#someone can identify as a man then start to id as a woman and change literally nothing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hellokittyballsack · 2 months

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WAIT. DO U ALSO HC DRIX AS TRANSFEM. OR AM I. LOSING MY MIND.

I DO IN A WAY ? ITS COMPLEX SORRY

i dont like labels but i do refer to drix as she/her because i see her motherly love and gentle soul that she carries around on her sleeve. i love her sm... ARGHH also i love ur pfp

(im gonna use this opportunity to rant about labels since i was looking for an opportunity to share this somewhere NOT MAD AT U OR ANYTHING LOL TLDR: hairy balding cis men are beautiful women the way they are ♥️ masculinity can be feminine vice versa if you let it be🖖)

you can skip blue text and just read the green part, blue's more of a personal experience laadeedaa!!

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻

with a lot of my fav cis male characters i tend to slowly start calling them she/her the more i love them, dont really know why but i think thats just me projecting since im a trans man so i cant really enjoy femininity authentically, yknow? (or the way i want to) ide get misgendered since the body i was born with is "female" or "feminine". 🍅 🍅 🍅

plus im almost certain if i was somehow flipped and born a cis man ide still end up transitioning(not medically but thats a personal thing) and then yearning for masculinity, simply because i hate how these bodies limit the perception people have of me. i want to be my own person, identify as me first, not to have my label define me or my identity for that matter bc identity is SO much more complex than just one word.

its like Ying Yang but sadly i cant ever be a true neutral because that would mean dressing androgynous which i cant do because me, dressing androgynous, would just be a boyish girl. and me dressing masculine would get the results of "being seen as androgynous" because of how my body is naturally. but is that fair at all? so the only thing i can do to be seen as masculine is to medically change my body? ☹️

and i dont want to be seen as androgynous either at all, i love my male identity, dont love what comes with it but love it. and want to be perceived as masculine, ..but being androgynous is the only way you can build up your identity on your own without someone viewing you with a gender filter on their glasses.(sorry for the shit metaphor) and after people find out whats in your pants they will immediately talk to you differently and that SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! if i want to put on a dress that doesnt make me a woman or a feminine man, let me enjoy this dress, masculine-ly ‼️‼️🤲 PLEASE

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(⚠️this isnt relative to the asked question as explained prior, use labels all you want guys but know its okay if someone doesnt use labels ect ect. just explaining the jist here quickly⚠️) sometimes people use labels to put others into boxes and focus on "whats womanly" / "whats manly" --- so its difficult to have people respect your identity while "breaking the rules" (their rules) of said identity. aswell as people focusing on the physical. (body and such) rather than finding beauty in feminine and masculine features you have without that lowering your validity of said identity. this being said that usually happens in heteronormative spaces BUT it occasionally slips in into the lgbtq community.

masculinity can be femininity vice versa, its not just black and white 🫂 body hair can be both for example, even in "masculine" areas, it still can be feminine. and that should go for any body part, clothes, action, interest or anything for that matter ♥️♥️

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻

like with peter strahm from Saw (aswell as mark hoffman) thru months of writing scenarios between them and my brainrot i now see them as the most beautifully gorgeous women and that includes all their hairy appendages. that doesnt necessarily mean i headcanon them as transfem, i see their "male" bodies to be the peak of feminine beauty, as well as their masculinity. i mean that i dont "genderbend" them and turn them into cis women, and i dont add or take away from the original character, longer hair or a sudden change of clothes, or trans scars even though im trans myself and will probably end up with such scars (in a perfect world i would be seen as male with or without boobs) theyre perfect the way they are and i love them dearly oh so much 🫂🫂🫂🫂....(not saying its bad to do any of that, live your truth) i may draw them wearing dresses or lipstick time to time but thats not what defines their identity as women, who says theyre 100% only women either fuck it lets go full genderqueer!! theyll never be cis women yes, but thats not what my goal is at all. trans love everybody ♥️ transexual pride!! ♥️♥️(and even if you dont identify as trans but still arent cis ♥️♥️youre valid however you feel, whenever ⭐) But that doesnt mean i headcanon them as trans also, theyre them, and i want to see them shine, not being shadowed by a label or limited by one, that goes for Drix too. that doesnt mean im against such label, though theres really no way of explaining without it SOUNDING like i am, go fuckall with your headcanons imagination is free!!!! just labels arent for me AND THATS OKAY

theyre all my girls who are boys who are girls MUAH 💋

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havinghorns · 10 months

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I've thought a while about the anon ask who asked stuff about passing and "posing like a girl" (and you pondered after it what specificly are the things that would make you or someone not pass as a man)

I hope this does not cause you distress, but I think its something fundamental about the shape of your face and shape of your body from head to toe that in many peoples minds must clock you as a "woman", and sometimes posing and feminine things emphasize that. Some roundness in shapes and proportions that human brain cannot really unsee.

Which is fine I mean I do still see your style and how you express yourself and the way you look as very gay and masculine. If I didnt know better and just saw some picture, I'd propably think you are a really muscular gay woman. There are some pictures where Id propably say I am looking at a man.

There are some things we are born with that we cannot escape, some people who transition have more passing looks than others from the beginning. I dont know if you pass as a man in your daily life or not and will or can it change or not but what I do want to say is that either way you are really cool, dont let those things ever get in the way of your art and self expression and you being you. I know dysphoria and the pain and anxiety it causes wont just magically disappear like that but I'm still going to tell you that youre great as you are.

I guess this is hardly an "ask" but something that has lived in my brain for days.

I gotta say Anon, I'm not...entirely sure why you sent this? Like it's not hurtful but I also don't really understand the point. I feel vaguely patronized here but I'm going to just assume the best that you're...trying to help?

I mean...yea I know that LOL. I'm not delusional--I'm 5'4", I have a very round face and big legs, a high voice and a not particularly butch way of standing/walking/emoting/speaking. People just day-to-day probaby do often see me as a muscular woman, and like, if it's not someone that I need to interact with regularly, that's fine, who cares? It hurts no one (not even me, really)

When I say I'm interested in the things about me that maybe read as more masculine/feminine, it's not like...so I can change these things, or even to really identify them for myself. I just think it's interesting on like, a social level. Like at a certain point it's hilariously reductive--literally nothing else I've done has changed "ma'am" to "sir" then cutting my hair really short because that's just how society's brain is wired. But I like long hair so...it stays.

Any interest in "passing" really comes down to being vaguely masc enough that all the dudes trying so hard to keep their eyes on their own dick in the restroom don't catch enough femme vibes out of the corner of their vision to start a fight TBH.

And uh. Yeah no it hasn't stopped my self-expression or art or anything for...yeah 35 years now so I think we're good?

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scentofpines · 4 months

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"have you ever considered...that identifying out of woman/girlhood because you don't relate to the societal implications, expectations, etc... contributes to making womanhood (feel) even more restrictive?"

i thought your post on this was very interesting. ive identified as lesbian most of my life, but have been recently wondering if the identity of trans man fits me better. your post is making me wonder if i only feel this way because my true self is labelled "[gender] non conforming." im a pretty rebellious person most of the time so i am hesitant to think id be submitting to the gender binary if i transitioned like you suggest.

the thing is, i know there are gnc trans men (even though i wouldnt be one), so it does seem to me that even within transgender identities, gender expression still exists separate from sex. id just be trans because i wish i was born with a penis, not because im gnc as a woman.

but idk im really conflicted over it, and would like to hear more of your opinion since your aforementioned post caught me so off guard and further added to my self-questioning

Hi, thank you for your message and your honesty! Sorry my reply is so long but this is just such a big and complex issue and also english isn’t my first language, so I often struggle with finding the right words.

I think due to the way societies across the globe treat women, it is already very hard to be born female and not struggle with your body at some point or another and it is even harder when you are a lesbian as that is kind of seen as „doing womanhood wrong“ because a lot of the stuff that is conventionally labeled as „feminine“ or „womanly“ is centered around gaining male approval and as a lesbian this tends to either not be important at all or less so than it is for heterosexual women (i think the male gaze or whatever you wanna call it is so deeply ingrained in women from their childhood on that it can even affect lesbians in the sense that we’re trying to indirectly appeal to men even though were not even attracted to them but thats a different topic).

The wish to transition very often affects gay people in my experience (before the rise in media attention to transgenderism it was in my experience mostly gay men that transitioned and even now with females i think the percentage of gay girls/women that want to transition is waaayy higher than that of heteros) and I think the reason behind that has a lot to do with societal aversion to lesbians (and gay men too). I have heard from both trans women and detrans women that they believe their transgender journey is linked to trauma that they experienced (partially due to their homosexuality).

You wrote that you don’t think that you would submit to the gender binary by transitioning but in my opinion you would still strenghten the concept of gender itself. What is it that makes you want to transition in the first place? You said you identified as a lesbian most of your life, what changed? What made you start questioning this identity and what made you think that there was something about your body that needed to be changed?

If i understood correctly, you said that you want to transition because you wish to have a penis. There are many reasons why someone who is female would wish for that from shits-and-giggles-reasons, to practicality (like peeing standing up lol), health struggles with their female genitalia, internalized disgust about them, generalized resentment of their female body parts etc. As I dont know your personal situation I cant really have an opinion about this, however I do not believe into the narrative anymore that trans people have been „born in the wrong body“. For a long time I believed this because I too struggled a lot with my female physique, breasts, etc and could empathize with this notion. But then I realized that this would imply that our souls/brains have a sex and this is soooo sexist. This sentiment was used for thousands of years to oppress women and I hate it lol. „L’esprit n’a pas de sexe“ has already been said by Poulain de la Barre in 1673 and it holds true. No one is born in the wrong body, especially if your body is completely healthy and functional. Just like no one is born with the wrong nose or skin colour, no one is born with the wrong sex. It is the circumstances (beauty standards, racism, sexism, etc.) which people grow up and live in that make it feel as if that were the case. THESE CIRCUMSTANCES NEED TO CHANGE, NOT YOU.

I know having a female body can be so fucking hard and it can cause so much suffering and resentment but there is NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU. You say you are rebellious and I bet that‘s true but the most rebellious thing to do as a female is to radically accept your body and fuck all expectations that society places upon you because of your sex, all stereotypes, ideals, etc.

Now you say you wish you had a penis but as said above, I think there is a reason for that wish forming in your head. I dont think anyone is born hating their sex characteristics and wishing for the opposite ones. Maybe you can work on finding out that reason (maybe you already do) and resolve it. I know that body dysmorphia and dysphoria can become so horribly bad that there are cases where a transition feels like and maybe truly is the only way out (I still dont think someone is born that way, but in some cases the damage to the way you perceive your natural body is already done and so bad that no amount of therapy and inner work can repair it, at least not in a "timely" manner), but from reading your message it doesn’t seem like this is necessarily the case for you.

It is great that you keep questioning yourself on this matter and seem to really think this through btw! I’m sure you are aware of this, but a transition (obviously) has tremendous effects on your body and mind and even some changes from HRT are hardly reversible (the permanent voice changes in ftmtf detransitioners for example and way more serious complications that can and do often happen) and especially the penis that you desire is hardly achievable. Even the absolute best results of srs for ftms are neither functional in the way a natural penis is, nor do they look like one. Depending on how bad and persistent the dysphoria was before, the result may or may not be satisfying. If complications arise, and they often do, they can be catastrophical.

One advice I would like to give might sound a bit harsh but I mean it lovingly and it is that you shouldnt even care so much about yourself or rather your identity. I genuinely never think about what my identity is or what label fits it and it is very freeing. I dont shave anything, I have very short hair, I dont ever wear makeup despite my features absolutely not fitting the current beauty standards, I wear exclusively comfortably clothes that mostly arent considered very feminine, etc. etc. but this has ZERO effect on my womanhood because me being a woman just puts a word to the fact that I’m an adult human female. I havent always felt that way and it still is hard sometimes to exist so contrary to the female societal standards but what really helps me is to see other women who do the same, sharing thoughts like your wishing to have male genitalia with women who felt the same and overcame it and are happy now with their bodies. So generally speaking: Stop revolving so much around yourself. You are capable of sooo much, you are literally a witness of life, you are consciousness, you are on this earth to observe and feel and create and do and experience and not to constantly wonder about your identity. Just BE. (I’m not quite there myself yet lol it takes time).

Ok I really rambled here and I hope this is at least somewhat coherent. No matter how you decide I really wish you the best and hope whatever you choose is the right path for you! Have a nice day <3

#anon

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tomboyfriends · 2 years

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So on Wednesday, I had to explain what a “terf” was to my therapist due to the nature of the sexual harassment and suicide baiting I received. I thought she would already know because the intake forms seem very gender ideology-savvy, but she asked anyways. So I told her what the acronym stood for, and that it’s commonly used as a pejorative and that people label women as this and then often proceed to threaten and/or harm them under the guise of socially acceptable misogyny. She then tied that into when that I said in my intake form under the gender identity section where I said that I don’t have a gender identity and consider gender and gender identity to be sexist/misogynist, and asked for more information. So I explained to her my definitions, that gender are social conventions and expectations surrounding how women and men should act, what resources should be available, whether they should be subservient to the other sex and learn not to prioritize themselves, etc. I said these are misogynist because none of these are intrinsic to what being a woman or a man actually is: being an adult human female or adult human male respectively. I then mentioned I started to desist when I got into college and studied different courses focused on the human body and that all my textbooks and lectures said that being a woman or a man is a matter of biology as having the female/male phenotype, not sex stereotypes. She then said, “I see, so your definition of a woman or a man is very scientific,” and I agreed even though I thought that wording sounded funny. So she said, “So by a woman, you mean someone who has a uterus and ovaries?” and I actually disagreed. I said *most* women have a uterus and ovaries, and that those organs are the result of the female phenotype. Being of the female phenotype means that your body’s expression of your genotype results in bodily structures with evidence of being organized around the support of ova (and spermatozoa in male phenotypes). I explained that women who have had hysterectomies and oophorectomies were still female/women and that they had to be of the female phenotype for the genetic expression of uteruses/ovaries in order to get those operations in the first place. And yes, female is a phenotype: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2680992/ We brought it back to gender, and I mentioned how identities that contradict material reality are harmful. I mentioned the white man who identifies as a Filipino woman, and how it’s wrong for that man to self-identify as a woman just like it’s wrong for him to identify as Filipino. That such behavior just enforces and incentivizes stereotypes and harms women, who are targeted by misogyny and marginalized races who are targeted by racism. We also had a brief discussion of colorism after that. I said she didn’t have to agree with me and she was basically saying she was glad to hear me and that she was learning a lot from me. She said that I clearly gave this a lot of thought and that she liked that she heard that even when I was trans-ided, I was open to hearing new information and even changed an opinion once I analyzed data and decided for myself to accept the new information. I told her I love learning and hearing new information and that hearing something new doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll adopt it, but it’s good to listen to what other people at least a little bit think so that you can better address them. I used the example of hearing/reading white supremacist rhetoric won’t make someone a white supremacist, it’s dependent upon how they interpret that information. TL;DR My therapist wasn’t as gender ideology-savvy as the intake forms led me to believe, and I got to have a discussion with her about what women and men are and non-factual self-identification and how new information can sometimes change someone’s views.

#gender critical #transracial #transgender #trans #gender identity #ok xavery #we also talked about sleeping and study skills #it's crazy how much you can talk about in an hour #how did i write this much in like ten minutes LMAO

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snekdood · 2 years

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Ive heard some people say that "masculinity is the default for everyone so thats why people dont recognize you as your assigned gender" and idk i gotta disagree?? Masculinity is the default, yes- but is it the default for everyone? Id say its the default for what the default type of person is considered, which is often a cishet white man. The default for those whom have womanness pushed on to us is dresses and heels. I am subverting expectations somewhat when i dress in pants and a button up shirt, but thats old news, thats what feminists did back in the day, however, its that exact association- the association with the cis girl feminists who rebelled against the norm, thats been locked in with ppl afab. When i wear pants and a pixie cut and act more masculine- im seen as a subversive, cool, hip, feminist woman. Thats the most that im allowed. Its not the default for afab people, but its accepted at this point, and is now more or less a default clothing style for everyone however its originally designated for the "default", cis men. If it were the end all be all default, though, we wouldnt still have tradwives about, now would we? Plenty of people still think women should be in the kitchen wearing dresses with their mouths sewn shut. That is still the default many people *want* me to end up in. So now, me wearing pants is just me being "a rebellious woman". That is the two extremes to many people and they only ever allow themselves to see me on either end of each spectrum. They never allow themselves to see me creep over to the spectrum of man. Im only either a traditional woman or a woman thats "trying to be different" to them. Unless im capable of passing as a man and they dont know im trans by default and i have to reveal it to them for them to realize "women" can become men, but id think only extremely passing trans guys could ever get away with that, and even then, when they find out, theyll start eyeing you up and down and pretend to notice parts of you that actually reveal that you're afab, in spite of not seeing it there before, as if i said the magic words that suddenly *unveiled* my "disguise". And once again im locked in the role of woman for them. And once you're locked in that role for a lot of cis men, you cant get out of it, because theyve found a million excuses to not listen to anything "women" say. You minus well be mute. Ive only ever been treated like a human by cis men like this when they dont know that im a trans man and think im cis too.

No matter how hard i try to prove my masculinity, when i dress as a man people have to dismiss it as me being butch. I can never be a man but just a female version of whatever man they think im trying emulate. Im a masculine man? Then im a butch. Im a sporty man? Then im actually just a cool tough tomboy sporty girl actually. Im an expressive and artistic man and it shows in the way i dress? Then im just an eccentric alt woman whos more willing to bend my gender expression. I can never just *be* a man. I only get to be the "female" version of whatever man they think im trying to be. Im allowed to dress like a man, im even allowed to be a butch woman in plenty of cases for cis men, but im never allowed to actually identify as a man. They see it almost as me playing pretend and playing dress up when i dress masc and when i cross over that border of manhood then suddenly i crossed over into accepting my life as being a half goat demon man or whatever. Suddenly thats when things get serious and its code red and everyone has to hit the deck and start doing their best effort to get me to Not start identifying as a man and stop living as if i am and stop trying to get ppl to recognize me for who i am. Im allowed to dress however i want insofar as people can think im just playing pretend.

And bc its old news for afab people to wear pants n shit, I also sort of feel like a lot of cis people see amab people becoming feminine as more dramatic of a change than it is for someone like me to be masculine, which makes me seem like a tomboy or whatever to them. Me dressing with pants and button ups and such is seen as this ~whatever~ thing because im allowed to explore my gender expression so long as i dont try to claim to be an entirely different gender. However, since it is such a dramatic shift for amab people in cis ppls eyes, and because masculinity is seen as so prized, people will assume that if an amab person decides they want to be a woman then that means she really means it, because "no truly masculine man would do that" or whatever.

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brywrites · 3 years

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Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand. You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

Tags: @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #prison reid #prison!reid

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nat-stimmy · 3 years

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okay so i just got one more question regarding it and i'll stfu i promise, but doesnt that mean that someone who is bi/lesbian, does that mean that they are confused or figuring out what they like? or lean more towards as? because to me it doesnt really make any sense like if you identify as lesbian, how would that mean you are also bi? because you know lesbian is lesbian. it has no dudes involved. again im not being a troll im genuinely curious.

don't worry anon! this sort of thing isn't an uncommon thing to think, it's intertwined with queer history and not everyone knows about that (im not exactly an expert myself, but i know enough to give a quick explanation) lesbian used to be considered an umbrella term just like the term gay, back in the early days of the queer community the term 'bisexual' didn't actually exist! a woman who was into other women was considered a lesbian, even if she Also was into dudes or nonbinary people! unfortunately there was a group of lesbians who Did Not Like This. the term 'Gold Star Lesbian' came out of this era, basically meaning a lesbian who has never slept with a man (or someone they considered a man, regardless of that person's actual gender identity because 9 times out of 10 these women were transphobic as hell. give you 3 guesses who the modern equivalent is) this movement was known as the lesbian separatist movement, and was unfortunately largely successful: it aimed to separate the "Good" lesbians (who have never been in a relationship with a man or werent even attracted to them) from the "Bad" ones (who would propose the term 'bisexual' as a replacement label after being kicked out of the lesbian community) and then tried to change the definition of lesbian to "woman attracted to women EXCLUSIVELY" when it had started as something similar to the more modern term sapphic (which is also an umbrella term) this is why some older lesbians ID as lesbian even if they, by modern standards, Should Identify As Bi because they're attracted to non-women! anyways, history lesson over for now, that's the history of the term 'lesbian' as an umbrella term, now im gonna tackle the second point: "does that mean that they are confused or figuring out what they like?" it Can, but it's not Always The Case! just like any identity, the terms mspec lesbian / gay Can be used by someone who's unsure if they're just mspec or just gay/lesbian! it doesn't mean the identity is less valid (not that im implying you're saying that anon, i just like being thorough for anyone else reading this)

#not stim #long post #asks #wOW this got long whoops #hope u like ur history lesson

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wikihowtrans · 3 years

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the following are tips that can be used as you move toward becoming a better ally ! of course, this list cannot include all the " right " things to do or say because there is no singular " right " answer to every situation you may encounter. by becoming an ally, your actions will help change our culture, making society a better & safer place for those ( trans or not ) who do not conform to conventional gender expectations.

YOU CAN’T TELL IF SOMEONE IS TRANSGENDER JUST BY LOOKING ! transgender people don't look any certain way or come from any one background. many transgender people do not appear " visibly trans, " meaning they are not perceived to be transgender by others. it is not possible to look around a room & " see " if there are any transgender people.

DON’T MAKE ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT A TRANSGENDER PERSON’S SEXUAL ORIENTATION ! gender identity is different than sexual orientation. sexual orientation is about who we're attracted to, while gender identity is about our own personal sense of being a man or a woman, or neither of those binary genders. transgender people can self - identify as whatever they please.

IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT PRONOUNS TO USE, LISTEN FIRST, OR ASK ! if you're unsure which pronoun a person uses, listen first to the pronoun other people use when referring to them. someone who knows the person well will probably use the correct pronoun. if you ask which pronouns the person uses, start with your own ( ex : " hi, i'm mocha & i use he & they pronouns, what about you ? " ). if you accidently use the wrong pronouns, apologize quickly & correct yourself, then move on. the bigger deal you make out of the situation, the more uncomfortable it is for everyone.

DON’T ASK A TRANSGENDER PERSON WHAT THEIR “ REAL NAME “ IS ! for some transgender people, being associated with their birth name is a tremendous source of anxiety, or it is simply a part of their life they wish to leave behind. respect the name a transgender person is currently using. if you happen to know the name someone was given at birth but no longer uses, don't share it without the person's explicit permission. similarly, don't share photos of someone from before their transition, unless you have their permission.

UNDERSTAND THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN “ COMING OUT “ AS LESBIAN, GAY, OR BISEXUAL & “ COMING OUT “ AS TRANSGENDER ! " coming out " to other people as lesbian, gay, or bisexual is typically seen as revealing a truth that allows other people to know your authentic self. unfortunately, it can often feel disempowering for a transgender person to disclose to other people that they are transgender. sometimes when other people learn a person is trans, they no longer see the person as " real. " some people may choose to publicly discuss their gender history in an effort to raise awareness & make cultural change, but please don't assume that it's necessary for a transgender person to disclose that they are transgender in order to feel happy & whole.

BE CAREFUL ABOUT CONFIDENTIALITY, DISCLOSURE, & “ OUTING ” ! some transgender people feel comfortable disclosing their gender history, & some do not. do not casually share this information, speculate, or gossip about a person you know or think is transgender. not only is this an invasion of privacy, it also can have negative consequences in a world that is very intolerant of gender diversity. transgender people can lose jobs, housing, friends, or even their lives when other people find out about their gender history.

RESPECT THE TERMINOLOGY A TRANSGENDER PERSON USES TO DESCRIBE THEIR IDENTITY ! transgender people use many different terms to describe their experiences. respect the term ( transgender, transsexual, non-binary, genderqueer, etc. ) a person uses to describe themselves. if a person is not sure of which identity label fits them best, give them the time to figure it out for themselves & don't tell them which term you think they should use. you wouldn't like your identity to be defined by others, so please allow others to define themselves.

BE PATIENT WITH A PERSON WHO IS QUESTIONING OT EXPLORING THEIR GENDER IDENTITY ! a person who is questioning or exploring their gender identity may take some time to figure out what's true for them. they might use a name or pronoun & then decide at a later time to change the name or pronoun again. do your best to be respectful & use the name & pronoun requested.

UNDERSTAND THERE IS NO “ RIGHT “ OR “ WRONG “ WAY TO TRANSITION & THAT IT IS DIFFERENT FOR EVERY PERSON ! some transgender people access medical care like hormones & surgeries as part of their transition to align their bodies with their gender identity. some transgender people want their authentic gender identity to be recognized without hormones or surgery. some transgender people cannot access medical care, hormones, & / or surgeries due to a lack of financial resources or access to healthcare. a transgender person's identity is not dependent on medical procedures or their physicality. accept that if someone tells you they are transgender, they are.

DON’T ASK ABOUT A TRANSGENDER PERSON’S GENITALS, SURGICAL STATUS, OR SEX LIFE ! it would be inappropriate to ask a non-transgender, or cisgender, person about the appearance or status of their genitals. it is equally inappropriate to ask a transgender person those questions. don't ask if a transgender person has had " the surgery " or if they are " pre-op " or " post-op. " if a transgender person wants to talk to you about such matters, they will bring it up. similarly, it wouldn't be appropriate to ask a non - transgender person about how they have sex, so the same courtesy should be extended to transgender people.

AVOID BACKHANDED COMPLIEMTNDS & “ HELPFUL “ TIPS ! while you may intend to be supportive, comments like the following can be hurtful or even insulting: " i would have never known you were transgender. you look so pretty. " ; " you look just like a real woman. " ; " she's so gorgeous, i would have never guessed she was transgender. " ; " he's so hot. i'd date him even though he's transgender. " ; " you're so brave. " ; " you'd pass so much better if you wore less / more make-up, had a better wig, etc. " ; " have you considered a voice coach ? "

CHALLENGE ANTI - TRANSGENDER REMARDS OR JOKES IN PUBLIC SPACES ( ESPECIALLY LGB ) ! you may hear anti-transgender comments from anti - LGBTQ activists, but you may also hear them from LGB people. it's important to challenge anti - transgender remarks or jokes whenever they're said & no matter who says them.

SET AN INCLUSIVE TONE ! in a group setting, identify people by articles of clothing instead of using gendered language. ( ex. the person in the blue shirt, instead of the woman in the front ). in some circumstances, where not everyone is known, consider asking people to introduce themselves with their names & pronouns. start with yourself & use a serious tone that will discourage others from dismissing the activity with a joke. however, if you feel this practice will have the effect of singling out the trans people in the room or putting them on the spot, avoid it. remember, it costs cisgender people nothing to share their pronouns, but for trans people it can be a very serious decision.

LISTEN TO TRANSGENDER PEOPLE ! the best way to be an ally is to listen with an open mind to transgender people speaking for themselves. check out books, films, & trans blogs to find out more about transgender people & the issues people within the community face.

LEARN THAT TRANSGENDER PEOPLE ARE NOT NEW ! transgender people have existed across cultures & throughout time & history. what is new is the heightened awareness of gender diversity & the transgender community because of increased media attention in the last few decades. however, much of these media stories have speculated & projected about the experiences of transgender people rather than aggregating from first-hand accounts.

KNOW YOUR OWN LIMITS AS AN ALLY ! don't be afraid to admit when you don't know something. seek out the appropriate resources that will help you learn more. being an ally is a sustained & persistent pattern of action ; not an idle or stable noun.

LEARN MORE ABOUT TRANSGENDER PEOPLE & HISTORY ! in spite of the tremendous challenges that come with living in a culture that does not treat transgender people equally, transgender people have made & continue to make significant contributions to society. for a look at the history of transgender people in america, check out transgender history by susan stryker & the films from rhys ernst “ we've been around “ & “ this is me. “ you can also watch HBO's The Trans List to find out about some strong transgender advocates.

#mod: mocha #tips for allies #uwu

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werevulvi · 3 years

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I hope these show up in the right order. This kinda stuff is exactly what makes me feel lost about my transness. Like I was just trying to be nice and agreed with this person's post. I had no interest in being an asshole or arguing what bio sex, or even what butch, is. I was just declaring myself as a bio female because it felt relevant to the topic and how I relate to it. It amazes me how even the pro self-ID types are against self-ID when someone identifies in a way that doesn't suit their narrative, even when it's a trans person whose identity they deny.

They blocked me and I don't want anyone going after them, I just wanna rant. And not even about this specific post or person, but more so about trying to exist as a gender critical trans person in general. I've been thinking about that for days, weeks, perhaps months or even years already, so it's really not about this specific person. I guess it was just what triggered me to finally start writing.

I guess I feel like both most other trans people and most other gender critical people, view transness as incompatible with gender critical opinions, and like that makes me feel pulled in two opposing directions. But anyone of any ideology can be dysphoric and transition because it helps them cope. I don't think that my opinions, or my choice to hang out with radfems, means that I'm self-hating, or even that I'm going against the needs of my own trans demographic. My own trans demographic is just all too good at confusing wants with needs... generally speaking. I see sex and gender the way I do because it makes sense to me personally, and I don't even argue that it's necessarily the objective truth. I don't think there is such a thing. It's just my truth, my perception of the world.

That I can't make myself see myself as a man for real, despite my dysphoria and transition, doesn't mean that I think it's wrong to transition, or that my body is damaged by it, or that transitioning is useless. Because it's not. I love my transition and everything it has given me. I'm comfortable with my transitioned body. It deserves love, especially my love. And although I still struggle with some insecurities, I feel like I love my body. It's been... incredibly good to me. It's stayed very healthy, and even keeping up a strong immune system despite my smoking, self harm, careless sexual escapades, etc. I may still have a fraught relationship with being female, but as long as I transition, I seem to be managing it fairly well. Except then I have a more fraught relationship with society instead. Can't win, but that's life, innit?

I don't think either my transness or my political opinions are my real problem or ever was. I think it's society's constant fighting about trans people's genders, lives and choices, that makes me constantly cave in on myself. Can't handle the pressure.

It feels like it's only ever getting worse. Ten years ago my biggest concern was people not ever finding me attractive because I was turning myself into some kind of a freak, which luckily I was proven to be wrong about. Five years ago my biggest concern was nonbinary people trying to normalize asking people their pronouns, which made me fear that people would never leave me alone about my gender, unless I forced myself to be hyper-masculine, which I still worry about. Three years ago my biggest concern was having been stripped of my sex-based rights and dehumanized for how I had chosen to treat my dysphoria, which I still worry about as well, and now...

...my biggest concerns are being treated as a third gender, fetishistic predator who should be shoved away into gender neutral spaces, and I fear that one day medical transition will be taken away as an option to treat dysphoria if transness is continued to be rejected as a medical condition. My heart rate is ever increasing. Can I even realistically "just go on with my life" anymore? I feel compelled to do something, but I also feel like there isn't anything I can do. No matter how many people I try to "educate" about dysphoria and why transition is incredibly important, all the while being as humble as I can, I am seriously lacking behind the much faster spread of harmful misinformation.

Thing is, I do not blame gender critical people for spreading some of that misinformation. For example of trans women as fetishistic predators, which people apply to trans men when they still fail to understand that MtF is not the only kinda trans there is, or when we dare to be just a little bit feminine while passing as male. If anything, I blame the true sources of such harmful claims, which slowly increase my anxious heart rate, over years, turning into decades, of living as openly trans. I blame opportunistic men who pretend to be trans women for gaining access to women's spaces, be it prisons, spas, shelters, sports, what have you, when they cannot possibly be dysphoric judging by how happily they swing their dicks around women as if it's no big deal and make no attempt at transitioning, but also who cares if they are dysphoric, no one should behave that way either way. I blame the trans rights activists who say lesbians have to suck dick if it's attached to a trans woman, and those who say that gay men have to be into pussy and date trans men. I blame those who say that trans women are bio female by virtue of identifying as female, and claiming that they can get periods, by virtue of... bowel cramps?! I'd also blame those who try to change female specific language on behalf of shielding trans men from our own dysphoria, in the rare cases we'd end up getting pregnant or manage to drag our asses to the gyno office for a pap smear, which... most of us really don't, regardless of if you call us women or uterus-havers, sincerely, please stop. It makes people think trans women are trying to take over the term "woman" entirely for themselves, which of course they don't.

I could go on, but I won't, as this post is not about these things. It's more so about how estranged I feel from the people who spout these things, knowing that they think they're speaking for me and my supposed needs as a tranny. But I see no point in trying to educate them, as they won't listen any more to me than they would to a radfem, and again, I think this post in my screenshots shows just how unwilling they are to listen to me.

I guess living with my transition on constant display is what's hard, and I guess I just need to vent about that, as it's always judged one way or the other; as either me having made myself into a man, or that I'm a delusional woman who mutilated herself; and it's kinda hard to find a kind and sane middle ground, that perhaps I'm just a victim of circumstances, and trying to make the most of my own life, regardless of what the fuck I am. That social shit, on top of dealing with dysphoria, makes it really difficult to not hate myself, I guess. But I have tried to live stealth and that made it if possible even worse, as it felt like I was lying, keeping a huge secret that grew in me like a spreading virus.

What I want is to just live my life, and for neither my bio sex, nor my transition, to stop me from doing that. I want to work through the worst of my autism, enough to be able to pursue a career in some low-paying labor, blue-collar job; get a car and driver's licence, find a suitable husband to have a child and cats with; I want my own garden, an art studio; I want to build muscle to become strong and even more independent (and perhaps strong enough to carry that husband, but at least to carry myself), and so on. When I picture myself in that potential future, it is with this male-like appearance I transitioned my body into, but it is also as a mother and wife.

And thinking about all of that makes me happy, it makes me smile and feel joy, meaningfulness, hope... While thinking about arguing online with some miserable fuck, who's deadset on arguing semantics and calling me a terf, when all I wanted was to show a little bit of kindness, that "hey, I agree with you, you make a good point here, and I'm not here to fight" only to be spat right back into my face... just makes me feel sad. Whatever happened to diversity of opinion? It's gone, it became labeled as bad, and left people like me with no place to be.

There is no point in arguing with such people, or even trying not to argue. There's no winning in that, there's no reward, no accomplishment. It's better to walk away.

I know I just have to get over this, this inner conflict of going against my transness with my gender critical opinions, and that I'm going against my womanhood with my transition - and be stronger than the political climate that's pulling me into pieces. But if it's peace that I want... I can just forget about it. There's no road there. But I have trouble letting go of that simple dream. The internet is constantly manipulating me into thinking I have an exciting social life, when in fact it's non-existent, and the lie is destructive. With internet vs real life, I'm living a double life. One of those lives has a future, the other one does not.

I'm glad I made this rant. It actually made me feel better, and reminded me that it's still worth it. Being trans, moving forward, focusing on what is good and what can become good in life. And it reminded me that the internet is merely an imitation of life, a substitute for human connection, and can... as with much else, be both good and bad.

#discourse #venting #tired of being pulled in opposing directions #because im not the right kinda trans #or the right kinda feminist #i have to live with myself and i dont know how #focusing back on what actually matters in life #just thoughts #gender politics #ok to rb

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bnhasimpgirltm · 4 years

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It’s Enough (Dabi x Reader)

Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Warnings: a little bit of blood, kind of moves a little slow?, mild swearing

Genre: Angst (but not really)

Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 3452

A/N: Just another fic to fuel my newfound Dabi writing addiction. This idea has been nagging me for a week and a half so I’m glad I got the chance to write it. This is also my first new fic since all of the reposts! Reader’s quirk is that they can redirect and contain energy.

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

The air around Japan’s most protected weapon development facility is still except for the occasional bird flying by. Most of the employees have gone home with the exception of a few night stragglers and the usual security team.

The perfect time for a certain team of villains to strike.

“Make way for the League of Villains!” Toga cackles, coming through Kurogiri’s warp gate, Dabi and Shigaraki following behind.

“Be quiet, we don’t have time for your games,” Shigaraki hisses, “Go and do your job.”

“Why can’t Dabi just burn the door? It would be faster and easier,” whines Toga, twirling her knife between her fingers.

“Did you not hear the mission briefing? We need to be discreet,” Kurogiri scoffs.

“You should have just opened a gate inside the building, then we could just skip this entire ‘breaking in’ stuff.” Looking at the horizon, Toga sticks the tip of her knife into the trunk of the closest tree.

“There are cameras in that building. If I were to create a gate inside the room with the weapon, authorities would automatically know that we stole it,” Kurogiri explains. “Plus, (y/n) works here on Saturday, and we promised Dabi that we wouldn’t impede on their relationship.”

“(Y/n)’s shift is from 8AM to 4PM,” Dabi peeks over at Kurogiri’s watch. “It’s 9PM.”

“We still have to be discreet,” Kurogiri swats Toga’s knife away from his face. “Shoudn’t you be inside already, assuming the identity of one of the employees?”

“Say no more,” Toga takes a moment and looks around the corner, spotting a tall, brown-haired man walking into the parking lot. “Perfect.”

Walking up to the man, Toga talks up the man and asks him to help her find her way to her car.

“I’ve never seen you around here,” he says. “Are you a newbie?”

“Well, yes, I am new,” Tapping her chin, Toga mock thinks. “I mean, once I’m done here no one will know.”

“Excuse me?” The man glares at her, suspicious. “I’m going to need you to identify yourself.”

“I’m you!” Toga giggles like a little girl.

“This isn’t a jo-” he’s cut off by Toga pulling him down to her height and choking him.

The League hears the man’s muffled cries for help as he falls unconscious.

“Just a little bit and we’re good,” says Toga to the rest of the League members hiding on the other side of the corner.

Pricking the man’s finger, she licks the blood off the knife and transforms.

Giddy from transforiming, Toga smiles and laughs. “Wow, I’m so tall.” She looks at the badge. Reading it, she identifies herself, “Daichi, interesting name.”

Ignoring her, Shigaraki speaks in a gravelly voice.“There should be a mercenary here right now, I already paid,” Shigaraki looks around.

“I’m right here,” a small voice replies. “Name is Mira, last name Ju, and you only have a couple more hours before your time is up.”

“What’s her quirk?” Dabi asks.

“She’s going to be useful. Her quirk allows her to change the physical appearance of anything within a certain distance of her,” Kurogiri explains.

“What are we waiting for then?” Dabi slaps his hand on the closest tree. “We don’t have all night.”

“Say no more,” Ju closes her eyes and the people who were the League of Villains transform into normal looking citizens.

“How far can we wander while maintaining the disguises?” Kurogiri asks.

“For the amount of time we have to keep these disguises up?” Ju pauses and thinks. “To be safe, keep it at six feet or less.”

“How are all of us going to get in there standing that close?” Dabi scoffs and starts to walk towards the side entrance. “That’s shady.”

“Dabi, we’re not all going in,” Shigaraki explains.

“Well who then?” Dabi impatiently asks.

“We need Toga, she’ll make us look less suspicious,” Kurogiri cuts in. “Ju is a must, obviously, and so am I. Without me, you have no chance of escape after the facility locks down.”

Dabi narrows his eyes and lets an annoyed noise escape from his throat. “Your point?”

“We can only take one more person,” Kurogiri lets his eyes linger over every member of the League. “We can take Dabi. His quirk will be useful if we need to fight.”

“Step right up, Dabi, was it?” Dabi begins to walk towards the side entrance with Ju, Toga, and Kurogiri following.

Using the man’s ID, Toga scans it on the door. The door makes a beep sound.

“Welcome, Daichi Sawamura,” the electronic pad responds.

“Come on in everyone,” Toga slips her gloves over her hands and opens the door.

Toga, Dabi, Ju, and Kurogiri step into the facility, waiting for alarms to sound.

“This place looks so dead,” Toga, looking like Daichi Sawamura from the parking lot, says with disgust. “Who could work here?”

“We don’t have to appreciate this place, we just have to steal from it,” Kurogiri reminds. After walking halfway down the hallway, he opens another door. The group of villains sneak into the out-of-use closet.

“We are going to get caught in here,” Toga reasons. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

“It’s 9:30, Toga,” Kurogiri says back. “Everyone has gone home, or at least we hope.”

“Quiet, Toga, start being useful,” Dabi points at the closet door. “Distract the people who are still here.”

Toga steps out, and as if on cue, a woman in a knee length, sleek, black pencil skirt rounds the corner, seeing Toga just as Toga begins to walk away from the closet.

“Daichi-san!” She calls. “What are you still doing here? I saw you leave a while ago.”

Lying smoothly, Toga smiles at the woman. “I forgot my water bottle.”

“I can go get it if you want,” she turns back. “Where did you leave it?”

“That’s okay,” Toga takes a glance at the woman’s ID badge, “Dama-san, I can get it myself.”

“It’s actually not a problem, just tell me where you put it,” Dama pushes further.

“I actually don’t remember where I put it, I’m going to look,” Toga refines her lie.

“Oh, okay, I’ll let you go look.” She pauses. “Do you need an ID to get into any of the offices? I heard some of the electronic door locks are misreading ID cards and not letting some people in.”

What a perfect opportunity! Toga thinks. “Thank you, that would be appreciated.”

“Here you go,” the severe-looking woman, Dama-san, hands her ID to Toga. “I must get going now, my family is waiting for me.”

“Have a nice night,” Toga walks around the corner and looks behind her as the woman opens the side door. Backtracking, Toga turns, and opens the closet door.

“This is better than we could have hoped! She gave me her ID!” Toga squeals.

“Who is that woman?” Ju questions.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Kurogiri says. “Her ID will get us where we need to be.”

“Lets go before anyone else asks who we are,” Dabi recalls what Shigaraki explained during the briefing. “Two lefts and a right, then open the second door to your left,” he repeats to himself.

After following the directions, the small group arrives at a large metal door.

“Can you melt it, Dabi?” Toga asks.

“Absolutely not!” Kurogiri stops Dabi by shooting his arm between the door and Dabi. “We have sent this entire mission attempting to be discreet.”

“Try the guy’s ID first,” Ju suggests.

Toga lift’s Daichi’s ID to the scanner. After she lifts it, the scanner flashes red.

“Unauthorized Employee, please try again.”

Toga pockets Daichi’s ID, then, holding Dama’s ID up, the group hopes for the best.

“Welcome, Dr. Dama Kana.”

Toga smiles and puts her gloves on again.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Not at all, and suspiciously so,” Kurogiri looks around, ignoring the small model projects on the tables, then, his eyes land on a large case resting flush to the wall.

“Here it is.” Kurogiri picks the case up and inspects it. “A weapon created with a massive amount of energy. The person working on this must have a quirk that allows them to work with it and not be injured.”

No more than five second later, the door opens.

“Dr. Dama?” The security guard asks, looking at a handheld screen “What are you doing here so late?” Looking up, he realizes, “You’re not Dr. Dama.”

“I’m Daichi, Dama-san gave me her ID, so I could look for my water bottle,” Toga hands the security guard Dama Kana’s ID.

“I need your ID. That goes for all of you.” the guard motions for everyone to drop their IDs in his hand.

“We’re not from around here,” Ju steps forward.

“What do you mean?” The guard asks.

Ju lunges forward, releasing her quirk’s hold on the disguises, and the guard reaches for his taser. Three vials crash to the floor and boots thunder down the hallway, rapidly coming closer.

“Take the weapon Kurogiri!” Dabi commands. “Open the gate, we’ll find a way out!”

Kurogiri opens his warp gate and disappears with the weapon. As soon as it appears, it’s gone, leaving Dabi, Ju, and Toga to deal with the incoming barrage of security guards.

“Please remain still while we search you.”

“I did not sign up for this,” Ju complains.

Toga frowns, “Me neither.” Then smiles. “But you know what’s always fun?”

“Miss, I’m going to need to see either your company or official Japan ID,” the man demands.

“No,” Toga defies.

“We are going to have to detain you and your accomplices if you resist any further,” he states sternly.

“Detain this!” Toga yells, “Dabi!”

Dabi lets out a trail of fire and the guards all jump back.

“Use any force necessary!” The first one yells. “Blue fire, you must be part of the League.”

“You would be right,” Dabi says without thinking, then smirks and shoots another pillar of fire from his arm.

His assailant jumps back, giving Dabi enough room to pull the door open.

“Stop the flame guy!” Someone orders. “Call the lockdown! Close the exits!”

“Go Dabi, go!” Toga yells.

Dabi dashes out of the lab and slams the door. A moment later, a series of locks click into place, locking Toga, Ju, and the security team in the lab.

“Lockdown Initiated,” the electronic lock’s small screen turns red.

Stopping to catch his breath, he scans the hall for a potential exit.

“Dabi?”

“(Y/N)?” He chokes out.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, “How did you know I was here?”

Dabi can’t hide the shock on his face. “You’re supposed to be at home, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I was here doing extra work, and the lockdown happened,” worriedly, you ask, “And how did you even get into the building?”

Dabi listens carefully to the noise coming from the floor above you two.

More security personnel.

“Come on,” Dabi grabs your hand and pulls you towards the glass window. “We’re on the first floor.”

“Dabi, stop, what are you doing?” You yell.

“Just break the damn window!” Becoming more frusturated, Dabi yells back. “Break it!”

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me what is happening!” You stubbornly fold your arms over your chest and glare at Dabi.

“Let (L/n)-san go, and come willingly. Then maybe we’ll think about being nice,” A voice calls from the middle of the hall, coming closer.

“Dabi, tell me what’s happening right now!” You demand.

He had been so careful. Keeping his name and appearance out of the news, making sure to destroy photographic evidence of him, and only using his quirk when he was sure no one was recording. How that security guard from earlier knew what his quirk and affiliations were was beyond him.

“Dabi!” You dig your nails into his hand to get his attention. “Explain!”

He wanted to tell you that this was a big misunderstanding. A very, very, very, big misunderstanding, but what slipped out was actually the exact opposite.

“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out earlier,” he drones. “Blue fire is my hint, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say.”

“I’m still not understanding.”

“Step away from (L/n)-san!” The voice says again.

“Can you be quiet?” Dabi angrily asks. Impulsively, he activates his quirk. “This will shut you up.”

Before she can react, Dabi sends a long blue flame in the woman’s direction, and another creating a cerulean wall blocking the path of everyone else.

“Where’s the fire extinguisher?” Someone shrills.

“What the hell?” You cry out, stepping away from Dabi and backing into the window. “Dabi! You just set a person on fire.”

Stoically, Dabi replies, “It wouldn’t be the first,”

“How many people have you burned?” You ask, “If there’s a problem, you could talk to me!”

Dabi scoffs. “It’s not a problem. Problems have to have solutions, and this doesn’t have a solution. Do you think the League of Villains forced me to join them? Do you think the League of Villains forces me to use my quirk to hurt people? ” As if what he said wasn’t already bad enough, Dabi continued. “Also, if you were wondering how many people I’ve burned, I can’t tell you, because I don’t keep count.”

“Tell me you’re joking, right now,” you take two steps and poke him in the chest. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“After a certain amount, the number doesn’t matter anymore.”

Crestfallen, you bite your buttom lip to contain the tears. “You’re not joking.”

“You’ll never be one of them,” he takes your hands and squeezes them. “I could never hurt you.”

“Not me, but what about everyone else?” You wailed. “How many people will die until you decide that you can’t do it anymore? Until you tell yourself that you’ve had enough?”

“I don’t know,” Dabi’s face becomes stoic again, “but you won’t be around to see.”

“Wait!” You scream.

Dabi lets go of your hands and steps back towards the window. You’re about to grab his arm to stop him, but he pushes you back and ignites a wall of fire to keep you from going after him. You hear a shattering and heavy footsteps quickly fading.

Before you can even blink the tears away, he’s gone, and the only thing that even suggests that there was a fire is the white foam that coats the hallway.

“(L/n)-san, I’m going to need you to come with me.”

The first thing Dabi thought when he stopped running was that he would never be able to see you again.

“It’s for (y/n)’s protection,” he told himself repeatedly.

But no matter how many times he told himself, he still didn’t want to leave you behind.

“It’s for (y/n)’s protection,” Dabi says once more.

Nearing the League’s hideout, Dabi performed the knock that Shigaraki had demanded be created for security purposes.

“We’re closed for renovations,” Dabi hears from behind the door. “If you want to go to a bar, there are plenty of other ones in this city.”

Another security precaution, of course. You could never be too safe.

“I want a Whiskey Sour, 75 degrees room temperature to start, with six ice cubes after, and an extra cherry,” Dabi recits.

The door opens, revealing Kurogiri.

“I was waiting. Where are Toga and Ju?” Kurogiri asks.

“I don’t know,” Dabi admits. “I left them in the lab.”

If he could, Kurogiri would have pursed his lips. “That is a matter to worry about later. We have the weapon, that’s what’s important.”

“Toga and Ju aren’t the only people that I left behind,” Dabi snaps.

“What?” Kurogiri asks.

“Nothing.”

After staying at the police department for six hours and being questioned for three, you were finally allowed to leave. It was so early in the morning that you didn’t even bother going back home.

You had a different destination in mind.

You got into your car and began to drive, not even feeling tired after the events of the night before.

Finally, you arrived at your destination, Hawks’ Hero Agency. You had graduated a couple of years before him, and while he went and formed an agency after he graduated, you had decided to not become a hero, instead starting a new project. The project that was stolen from the lab that you worked in. While you were a third year, you had met Takami a couple of times, but he didn’t go to UA.

Strolling into the agency, you addressed the receptionist. “I need to talk to Hawks.”

“You need an appointment, come back some other time,” he replied without looking up.

“No, I need to see him now, it’s important,” you complained.

“I told you to come back later!” He repeats.

“Let them come in, I know them,” you hear above you.

Looking up, you spot Hawks sitting on a ledge.

“Hey Takami,” you greet.

“How has it been (y/n)? Are you finally taking up my offer on joining my agency?” He asks.

“Actually, yes, that’s exactly why I’m here,” you confirm.

“Let's talk in my office.”

Hawks jumps from the ledge and motions for you to follow him. You enter a room through double doors, and he sits down at a mahogany desk.

“I’d also like to request to be put on the League of Villains investigation,” you state clearly.

“Interesting,” Hawks brandishes a Hawks themed pencil and a piece of paper. “I’m pulling up your resume from the UA alumni website, just standard protocall.”

You sit quietly until he speaks again.

“Graduated from UA, excellent graduating test scores, top of your class, next biggest hero, went to go work on something else,” he reads off. “What did you go to work on anyways?”

“I’m not authorized to say,” you reply sternly.

“Fair enough,” Hawks looks back at his computer.

“Can you get me on the investigation of the League?” You ask again.

“Well, I am the boss around here, so I guess so,” he smiles at you. “You’d have to get your license again though, and you also need to pick a hero name.”

“Veritas,” you say, already knowing.

“What?” Hawks says. “Can you repeat that?”

“Veritas, it means truth, and that’s what lights are for right? Illuminating the truth,” you explain.

“Veritas,” Hawks repeats and clicks his tongue. “I like it. Welcome to my agency, Veritas.”

You and Hawks shake hands, then, you leave.

Before you get into your car, you turn on your phone and open your messages app.

Should I do it? You ask yourself.

Quickly typing out a message, your fingers glide over the keyboard. Before you can think twice, you send the message.

To: Dabi

Be ready, I’m coming for you.

You didn’t expect him to respond, he rarely ever did, but this time seemed to be one of the rare exceptions. You felt your phone ping in your hand, and a new message appeared at the top of your screen.

From: Unknown

I’m always ready.

You grin at the message.

“Alright then,” you say out loud, knowing exactly who it was. You opened the door of your car and got in, starting the ignition, then pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

You had never thought about becoming a hero after UA, obviously starting a new project after graduation, but you would get your closure with Dabi.

Whether it was good or bad would be up to fate.

On the other side of the city, Dabi held his burner phone, connected to a new number. He had the League tracking the messages coming to his old number, and even though he was usually not able to respond, he made an exception.

Things could be worse, he supposed. He still had you, and was better off than Toga and Ju, at least. Things could actually be a lot worse. He might be running for his whole life, but at least he had something to keep him tethered to the ground.

Shigaraki, Toga, Kurogiri. They didn’t have anyone but the League. They would slowly decend into insanity as time passed, and chances were that he would too if he kept going the way he was.

Except unlike the others, he had control over whether that happened.

Dabi tapped on your name in his phone and wrote another message. It was simple, and definitely not long, but it got the point across.

To: (Y/N)

It won’t be long. I’ll see you soon.

He hit send, then turned his phone off.

There and then, Dabi decided what he would do next.

Maybe it was time to stop running.

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the-scottish-costume-guy · 4 years

Text

JK Rowling, transphobia and a hopefully helpful post.

A few days ago I posted on my Facebook (yes I have one sue me) debunking some of the things Rowling has been saying on twitter. Since she made a statement I felt the need to make another one... but this time Im sharing it here. Please note this is long, it is fairly opinionated in places but her statements have felt so insidious I want to share something in depth. If you are cis I implore you to read, but I understand this is long and a lot of people wont want to. No judgement.

Jk Rowling’s latest statement is a mess of valid concerns and fear mongering. At this point there can be no claim she doesn’t know what shes talking about - she herself has said shes been researching this for years. She throws in token acknowledgements to “real” trans people while framing the rest of her statements as concern for confused teens.So first things first - and something that might not be popular with some of my trans friends. I agree that teenagers should not be able to medically transition. It is a choice that should be made when the brain is fully mature. Hormone blockers are something I trust - and that are reversible. I have seen enough detransitioned people hurting to feel like we do need to be careful - especially with children who are trying to find themselves. I dont know about other people but during my teens I was coming to the crushing realisation that I wasn’t special. I was learning that no matter how well I painted someone else did it better, no matter how badly I hurt someone had it worse - I was learning about the wonderful mediocrity of life, and having anything that made me stand out gave a brief reprieve from learning to be okay with all these things. For me to be fair it was dying my hair outrageous colours and dressing in black leather during 30 degree summer heat - but its still something we cant forget. I KNOW a lot of kids claiming to be trans are - and I dont want to keep that from them, however I dont want to cause harm to the kids that are wrong. Continuing on, I’d like to address her comments about TERFS. Terfs are Self Described Trans-exclusionary-radical-feminists and the term does get thrown around a little too liberally at times. Terf is not and never will be a slur. No more than “White” is. It is about a group of people who have taken it open themselves to segregate another group - and calling that what it is, is not a crime. The reason Terf and transphobe have become synonomic is because the ‘radical feminists’ that subscribe to this have lost focus on nearly all other issues of feminism and sit squarely on “dropping the T” from the lgbt community and “keeping men out of womens bathrooms.” Terfs are overwhelmingly women - this is sadly simply a fact. Terfs are reviled because of how much it feels like a betrayal to the community. A group that fights for rights - except ours. A group that wants equality - except for us. Its different to the conservatives who hate us all equally - with Terfs we are singled out. Terfs are not, as Rowling claims, inclusionary to Trans-men. I’ve been met with a combination of pity, loathing, mockery and revulsion by people within this group. I’ve been told that I shouldn’t let homophobia push me into transitioning - only for all correspondence to abruptly drop when I mention Im marrying another man. I’ve been told my old body was beautiful - only for stunned silence when I agree. I was beautiful - I was curvy, I was a dancer and had a body to match - but I wasn’t Me. When their usual arguments against me fail - I’m met with hate. Im called anti-woman, traitor, homophobic. I even have some such comments saved on my blog. I have yet to meet a Terf who was pro-trans-man. Rowling claims that had she had the ability, as a confused teen, she may have sought to transition. I hate to tell her but she did have the ability and trans people didn’t pop into existence in the twenty-first century. I’m actually looking to do my dissertation topic in my final year on lgbt presentation throughout history - and in my overeager way I’ve already started researching. James Barry has been becoming a common name for years - a transgender surgeon who died in 1865. If Barry was able to at least socially transition from 1790 to 1860, I am fairly sure Rowling could have in 1980 - over a century later. Rowling also claims that groups of friends in schools all suddenly identify as trans at the same time. Speaking from my school experience - the queer kids group together. We seek out others like us, and we take strength from each others bravery to come out - often around the same time. We almost get a rush of resolve when one of our group musters the courage and strength, and some of us use that rush to bite the bullet ourselves. Its one of the beautiful ways the lgbt community is here for one another - and the influx of people identifying as trans is partially a factor of more people knowing the name of their feelings. Survivor bias will ignore the trans people through history without the knowledge or means to transition - and will claim they were never trans at all. Her initial statements about charities worry me in particular. As I said last time - we know sex is real, we just dont really like to be defined by it. She is worried that we’re going to “rebrand medicine” and ignores that medications for years have had warnings in their leaflets about “If you are or become pregnant” regardless of if the person receiving it has a dick or a vagina. We dont advocate for ignoring the differences in how people respond to heart attacks - and I for one would like research to be done on how hormones effect that. I dont actually know if I would respond more like a cis gender woman or a cis gender man if I were to have a heart attack or a stroke. But where possible we do want to change the language around some of these things. I have had a double mastectomy, but some Cis-men have these as well. This is not a gendered term. Why should a period be called anything else? Why call it a “womens problem.” I and Im sure many other trans people, support the research into how different medical and mental issues affect different sexes. I just think that should be extended further - and we know it should, as some medical issues affect people of different ethnicities in different ways and we don’t know how. I am truly sorry that Rowling has experienced abuse and assault of any nature. I am truly sorry that she has felt unsafe. But her feelings do not invalidate others experiences. Of the trans people I know, a saddening number have been assaulted, have been abused and in particular have experienced these things domestically. There is much work to be done on this in the UK. There are nearly no mens shelters for sufferers of violence to my knowledge. I, a trans man who have experienced some of these things in my teen years, would Not want to be around cisgender women even if I could be. A cis woman was responsible for much of the pain I personally suffered - and in fact one of the acts of violence she carried out against me was directly after I came out as trans to her. Trans women, even if they could go to male shelters, should not have to be surrounded by a group that put them in danger - in a place that is detrimental to them physically and mentally and is frankly degrading. The belief that allowing trans women into shelters for those escaping abuse is dangerous is sad. To be so afraid is deserving of pity. To let fear blind you to the suffering of others - to think its better that a trans woman face homelessness or a return to an abusive household because you personally would sleep better at night is the kind of passive evil we should be aware of in this day and age. It comes from choosing to see the word “trans” before “person.” Its from choosing to see a persons genitals before their humanity. Trans people are not dangerous - and cause no greater risk than any other demographic. Her claims that she can empathise with this fear are empty. A gender recognition certificate is not a ticket into womens bathrooms. Funnily enough you dont actually require a piece of paper to go almost anywhere. I do not have a gender recognition certificate and use male bathrooms, can enter male spaces as I please. All a gender recognition certificate does is change the letter on your birth certificate. It doesn’t even affect other forms of identification - my passport, my student id, my drivers license all already say male. I am not sure why so many people have chosen this as their hill to die on because its the least relevant thing to them on the planet. How often have any of you seen another persons birth certificate? Rowling says she and other ‘gender critical’ (a terf dogwhistle) people are concerned for trans youth. Well… she can take her condescending concern and direct it to matters that are relevant to her. Trans people want to be left alone. Its a simple request, and yet people endlessly seem to trip over the dirt level bar.

#transgender #jk rowling #terf #transphobia #lgbt #uk politics #I'm prob gonna get shit for this arent I

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starlocked01 · 4 years

Text

And at Last I See the Light

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: This is the story of how I died. I have been told it's a story worth telling, but I fail to see how anyone benefits from my death. Luckily, this story is not about me, but rather the most remarkable man I ever had the distinction of meeting. Content Warning: Major Character Death, Cussing, Kissing, Crying, Panic and Anxiety

Day 21 Analogical- (Combined AUs) You see the world in black and white until you first touch your soulmate, Everyone is born with a gift or power that is nullified in the immediate presence of your soulmate, You have until midnight of your 26th birthday to find and identify your soulmate or else you both die.

This is the story of how I died. I have been told it's a story worth telling, but I fail to see how anyone benefits from my death. Luckily, this story is not about me, but rather the most remarkable man I ever had the distinction of meeting.

I should explain. This man was my soulmate in life and his gift was one of renewal. Flowers drooping in a vase would spring up at his touch. People nearing death found their ailments eased a while longer so they could say goodbyes. Wounds healed quicker for him and the weary found new strength at his encouragement. It was a gift that brought more beauty to the world; one I failed to appreciate.

Perhaps you will not repeat my mistakes.

Virgil yawned and stretched awake. The bright grey of the morning dawn made him squint in annoyance as he rolled out of bed and thudded to the floor. He could dream in color and frankly preferred dreams to the living world.

Today especially Virgil would have preferred to roll over back asleep. Today marked the beginning of the end as most people saw it.

Virgil had one year left to find his soulmate or they both would die.

That was of course unless his soulmate was older and had less than a year of their own. Frankly, Virgil thought the universe had a rather twisted sense of humor. It withheld color and life from those who most needed a reason to push forward each day. And gave them a freaking time limit to fall in line.

Soulmates were bullshit.

He'd already been touched by every kid at school and from the surrounding districts. Normally, when kids graduated high school and hadn't found their soulmates, they'd go to college to find a wider selection of people their age to try and match with, but Virgil had decided against college. He'd been called crazy but frankly, he didn't much care.

Virgil shrugged on what appeared to him as a black hoodie with drab grey patches and ran his fingers through his hair. His bangs fell right back in his face as he headed down the stairs. He brushed his hand through the vase of flowers his grandmother constantly forgot to water and watched as petals and leaves in various shades of grey perked up, ready for another day of neglect.

For his birthday, the atmosphere in the kitchen sure felt like his funeral.

"Good morning, Nana," Virgil murmured, grabbing the box of cereal from the table and reaching in to grab a handful.

"Get out," she spat at him, "either find your soulmate or die in obscurity so I can pretend you found a lovely woman and settled down in the country."

"Love you too, Nana," Virgil sighed and grabbed his messenger bag.

"Why are you the only one who doesn't want to be happy?" she asked, voice choked with sadness.

"I don't need a soulmate to be a complete person. If I find someone I find someone. If not, oh well. I've had friends and family I was happy with and soulmates tore them away from me. It's a broken system and if I die being myself, I'll come to haunt you until you join me in the afterlife," Virgil smiled softly and kissed her on the cheek.

She laughed dryly, "you don't scare me, little verbena. Please, try to find them. I love you." Virgil saluted as he left the apartment for work.

The great thing about working in the library was the quiet shuffle of people reverently browsing through the shelves piled high with more words than they could possibly read. Virgil enjoyed the calm and helping people find what books they were looking for. Except when the only fact they knew about the book was the color of the cover. When those people asked he would flash his grey eyes at them and smile sweetly before saying they all looked the same to him. Most people would act horrified and apologize profusely. Some would get angry and demand assistance he couldn't provide. Roman usually stepped in at that point, and despite having met Janus a year ago, rarely was able to locate books by color. At the very least he always offered Virgil sympathy when the guest walked away.

"You just have to go where the young people are, Virgil. They come to the city looking for soulmates, you need to spend more time with people your age. I'm sure your soulmate is out there looking for you!" Roman grinned, "Jan and I go to this great bar-"

"Let me stop you there, Princey," Virgil chuckled, "I don't do bars or crowds. Even going with you two sounds like a nightmare. I'm not going to subject myself to that for what? Some strangers to touch me and change the whole world to color? Lame," Virgil rolled his eyes. They had this conversation once a week.

"Um, excuse me. I need assistance logging on to your computer system. If I need to register for a card to do so I would like the forms to start that process," Virgil swiveled in his seat towards the man's voice and lost his own.

He looked like a man out of an old black and white film, (to Virgil every film was black and white, but Nana insisted there was a difference when pictures changed to color) his hair was slicked back and face was punctuated by thin black glasses frames that accentuated the stranger's cheeks and nose. His silhouette was sleekly defined in a black polo and grey jeans, with a slightly more saturated grey tie. Virgil felt as though the man's presence had taken his breath away.

"Can you help me?" the man cleared his throat and Virgil snapped back to present.

"Sorry, of course, sir. Do you have a form of identification to apply for a library card? The card is required to access the computers, unfortunately," Virgil rattled off the spiel from memory while pulling out the form and a new card. The stranger handed him his driver's license.

The first thing he noticed was that it was an out of state ID. The second was the birthdate, just a month before his. The third was the man's name.

"Thank you, Logan. If you would just fill out this form, I just need to make a copy for our records."

"Certainly, thank you- what's your name?"

"His name is Virgil and he's single," Roman slid in with a wink at Logan. Virgil quickly turned and walked to the photocopier, heat rising in his cheeks. He could just hear the man's reply.

"Thanks? I don't really do relationships. Do you have a pen?"

Virgil took several deep breaths. He'd had crushes like this before. It would go away as he learned more about this Logan. He grabbed the copy paper and the ID and returned to the front desk.

"Here's your ID back," he traded Logan the ID for the paperwork and scanned through it quickly, "looks like you forgot to put down a phone number, what was that?" Virgil realized a second too late how that would sound to literally anyone as Roman snickered at him, but there was a blank space on the form.

Logan looked incredibly confused, "no, that's- I couldn't have forgotten. The number is- wait," he pulled a cellphone out of his back and read the number off to Virgil who jotted it down in the correct space.

"You're looking kinda pale there, Logan, do you need to sit down?" Roman looked concerned and even Virgil could see what he was talking about.

Logan shook his head, "I never- ever- forget anything. Ever."

"There's a first time for everything, I guess," Virgil shrugged and slid the library card across the desk.

"You don't understand, my gift is perfect recall. A permanent eidetic memory. I don't forget. I should know my own phone number like I know the digits of pi."

"Nerd!" Roman coughed to hide his laughing and both Logan and Virgil glared at him.

"That is pretty strange.. I hope it gets fixed for you soon? Anyway, you're all set, Logan. Let me know if you need anything else," Virgil smiled.

"Thank you-" Logan snapped his fingers a few times before giving up trying to remember, head hung in defeat.

"Virgil," Virgil supplied softly.

"Thank you, Virgil. It was nice meeting you two," Logan walked away from the desk and straight toward the nearest open monitor.

"You better ask him out or I'm breaking up with Janus for a chance at that," Roman said in a low voice to Virgil.

"No, you won't. He's out of both of our leagues anyway," Virgil smirked at his coworker's offended gasp and returned to checking in returned books.

"His tie was blue, by the way," Roman winked and turned to find another patron who needed help.

Logan came back to the library every day except the holidays for the next few weeks and always made a point of asking Virgil when he had questions or needed help. Roman insisted it was mutual pining but Virgil held fast to the comment that Logan doesn't do relationships. Unless he heard otherwise from Logan himself, Virgil refused to imagine a relationship was possible.

He was completely blindsided when Logan asked if he would like to hang out after his shift.

"I'm sorry, come again?"

"I would like to spend time with you when you are not otherwise preoccupied with your duties. Is that not acceptable?" Logan was always so direct. Virgil felt his heart flutter just a bit, nowhere near as intense as it had the day they met.

"I mean yeah that would be cool," Virgil smirked.

"So do you do bars or-?" Logan looked put off even making the suggestion.

"I know a cafe that has decent decaf; if you'd like we can walk there from here. I'm off at 6," Virgil watched as Logan nodded decisively.

"Excellent, I look forward to it," Logan grinned and Virgil found himself grinning back.

Roman slowly inched closer in his rolling chair, eyes wide with excitement and jaw dropped in disbelief, "Virge, do you have a date after work?"

"No! We're just hanging out," Virgil turned to ignore Roman.

"'Hanging Out' is code for a date. Maybe he's your soulmate! Brush his hand or something and find out!" Roman was bouncing in his chair now.

"No! That's so rude! Did you do that to Janus? Don't answer that- I bet you did," Virgil rolled his eyes, "it's not a date to the extent of my knowledge."

"Oh my god, you're mirroring him. You like him so much! Virgil, this could be it!" Virgil glared at Roman and shushed him in true librarian fashion before standing to grab the cart and collect used books from the tables.

Virgil picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder as he turned to leave but was surprised to see Logan waiting for him by the door. He had been certain Logan would have either forgotten or changed his mind and left by now.

Roman gave Virgil a huge cheesy grin and a thumbs up, "good luck on your date!" his whisper could probably have been heard in Russia.

Virgil felt the heat rising in his cheeks and shrugged his hoodie on tighter over his shoulders, waving off Roman and walking over to join Logan by the door.

"Hey," he said awkwardly.

"Are you ready? If you need more time-" Logan started.

"I'm fine. Let's get out of here before Roman starts taking pictures," Virgil turned to leave, taking purposeful steps to the door and flipping Roman off behind his back. Logan followed briskly. Virgil led him to his favorite coffee shop, quiet on the walk there.

The question was burning in his mind though. Was this supposed to be a romantic date? Or worse a soulmate test. Virgil had gathered that Logan was rather frank, but he really didn't know the man at all.

Both of them reached to grab the door to the shop at the same time. Virgil snapped his hand back.

"Please, allow me," Logan opened the door and ushered Virgil inside. Virgil wanted to shrink until he was invisible. He tried a quick controlled breathing exercise to calm his nerves. They each ordered and Logan excused himself.

"Virgil! Come help me out over here!" the owner, Mr. Dolenz, looked rather put out by a droopy speckled grey potted fern by the front door.

"Oh no, not Tabitha," Virgil walked over, surveying the damage to the plant. Each leaf he fingered grew stronger and healthier until the whole fern was practically an inch taller. Virgil smiled as Mr. Dolenz thanked him profusely, "maybe keep an eye out to make sure people aren't dumping drinks on her. That could really mess with the soil pH."

"You're a miracle worker! You and your boyfriend's drinks are on me," the owner clasped Virgil hard on the back. He couldn't respond before the man was already bustling back towards the kitchen. Virgil turned to see that Logan had apparently returned in time to hear just enough. It was difficult to tell, but Virgil thought Logan might be blushing.

"What was that about?" Logan cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

"Oh, people like to dump drinks they're done with on the plants and it kills them. So I just use my gift to restore the plants before they're dead for Mr. Dolenz. I think he made a few too many assumptions tonight," Virgil scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh, what is your gift?" the look on Logan’s face was fascinated with Virgil’s claim.

The barista called their names and they collected the drinks before selecting a table by the windows in the corner, "I can renew things. Makes sense that I'm a librarian," Virgil laughed dryly at the tired joke, "basically I can bring a little bit of life back before it's gone. Can't really raise the dead though," he took a sip of his decaf mocha.

"That must be at least fairly useful. Is there a reason you didn't go into a medical profession?" Logan sipped his iced black coffee, looking intently at Virgil.

Virgil couldn’t take the internal tension in his mind any longer and blurted out, "is this a date? Are you trying to figure out if I'm your soulmate?" his eye went wide and he bit his tongue.

"No, did I give off that impression? I didn't want to seem too cold but-" Logan looked crestfallen.

Virgil smacked the side of his head and cursed Roman for planting the thought in his mind, "Logan, I'm sorry. You didn't- Roman- I- ah… I'm sorry. I'm just so used to everyone trying to force me into romantic scenarios that I did it to you when I knew that's not what this was- I'm so sorry. I made it awkward and now I'm rambling and you're probably just going to stand and leave-" Virgil felt a tear slip down his cheek as Logan cleared his throat.

"Actually, I understand what you mean. I too haven't found my soulmate, nor am I interested in finding them," Logan took a long sip of coffee, "I've accepted this is my last year alive. I actually moved to the city because my family wouldn't stop trying to force me into relationships as well."

"Really? Wow, that's… it's so messed up!" Virgil was worked up now and Logan was going to get the rant whether he wanted it or not, "why cut short someone's life just because they haven't found one person out of billions on the planet? And yet somehow for 99% of the population, it works! But where does that leave people like us? Discarded by the universe. It's asinine," Virgil huffed and Logan listened calmly until he was done.

"I agree," came Logan’s simple reply.

"You do?"

"I do. It's asinine. But it's how life works. Life is an ass," Virgil tried to hold back a laugh.

They talked about everything until the cafe closed. Logan talked about his research and writing and Virgil listened in wonder. Virgil talked about his interest in flowers and their symbolism while Logan nodded along. Virgil learned about Logan's previous job as an Astronomer and Logan listened to Virgil's rants about library patrons. They were joking and laughing for the whole walk back to the library. They agreed to go out for coffee at least once a week and it quickly became Virgil’s most anticipated evening each week.

Roman teased him to no end, but Virgil was comfortable in his growing friendship with Logan. His initial crush had faded into nonexistence and he simply enjoyed the man's company.

The months flew by and soon it was fall again. Virgil was so busy with the library's Halloween decorations that he almost didn't notice that Logan had not come in all day. He tried to shrug it off but the voice in the back of his head told him he needed to worry about this or he'd probably never hear from Logan again.

When Logan was nowhere to be seen the next day, Virgil texted him, asking if everything was okay. The response was sobering.

L- I apologize. I've been feeling too weak to get out of bed for the past few days. I hope you find your soulmate before your birthday, Virgil. Dying is less peaceful than I had calculated.

Virgil stared at the screen, scanning the words over and over. He could feel panic screaming in his chest, trying to drown out the world. There had to be something- he texted back.

V- can I come over? Maybe my gift will make it easier for you?

The reply was nearly immediate.

L- There is no need. I will rest today and be back to my research tomorrow. This book has a rather final deadline.

L- No pun intended.

Virgil couldn’t focus for the rest of the shift or the rest of the night. Worry for his friend gnawed at his stomach and kept him up late into the night.

True to his word, Logan arrived at the library at his usual time the next day. Virgil felt overwhelmed with relief that was quickly replaced with deep dread. Logan looked terrible. He had dark bags under his eyes and gaunt hollow cheeks. He carried himself as tall as he always had, but there was a new looseness to his movements.

Logan smiled as he approached Virgil’s station at the front desk, "I'm sorry I worried you, Virgil. Are we still on for tonight?"

Virgil nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Great, thank you," Logan turned toward his usual workspace. Virgil kept an eye on him all day. If he was honest with himself, he was scared. It was like seeing his own future, but instead of watching himself dying, he was watching the man he'd come to consider his best friend waste away.

At 6 Virgil signed out and waited for Logan to make his way to the door. He suggested he drive them over to the cafe and Logan readily agreed.

Virgil held open the door and insisted on picking up the tab. Logan wouldn't let him help physically but he would do everything he could for this man.

They sat quietly at their corner table. Virgil’s mouth was dry but he couldn’t bring himself to drink.

"Virgil?" his head snapped up hearing his name, "I have a bit of a surprise confession to make," Logan fiddled with his cup, not making eye contact, "I recently discovered that I am demiromantic. I had assumed I was aromantic but it seems I have developed feelings for you," Logan's laugh sounded hollow, "that must be pretty frightening coming from a walking corpse."

"Logan, when we first met, I had a huge crush on you. And I'm so glad we've gotten to know each other this year. I- don't have those feelings anymore, but I'm flattered, knowing you," Virgil hoped honesty would be the best policy.

Logan nodded, deep in thought, "that's fair. I'm sorry for imposing on you."

"No! No no no. You haven't. I- I understand- one-sided feelings hurt and you look like you're in so much pain. I'm not upset or weirded out. You're my best friend, Logan, and I love you platonically."

"I have less than a month until my birthday," Logan groaned softly, clutching his stomach, "I probably won't be coming in much anymore."

Virgil nodded, understanding, "can I try to use my gift on you?"

"No. I knew this was going to happen. There's no sense hiding from it now," Logan smiled weakly.

"Can I at least visit you after work? I don't want you to be alone," Virgil could sense Logan wanted to make this a goodbye but he wasn't ready to let go yet. He felt desperate to be there for Logan every minute he could afford.

Logan could see the panic in his eyes and nodded. He didn't want to be alone either.

Virgil showed up every night after work. He cooked and cleaned and did anything he could for Logan in the time they had. After Halloween, Virgil started to feel the effects of the deterioration himself, but he pushed the pain down to focus on being there with Logan.

The night before Logan’s birthday was quiet. Logan laid in his bed and Virgil sat in a chair beside him. The clock ticked audibly, much louder than it should have been. Virgil picked up the nearest book and began reading aloud. Logan visibly relaxed. After a while, Virgil turned to face Logan and whispered words of encouragement and strength. Logan wouldn't let him try anything else but it usually helped people who were tired. Nothing changed.

Logan started crying. It was barely noticeable at first (Virgil noticed) but grew in fear and pain.

"Logan, I'm here. You're not going to be alone. I promise," Virgil wanted to grab his hand, to physically comfort him in some way, but when he tried Logan pulled his hand away from Virgil's reach.

"Virgil, I love you. If I had a soulmate I would have wanted him to be you," Logan's voice was a rasp, paper-thin.

"Just, wait for me in the afterlife, I won't be long," Virgil tried to laugh but he sounded hollow.

The clock ticked louder, midnight was minutes away. Virgil wiped the tears from his cheeks and tried to smile for Logan, pulling every fiber of his being into being strong.

"Maybe it was you and I've been running from the truth," Logan reached out his hand and the clock struck midnight just before he touched Virgil’s cheek, "I think it was, but that doesn't matter anymore. I lov-" the light in his eyes extinguished like a candle finishing a wick. Logan’s body fell back to the bed and Virgil shattered.

Logan was gone. And Virgil knew that his dying breath was right. They were soulmates but it was too late.

Virgil collapsed on the bed, sobbing and holding Logan close. He was so light at the end, almost incorporeal to the touch. Virgil cried over all the pain he could have prevented, the sleepless nights dreading this one, for the friend he'd never talk to again. Logan was the only one who had ever understood, who had accepted his choices, who had believed in him when everyone else pitied him. And he was gone.

He was gone.

As if possessed, Virgil kissed his soulmate’s body on the lips and then leaned to whisper in his deaf ear, "I love you too, Logan. I love you too. You were my soulmate. I'm coming," with that he collapsed in a fresh batch of tears, crying until he was exhausted and his face was contorted and purple from the exertion.

Virgil opened his eyes. Blue. Blue eyes stared back at him from the face he'd often dreamed of in color like this. This had to be a dream. A dream of lovely blue confused eyes and disheveled brown hair. The room hadn't changed except it was morning and everything looked just like a dream. Because it had to be a dream if Logan was looking back at him with deep brilliant blue eyes filled with more questions than answers.

"Virgil?" Logan's voice croaked. Why couldn’t he dream of his soulmate how he wanted to remember him? "Virgil, what happened? What day is it?"

"It's a dream, it can be whatever day we want it to be," Virgil replied, his throat raw and voice cracking as if he'd been crying. This was rather on the nose realistic for a dream.

"Check a phone, Virgil, this isn't a dream," Logan pleaded.

"I wish it wasn't a dream. I don't want to wake up and find you cold," Virgil sighed. Kinda a stupid dream if it wasn't going to be a happy one.

Logan reached over and pinched Virgil hard on the arm. With a yelp, he jerked back and fell out of the bed. Most dreams would have ended there but as he stood, Virgil could see those blue eyes focused on him. He sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was on low battery but he could still read the date.

"It's November 3rd," Virgil read of the screen just before it went black.

"My birthday. I shouldn't be alive… why am I alive?"

"You can't be, that's why this is a dream?" Virgil wasn't so sure of himself anymore. Nothing in the room had changed from the night before but everything was bright and colored like his dreams.

Virgil smacked the side of his head with his palm. It hurt and Logan jumped at the sound. Dream Logan would have expected the sound.

"What was that for? Are you okay?" Logan looked alarmed. He tried to sit up in the bed. Virgil walked over and offered him a hand up. After glancing around the room, Logan accepted his hand and pulled himself up with Virgil’s help.

"So…" Virgil started.

"So," Logan answered.

"This isn't a dream."

"Not likely."

"The world is in color?"

"Yes. Your hoodie is purple and black, nothing like how I dreamed of it."

"Your eyes are blue."

"My dad always said they were. Yours are brown."

"Yeah, Nana always said she loved my eyes and hoped I'd see them someday."

"Why am I alive?"

Virgil shrugged, "miracle?"

After a long back and forth, Virgil and Logan came to the conclusion that Logan had indeed died that night but somehow had been brought back.

Virgil described how he'd tried to use his gift on Logan before midnight, how he'd broken down and cried over his soulmate for most of the night. Virgil vaguely remembered the kiss and whispered confession.

"That's it, your gift worked on me because I was dead. I wasn't spiritually present so you were physically able to bring me back and the soul followed," Logan's eyes were aflame with the complexity of the situation.

"Promise this isn't a dream?" Virgil sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Logan’s hand.

"I promise," Logan took his hand. It felt warm and good and solid and real.

Because it was real. Logan was real. He was here. To stay.

This is the story of how I died. Thank the stars I didn't stay dead.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

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rainy-day-gracie · 4 years

Text

Old Friends 5

Chapter 5!! Sorry I was busy today and didn’t get a chance to post it

Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer helps Reader deal with nightmares.

Chapter 5:

Coffee was an everyday thing for me. But recently it has become a necessity.

The nightmares started after the case in my hometown, and I’ve barely slept since. Not for lack of trying.

I had my second cup of coffee before noon, and Morgan gave me a face. “Did the pretty girl get laid last night?”

I laughed bitterly. “Far from it I’m afraid.”

“Are you sure? Those bags under your eyes tell a different story.” Morgan continued to pester me all until I sat at my desk. He just chuckled and walked away.

JJ came by to drop a stack of files on my desk, and she gave me a look too. “Did you get laid last night?”

I dropped the pen I was holding. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Did you?” JJ persisted.

“Sorry to disappoint you JJ, but no I didn’t.” I faked a sad face. “Just a late night, that’s all.” Or a couple weeks worth of late nights.

In the desk next to me, Spencer gave me a look but didn’t say anything.

Hotch suddenly ran out of his office and knocked on Rossi’s door. They spoke a few words, and turned to look at us. “Everyone, grab your go bag. We’ll brief on the jet. Wheels up in 10.”

---

“Holden Baxley, a friend of mine from the Boston field office called me an hour ago. He couldn’t go into details, but long story short, a suicide bomber that hasn’t been identified walked into Boston PD with a bomb strapped to his chest.”

“Oh god,” JJ breathed. “What happened then?”

Hotch closed his eyes. “The bomb went off, and half of the Boston police department blew out with it.”

The jet was silent.

“How many casualties?” Morgan asked.

“17 and counting, 23 wounded.”

“Do they think it’s a one time explosion?” I could only imagine the kind of panic this would have in the city.

“No, because a note was left at the press two minutes before the bomber even walked into the station. The note read ‘God’s wrath will be unleashed on all who disrespect the word of the Lord.’”

“Old Testament much?” Rossi looked around the jet. “The fact that the news station is across town from Boston PD makes me think there’s more than one or two unsubs.”

“Guys,” I started. “What if it’s a cult turned terrorist cell?”

“That is possible, especially if the leader is a psychopath that suffered a loss and blames Boston PD.” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. “The leader could’ve involved others that feel the same and want revenge against law enforcement. By taking on the persona of the wrath of God, they likely aren’t going to stop until they wreak ultimate havoc on the city in the name of religion.”

“We have to find them before they strike again. YLN, Reid, go to the explosion site. Prentiss, Morgan, set up in the Boston Field Office. JJ, Rossi and I will interview families of the victims and witnesses of the explosion. Try and work quickly. Something tells me we don’t have a lot of time.” Hotch didn’t miss a beat. “The wrath of God is about to be unleashed upon Boston.”

---

The entire right side of Boston PD was blown out into the street beside it. Crowds of citizens and TV news channels flooded the streets, barely being kept back by the lines of yellow tape.

“Spencer, how are we going to respond to the press?” I asked as we pulled up in the SUV.

“No comment, for now.”

As soon as we stepped out of the SUV, reporters and citizens alike screamed and shouted questions.

“Is this the work of terrorists?” “How do we know if we’re safe?” “What do you have to say to the victim’s families?”

“No comment.” Spencer and I held up our badges and ducked under the yellow tape.

“The psycho that blew the place up was blown to smithereens as well. We didn’t find any kind of ID on him.” A Boston FBI agent approached us. “Larry Dillman, Boston FBI.” He offered his hand to Spencer and I took it before it got too awkward when Spencer didn’t shake it.

“I’m SSA Dr. YFN YLN and this is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid. Where was the approximate location of the original blast?”

Dillman walked us through what was left of the front door. “About right there, when he walked into the main hall. It was noon, so there were more people busying about. That’s partly why the body count is so high.”

“Do you know if he said anything when he walked in?” Spencer asked.

“Witnesses have said he just yelled ‘Matthew 10:34’ and boom.”

“‘Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.’” Spencer recited.

“He is literally using the Bible as his scapegoat to commit terrorism.” I looked up at Spencer. “We need to get to the station.”

---

After checking out the explosion we hurried back to the station. “Hotch!” I called out. “He’s using God as a scapegoat to terrorize Boston. The massive rage confirms that they aren’t going to stop.”

“Excuse me, Agents,” a woman stood up from her desk. “There’s someone on line 1 wanting to talk to an agent from the BAU.”

Hotch pulled Rossi up to the phone and gestured to Morgan. “Call Garcia to track the call.”

Rossi slowly picked up the phone. “Hello, this is SSA David Rossi with the FBI. To whom am I speaking?”

“Is it too pretentious to say your worst nightmare?” The voice said. Obviously using a voice modulator, classic paranoid narcissist by building himself up to be some almighty being.

“Are you responsible for the attack on Boston PD?” Rossi asked. “Michael Devons incited massive panic with a small IED.”

“Boston PD? You mean that building full of liars, cheaters, and sinners?”

“God speaks of forgiveness, but you seem to carry a lot of hatred.” Rossi looked over all of us. “Are your friends listening to this phone call as well?”

The caller was silent for a while. “You may think we see this as a game, but we don’t. God plays no games with the people he creates.” The line goes dead and I release a breath I’ve been holding since he called.

“Garcia couldn’t track it, probably using a disposable cell phone,” Morgan pointed to the crime scene photos. “These guys are smart, using voice modulators, ensuring their members die for the cause, so why would they call us for no apparent reason?”

“A game...” I mumbled. “You make think we see this as a game...”

“What is it, YLN?” Prentiss asked me.

I gasped. “What if they’re testing us? That’s why they called, to see if we could figure out their next target... Fenway Park. Are there any baseball games today?”

“Slow down, brainy lady,” Morgan said slowly. “What are you thinking?”

“He said, ‘You may think we see this as a game, but we don’t.’ What if he wasn’t talking about the bombings but the baseball games? That’s all about choosing sides and that’s something God forbids. They would see every person in that stadium as a sinner.” I looked Hotch in the eyes. “The next target is Fenway Park, it has to be.”

Hotch pointed to the head of the field office. “Are there any baseball games at Fenway Park today?”

“Yeah, Sox versus Yankees.”

“We gotta get over there,” Hotch said and we all ran out the doors. “Swat will meet us there.”

---

“We can’t evacuate the stadium, that would set the bomber off early if they see people leaving,” Hotch explained as we got on our tactical gear. “Search the stadium, most likely they’re under the stands.”

“What do we do if we find the bomber?” JJ asked.

“Try to talk them down, if you can’t... shoot straight. Let’s go.”

The nearly empty corridors of Fenway Park were eerie as I walked by myself. Every now and then I would hear noise from the fans, and the smell of cheap nachos filled the air.

As I approached concessions, I looked at all the people in line. A young couple giggling at each other, a man probably in his 70s, a pregnant woman pushing a stroller.

And an isolated young man with a giant overcoat. As soon as he caught sight of me, the guy bolted.

“FBI! Out of the way!” I yelled. “Stop right there and put your hands up!”

To my surprise, he actually stopped.

“Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly. Everyone else, clear out of here.”

The man turned around, a smug smile on his face. “Romans 1:18!”

He started to unbuckle his overcoat.

He didn’t get the chance when I shot him between the eyes.

I took a shaky breath and called into my comm. “Suspect is down. Get bomb squad in here to take care of the explosive. Fifty feet away from concessions.”

The smile was still frozen on his face, even though half of his head was blown out.

---

I was quiet on the jet ride back. He wasn’t my first kill, but my first one with the BAU, and that was sure to ensue even more sleepless nights.

Spencer sat across from me. “You were even more impressive than usual with this case. Somehow you always raise the bar.”

“No kidding,” Rossi said in passing.

“So are you going to tell me about this nightmare you’re having or...” Spencer gave me a look. “You know talking about it will help.”

“Spencer-“

“Talk to me.” I could see in his eyes he wasn’t going to give up.

“Well, it starts out with me sitting with a teenage girl. She’s a patient, and she was talking about how her teacher was... messing with her. Slowly she disappears, and the room transforms into... my mom’s bedroom. She’s standing there, yelling at me. Except the louder she yells, the more blood comes out of her mouth.” I shake my head. “I try and help her, but no sound would come out. She wraps her hand around my throat, screaming at me and spitting blood in my face. I wake up before she brings her fist down on my jaw.

Spencer was quiet for a while. “...Could it be the apartment making the nightmares worse? Sometimes a change of scenery helps distract the subconscious from the nightmares.” Spencer twirled a pen through his fingers, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Maybe, whenever I’m lying awake in my bed I’m looking around my bedroom instead of relaxing.”

Spencer thought about something. “Well... you could stay the night at my place if you want. I could sleep on the couch and you can take the bed.” I could see his nervousness in his darting eyes and twitchy hands.

I smile. “Spencer, that’s really nice but you don’t have to-“

“No, no. I want to help.” And I could tell he was serious.

“Okay sure, but on one condition- I take the couch and you sleep in your own bed.”

Spencer huffed a laugh. “Fine.”

---

The plane landed at 10:12 at night. Not super late, but after this case, everyone wanted to go to bed.

Hotch had made an announcement on the jet that we could take a half day tomorrow and come in at noon.

“Can’t wait to sleep in until 11:45,” Morgan joked on the elevator.

Since Spencer takes the train to work everyday, he hopped in my passengers seat and immediately made a face.

“What is it?” I asked, confused.

“Your car is disgusting,” Spencer said. “I’ve seen shantytowns cleaner than this.”

“Oh, shut up Mr. Cleanliness. A couple food wrappers does not make me a slob,” I lightly punched him in the shoulder as I pulled out of the parking garage.

“It’s more than a couple,” Spencer muttered.

“I’ve starting to regret agreeing to a sleepover, pretty boy.”

---

Sitting on Spencer’s couch eating popcorn and watching Doctor Who felt so much like college that I completely forgot about the fact that I could’ve been blown up today.

We were still watching Doctor Who on the couch when my eyes fell heavy. Slowly, my head rested on Spencer’s shoulder and started to doze off.

I was barely awake when I felt Spencer press a light kiss on my forehead.

His lips felt the same as they did in college.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff

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