#but yeah while his goals are good his personality and methods are more evil-leaning. yes he has compassion no he isn't a goody two shoes

[kazeofthemagun]

What is your moral alignment?

[tagged: I *think* I did this, but I lost it so here it is again.]

[tagging: @shiroi---kumo ]

You are 22.5% evil, 64.2% chaotic, making you Chaotic Neutral.

"Chaotic Neutral people believe that there ultimately is no order to anything, including their own actions. With this as their guiding principle, they tend to follow whatever their fancy tells them to. Good and evil are irrelevant when making a decision. Chaotic Neutral people are often extremely difficult to deal with. Although they promote the ideals of freedom, it is their own freedom that comes first. Chaotic Neutral individuals are free-spirited and do not enjoy the unnecessary suffering of others, but if they join a team, it is because that team's goals happen to coincide with their own at the moment. They resent taking orders and can be very selfish in their pursuit of their personal goals. Yet their methods of achieving their goals are often disorganized, unorthodox, and almost entirely unpredictable."

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 1

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x reader

summary: spencer makes a confession as you’re doing dishes together. this is from a prompt list but i can’t find it :( 1633 words. part 2 

a/n: this was originally a poe dameron thing but i started thinking about it with spencer and then there were tears streaming down my face then i wrote it

Your favourite memories with the team are always those where you really feel like a family. Most days these are only fleeting moments, less than five minute conversations filled with banter and affectionate insults, but there are times, like now, where you’re all sat around Rossi’s dinner table with too much wine and too much pasta (although there is no such thing), and you feel like you might cry from happiness.

You’re a family.

The downside to being a family is you get treated like a family member, meaning when you and Spencer are assigned to clean dishes, dry them and put them away, you sulk to the kitchen just like you did when you were eleven and your younger sibling got out of helping by claiming he has too tired.

At least you can stare at Spencer as you do it.

In the kitchen, you’re working in perfect harmony – you, elbow deep in somehow tolerable hot water, scrubbing away at the bowls and plates stained with pasta sauce, and Spencer who methodically dries said bowls and plates with a worrying amount of scrutiny.

Right before you open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, Spencer speaks.

“What do you think of love?”

Huh. Didn’t expect that.

“Love is… is good, I guess.”

You’re not sure what to say, or what he wants you to say. There’s obviously an answer he’s looking for, but you’re not sure you can provide it.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your brows furrow. The question catches you off guard and your hand freezes mid-wipe. Why is he asking you this? It’s not that you’re not close with Spencer, cause you are, but you feel ill-equipped for this conversation. You wish you could somehow swap positions with Hotch, or Rossi, maybe Derek. Or Emily! Anyone, except you.

“I don’t think so, no, Spence.”

He grimaces.

“Why?”

“Well, because-cause…” He pauses and grits his teeth, as if the words are painful to force out, “I want to love someone and be loved.”

The confusion shines brightly in your eyes, “You are loved, Spence. Everyone in our unit would do anything for you, you know that. I’d go so far as to say you’re the favourite, probably the most loved person in the BAU.”

“No. No.” He shakes his head, “I want someone to love me. Romantically. Not Dr Spencer Reid of the BAU, notorious rambler and know-it-all who’s exceptionally good at pissing people off. I want them to love me – Spencer – the guy who is a technophobe, a pretty bad shot, and secretly wants to be a cowboy. The guy who has a recurring dream that Morgan forces me into a room where I’m plunged into darkness and Doctor Who is playing but it’s in a language I don’t understand. I don’t.. I don’t want someone that’ll make me feel like a baby, like the team sometimes does, you know? I think I’d be a great partner and I just… I just want someone to share something with. Something good, something pure, in this job where we face evil and demise every day.”

You’re in stunned silence when he makes eye contact, hands stilled mid-air as you gape at him.

“Sorry. Totally unloaded a lot of emotional stuff on you there – my bad. Uhh..” He clears his throat.

The air becomes awkward as you figure out how to reply. You flounder. You don’t know what to follow that speech with. It almost feels like the right time to admit your feelings for him, but a second later you realise this conversation sounds a lot like one you’d have with someone you definitely do not have feelings for. You’re just a consultation, you’re not the end goal. Suddenly, you wish you had been assigned to clearing the table rather than washing up.

Swallowing what feels like pure acid, you begin, “That’s sweet, Spence. Genuinely. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” You want to reach out and touch him, but your hands are now submerged in water, and touching him might break you. “So what’s stopping you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s stopping you from getting that?” You ask. “I’ve seen you. When you put your mind to it, you can be preeeetty smooth with the ladies. Remember the magic trick you did for that one girl?” Spencer gives a small, shy smile, “Exactly! So what’s stopping you?”

Spencer looks like a deer in headlights. What is stopping him? He’s proud to say his confidence has exponentially grown since joining the BAU. When he started, his self-esteem was non-existent, but times passed and he’s grown to accept himself the way he is. It helps that you’ve been there, cheering him on and showering him in compliments whenever he starts to doubt himself. Initially, Spencer thought you were doing it just to get on his good side, maybe build some good karma, but somewhere along the line he started to somewhat agree with you. The compliments never ceased.

“Well,” He starts, “I’m picky.”

You scoff, “Yeah, if I was you, I’d be picky.”

You turn and squirt some dish soap into the sink, smiling when Spencer laughs, “What does that mean?!”

“You know what it means! I always say you could be a ladies man if you truly put your mind to it, and I stand by that. You’re a ten out of ten on a bad day so, yeah, you should be picky. I’m tempted to say no one is worthy, but I’ve already inflated your ego too much.”

He grins at your teasing and licks his lips, “There is one person.”

“Oh?” You ask, interest piqued. You ignore the pang in your heart.

“Yeah. She’s really cool. It’s kind of terrifying.”

You giggle at that. There’s a warmth to Spencer’s words, and you realise whoever this girl is is super fucking lucky. He’s completely and utterly smitten and she doesn’t even know it. You kind of hate her.

“So are you gonna tell her?” You ask.

He shrugs, “I guess so. Should I?”

Finally done with the washing up, you move to put the dried plates into their cupboards. With a quizzical look, you say, “You’re really asking me that? Yes, you should tell her.”

“Would you tell her?”

“God, no.”

“What?!”

“I’m shy when it comes to that stuff! I’d rather ferment my feelings and then tell myself to get over it and never think of it again.”

“Sounds healthy.”

You grin, turning to lean against the counter next to Spencer, “I would tell her if I was you, though. You’re sweet, attractive, and you have more than just your looks going for you. If I was you and got rejected I’d be like… okay, cool. I’ll just go bang every one of your friends, then.”

Spencer guffaws, “You’d what?!”

“I’m kidding!” You laugh, a hearty laugh at his expression. The pure shock and borderline disgust makes you oddly proud. It’s a rare reaction from Spencer.

He rolls his eyes but still smiles. His eyes lock on your face and you can’t pinpoint what emotion is pouring out of them, but it’s so strong that it shoots panic through you. You quickly turn and pick up as many glasses as you can, manoeuvring to the opposite side of the kitchen.

You can’t be thinking about him like that if he’s about to admit his feelings for someone else.

“So, you gonna tell her?” You try to sound nonchalant, but you can’t deny you’re unbelievably curious.

Spencer hums, but still sounds unsure, “I think I will.”  

“If she’s as great as you think she is, no matter her response she’ll handle it well. Otherwise, she wasn’t worth your time anyway.”

Behind your back, Spencer barely contains a gentle smile and thinks, yeah, you are pretty great.

“What did you say?” You swing around to face him.

Spencer straightens up and furiously dries the last bowl, “What?”

“You mumbled something.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

You’re visibly bemused but don’t say anything. Spencer opens his mouth to speak, maybe tell you what he should’ve a while ago, when Emily comes sliding in.

“Garcia has had too much wine and I’m one glass away from joining her. Y/N, are you ready to head home?”

You roll your eyes and nod. In hindsight, you’re glad that you refused the big glass of wine Rossi initially offered you because you knew this would happen and you’d be taking drunk girls home. “Yeah, all good. Spence, is it okay if I leave you to put the last few dishes away?”

Spencer nods eagerly and glances at Emily when she sways, “No problem. Drive safe.”

You mumble a thanks and move to the living room to collect your bag. Garcia is splayed across the biggest couch and you can’t help but aww at her sleeping form. Just an hour ago she was giving a sermon on why Hotch is the best dad and how that translates to the bedroom (why did no one stop her), and now she looks at peace with the world in the fluffiest pillows you’ve ever seen. Then she chokes, snorts, and springs upright with a loud “Derek!” and you jump back at her volume. When she sees you, she looks like she’s found the cutest kitten and makes grabby hands, asking for a hug.

Yeah, it’s time to go home.

Just before you leave Rossi’s house, you turn to Spencer and shout across, “Good luck, Spence!”

Morgan turns to Spencer and silently asks what? And Spencer barely acknowledges him, “I’ve got big plans for tomorrow.”

“Big plans, huh?” Morgan teases.

“Yeah. Big plans, big payoff, and all that.”

Looking over your shoulder, you give one final wave after tying Garcia to her seat.

Spencer wonders if you realise you’re his big plan.

[the-everqueen]

why i disliked “the traitor baru cormorant”

so...recently i read Seth Dickinson’s The Traitor Baru Cormorant. i bought it thinking, Cool, an insightful fantasy series for me to get into while i wait to hear whether i passed my qualifying exams! i have some time before the semester starts! 

and then i absolutely hated it and spent every minute cataloguing what i thought Dickinson got wrong.

...uh, if you want to get the tl;dr of the liveblog i gave the gf, here’s the top three reasons i disliked this book:

1) not a fan of the “strong female character” trope

yes, Baru doesn’t sling around a sword or shoot arrows better than Anyone In The Whole World. but Dickinson IMMEDIATELY tells us (not shows, tells) that she’s good at math, she’s clever at picking apart strategic scenarios, she’s a savant. (tbh, i don’t love how he shows this, either, with the standard child-prodigy-who-catches-the-attention-of-a-powerful-adult trope.) in Dickinson’s crafted world, her math skills aren’t entirely unusual: women (for...some reason?) are stereotyped as being good at calculations, despite also being aligned with hysteria and too many emotions. this bothers me more than it’s probably supposed to, because the sexism in this novel doesn’t really seem to follow an internal logic. i guess it’s so we can have a woman as the protagonist? also...hoo boy...her “savant” characterization bothers me because...she’s heavily coded as South East Asian (...maaaybe Philippines or Native Hawaii, but as i’ll get to later, Dickinson doesn’t make a huge distinction). uh...model minority stereotypes anyone? yes, within the text, plenty of people associated with the Empire comment that it’s impressive someone of her background got into a position of power so young. at the same time, i’m sure that sounds familiar to so many Asian-identified people! the constant tightrope of being expected to perform to a certain (white, Western) standard while also being Othered. mostly this bothers me because Baru is also characterized as...a sellout for the Empire. sure, her stated goal is to undo the Empire from within, but [MAJOR SPOILERS] in the end it appears that her actual goal was to attain enough power that the Empire would let her be a benevolent dictator over her home island? and it’s only after a major PERSONAL betrayal that she revises this plan? [END SPOILERS] Baru also assimilates without much pain or sacrifice. she hardly ever thinks about her parents or her childhood home. she willingly strips herself of cultural signifiers and adapts to Empire norms (apart from being a closeted lesbian, which...yeah, i’ll get to that, too). and it’s not that Dickinson doesn’t TRY to make her a nuanced character, but...to me, it feels so painfully obvious that this is not his experience. it feels almost...voyeuristic. 

...much like his descriptions of wlw desire!

2) we get it, you read Foucault

the categories of sexual deviance are based entirely on a Western Victorian-era medical discourse around non-heterosexual forms of desire, but Dickinson ignores the network of sociocultural, religious, and historical contexts that contributed to that specific kind of discourse. he uses the terms “tribadism” and “sodomy” but those ideas CANNOT EXIST outside a Euro-American Christian context. yes, a huge part of the 19th century involved the pathologization of sexual and romantic desire (or lack thereof). but that in turn goes back to a history of medicine that relied on the “scientific method” as a means of studying and dissecting the human body--and that method in itself is a product of Enlightenment thinking. Theorist Sylvia Wynter (whomst everyone should read, imho) discusses how the Enlightenment attempted to make the Human (represented by a cisgender, heteronormative, white man) an agent of the State economy. every categorization of so-called deviance goes back to white supremacist attempts to define themselves as ‘human’ against a nonwhite, non-Christian Other. and IN TURN that was ultimately founded on anti-Black, anti-Indigenous racism. at this point it’s a meme in academic circles to mention Foucault, because so many scholars don’t go any further in engaging with his ideas or acknowledge their limits. but SERIOUSLY. Dickinson crafts the Masquerade as this psuedo-scientific empire that’s furthering erasure of native cultures, but...where did these ideas come from? who created them? what was the justification that gave them power? [MINOR SPOILER] blaming the Empire’s ideology on a handful of people behind the Mask who crafted this entire system makes me...uncomfortable, to say the least. part of what gives imperialism its power is that a lot of ordinary people buy in to its ideas, because it aligns with dominant belief systems or gives them some sense of advantage. 

also speaking of cultural erasure...

3) culture is more than set dressing

again, to reiterate: Baru does NOT think back to her childhood home for longer than a couple passing sentences at various points in the narrative. but even though the early chapters literally take place on her home island, i don’t get a sense of...lived experience. this is true of ALL of the fantasy analogues Dickinson has created in his Empire. i felt uncomfortably aware of the real world counterparts that Dickinson was drawing inspiration from. at the same time...there are basically no details to really breathe life into these various fantasy cultures. i HATE the trope of “fantasy Asia” or “fantasy Africa” or “fantasy Middle East” that’s rampant among white male sff writers. Dickinson does not get points from me for basically just expanding that to “fantasy South East Asia,” “fantasy Mongolia,” “fantasy South America,” and... “fantasy Africa,” plus some European cultures crammed in there. he’s VERY OBVIOUSLY drawing on those languages for names, but otherwise there’s no real sense of their religious practices, the nuances of their cultures, the differences between those cultures (besides physiological, which...oh god). part of that is probably supposed to be justified by “well, the Empire just erased it!!!” but that’s not an excuse imho. 

also...in making the Empire the ultimate signifier of the evils of imperialism...Dickinson kind of leans into the “noble savage” stereotype. Baru’s home island is portrayed as this idyllic environment where no one is shamed for who they love and gender doesn’t determine destiny and there are no major conflicts. (there is a minor nod to some infighting, but this is mostly a “weakness” that the Masquerade uses as an excuse to obliterate a whole tribe.) Dickinson justifies young Baru’s immediate assimilation as her attempt to figure out the Masquerade’s power from within, but given that the Masquerade presumably killed one of her dads and her mom maybe advocates a guerilla resistance...it’s weird that Baru basically abandons her family without a second thought. yeah, i get that she’s a kid when the Masquerade takes over the island, but...that’s still a hugely traumatic experience! the layers of trauma and conditioning and violence that go into this level of colonization are almost entirely externalized. 

(later it’s implied that Baru might qualify as a psychopath, and tbh that feels like an excuse for why we haven’t gotten any sense of her inner world, not to mention kind of offensive.) 

this isn’t exhaustive but...

it’s not that i don’t think white people shouldn’t ever address POC experiences in their books. just...if your entire trilogy is going to revolve around IMPERIALISM IS BAD, ACTUALLY, maybe you should contribute to the discourse that Black, Brown, and Indigenous authors have already done. reading this book made me so, so angry. i did not feel represented! i felt like i was being talked down to, both on a critical theory level AND on a craft level. there are SO MANY books by actual BIPOC and minority authors that have done this better. N.K. Jemisin’s Broken Earth Trilogy and her current Cities series. Nnedi Okorafor’s Binti trilogy. Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House remains one of the more powerful novels i’ve read on how The System Is Out To Destroy You, That Is The Point. (Bardugo is non-practicing Spanish and Moroccan Jewish on one side of her family, and her character Alex is mixed and comes from a Jewish background!) 

...

there’s not really a point to this. i get a lot of people have raved about this book. good for them. if that’s you, no judgment. i’m not trying to argue IF YOU LIKED THIS YOU ARE PROBLEMATIC. i’m just kind of enraged that a white dude wrote about a Brown lesbian under a colonial empire and that THIS Brown lesbian under a colonial empire couldn’t even get behind the representation. also kind of annoyed that it’s the Empire of Masks and Dickinson either hasn’t read Fanon or didn’t see fit to slip in a Fanon reference, which like. missed opportunity. 

[artificialqueens]

tinder's a shit show (trixya) (1/?) - ornacia

(A/N: hey all. this little thing is the product of exam stress, boredom, and my inevitable relapse into full-on rpdr fanfiction addiction. i’ve never written anything for this fandom before so apologies if it’s not the best. i might continue it if the response is good but if not, it was a lot of fun either way!)

“Galentines Day,” Trixie repeated incredulously. She’d been sitting in the library for almost three hours and had relocated six times either out of boredom or because someone nearby was giving her evil-eyes for taking up desk-space she didn’t actually need. As of now she’d found herself a table at the back of the cafe with a patchy signal and a couple of suspicious looking stains on the seat.

“Yeah, it’s from that one episode of Parks and Recreation.”

Trixie raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of strawberry milkshake.

“Remember? It’s the one where –”

“I remember,” she said, pushing her drink aside and adjusting the screen of her laptop in the hopes of seeing her friend a little better. “Are you gonna make me a mosaic out of crushed up bottles of my favourite diet soda?”

“No.”

“Am I getting a personalised 5,000 word essay on why I’m the most awesome friend you’ve ever had? A needlepoint cushion with my face on it?”

Kim fixed her with a look, and after a beat of silence Trixie gave in and pushed her milkshake to the side of the screen. “Okay, okay. What are we doing?”

“Having a sleepover. You, me, Naomi, and Max. They’re staying the night and we’re watching 10 Things I Hate About You and ordering a take-out.”

Trixie raised a brow. “Eating your feelings isn’t supposed to be a group activity.”

“But it can be,” Kim argued. “So are you in? You know, you kind of have to say ‘yes’ unless you want to lock yourself in your room all night while we throw the Galentine’s day party without you.”

“Will there be wine?”

Kim smiled triumphantly at the camera, holding up one finger and clumsily shuffling upwards and backwards out of her seat. She disappeared for all of thirty seconds before reappearing in the frame with several bottles clutched against her chest, none of which looked particularly stable. “Lots,” she confirmed, lifting her arms a little so as to give a better view.

“You got me,” Trixie said, shaking her head and grinning at her roommate. “Now go put those back before you cause an accident.”

—

She was two glasses deep into the bottle of Grenache Rosé when someone said the word ‘Tinder’. Her ass was numb from having been forcefully relocated to the arm of the couch by unanimous vote and her attention was only half on the T.V, the other half being reserved for the last few slices of pepperoni pizza.

“Yeah,” Naomi said, legs splayed out across the other girls’ laps and a wine glass dangling between her fingers. “I know someone who met their boyfriend on Tinder. Like, an actual boyfriend – not some guy who takes you to the cinema one time and tries to bundle you into the backseat of his jeep. ”

Max, ever the sensible one, considered this information with a small frown creasing her brow. “Really? Isn’t that a little… you know, dangerous?”

“Not if you meet them somewhere public,” Trixie pointed out sliding down from her perch and onto the floor that she could crawl towards the pizza boxes and re-load her plate.

“Second wind already?”

“Fuck you,” she said, jabbing a mozzarella stick in the offender’s direction and licking the salt from her fingertips. “It’s been at least twenty minutes.”

“Sure,” Kim snorted. “Seriously though, what’s the guy like?”

“Not that weird. She could do better, but like if she’s happy I’m not going to say anything.”

“Does he have Instagram?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Everyone has Instagram,” Trixie said. “It’s like Facebook. If you don’t have Instagram you’re probably not a real person.”

“Unless you’re forty years old, in which case you’ve probably got better things to do.”

“Yeah, right. Like bake a tuna casserole for the neighbours and spam inspirational minion memes on your fourteen-year-old daughter’s Facebook page.”

“Don’t come for my mother, Miss Mattel. You don’t know her like that.”

Trixie laughed and threw a ball of kitchen towel at the other girl’s face before scooting backwards to sit on the floor between the other girls legs. Max, to her credit, caught the hint immediately and picked a couple of blonde curls to start playing with.

“Why don’t you get it, Trixie?”

“Get what?” She half-turned her head to look up at Kim and Naomi on the sofa behind her.

“Tinder,” Naomi said, holding up her hands in mock-surrender in response to the flash of indignation that flashed across the blonde’s face. “Woah, hey, that wasn’t supposed to be shady. I just thought maybe you could do with getting some.”

“You are always complaining about how long it’s been since you got laid.” Kim chimed in.

As true as that was, her complaining was more for show than anything else. Trixie hadn’t ever been much of a dater, and the one time she’d been fingered at a house party in the eleventh grade was hardly memorable.

“You just said Tinder was full of creeps.”

“No,” Naomi said slowly. “Max said Tinder was full of creeps. Come on, it’ll be fun. We can toot or boot your potential hook-ups. It’s not like you’re actually gonna meet any of them in person.”

“Ooh,” Kim clapped her hands together lightly. “Sounds interesting.”

Trixie grimaced, shaking her head and pushing her phone protectively beneath her knees. “No, no way,” she said. “What if I run into someone from college or a neighbour or something?”

“Your neighbour is rather attractive,” Max mused, looking a little taken aback when three curious sets of eyes swivelled her way. “What? I’m allowed to find someone visually appealing. I don’t mean anything inappropriate by it.”

“Calm down, Maria,” Trixie snorted. “Nobody thinks you’re that kind of girl.”

“Nobody thinks you’re that kind of girl either.”

“So why am I being made to download it? Why not Max?”

“Because Max would never actually do it, and you’ve had way more to drink.”

Trixie made an affronted noise, placing her hand on her chest and and opening her mouth in a caricature of shock. For all her theatrics, she knew they weren’t wrong. All it took was ten more minutes of relentless pestering before she threw her hands in the air and gave into the pressure. It wasn’t as though she’d ever use it or talk to any of her potential matches. Besides that, a little ego boost never hurt anybody.

“Use that picture,” Naomi said, reaching forward to tap a perfectly manicured nail against the screen. “You’re giving beach-babe Barbie realness.”

“That’s so not a thing,” Trixie said, smacking her hand away. “And I can’t put that up, I’m in a Bikini!”

“What’s your point?”

She rolled her eyes, looking over her profile one last time before hitting ‘done’. It wasn’t as though she was trying to impress anybody. If a scantily clad photo with a margarita in her hand was what it took to keep her friends entertained then what was the harm?

“Set your preferences to ‘both’.”

“What? Why?” Trixie frowned.

“Because I want to see if the girls on Tinder are as weird as the guys,” Kim shrugged.

Apparently the answer was yes. There were a few cute guys here and there and a couple of girls that Trixie couldn’t help but linger on before passing, but the majority of people were pretty unsettling. There was a guy named Daryl with one too many innuendos in his bio and a selection of identical photos all taken from the exact same angle on his laptop. Then there was Jesus, Jesus in a nappy, and Jesus who’d dragged a random baby goat into his profile picture for the sake of looking ‘sensitive’.

“This guy just made a power-point on the pros and cons of swiping right,” she said, raising her eyebrows and turning the phone screen so everyone could see it better.

“Next.”

“I like her makeup,” Kim said, leaning in closer to examine the next potential match. “And her shoes are cute too.”

“Toot.”

They carried on like that well into the evening. When eventually it did get old, they resorted to watching an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras before calling it a night.

It wasn’t until the other girls had gone to bed and Trixie found herself sitting up alone on twitter that she opened it up again out of curiosity. The first profile didn’t disappoint. In fact, she found herself squinting to try and figure out exactly what it was she was looking at.

The girl in the photo was blonde and rail-thin with hollow cheeks that struck an odd contrast against the brightness of her eyes. There was a spot of red lipstick in her teeth and a slightly flushed and breathless look about her and, strangest of all, she was wearing a dress printed with screen-caps of Amanda Bynes in ‘What a Girl Wants’.

“What the…” she shifted her gaze to the bio section and snorted with laughter.

‘I’m the closeted High School make-out session that’s still got you sweating when grandma comes to visit, Katya.’

Curiosity piqued, Trixie flicked her way through the remaining photos. There was one of her hanging upside down from a goal-post with her underwear on full display and another of her photobombing a cute, ginger girl’s mirror selfie. She was grinning like an idiot in both of them and against all odds, Trixie found herself gravitating towards the green heart.

‘We probably won’t even match,’ she told herself, continuing on through the profiles out of sheer boredom. ‘And even if we did, it’s not like I’m not into girls.’

There had only been one openly gay student at her High School in Milwaukee. It wasn’t something anyone ever talked about, but she’d spied him getting roughed up behind that school canteen a couple of times and that was more than enough evidence for her to deduce that it wasn’t something you went around telling people.

And maybe it was naive of her.  She that it was different in places like California where people were open to new ideas and methods of self-expression, but she’d gotten more than enough flack for her sense of style over the years. Since moving away from home, Trixie had been able to start presenting herself the way she’d always wanted to; big hair, pink clothes, and a lot of makeup. That was enough. She didn’t need to embark on some journey of self-exploration or live out the ‘everyone experiments in college’ fantasy.

She didn’t.

Her train of thought was interrupted when a notification cropped up in the corner of her screen. Her heart stuttered a little in her chest a moment, but it wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as she’d first hoped. It was a message from some guy they’d swiped right on a couple of hours earlier - not that she was disappointed or hoping for anything else.

She didn’t bother reading it before locking her phone and struggling up off the sofa to grab herself a glass of water and follow the other girls to bed.

—

(04.33AM) i hear you’re looking for a stud. well, I got the STD and all I need is u ;))

Trixie blinked, reaching to rub the sleep from her eyes with her free hand. She could hear chatter from the kitchen, a sure sign that everyone else had been awake for a little while already, and the smell of pancakes was just starting to waft in through her bedroom door.

“Who the hell,” she murmured, keying in her passcode and scrolling through her apps until she found the little fire icon.

Of course.

The message was from Katya. A second glance at her profile confirmed that she was every bit as gorgeous as Trixie remembered and just weird enough for the pick-up to be funny instead of creepy or uncomfortable.

(10.53AM) No offence but that really isn’t how to sell yourself.

(10.54AM) Also why were you still awake at 4AM?

It wasn’t as though she was committing to anything by writing back. At least, that was what she told herself. If Katya turned out to be some sort of insatiable horn-dog or a sixty-five year old man with a thirst for women way outside the socially acceptable dating pool, she could always delete the app or block her.

The thought had only just crossed her mind when her bedroom door flew open to reveal a fresh-faced Kim sporting frilly, turquoise apron and some sushi-print pyjamas. “We’re making pancakes,” She announced. “Nutella and strawberries or peanut butter and banana?”

“Nutella and strawberries. Do we have any whipped cream?”

“Yeah.”

“That too.” Trixie said, flinching when her phone buzzed in her hand. It was from Tinder. She’d been a little on the fence about whether she’d be receiving a response at all, let alone so quickly. What kind of person stayed up till just before dawn and managed to resurrect before lunch-time?

“Who’s that?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. No-one,” Trixie put her phone in her lap and played it off with a shrug. “I’ll be through in five, can you keep a couple warm for me?”

“Sure.”

She waited until Kim had left the room before re-launching the app to see what Katya had sent her. Vaguely, she wondered if Tinder notified the other person when she’d read their messages. That was something to figure out later.

(10.55AM) no, totally - the best way to sell yourself is to up the quality and put down the price :D

(10.55AM) Sounds like you’re talking from experience.

(10.55AM) i’m a wealth of wordly experience, mother.

(10.55AM) Mother?

(10.56AM) wrong number. it’s the russian supermodel you swiped right on last night ;DD

She rolled her eyes.

(10.56AM) Doesn’t ring a bell.

(10.56AM) :((

(10.56AM) how about a crazy flashing her granny-panties in the playpark?

(10.56AM) So this is my mother.

(10.56AM) ha ha

(10.57AM) for real though, you’re super cute!

(10.57AM) Thanks, you have a really pretty smile.

(10.57AM) twenty-one years of refined sugar and legal highs and i’ve never had a cavity

(10.57AM) Get out, I had braces for two and a half years!

(10.57AM) and didn’t put one of those pictures on your profile???

(10.57AM) I literally looked like Sharon Spitz.

(10.57AM) braceface!

(10.58AM) You got that reference?

(10.58AM) no, i googled it.

(10.58AM) why did the deer need braces?

(10.58AM) Oh no…

(10.58AM) he had buck teeth!

(10.58AM) That was awful.

(10.59AM) wanna hear another one?

(10.59AM) Hold on, let me… brace myself.

(10.59AM) ahhh!!!

(10.59AM) marry me. right here, right now

Trixie was fully aware of the fact that she was smiling like an idiot. She couldn’t help it. For someone she’d been speaking to for a little over five minutes, Katya was ridiculously charming and super easy to talk to.

(10.59AM) I usually don’t accept marriage proposals until after the second date.

(11.00AM) two dates for marriage?? who do you think u are

(11.00AM) A lady of class and sophistication.

(11.00AM) no way, me too

(11.00AM) I can tell.

(11.00AM) it’s an energy

(11.00AM) Oh, totally.

(11.00AM) cosmic, almost

(11.00AM) Cosmic?

(11.01AM) absolutely. the stars have aligned to tell you i’m one high-end, high-class piece

(11.01AM) That wasn’t what I was getting.

(11.01AM) you need to open your mind

(11.01AM) listen with your heart

(11.01AM) Paint with all the colours of the wind?

(11.01AM) yes!! thank you, pocahontas

“Trixie!”

"Coming! I’m coming,” she called, peeling the duvet covers off herself and feeling around the floor for her slippers.  

(11.02AM) I gotta go, breakfast is ready.

(11.02AM) aw :((

(11.02AM) ttyl?

(11.02AM) Sure.

(11.02AM) :D

Trixie huffed out a laugh, glancing at Katya’s smiling profile picture one last time before setting her phone face-down on the bed-side table and shuffling on through to the kitchen. Kim, Naomi and Max were all gathered around the counter in various states of wakefulness. Naomi looked as though she’d slept in her mascara, no surprise there, while Max had was sitting with a cup of tea clutched in both hands. All three of them turned when she entered.

“Someone looks cheerful,” Max commented, raising a brow. “What’s that about?”

"Oh, nothing.” Trixie said idly, swiping a plate from her cupboard and stacking it high with a smile still lingering on her lips. ”Nothing at all.”