

Spencer

Garcia comes up beside me on my way to the meeting room, all excited and bouncy. "Did you hear we're getting a newbie today?" 

I stop in my tracks with a huff. "Wait, what? No! No one told me!" JJ walks by on her way to the briefing and I ask her. "Why doesn't anyone tell me anything?" 

"Hotch is bringing her up now," JJ grins over her shoulder. 

"Her?" I repeat, following her into the room. 

"Yeah, he's going to introduce her during the UnSub briefing," Morgan adds as he takes his usual set. 

"Did everyone know about this before me?" I sigh, plopping down in my chair. 

"Apparently," Morgan pokes fun. 

"Morning everyone," Hotch greets as he marches into the room. 

"Morning," everyone else greets as I set my stuff down. 

"Good-" My words disappear as I lift my attention away from my files toward the door and that's when I see her. 

"This is Agent Y/N Y/L/N," Hotch introduces. "She is of the most recent Quantico graduating class and will be joining our team." 

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," JJ offers Y/N her hand. 

The girl shakes her hand with a warm smile. "You too! Thank you guys for letting me sit in," she announces to the group. 

I swallow hard. She's so young, she's like me. 

"How old are you anyway?" Morgan questions, leaning back in his chair. 

"Twenty-two," she answers. I knew it. "I graduated undergrad early." 

"Aw like Spence," Prentiss gushes. 

I don't even react to Prentiss petting my hair. Usually, I would swat her hand away. All I can do is stare at Y/N. I've lost all function like a robot missing a piece. 

"Spencer?" JJ says my name with a hint of worry. It sounds like background noise, so faint. 

Morgan chuckles. "I think Reid's head just exploded." 

"Earth to Spencer," Prentiss waves her hand in front of my face. 

I snap out of my daze and swat her hand away. "Stop it," I mumble. 

A blush forms on my cheeks, I can feel it. I clear my throat nervously and try to act normal as I open up my file. Y/N takes the empty chair across the table from me. She offers me a smile. I feel this weird feeling in my stomach like I've had too much coffee and am all jittery. 

JJ redirects everyone's attention to the screen. "Okay guys, let's begin. We've been receiving a series of calls from several police stations in Atlanta. There's been a series of livestock killings ranging from pigs to more commonly lambs. Each stabbed and hearts removed. Then, symbols painting on her foreheads and stomachs." 

"Go back please," Y/N requests, surprising everyone. 

JJ's brows scrunch together. "Do you see something, Y/N?" 

"The locals think it's a cult?" She asks. 

JJ looks over her papers and nods. "Yes actually." 

"It's not," Y/N states with the utmost certainty. 

My brows scrunch together as I begin to analyze the image myself. I wasn't paying attention before. I hate to admit it, but I was distracted. She's right, this isn't the work of a cult. 

"How can you tell?" Hotch questions with narrowed eyes. 

"The pentagram is wrong," I answer. My eyes meet Y/N's and she smiles. 

"We're more likely dealing with teens or college students, outcasts, trying to scare the community," she adds. "Is that a college nearby?" 

JJ skims her research and pulls out a sheet. "Yes, two." 

"Does one of a greater population of local students?" I ask. 

"Um..." JJ reads. "Yes." 

"I think we should start there," Y/N concludes. 

Hotch nods, rising from his chair. "Okay, wheels up in an hour everyone. Prepare," he instructs before heading to the door. "Good work, Y/N." 

"Thank you, Sir," she grins, evidently proud of herself. 

"Now there's two of him," Morgan chuckles as he gathers his things. 

Y/N laughs. "What?" 

"He's referring to me," I assure her. "The way you noticed the unfinished pentagram and narrowed down the profile, usually, I do that." 

"Oh, sorry!" She's quick to apologize. 

"No, no!" I wave my hands in a panic. "It's nice having someone else around who notices details like that. Makes me feel less annoying and a know-it-all." 

______________________________________

Y/N

Hotchner, Reid, and I stand on the other side of the one-way mirror as our next interviewee gets settled in by the police. He's a student at the local university and fits the M.O. A complete outsider, impressionable, a history of emotional disorders and animal abuse, it's a perfect match. 

"Sir, do you think Spencer and I could go in?" I request. 

Hotchner raises a brow. "Do you think you're ready?" 

"Yes, and just in case that's why I ask to have Spencer with me." 

"Spencer, what do you think?" The leader questions, watching as the cops release Brian from his handcuffs and depart the room. 

Spencer glances past Hotchner over to me. He nods. "I think she's ready, Sir." 

I suppress a smile and redirect my attention to our potential UnSub. 

"Very well, go ahead," Hotchner approves. 

"Thank you, Sir," I say as I head toward the door. 

Spencer holds the door for me and we step out into the hall. 

Before we enter the interview room, I had my file over to Spencer. 

"Here, could you hold this for a second?" 

He takes the stack nervously. "What... What are you doing?" 

"I have an idea." I remove my scrunchie from my hair and toss it around a bit. Spencer watches as I slip my scrunchie onto my wrist and begin to unbotton the top to buttons of my blouse. I readjust my boobs a little and pull down my blouse. I take the waist of my skirt and pull it up a little. "How do I look?" I ask the boy when I'm done. 

"I... uh... I..." He stammers. 

"Perfect!" I smile, taking back my things. 

I enter the room first, Spencer following close behind. "Hi Brian, I'm Agent Y/L/N and this is Agent Dr. Reid," I introduce as we take our seats across the table. 

"You two look like you could go to my school," Brian laughs. "How old are you guys anyway?" 

 I smile and ignore his question and stick to the topic. "We're just going to ask you a few questions." 

Brian smirks. "Well, can I ask you something first?" 

"Of course," I assure him. 

"Can I have your number?" He asks boldly. 

"I um..." I'm at a loss for words. 

"I don't think that's very appropriate." Spencer defends with a stern tone. 

"What? Are you her boyfriend or something?" Brian mocks. 

"Uh no, but this isn't a personal conversation this is an investigation, so let's stick to only necessary questions," 

Brian complies and I continue my interview. He gets off track here and there, but Spencer steps in. I'm thankful that Spencer is quiet for the most part, only when to redirect Brian back to the purpose of our interview. I feel calmer with Spencer next to me. For some reason, his presence makes me feel safe even though we may have a serial animal abuser and cult member across the table from us. When I conclude our interview, Spencer and I rise from our chairs. I tell Brian that authorities will be in soon to take more of his information. 

"So how's about a date?" He asks again for a third time within the last thirty minutes. 

I ignore him as Spencer opens the door for me. 

"What? I'm not your type?" The kid chuckles. 

I stop and spin on my heels to face Brian. I press my palms against the table and lean closer to the boy, startling him. "Frankly no, you're not. I'm into older guys and... well..." I eye him up and down and giggle. "You're nothing but a kid." 

He swallows hard, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. I smirk and step outside into the hall. Spencer joins me and shuts the door behind us. He wears a bewildered expression. I begin to tie my hair up again and button up my shirt. 

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," he voices as we head toward the door to the watch room.  

I shrug. "Eh it's okay, he's just a kid. Plus, I'm used to it." 

When we enter, Morgan and Hotchner are still observing Brian's behavior. Morgan steps closer to Hotchner, making room for Spencer and me. I catch a glimpse of Brian through the mirror and his head is in his hands. 

"Good work," Hotchner compliments us. 

"Interesting approaching," Morgan nods. "Seems to be working." 

"Thank you," I grin, bringing my arms crossed over my chest. "I figured it was worth a shot. 

A comfortable silence remains in the room as the four of us watch Brian slowly crumble. 

Spencer leans closer to me and I extend my neck out to him. "Is it true, what you said about being into older guys?" He questions quietly between us. 

I turn my head to look at him and his face is full of curiosity. "How old are you?" I ask. 

His brows scrunch together. "Twenty-seven." 

I smile, turning my attention back to Brian as he continues to fidget. "Yes, it's true." I back up to step outside and fetch a coffee. I suspect this will be a long night. 

Spencer

Right as Y/N steps out, Morgan sighs. "Aw Reid, you're in trouble man," he laughs. 

Hotch chuckles from beside him. 

I frown. "What do you mean?" 

"Seriously?" Morgan raises a brow as he turns his body to face me. "She just told you she's into you." 

"No, she didn't, she just asked me how old I am and told me-" I pause, reviewing our interaction just seconds prior and I begin to piece it all together. My eyes grow wide. "Holy crap, she's into me!" 

"You better jump on that, Big Guy!" Morgan pats me on the shoulder. 

Hotch wears a sly grin, pretending to be focused on Brian, but it's evident he's amused by us. 

__________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mrsobrien888​ @hufflepufftruffle @gillybear17 @thatsonezesty13 @smol-flowerkiddo @reesespieces10123 @madds-m @az3r0o @wafflebacon23 @spencerreid-mgg @alfonsais @justlivinginadaydream @kaitlynpcallmebeepme @farah3012 

@doveygirlkay-blog @dreatine  @imhappybutimalsosad @parahmur  @tremendousdinosaurhideout  @destiny-dream67  @ashwarren32  @yeahjustcallmer-n @bluehydrangea-cherry​ @izzysecrets

[yazilimdefteri]

react resimleri map içerisinde dinamik olarak göstermek

<script> import tr from '../../assets/icons/languages/Turkey_flat.png'; import en from '../../assets/icons/languages/United-Kingdom_flat.png';

let supportedLanguages = [”tr”,”en”]

   {      (supportedLanguages || []).map((element, index) => {          console.log("element",element, "index",index)          return(

         <MenuItem value={element} key = { index }>            <ListItemIcon>              <img className={styles['language-select-flag']}  src={element} />              <ListItemText>{element}</ListItemText>            </ListItemIcon>          </MenuItem>      )      }) </script>

yukarıdaki gibi yaptıgınızda resimleri çekemediğinizi göreceksiniz. Çünkü  supportedLanguages dizisinde değerler string gözüküyor. Bunları çevirmek gerekiyor. Benzer bir örnek ile çözümü

import React from "react";import "./styles.css";import tr from "./tr.png";import en from "./en.png"; let supportedLanguages = ["tr", "en"];let images={  "tr": tr, "en":en}export default function App() {  return (    <div className="App">      {(supportedLanguages || []).map((element, index) => {        console.log("element", element, "index", index);        return <img key={index} src={images[element]} />;      })}      <h1>Hello CodeSandbox</h1>      <h2>Start editing to see some magic happen!</h2>    </div>  );}

[jostepherjoestar]

I remember someone suggesting about the La Squadra child being Abbacchio or Mista’s nephew/niece and I was wondering if it’s ok to ask how would (I’m gonna go with Abbacchio) react to that?. Maybe before joining the kid was just a above average intelligent child but was still normal and now Abbacchio is confused as to why their stoic, cold and with a group of assassins.

La Squadra Kid backstory and relation to Abbacchio + general HC’s

Thank you so much for asking this, I’ve been meaning to summarise their backstory and how they ended up with La Squadra! This will be kind of emotional since it’s bit tragic imo. There’s also going to be some HC’s about our little bud so you can all get a feel at how I see them 😊

Long post!

CW: heavier subjects such as trauma, not fun situations for a kid to be in and usual gang related violence, mentions of abortion and mental illness

General HC’s

I’ve always imagined them to be around 7 to 8 years old, but unfortunately due to all that’s happened, their mind has been forced to mature a lot faster. Of course they should have never had to go through that but life isn’t that simple, especially for them.

Their name is Pomo, like an apple or a pommel :) thought it was a fitting and cute name! I’ll still refer to them as La Squadra Kid in titles but opt for Pomo while writing.

Pomo is not that tall for their age, just cute lil bean with puffy cheeks! I’ve decided to keep Pomo’s pronouns neutral, it just seemed to click more.

As far as their personality goes it’s been fun discovering them through your asks! Pomo is a quiet and stoic kid, they don’t smile that often but that doesn’t mean they’re not enjoying themselves.

They love drawing things as a way to express their feelings or the things they like. It’s a lot easier than verbally communicating for them. They’ll say what they need with the least amount of words necessary.

They’ve developed a weird sense of humour, very dry I’d say lol, also thinks it’s funny to scare Ghiaccio, who they know secretly likes them.

Pomo is quite independent and goes out by themselves, their stand is very powerful and kinda scary, even to their colleagues so they can handle any trouble coming their way. Pomo is slowly learning that they don’t need to do everything alone (i.e. asking for company after nightmares)

Though going out alone can result in people turning Pomo away in shops, that’s why Melone is their choice to bring along so it’s not weird a kid is just out alone spending money.

They’re also very glad to do tasks or things the others ask of them, they crave harmony and peace at home so Pomo will try to help achieve that in any way possible (unfortunately this is a result of trauma).

Pomo really likes La Squadra and sees them as their family now, knowing what member is better at offering different types of things and who to turn to for specific needs.

Their stand’s is named My Way (マイウェイ) after the Frank Sinatra song. It fits quite nicely imo, a force to be reckoned with doing it on their own terms.

And lastly, they do not like hugs or being touched that much. They’ll allow hand holding but only if they’re in a good mood, quick head pats are also ok. It really is touch and go with them, Pomo will let you know when they don’t like something.

Backstory and relation to Abbacchio

The world moved in a blur, the two lines on every single pregnancy test strewn out before her like nails getting hammered into her coffin. Suffocating while it was lowered into the ground, scratching and screaming for air, nails bloodied and raw as the reality set in that she was unmistakably pregnant. The panic followed, clenching her chest like a vice, threatening to shatter her heart and lungs in the process, gasping for air and wishing any other truth than this one. Abbacchio’s older sister wept for days, dark circles alternating with red swollen puffiness as the life she’d just started on her own already began to crumble.

The father of her child taking his exit as soon as she confessed her situation, knowing before she’d even tell him that he’d swiftly let her suffer in the mess. The thought of looking a doctor in the eyes, the cruel conversations she would have to endure before they’d let her suffer in uncertainty of the fate of her unborn child, making her choose to just endure it instead. Not that the choice would offer a softer outcome, it was her burden to bare, she thought. Whatever horrible things she’s done to receive such heartless judgement never occurred to her. The only thing the young woman was convinced of, is that she whole heartedly deserved it.

Her younger brother, growing up to be an impressionable adolescent, unsure how to care for his beloved sibling. His eyes always so full of innocent wonderment at his older sister, wanting to become as brave and independent as her. Living alone, working strenuous hours as if only this would make him worthy of the meagre salary of a rookie police officer. Slowly but surely he saw the woman he so admired creep away as her belly grew larger each month. Coming by often to check up on her wellbeing after school, spending nights or even weeks so he’d be by her side. All the while finishing up in high school. As his sister’s expression grew darker, the smiles fading and her laughter but a distant memory Leone Abbacchio could do nothing but stand by and let her lean on him.

The meagre support their parents could offer did little too ease her mind, the reality of becoming a mother and having nothing but emptiness to offer her child digging her ever deeper into the darkness that consumed her. She sobbed the day her child was born, little Pomo’s big eyes asking her if she was even worthy to hold the small babe. Every look at the child reminding her she had already failed, not even able to comfort their cries before feedings. Incapable of shushing them and finding the strength to coo at those tiny hands that ached to play and accept the warm touch of a caregiver. The young mother did what she needed, feeding the child and changing diapers. The depth of her troubles never easing as she had to go back to work, two different jobs needed to support herself and Pomo.

Abbacchio offered what he could, often babysitting and spending weekends at his sister’s cramped apartment. A child taking care of an even smaller one. The hope he held that his sister would regain her previous lust for life faltered. It only seemed to worsen as Pomo grew. The child never overtly fussed or cried, sleeping soundly and cooing gently whenever hungry. Those big eyes always seeming to bore straight through whoever leaned over the basinet to admire them. The child’s mother wished for it all to end, every night she’d pray to any god who would hear her desperate calls. But as she did only further hurting herself, her pleading like whips claiming penitence on her heavy shoulders.

She begged her younger brother to go out and make his dreams come true. “Never let your resolve falter Leone. Ever.” The voice that brought him courage, the broken woman’s words reminding him of the image he so admired once. But in pursuing his career as an officer it would mean less and less time to care for his dwindling sister and her child.

The night she told him the sisters of their local convent would relieve her of her child, the young officer held his sister for hours. The tears they cried filling an endless well of sorrow. It hadn’t brought the relief she thought she would feel, not a feather lighter as her child would be in more capable hands. Caregivers who weren’t afraid to look the toddler in the eyes as they searched your very soul for meaning. At merely four years old dear Pomo lay gently asleep in a different cot, in a stony building smelling of earth, heated by creaky copper pipes while sisters prayed in unison with beaded necklaces intertwining their palms. Praying for deliverance.

Abbacchio came by whenever he could, becoming more and more weary of his actions and the people he swore to protect as his career started to lack the fervour it had when he started out. Seeing Pomo grow into a silent and demure child, laconically learning to read and write, quietly pleading the sisters not to let their touch on their skin linger. Every stroke burning with an unknown memory that someone once held them, just once and decided to never do it again. Their very skin warding off any unwanted contact without even knowing why. A locked memory with a firm grasp on their being.

“Never let your resolve falter, Pomo. Ever.” The last words spoken to the small child before leaving. The lonely child left in the suffocating confines of the convent. Their uncle wouldn’t return for a long time, days spent hoping to see a sliver of his stark hair and bright eyes that had seemed to dull over time. But the child would never forget those words. Not even as the head sister punished them for not answering when spoken to, not when she would order them to remain on the prayer bench for hours as punishment, knees aching to settle as they were forced to remain. Their eyes boring through the other sisters as they came and joined them at their usual hours of worship.

Restraining the stand they were born with from acting out, self control being trained as they kept going, determined to let their uncle’s last words not be wasted on them. In the free time Pomo was allowed, they’d test out whatever the ghostly figure could, standing taller than them with thick black fog-like tentacles resting behind their back. Whatever those touched seemed to shrivel up like roses in wintertime. Pomo was intelligent, interested in more subjects than just his schooling that only seemed to bore them. The ease of the material offering no challenge as they completed tests with full marks, only making the head sister grow suspicious of them and unleashing more punishment.

Men in extravagant suits would visit the convent every so often, hushed whispers as they walked by the child who’d stoically stare as they passed. They’d always ignore them, scared of the glare and aura the child had started emitting. Many of the sisters had rejected the offer to tutor them when the previous one excused herself, feeling too uneasy by Pomo’s being. It didn’t hurt them, they just kept on doing what the sisters asked of them. Stay tidy, study and don’t get in their way. They had accepted their silence and aversion to touch, growing scared to try anything after the entire courtyard greenery was found shrivelled and dead mid spring. Every freshly planted flower grey and sad, the grass as crunchy as if it had just been burned to ashes. Pomo was sat comfortably on the stone bench that was placed there to admire the garden’s beauty. It wasn’t that they wanted it to happen. Someone just came too close and made them panic, not that it was clear to the sister that accidentally grabbed their shoulders while moving past them, the child remained calm, instead letting their stand take care of the burning sensation that crept over their body.

It was one of those days where a well dressed man would come by and whisper secretively with the sisters as they strode towards a private room and remained there until it was time to leave in an equal hurry. But this time a relaxed gentleman stepped out of the room with a large huff, stretching his neck and groaning loudly as he did. The taps of his heeled shiny shoes echoed through the stony arches of the hallway that led to the courtyard where Pomo had been toying a blade of grass between their fingers. Intensely staring at the green colour that stained his pads while their stand loomed over them freely. As the steps drew nearer, the child paid them no mind, instead grabbing a new blade and continuing the process all over. Soft padded steps made their way over casually until a large shadow covered Pomo. Hands rested in his pocked while his arms pushed back the sides of the loose suit jacket. The cigarette dangling from his lips bobbing after he took another intoxicating drag, puffing out the air harshly while peering at the kid.

“And who might you two be?” The man sunk down to a crouch, inspecting a small daisy that stuck out between the sea of green blades. “Pomo.” The child stopped rolling the tuft of grass as they processed his words. Two. Never had they met another who could see the figure that was their only friend. Unsure if the man posed a threat, he exuded a certain cocky confidence they weren’t sure they liked. “Nice to meet you Pomo. That other one looks a bit scary, don’t you think? But then again, you must be too. D’you mind showing me what they can do?” Offering a gentle chuckle as he gently pried, curious to see what this lonesome child could do, never having witnessed someone so young possessing a stand. It sure peaked the man’s interest as he twirled the daisy between his digits.

The amount of precision they possessed shocked him as the daisy was shot with a quick tap of a foggy black tentacle. It crumbled under his pads as he pressed it, letting it fall back onto the earth. Impressed by the ability and thoroughly interested in what it could do for him, the man proceeded. “Have you even killed someone with that?” There was no need to beat around the bush, that much was obvious when the child never seemed to have moved from their position, merely staring at the ground before them. A slow methodical dark tendril crept towards the man, stopping an inch before his polished shoe. Pomo turned their gaze upwards now, offering a look so unreadably neutral it made the man’s heart beat faster in fear, his many years in Passione not having prepared him to face another that lacked fear as much as the child in front of him. “Do you like it here, Pomo?”

A proposal started taking form in the man’s head, one he’d have to discus with his boss before acting on it. “No.” Clear as a bell their voice made a sinister hope grow, a hope that it would only take as little as just asking them to join up with Passione to get his desired answer. As an Advisor he’d have little hurdles in his way before bringing up the idea to his boss, being one of the only few allowed to even directly communicate with the mysterious man. “You seem fearless, to an unsettling degree, kid. If I asked you to kill a guy, would you?” Somehow the direct communication had been the most pleasant conversation Pomo has had in a few years, be it of a morally ambiguous subject, but refreshing to have another respect their space and not be afraid to ask what they desired of them.

“Are they bad?” The amount of troubling honesty behind the child’s harsh gaze making the man believe he’d met his fate, it had been like Pomo was asking if he deserved to live another moment, their stand still remaining at the tip of his shoe. “Not in their own opinion.” Clearing his throat to regain any sort of confidence, the kid’s eyes skipping through the pages of his soul, weighing his sins and good deeds. In reality they were doing no such thing, only weighing their options, grown tired of the convent and its inhabitants, aching to find any sort of family or support without even knowing it. “Ok.” As they gave their answer they chose to retract their stand, ending the conversation without another word. The Advisor’s sigh of relief deeper than any he had before, glad to be able to continue living.

The Boss was feeling generous, letting his Advisor know that placing the child amongst the men of La Squadra Esecuzioni could serve them well, perhaps make them regain any semblance of respect in the organisation. Opting out of putting their deadly stand in his personal Unità Speciale, fearing the effects of Cioccolata or Secco would build a threat larger than himself. Pomo agreed immediately, knowing it would be best to leave the sisters behind to pray for the child’s deliverance. Making their own money, be it a scanty salary, living with a group of other misfits and taking care of jobs here and there did not sound like the worst future for them. The sisters, terrified at the transfer, having no clue what the mafia would even want with the child, did not let the only person on the outside that cared for them know about the move. Too afraid of the consequences.

But after joining with Bucciarati, Abbacchio held great shame, afraid to face his sister’s child with those eyes that understood too much at such a young age. Fearing any visit would involve them with the tricky business he got entangled in, the little one becoming a distant and painful memory. If only he knew.

Further events take place after part 5 where everyone survives and La Squadra works under Don Giovanna. At Risotto’s request Pomo was left out of the fights regarding Trish and the Bucci gang.

While out with Melone to buy some more markers, Abbacchio felt like he’d seen a ghost. The familiar figure of his sister’s child standing next to a Passione assassin Bruno had fought not that long ago while he excitedly pointed out stuffed animals through the toyshop’s window. “Pomo?” Abbacchio had crept closer, carefully assessing if it were smart to approach. Melone had turned before Pomo could, eyeing the familiar gangster before him. “What do you need with Pomo?” Melone’s features hardened into a scowl while searching for their hand. All Pomo could do was stare up at their uncle they hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“What’s going on, is everything alright Pomo?” That deep voice reminding them of when he last visited, the voice that told them to never let their resolve falter, ever. “First of all, answer my question. What do you want with them?” Melone stepped forward, never one to initiate conflicts but needing an explanation as to why Leone Abbacchio knew their teammate that had explicitly never been in contact with his side of Passione. “That’s my sister’s kid. Step down you idiot. I’m not here to start shit. Now answer me; what are they doing with you?” Abbacchio growled back at the lithe man, searching Pomo’s eyes for an answer. “Pomo is part of our team. Been so for almost a year now.” He calmed down as he remembered all the fond memories they’d made together, even after the horrible fights with the other gangster’s team.

The amount of shock and confusion Abbacchio felt was immeasurable. After many “what”’s and “how”’s Melone calmly explained that Pomo had quite the powerful stand and still wanted to be part of their squad. “We ask every once in a while if they still want this. Never said no so far.” Melone practically beamed, the other man still trying to process the explanation. Pomo quickly understood their uncle’s position as well, clearly another member of Passione as they connected the dots. That small kid has never hurt anyone -that he knew of- and now they’re an assassin already in possession of a stand? What the actual fuck. His knees began to feel weak, looking for support as he slid down the toyshop’s windowsill. “I’m sorry.” Hands scrambling at his scalp while he stared at the ground, despair filling every inch of his being. Another person he cared about thrown into the complicated landscape of Passione.

The little one reached out their hand at the man that had meant so much to them, one of the only ones to ever offer the child any semblance of a connection. Until Pomo met their new family. A soft pat on the uncle’s platinum strands, grazing the man’s overworked hands. Melone felt his intrusion, staring off into the crowd as he kept some distance, sure to be within ample reach; should anything happen.

Abbacchio had grown so much, learned that his life was worth living. Following his sisters’s advice to strengthen his resolve and to never let it falter like he did before joining Passione. But this one memory, this one being of the past had made its way back. The child he so lovingly took care of and the pain he felt to have left them behind crashing through him as he sat there. Remembering his capo’s words, his kindness and that look of care and understanding making him reach up to the little hand. Memories of them fussing over touches reminding him a hug wasn’t possible. As his eyes met Pomo’s, the ones that always understood the ones they looked in but never let you know what was being kept behind their own. “I’m sorry for leaving you.” He uttered, the small hand getting enveloped in his bigger ones, begging them for forgiveness. “I’ve missed you.” the child spoke, their expression ever unchanging as Abbacchio felt tears flood his eyes and spill onto his cheeks. The purple haired man that had been following along from a distance couldn’t help but blink away his feelings, pitying the small one.

“Never let your resolve falter.” Pomo repeated. The words they’d clung to, any semblance of purpose all pinned on the only advice they’ve ever received. “Ever.” Abbacchio replied, squeezing the small hand between his before wiping away the tears, his actions were forgiven but not forgotten. “Are you ready, kid?” Melone stepped back into reach, offering a hand to the man he’d called an enemy not too long ago, helping him up. A quick nod from the child, a sliver of relief finally being felt, their uncle was still safe and alive. “You know where to find us. Don’t hesitate to come.” Waving goodbye as they entered the store, Melone offering as much assurance he could muster for his now-colleague. But mostly in awe of the child’s strength, they really were something else, huh.

[kiruuuuu]

Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

.

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

.

~*~

.

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

.

He needs to recover.

.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

.

~*~

.

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

.

~*~

.

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

.

~*~

.

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out  E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

[ntamain]

Is my (24F) neighbour (27F) into me or is she just being friendly? How do I know if she's gay?

another gay gem from the r/relationship reddit

Update:

Image ID under the cut, please let me know if I did it wrong!

[Image ID: four screenshots of a post from the relationship subreddit by tumblr user nta-main. The title reads “Is my (24F) neighbour (27F) into me or is she just being friendly? How do I know if she’s gay?”

The text reads “Update post is now locked, I cant believe so many people were interested in us!! Thank you again for your support, comments and messages.

Hi all, I can't believe I'm asking for advice from a bunch of strangers on the internet but I don't really have anyone I can talk to about this. Sorry for the incoming essay but I guess I need to give history. I bought my first house in September last year, It was an odd time but everything just fell into place. It's quite a small village and everyone is really friendly so I got to know my neighbours soon after moving in - yes, socially distanced. Then I met my over-the-road neighbour, let's call her Elle. I can't describe it but it's the first time I've ever met someone and been lost for words and my heart was racing and just thought "omg", y'know?? So after I blushed my way through a welcome to the village type convo we only saw each other for a wave and hello for a few days.

To help kinda settle in I had my dog (Bea) with me for the first few weeks. During this time there was a massive increase in dog thefts in a nearby town, not just from gardens but literally wrestled away from people. If I'd have been working (furloughed off and on since March) then I would've taken Bea back to mum's but since I was home with her all day she stayed. So the local police advised to not walk dogs alone but we go out twice a day, a 10k run in the morning and a few miles walk in the evening. So obvs this scares me, but at the same time she is honestly a pain in the arse and gets upset if she doesn't go for a run and needs to be tired out so I'm kind of stuck at this point. Then along comes Elle. She knocked on the door and offered to come with us as she'd seen Bea and me in the evenings and everything kind of spiralled from there. I told her about my morning runs but she didn't really bite so I thought nothing of it. Then a few days later I bumped into her on a run, so she started joining us on those too.

A few months later and we are spending more and more time together everyday. It has now progressed to a run early morning, afternoon coffee, dinner most evenings and then the evening walk. It just seemed to happen without me really noticing. I didn't read into things that much as I don't want to get my hopes up and ruin anything until another neighbour commented about how much time we spend together and how "it's nice to see you young gals getting on" and winked. She actually winked at me. I asked her what she meant but she just laughed and said "you know what I mean". So now I'm looking back on things and wondering if she could like me too?

Here's some reasons why she might like me:

I went running along the same route at the same time for nearly 2 weeks before I happened to run into her a few days after I told her this?

I make her a coffee every afternoon (Elle is WFH) and take it over in her fave mug. She says I make good coffee but I'm pretty sure I saw a fancy coffee machine the first time I went round (it's not there now?).

Elle carried on running and walking with me even after Bea went home. I told her she was going back to mum's and she said well "I'll have to make another excuse to join you" and then we just carried on everyday.

She has tried really hard to bond with Bea. Bea is a very anxious dog and is scared of everyone except me and mum. Elle bought special treats to give her everyday and has been so amazing with her and never tried to force anything. When I asked her she said "it's important to me that she likes me and is comfortable". Bea actually fell asleep between us on the sofa yesterday and It just makes my heart skip a beat guys.

She invited me to the zoom quiz she does with her friends every fortnight or so and they were all like "oh so this is who we've heard so much about "

We realised we had become each other's support bubble. Elle asked if I was meeting anyone else and I said no, she said she was glad she had me all to herself (!!)

We gave each other quite personal xmas presents. Like, it actually made me tear up it meant so much to me. And she bought stuff for Bea!!

Reasons why she might not like me:

All the reasons above, but that she's just doing them because she's a fucking great person and we're friends?

It might sound dumb but idk I need your help guys. She is the just the most incredible person I have ever met and I really really like her but if she isn't gay or doesn't feel the same I don't want to lose her friendship as she has become such a huge part of my life. I genuinely have no experience with these kind of things as I went to quite a strict all girls school, so it's not as if there were any relationships around me as a teen and then I went to a very small uni (8 of us on my course). I guess another reason is that I've struggled with anxiety and depression for the past 10 years, as well as my weight and working on my self confidence, but I can say that right now I am the happiest and healthiest (both mentally and physically) I have ever been. I've only just really become comfortable with the fact that I'm gay and I have never really told anyone in real life, but I don't think people would be too surprised lol. I don't have any close friends as no one stuck around when I was really struggling with my MH a few years ago so I can't discuss this with anyone irl.

So I need your advice : how do I find out if she is gay? And no, I don't have the confidence to just ask!! What if she says no and I ruin everything? She has never mentioned anything about past relationships and I'm pretty tactless so not sure how I could naturally slip it into the convo. Like, "hey tell me have you ever had a girlfriend? Do you want one now?" Lol. And how can I make a move without really making a move so I don't ruin things??

tl;dr : Don't know whether my neighbour is gay and into me or is just really friendly. How can I make a move without ruining our friendship?

Edit: Ok guys, thank you so so much for all your support and encouragement. You've all given me a lot to think about. I think I'm going to casually slip some gay stuff into conversation and see how she reacts. Then bring up the neighbours comment like some of you suggested, seeing as tho the neighbour was heavily implying that we're gay. I'll do it tonight otherwise I'll talk myself out of it again. I will post an update to let you know what happens (eek). If you never hear from me again assume it went badly and I am consoling myself with cake and watching brokeback mountain in floods of tears.

Hi reddit, yes it's me the useless lesbian. First off I want to thank you all for your support, encouragement and advice - and the undeserved awards! I never expected this many of you to take the time to comment and that so many of you were rooting for us.

So I had the plan to drop these gay hints into convo like you guys suggested but honestly it all went out the window. Elle was kinda stressed friday after a shitty work zoom and just needed to vent so it wasnt the right time to start anything. Though I guess I must have been a bit off thanks to spending all day overthinking things on here, as Elle turned up Saturday morning rambling about stressing me out and apologised (!!) for ruining dinner. Obvs I said "what are you talking about you can talk to me about anything", and she said "anything?" and I said "anything" back. And guys the tension was unreal, staring at each other and hoping our lesbian mind reading powers would kick in.

Then there was some loud noise like a car backfiring or something and the moment went. So I went to make coffee and then Elle asked me why I was a bit quiet the night before and I said something about overthinking stuff and she said "what stuff" and idk you guys I wasnt prepared to be put on the spot my casual gay pop culture references were useless in this moment. My mind just went completely blank and I forgot every single thing you guys suggested and my heart was pounding and I just blurted out you know I like you, right?.

...And then she kissed me. Kissed me. We straight up just snogged in the kitchen and it was fucking great. So...you were right. You were all fucking right. She's gay, she likes me and has been trying to drop hints for nearly 5 months. sigh

We were both just too scared to make a move or ruin anything. Turns out she's been burned by straight girls in the past, so she's pretty wary and was hoping I'd straight up say I'm a lesbian so she'd know for sure - maybe the I'm a lesbian wall hanging would've been a good idea after all? Her friends have been helping her drop hints, she showed me the group chat and guys their suggestions ranged from flirting more to just turning up in a trenchcoat and nothing else lol. Also, the winking neighbour has been making comments to her as well, so shout out to her for trying to make this happen too.

So no cake and cry watching brokeback mountain, just 5 months of dating to catch up on. As for worrying about how our current schedule could be more date like during lockdown, you were right it's kinda irrelevant when you've essentially been dating the whole time. Though we never made it to our morning run yesterday, in fact we didn't leave the house at all, ha.

Thank you guys for giving me hope, even if all your suggestions completely disappeared in the moment. Maybe I'll show her the post later and ask if any of the suggestions would have worked.

tl;dr: she's gay, into me and I'm an idiot”

End image ID]

[siempre-pedro]

Sundresses

Pedro Pascal x Reader | Fluff

Summary: Pedro shows his wife hoe beautiful she is even after having their daughter. 

Request:   Hello! I love your writings I think there phenomenal! Anyway if requests are open I would love to request for pedro. There's not enough dad imagines of pedro. Maybe one where they bring there little girl home from the hospital and taking care of her. Maybe some smut towards the end? -  @writers-post​

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: negative body image, unedited writing (sorry)

A/n: Dad!Pedro makes me feel a certain way. I love him so much.  Thank you for requesting. I didn’t do smut this time, I felt like this fit better with fluff...I hope you don’t mind!!!

Pedro's brown eyes filled with pride as he opened the door to the house. The lights flickering on as he stood in the doorway with his wife standing next to him, their tiny baby girl in her arms wrapped in a pink blanket "Welcome home, Darling," Y/N whispers to her, stroking her soft little cheek lovingly with her thumb.

"Let's put her in the crib, Hermosa. It's been a long couple of days," Pedro says, placing a comforting hand on her back as they climb the light brown wooden stairs. It was sheer bliss, their baby was the picture of perfection in their eyes. They whispered sweet nothings to each other as they entered the pink room, gently laying their daughter in the white crib.

Y/N smooths out the fabric of her powder blue polka dot dress, ignoring the space around her stomach on purpose. She didn't let Pedro see her faltering smile, ashamed that the body image issues were already starting to creep up in her mind. Pedro turns with a big smile and wraps his wife in his arms, placing a kiss on her forehead. She giggles at the contact of his scruffy mustache, gripping his forearms as he held her.

"How are you feeling?" he whispers.

"Tired, but I'm fine, Pedro," she replies, holding back a yawn. The actor grumbles and pulls away.

"Go sleep, I'll go make us something to eat."

"Are you sure? I'll rest in the rocking chair and watch her."

Pedro lowers his eyebrows and looks at her sternly "Our bed. You'll sleep better, Mi Amor." She couldn't resist the Spanish pet name that he said, she sighs and nods, telling him that she'll try to get comfortable.

He contently watched her leave, turning his attention back to the child. She was beautiful, sleeping peacefully in the crib. Pedro was already wrapped around her tiny finger, he knew he would do anything to see her smile. He promised himself he wouldn't cry but here he was, tears of joy forming in his eyes, his little family felt complete.

The bliss lasted for at least a month, Pedro felt like he was walking on air until one morning he caught Y/N staring at herself in their mirror. She wore a simple tank top and her favorite leggings. Her face was etched with sadness and disappointment. Fingers tracing the bump on her stomach, showcased by the pants, turning to her side which made the view worse. He could only watch from the sidelines, her sadness pinging at his heart.

Y/N changed into one of the many sundresses she bought before she gave birth, the benefits of having a summer baby was that the dresses were in style, and they hid her stomach so well. This one was baby pink and had pockets, the low neckline made feeding the baby a little easier. The thoughts of self hated lingered in the back of her mind but quickly drowned out by the cries emerging from the next room.

A few nights later, Y/N and Pedro sat comfortably on their couch, the baby sleeping peacefully against Pedro's chest. His calm heartbeat soothing the little one, a few soft snores reached Pedro's ears. Y/N sat beside him, dressed in a flowly back dress and her eyes fixed on the tv.

The intro to the local news faded and showed the pretty anchor just back from her maternity leave. Dressed in a skin-tight red dress, her stomach appeared to be fat and showed no signs that she just had a baby. Fuck Y/N just wanted to sink and let the couch eat her whole. The woman joking telling her co-anchor how good she felt made Y/N feel like turning the tv off.

Pedro looked at her sadly, he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. An idea sprouted in his head, instantly reacting to it, he stood up and placed a protective hand on the baby's back. He couldn't sit there and let his wife beat up on herself.

"I'm going to put the baby in bed," he announces.

Y/N smiles up at him "Ok," she answers.

"Come with me."

"I'm watching this," she complains.

Pedro sighs "I know you're not watching it, come on." Y/N grumbles and reluctantly agrees following him upstairs.

After the baby was put in her crib, Pedro leads his wife in their bedroom and looked at her with concern. His hand reaching out and placing it on the side of her face "Baby, what's wrong?" he asks her. Y/N automatically knew what he was referring to, face falling she leans into his touch her eyes beginning to water.

"I don't feel pretty anymore," her voice broken and wavering as she confessed troubles, "I don't fit in my clothes."

Pedro hums and steps closer "You just had a baby," he reminds her.

"I-I know...but that news lady. She looked so good."

"She's probably wearing 3 pairs of Spanx, Hermosa. You are as beautiful as the day I met you." Y/N shakes her head slowly and lowers her gaze, her arms beginning to cover her stomach. Pedro catches her arms and drags his hands down her arms to hold her hands. "I don't know what it'll take to get you to see what I see."

He looks at the mirror that stood in the corner and turns her around, quickly walking behind her. Y/N hated staring at herself, she felt like a shell of a woman. Pedro snakes his strong arms around her and kisses her shoulder blade "Do you see what I see?"

"If you see a fat cow then yes, I see that perfectly." His eyebrows furrow together and he stands up straight looking at her eyes through the mirror.

"I see a strong, resilient woman who brought the most beautiful child into the world. Your stomach is beautiful...you, the love of my life, are the most beautiful person that I have ever seen...I promise," he speaks softly, his palms gently pressing against her belly button area.

The tears flowed down her cheeks, biting her lip to choke back a sob. Never breaking eye contact with him. She turned around to put her hands around his neck and pressing their bodies together. Pedro put his head on her shoulder and hugged her tightly "I love you" she whispers against his chest.

"I love you more."

And the next morning, Pedro was leaning against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his Twitter with a bowl of Cap'n Crunch in front of him. The creaking of the stairs made him look up, his eyes lighting up when he sees Y/N carrying the baby. Dressed in her favorite leggings and a loose t-shirt, it brought a proud smile to his face. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and smiles softly "Better today. I put on pants."  Pedro laughs and puts his phone in his back pocket before walking over to her. Placing a kiss on her lips, and a kiss to the top of their daughter's head he looks at them with pride. They stood there all huddled together, the bliss had returned.  

[zedecksiew]

“Exotic Warrior”

(Am writing this because it’s been bubbling over in my mind. This post is an exorcism of bad vibes over bad ideas that have held me hostage, the past few days.)

+

There is now criticism on Twitter arguing that the “Exotic Warrior”, one of Troika!’s d66 Backgrounds, is racist because it is coded as Orientalist / Asian.

I would like to respectfully disagree.

(There are other arguments in the initial complaint. I am commenting the “Exotic Warrior” specifically. Because by being actually East Asian -- part of the diaspora, living in Southeast Asia -- I feel I have some standing to comment.)

+

When I encountered “Exotic Warrior” in the book it stood out as a neat background and helped sell me on Troika!.

As I read it, the Background is a deft piece of work: it references the “adventurer from a foreign land” thing, but occludes said trope’s usual Orientalism -- an attempt at deconstruction.

A foreigner, in Troika!, can be anybody. This isn’t just a platitude; it’s supported by the book’s implied science-fantasy setting -- is essentially Spelljammer, but on more acid.

It is similar to Electric Bastionland / Planescape / etc in that it features a melting-pot, nobody’s-local “city at the centre of creation”-type deal. (I have Thoughts about RPG setttings that focus on metropoles, but that’s a separate post.)

+

Here’s the “Exotic Warrior” ’s text, in full:

24 EXOTIC WARRIOR No one has heard of your homeland. Your habits are peculiar, your clothes are outrageous, and in a land jaded to the outlandish and new you still somehow manage to stand out.

POSSESSIONS - A WEIRD & WONDERFUL WEAPON. - STRANGE CLOTHES. - EXCITING ACCENT. - A TEA SET or 3 POCKET GODS or ASTROLOGICAL EQUIPMENT.

ADVANCED SKILLS 6 Language - Exotic Language 3 Fighting in your Weird Weapon 2 Language - Local Language 2 Spell - Random 1 Astrology 1 Etiquette 

Honestly? None of the above reads as particularly problematic. It’s a legit, characterful beginning point for a player-character.

Sure, my Western-media-battered brain jumps to Samurai Warrior -- 

But immediately also to Sufi Missionary or Varangian Guard. And indeed comes to rest at Indeterminately White Gentleperson Naturalist -- the kind of exotic visitor Southeast Asia got, a lot, those scouts of European imperialism.

+

These readings are possible because of the illustration the entry is paired with. Here they are together:

Setting aside the surrealist stylisations:

The shape of the costume, the belt, the “skirt” -- these look like Europeanisms, to me. And the figure’s laughing abandon opposes the standard Orientalist tropes of wise inscrutability or red-faced savagery.

The choice to run “Exotic Warrior” with a decidedly non-Orientalist-coded illustration isn’t an unintentional piece of art direction.

(PS: any critique of an illustrated text that only focuses on the words is incomplete. Image is half the text of an illustrated text.)

+

The nondescript-ness of the entry plus its accompanying image is an open door. Opening this door isn’t without risk: whatever assumptions you make about your particular “Exotic Warrior” are drawn from your own biases.

+

Regarding “Etiquette” and “Astrology” and “Tea Set”?

With my biases: I don’t read these things as uniquely East-Asian. (When I first encountered “tea set” in Troika! I genuinely thought: “English tea service”, instead of: “temae”.)

The one that I did read as real-world Eastern was “Pocket Gods” -- but many human cultures had this, pocket gods are a part of Troika!’s wider fantasy setting, and “Exotic Warrior” isn’t the only Background to start with them.

+

A note on “exotification”:

The criticism of “Exotic Warrior” fundamentally seems to be: “Playing a character from the Other / that is Other-ed = BAD”.

I fundamentally disagree with this notion.

I have no lived experience of a society where being other-ed (in terms of culture, race, class, gender expression, etc) isn't an ever-present thread in the fabric of one's life -- and therefore a crucial and profound source of conflict and insight into the human condition.

(The ethnic fault-lines in Malaysian society have become so unbridgeable today primarily because it was official policy to sweep all that other-ing under the rug of “Malaysia Truly Asia”, as opposed to working through our ugly whispered prejudices towards understanding.)

We are not all the same. Cultural, geographic, and material differences exist. The mismatch in knowledge and understanding this creates? It matters.

In fact: To insist on universal cultural-knowledge parity; To push for “nobody’s born here, everybody belongs” melting-pots as the default framing; To nudge questions of difference and arrival into ghettos (to paraphrase one of the tweets I saw: “you can only explore issues surrounding the Other in a game specifically designed to do so”);

All that comes off to me as a very neo-liberal position, designed to safeguard and disguise the privileges of “mainstream” metropolitan melting-pots.

I read it as:

“Post-modern cosmopolitan societies want to be inclusive but don’t want to pay the admission price of history and discomfort, so they generally opt for erasure instead.”  

+++

Throughout this post I have been careful to speak from my particular context. Because context matters.

More context:

I like Troika!. Like, a lot. I think its creator, UK-based Daniel Sell, strives and succeeds at making thoughtful work. I consider him a friend, whom I’ve had personal (albeit Internet-bound) interactions now and again.

+

I have BJ Recio to thank for the following insight. Talking to him about “Exotic Warrior”, BJ brought up a crucial point that I’ll paraphrase here:

Roleplaying the outsider can be bad, especially when it is used as an excuse by the West to do fucked-up shit. But it is not default bad. Assuming it is default bad centres the discussion on “Will White people fuck this up? (Yes.)”

Essentially, the argument against “Playing a character from the Other / that is Other-ed = BAD" assumes two things:

(a) Western participants as default; (b) harm (because of ignorance or bad faith) as default.

+

If your context -- your Background, hah! -- prompts you to experience Troika! with those assumptions; and therefore read “Exotic Warrior” as necessarily Orientalist, and racially-charged?

Your context is your context; I’m not going to invalidate it.

If you are located in a society where the binary of White / non-White overpowers everything, I certainly understand the whys and hows of your position.

Your context matters.

+

So does mine.

+++

I think I’m reacting badly to this because I personally feel turned away by this RPG Discourse Around Representation (tm), supposedly done in the name of my East-Asian ass.

I resent the idea that “Playing a character from the Other / that is Other-ed = BAD”. It threatens to render verboten the entirety of my RPG work.

I am a SEA creator trying to explore and be true to my context. If there is one constant throughout SEAsian experience, it is difference.

Our peoples have ever encountered and glamourised and hated each other, all of us simultaneously Us and the Other:

Japanese and Malay enclaves in Ayutthaya; Mongol invaders in Java, who never left; Luzones mercenaries, employed by both the Sultan of Melaka and his Portuguese enemies; The reputation of the Ilanun / Bajak Laut; White conquistadors (aforementioned above); The entire history of diaspora Chinese identities (my identity!) in SEA, generally;

Foreigners from foreign lands -- feared, not fully understood, not fully understanding, simultaneously conquering and settling and finding modes of belonging, becoming a part of the land.

Always arriving.

+

That the background music of my geography, discordant though it may be, is somehow so harmful it may only be meaningfully depicted in the hermetic context of a “game specifically designed to explore that”?

This feels bad, and extremely unwelcoming. It feels like a shut gate instead of an open door.

I refuse to be turned away.

+++

(Hopefully I can finally stop thinking about this shit.)

[the-ashen-gm]

How To Make A Game That Players *Can’t* Ruin - NPC Schedules and Avoiding the Railroad

TL;DR - When writing a new scenario for your players to interact with, don’t make assumptions about how they’ll react to it. Instead, write out a schedule for your NPCs to follow and just let your players react as they like.

Part 1: The Virgin Railroad 

We’ve all been in that situation as GMs where the players do something we don’t expect that “ruins” everything we planned. Your notes for a session that starts a new adventure might have looked something like this:

The players arrive at the adventure location

The players see something happen

The players understand what is happening

The players react 

The players’ reaction pays off and they learn something new

They decide to take action

For example:

The party arrive at the town of Lamas

At the inn, they see two suspicious men talking and one gives the other a note

By their scent, the werewolf paladin of the party realises that the two men are wererats

The party call out the wererats for what they are and attack them, looting the note off their bodies after the fighting is done

They read the note and find out that they were planning to attack and infect an innocent person with their curse as punishment for not keeping up with “protection insurance payments”

Now realising that there’s a wererat mafia at work in town, the party enlist the help of the local law enforcement to help them root out the rats

That seems fine, right? But this framework is fragile. 

What if the players don’t attack the wererats right away? They haven’t done step 4.

What if the party’s rogue thinks that the suspicious transaction is a mere petty crime that they might be able to muscle into and profit off? They haven’t done step 3.

What if the werewolf paladin wants to ally with the wererats to learn more about her own curse? They’ve done step 4, but not in the way you wanted them to.

What if the party do nothing? They’ve stopped at step 3 (or maybe even 2).

Where do you go as a DM then? What do the NPCs do? How do you get the players back on track? Do you cancel the session and re-write it? Do you improvise? Do you tell the players to do the thing they were supposed to do?

[Image ID: a Rowlet, the grass-type owl Pokemon, looking distressed and clutching its head with tiny hands/wings. End ID.]

This is you right now. Adorable, but not having a good time.

Part 2: The Chad Schedule

I’ve heard advice before that you should consider four things for every encounter: Fight, Flight, Friend, and Freeze. These refer to coming up with what will happen if the players fight your NPCs, run away from your NPCs, try to make friends with your NPCs, or do nothing respectively. I think this is a fine way to set up encounters but it’s not my preferred method because it comes too close to writing a script for my players’ actions. Like the example above with the wererats, I’m making lots of assumptions about my players and the 4 Fs method somewhat does the same. What if the players fight but then run away? What if they run away and come back to fight later? There are too many possibilities for me to consider all at once.

My solution: write out what the NPCs will do if the party never even showed up. This may seem like odd advice, but bear with me. What we’re trying to do is to empty our mind of any expectations we have of the players and just write out the situation they’re being placed in.

Let’s go back to the wererat situation and rewrite it with this in mind instead:

The leader of the Greyfang Guild, a demonic rat king, learns that local alchemist Elania Knox hasn’t paid her protection money in over 2 months. It decides that she deserves the worst punishment they can give: infection with the wererat curse which will surely lead to her being banished from town. 

A wererat of the guild heads to the tavern to pass a note to their man in town telling him the plan.

An hour later, at sundown, they meet outside Elania’s house. When the full moon rises they transform into their hybrid forms and break in, whereupon they infect Elania with the curse via a series of bites. For the rest of the night, they frolic in the sewers and steal from poor people.

Elania tells her only friends, Ben and his husband Cillian, about the incident the next morning. The three of them attempt to cross the nearby forest to meet with the Order of the Lycan for help but are killed by wild animals.

Yes, this is pretty bleak stuff. This is what the world of your campaign might look like without your players’ intervention. Good people get abused by those with power and no morals, having no one to stand up for them. You, as a DM, probably don’t want this series of events to come true and nor will your players when they catch wind of them. 

But this is the trick! All your planning is to create something that you want your players to ruin. You don’t want Elania to get infected, you don’t want those wererats to go on an unimpeded crime spree, and you certainly don’t want Elania, Ben, and Cillian to die meaningless deaths at the hands (paws?) of wild animals. What you’ve done here, if you follow this method of writing a plot without the players’ involvement, is create scenarios that your players can disrupt (or perhaps “ruin”) in order to create a new narrative. If it’s done right, this method can create an exhilarating game for both the players and the GM, plus it works with pretty much any RPG that assumes the players are the heroes of the story in the same way D&D does. 

Something to bear in mind while running this sort of game is that the NPCs will always try to get the schedule back on track. If you foil the wererats on the first night, they’ll return with their resident mage who can create moonlight as a spell during the day. If you stop the rats on their crime spree, they’ll up the ante and attempt an ever bigger crime the next day (perhaps even extorting the locals for aid in the scheme). If you rescue Elania, Ben, and Cillian from being killed in the forest, you’ve still got the Order of the Lycan to deal with (perhaps they’ll be even more dangerous than what lurks in the dark). This is a good thing. It means that you’ll pretty much always know what the NPCs want to do. When in doubt, check the schedule. The NPCs will always try to go back to the schedule, especially the bad guys.

So, to sum up:

Write NPC schedules, not PC plots - write what the NPCs would do if the party never showed up.

You can enjoy watching your PCs ruin everything you had planned, if you plan for them to ruin it.

You deserve to have fun as a GM and creating a scenario that you can’t easily predict can be part of that.

At its best, this technique makes your world feel a little more alive because your NPCs do things while the players aren’t looking in a way that feels natural.

[trongdatnguyen]

Thấy mình viết hay qúa nên post lên đây hihi:

Topic: consumer evaluation of food quality. Do the consumers take the environmental aspect into account?

I.               Introduction

Since the 1970s, the culture of consumption has shifted from producer-central to consumer-central. Consumers no longer decide to buy a product solely due to its availability. They consider different aspects related to the product before a decision. These aspects reflect consumers' attitudes and worldviews, which are influenced by societal perception and behaviors at a time. As such, producers need to understand consumers' demands to stay in the business. In the present, climate change starts to impacts consumers daily life. Accordingly, people's perceptions about environmental impact of food and food production are prone to change. Therefore, to know if the environmental aspect is part of consumer evaluation of food quality is inevitable concerns for food producers or food policymakers to be relevant in the future. In this essay, reports and literature will be reviewed to discuss the raising concern, focusing on the European region.

II.             Literature Review

To begin with, Wikstrom et al addresses the mismatch between values assigned to a product by consumers and producers through modernity frameworks1. In which, producer's assignments are based on the belief that social progress is important and dependent on science and technology advancement. This belief is inevitable to resolve societal issues in the past. In the food industry, when food security was not concrete, mass production is expected. Nevertheless, producers rely on their know-how and deliver refined food of longer shelf-life with the idea that consumption of food is for nutrition. Accordingly, consumers were left with less choice. They then purchase due to the availability of products in the market with the assumption that food quality is predetermined.

However, as time changes, previous societal issues are no longer relevant, sharing space and time for a new problem to arise. In which, customers recognize that they are not merely consumers, they also create their images and increasingly strive to feel good through trading activities. The change in consumer perception and behaviors happens gradually overdecades and eventually impacts all industries. For example, consumers' confidence in science and technology imposes a contradiction to GMO and addictives usage in food production while striving for the product with natural and organic origins. This example alone causes producers to be more transparent or even change their production routines. Nevertheless, policymakers also need to apply new regulations to fulfill the needs of the population. Understanding this shift in the culture of consumption is more important than ever for the food business to stay relevant in the present time. Moreover, understanding the exact demands of consumers from the product might help food producers move forward with potential profits.

Consumers' demands become quality evaluation factors before they buy food products. The number of and the extent of these demands differs from time to place. These demands are influenced by societal changes around consumers universally and locally. An excerpt from European Commission Public Opinion Reports in 2010 presents common trends in European consumers' needs in the last decades2. Consumers' needs were evaluated and positioned fresh and tasty food with implication on pleasure by consumption to nutritional needs as the priority. It was followed by affordable prices, and safety. After ten years, the ranking for European consumers' future needs remains the same in their 2020 report3.However, a new expectation for future food products appears, which is "impact on the environment and climate". This expectation from European consumers is reasonable because climate change has a profound yet negative impact on their life across the region. The expectation is further amplified by an increasing number of internet content based on present food production culture presenting the unbecoming future. Consumers are not only urged to change their consumption behavior but also demand food producers react before the unfavorable future arrives. Hereby, public concerns are partly resolved by the directions given by United Nations in their Sustainable Development Goals 2030 and implemented by governments.

To evaluate if consumer's demand for environmental aspects is more truthful than just survey results, Wikstrom works were reconsidered. The study discusses that new consumers' demands can initiate the re-organization of traditional food producers or the birth of new producers to fulfill those needs1. In the food industry, where rising demands of less environmental impacts from traditional production are becoming popular, an alternative to traditional foods is created. Oatly and Impossible Foods are two companies selling traditional food alternatives that are gaining notable success in recent years. In which, Impossible Food was founded in 2011 stating its aim is to give people the taste and nutritional benefits of meat without the negative health and environmental impacts associated with livestock products. This statement aims directly at public concerns found in the listed surveys. After nearly ten years of development, their value is estimated to be 10 billion $ in 2021 and still accelerate their international growth. On top of this, Oatly shares a similar idea to Impossible Food but in a different context. They are founded early in the 1990s and starts to gain recognition and success in the last decades. To recap their exponential growth, even during the Covid-19 pandemic, Oatly's North American President Mike Messersmith said that a big part of their success derived from consumer preferences evolving toward sustainability and health4.

III.           Discussion and comments

From the above, it would seem that the environmental aspect in food and food production is gaining more recognition from the public. Consequently, it would become the determining factor before a consumer purchases food products in the future. However, it could be claimed that the argument is based on the modernity frameworks - which is originated from the West and not suitable to adapt to the rest. Modernity and postmodernity ideologies took place within the advanced capitalist and postindustrial computerized societies5. Since different countries have different political beliefs and development conditions, we can not apply directly the study framework from one country to another. In this case, as all European countries are developed, the argument can be oversimplified as societal trends in consumption and production from developed countries is inapplicable to developing countries. For example, in Vietnam, people tend to go to a nearby market to shop for food products supplied directly by farmers instead of going to the supermarket like European consumers. In this case, if we apply the modernity framework as reasoning above, consumers' demands are met but to a very different extent. The "local" values in developed countries are derived as opposed to mass production caused by their negative impact. However, "local" values in developing countries like Vietnam are derived from tradition, convenience, and affordable prices. Moreover, as if the "local" factor in consumers' evaluation is achieved, the food safety and quality are not usually predetermined. It is because farmers don't need to have any certifications to sell their products in the local marketplace.

Though consumption behaviors are different in developing countries, environmental aspects in food product evaluation still exist but to a different extent than in developed countries. Both share similar origins from customer's perception transformation due to environmental changes in their local and global surroundings. These changes can be amplified both physically by governmental policies and virtually by internet campaigns, influences. However, perception transformations do not necessarily correlate with transformation in consumption behaviors. As mentioned earlier, the alternative to traditional food is one of the direct approaches to resolve environmental impacts by food production. However, this approach requires not only large capital investment but also advanced science and technology - which are both not readily available in developing countries. As such, even though there is a demanding market and the needs of society are undeniable, consumption behaviors cannot change without the possibilities provided by developing science. Some might argue that developing might import environmental-friendly food products from developed countries to fulfill the tangible needs. I would say that action only satisfies the guilty of wealthy consumers while ignoring the environmental impact of transportation in their calculations.

IV.           Conclusion

To conclude, there is an uprising trend in the culture of consumption that environmental aspects are considered upon purchase of food products. This trend is inevitable due to the profound effects of climate change and international and governmental attempts to promote, especially in developed countries, such as European regions. Though there are also changes in the perception of consumers in developing, consumption behaviors there are not yet transformed mainly due to the possibilities provided by developing science to make affordable products for the population.

V.             References

1.         Wikström S, Jönsson H, Decosta PL. A clash of modernities: Developing a new value-based framework to understand the mismatch between production and consumption. J Consum Cult. 2016;16(3):824-851. doi:10.1177/1469540514528197

2.         Eurobarometer 389. European’s Attitudes Towards Food Security, Food Quality and the Country Side. Published online 2010.

3.         Eurobarometer 505. Making our food fit for the future – Citizens’ expectations.pdf. Published online 2020.

4.         How Oatly accelerated growth during the pandemic. 2020. https://www.fooddive.com/news/how-oatly-accelerated-growth-during-the-pandemic/589004/.

5.         Radhakrishnan R, ed. Theory in an Uneven World. Blackwell Publishing Ltd; 2003. doi:10.1002/9780470775660