#understood the reasoning for this approach

[cipheramnesia]

Patriarchy is a form of social control impossed on all members of a society, by authorities who are also subject to its control. It is not something an individual controls or can inflict.

It is inextricable from other forms of social control existing simultaneously, like racism homophobia colonialism transphobia and so on. These controls in the process of seeking social stability as harmful sources of instability, conflict, violence, and general lack of social cohesion. There are very, very few people who influence their direction, because most of them are built on centuries of societal development and change. This is also why they cannot be untangled. We might label them, but they are always connected to one another.

Because no individual person of any gender, sex, etc exists as uniquely carrying or imposing any one form of systemic oppression, a theory of social progress that mandates excluding any large social group will inevitably require expulsion of people it was designed to serve, based on unforseen consequences of intersecting forces of social control. This is not the same as at the individual level. A feminist group would be completely reasonable to exclude a man based on his behavior (interrupting and talking over others, downplaying the knowledge of others, etc), which is a potential result of existing in a society, or through association with groups known to reinforce many diverse forms of systemic oppression (eg he is a USA republican).

Radical feminism as a philosophy seeking to fully and uniquely exclude males/men/etc from feminism, and which treats the thread of "patriarchy" as uniquely separable from all other systems of oppression in any society, universally, consistently shows development of positions which are generally harmful to other social groups experiencing connected forms of social control such as racism, transphobia etc. It continues to exist as a form of radicalization in the sense that it creates radically divisive gaps among socially vulnerable groups through trying to sort oppression along a single variable.

Trans inclusiveness, among other things, requires accepting that no single idea of gender or sex, or other ways the socially assigned concept of male or female might be understood, is immutable.

A theoretical and practical position that, foundationally, must define an idea of male that is sufficiently immutable for exclusion is already incompatible with the trans community, and many others. A postion that determines patriarchy must be the singular priority of the conversation is not compatible with other socially disenfranchised groups.

Radical feminism, as both, has already failed trans people, failed intersex people, failed cultural ideas of gender from other societies, and etc. The monofilament approach to perceiving the world creates a limited perspective.

It's a boring topic because any few past years of history is sufficient demonstration that no single aspect of social control or systemic oppression is singular or uncomplicated. It's a boring topic because people like to share. People like to try and understand how we are similar. That sharing and relating doesn't have to become control. We can see the self in the other, even when he's a little confused. Trailing off, mumbling, I don't know why I wrote this

Trans inclusion is incompatible with radical feminism.

[amiya-shirou]

I genuinely believe Federico is like 90% of the reason why the central themes of emotion, humanity vs seaborn, and human connection actually work, because it would be so easy to completely ruin the message by making it a vehicle for typical "love is what makes us humans" "if you don't feel love and emotion exactly like everyone else does you're not an ACTUAL human with a SOUL!" nonsense, like to the point I'm also anxious I might end up sounding like that every time I try analyzing the seaborn conflict in any way, but thanks to Fede being written the way he is while having such a central role in Zwillingsturme and being so close with and important to Arturia we know that when she says "it has to include everyone" and when the game falls on praising human qualities and the power of human connection they don't mean "everyone who can feel normal human emotion :)" "everyone but they're gonna need to become human" but simply everyone, no one left behind, no one erased. The focus on destroying the barriers between people exists as an answer to oppression and discrimination, to bring humanity together so they can work as a whole to face adversity, not because not feeling empathy the same way Arturia does is "wrong". Even during the piano scene when Fede is shown as unable to understand why music, why art move people the way it does, despite it being a focal point of everything about Arturia and everything about the humans who stand against the Seaborn, it's never presented as a failing on his part, never presented as him being fundamentally incompatible with humanity - in fact that scene is where he learns how to approach emotion from his own angle in his own way as a form of data and it's when he grows as a person and becomes able to use it to better get Arturia despite his difficulty in conveying and "feeling" emotion. He doesn't get Sankta empathy, he values logical understanding over emotional connection, he's joked about from other characters as being more like a robot than a human, he's deliberately written as being an opposite to Arturia's unrestrained empathy, and yet he is the protagonist to Arturia's antagonist role, he is the one who understood her the most and who could support her in the finale, he's the one outsider who cared the most about fixing things in the Monastery while the "proper" Sankta were all busy dealing with their own problems or actively worsening things (hi Oren). His character arc doesn't have anything to do with him starting to "get" emotions like "real people" do but just about starting to ask questions, to find a way forward when his strict adherence to logical reasoning fails him, to interpret why he does what he does and feel the way he does, to understand why things happens and why people act certain ways, and in quite a few scenes that's precisely why he could reach a conclusion others couldn't.

His biggest scene in Hortus involves him refusing to accept Clement's position that just because the only flower left from his garden he had a deep emotional attachment to was a bit damaged and not perfect the way he grew all the others to be, the way he wanted it to be, then its survival is meaningless.

Just because Clement couldn't see the worth in the flower's existence it doesn't mean there was none for anyone.

Just like Federico was the one chosen by the Law amidst countless "perfect" Sankta well accustomed to their supernatural Empathy.

Everyone means everyone.

[otogariado]

i am always skeptical of media where the monstrous creatures of evil are painted as irredeemable and truly inhuman because they aren't capable of thinking and feeling like humans—it's easy for it to fall into so many -isms, notably ableism and racism. it's like the age old argument against robots except make it fantasy, and to have it painted in such a cut and dry way sets off alarm bells.

but i think the way frieren (the show) handles its demons and the concept of them only being able to mimic human speech and other parts of human culture and not understand it is actually good. in that, intrinsically, frieren (the show) is about human connection. they put a lot of emphasis on human understanding as well as compassion. and i think it's fundamental that frieren (the character) is presented the way she is—an elf who is also inhuman, but is so very human in her sentience anyway. she doesn't perceive a lot of things similarly to humans because of the gap between her morality and the morality of humans, but still she is able to shift her perspective the more she interacts with people and the world around her and the more she opens up to it. when your main character is presented as an "outsider looking in" and is going through an arc of self-(re)discovery, it changes the game when you introduce demons.

at first i was heavily against demons being painted in such a frank way. it's been a while since i watched that arc when it was released, but since then i think the concept of the clones in the dungeon during the second exam in the exam arc adds more insight to it. the clones don't have actual minds, but try to perfectly recreate them instead. and now i understand and accept it. you can mimic and recreate a person from the ground up so perfectly, but it comes with the caveat of no matter how perfect your mimicry is, if it's all logic and algorithms then that's just not human. even if a person is very logical and rational in their way of thinking, people are imperfect. there's always factors that influence how we think and feel (even if we're someone who doesn't 'feel' as much as other people), "noise" that would count as human error. and that's something the demons never account for. as people have put it, how terrifying is it to recreate something without fundamentally understanding it.

and now it's very interesting how timely this theme is in frieren with regards to discussions about the (mis)use of AI and topics like AI art. it's a whole other discussion entirely, but it's really fascinating timing that these discussions kind of align. i don't believe AI is inherently "evil" (and i don't like how most people talk about it like it's a boogeyman) because ultimately it is supposed to be a tool and it depends on those who program it and wield it. but i firmly believe that AI is not meant to replace humans, because it just can't. it's meant to augment our lives for improvement but never completely replace anyone. AI art in particular can almost be related to frieren directly: AI art is generated through an algorithm. yes, AI follow decision-making algorithms and that's how it learns and comes up with outputs. but ultimately these decisions could never come close to the thought process a real human could have. an AI can mimic a pattern it sees from a certain artist, but it can never recreate the artistic vision that the original artist had that lead to that very specific decision. and people are inconsistent; it's only natural to us humans. the downfall of AI is that since it is decision-based, it has to follow a certain set of rules, and that in of itself already hinders it from ever coming close to humans. because humans are constantly changing, and people can react to an event they're re-experiencing differently than they did originally. i used to hate onions as a kid and now i love eating them. do you think demons have a concept of that in the universe of frieren?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are plottinggggg

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[idiosyncraticrednebula]

Just because The Little Mermaid (1989) was not overt with religious themes, it does not mean that it lacked them when juxtaposed to the source it was based on. A lot of Christian themes are still in the movie, they are just way more subtle.

[steviescrystals]

thinking about this girl i barely know who started drama with me for no reason a couple months ago and tried to turn all our mutual friends against me and now she’s mad at another friend for no reason and is being super shady to her and this friend told me “it’s like what happened with you all over again” … yeah funny how that works

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife

You, this sweet little thing, running through the halls on base one day when you turn a corner and nearly run headfirst into the Lieutenant, who’s walking alongside Soap

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir.” You told him, never slowing down in your hurried pace as you snuck around his large frame and continued down towards whatever you were evidently late for

The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for

“Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing Ghost’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who makes it a point to let everyone know that you are in fact his wife

Well, everyone apart from you apparently

He would certainly never abuse his position as a Lieutenant, but some new recruit had the audacity to whistle at you as you walked by? Well 100 laps around the base don’t exactly run themselves

Another soldier saved you a seat next to him in a briefing? He can enjoy scrubbing toilet seats for the next week in that case

Someone actually had the bollocks to ask you for your phone number? Perfect, he needed a volunteer for demonstrating hand to hand combat to the recruits, medics on standby of course

By the time he properly introduces himself to you for the first time, it’s understood by everyone else around that you are, for all intents and purposes, Mrs Riley

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who listens to you tell him your name in a voice that resembles music to his ears, hardly bothering to remember your last name, seeing as it’ll be changing soon enough anyway

“You can call me anythin’ you want, love.” His deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down your spine, cheeky smirk widening beneath his mask. “So long as you call me, that is.”

By the end of your first date, (you were sitting alone in the dining hall and he wordlessly joined you what do you mean this isn’t a date) he’s wondering if you’ll insist on a ceremony or if he can sweep you away to the nearest courthouse and make this official, slipping a ring onto you finger and himself into you

You had laughed when he put his number into your phone and named himself ‘Husband’, certain that the man was only messing with you, some kind of hazing that you apparently weren’t aware Lieutenants played on the new communications hire, but it was only fair seeing as he’d saved your contact under ‘Wife’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who is over the moon every time you play along, even if he knows you believe you’re only playing

“Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” Soap said, seeing Ghost’s approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand

“S’for my wife. Get your own.” The older man gruffly replied, sliding the mug onto the side table next to where you’re curled up on the couch, reading a book

“Aw, thank you honey.” You giggled, smiling up as him with an expression he thinks would taste even sweeter than honey if he were to run his tongue across your upturned lips

“Happy wife, happy life, sergeant.” Ghost shrugged, ignoring the other man’s pout, landing next to you and reaching an arm behind you across the back of the couch

“God, maybe I really should keep you.” You’d laughed, reaching a leg out to dig your socked toes into his muscled thigh, teasing him

Grasping your foot into his large, strong hands, he began massaging it, uncaring that you were only two of the many people in the common room, not when you looked at him like that, smiling together as though you truly were nothing more than a married couple

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who surprised you one day, insisting he needed your help with something crucial off base, and drove you to a local shopping outlet to look at none other than dresses

“Is there some sort of party happening?” You’d questioned, confused out of your mind

“Suppose you could consider it a party.” He’d answered, leading you through the many racks of dresses, you noticed were all, very conveniently, white

“Now while you’re lookin’ through dress sizes,” he’d added, taking your left hand in both of his. “You know your ring size? Got my own shoppin’ to do ‘round here.”

Series masterlist

[kittykatinabag]

Complex feelings of the day:

It's heartening to see the crowds at the protests today.

I did not go to the protests today on account that I went to multiple in 2016-2020 and literally everything we were protesting against ended up happening anyways because there was no clear action line from the act of protesting to the act of actually changing things.

Yes visibility and connection to people feeling the same as you about things is nice and can alleviate isolation.

But that alleviation is only temporary because our society is currently designed to promote isolation for the purpose of pursuing capital.

It's surprisingly hard to articulate in a way that the dumb as rocks general public can understand how the capitalistic systems we're currently suffering under is not us leftists saying we want a world without money. Currency existed before capitalism, before feudalism, and most likely as far back as organized trade.

It's unrealistic to say a world without currency can exist because sometimes a person does not have an item or skill to barter with at a particular moment of trade, so eventually we'll end up reinventing the concept of money.

The fact that I can only somewhat name the activists that are also part of some level of government (local, state, or federal) speaks greatly to how desperately the leftist/socialist/whatever-ist needs a figure head (or ideally multiple) to rally around. The closest analog I can think of is like Hasan Piker, which even though I like the guy I don't think is a great choice as a leader of a movement, his skills lie elsewhere.

(this one is aimed more towards PSL and other similar parties and organizations) it's a fucking dumb idea to make the only way to contribute as a party member is as an event organizer/activist/face of the movement. We're not all organizers, some of us want to contribute in a support role and do not want our faces to be the face of the movement.

I remain extremely critical and doubtful of the research surrounding the oft cited "it only takes about 3% of the general [US] public protesting for the people in power to take action on the legislation asks" as much of this observation hinges on the people in power believing in democracy, listening to their constituents, and those movements were done in a time where SuperPacs and legal corporate and wealthy bribery weren't allowed. It's an entirely different power structure we're facing now and like many of the people I've met in life (mostly cis white men tbh), do not give a shit about anything and are incredibly narcissistic to the point they'll burn everything around them down if it means they "win" and can have power over others.

Despite this, there is hope. Even if it is delusional. You need the delusion to reach it. I don't know how to teach this to people, you just need to experience it to understand it. I think letting go of the need for control is one of the first steps.

[light-wrath-paradise]

You know, I know that everyone has already said everything there is to say about the imagery and symbolism in Blue Eye Samurai, but I really gotta say that I think the way it just very brutally shows its claim that intimacy is violence is quite brilliant. At first you aren't sure what the hell is happening and why everything is so graphic, but it clicks after a little while.

Like ah so it is like that because the thesis is that intimacy and violence are inseparable and that intimacy IS a kind of violence. Got it.

[lesbianraskolnikov]

It was quite a delight to show off the 2007 adaption and have my thoughts reaffirmed..yupppp

[norristrii]

IT WAS OBVIOUS.

“Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me.” — Oscar accidentally shows too much excitement after his win, revealing your true relationship to your brother and the whole world.

pairing. Oscar Piastri x Norris! fem! reader

warnings. none. AGAIN, IN THE HONOR OF OSCAR’S WIN IN CHINA ‼️🥹 (two posts in one day, crazy ik)

music. The Alchemy by Taylor Swift.

YOU WEREN’T ENTIRELY SURE if hooking up with your brother’s teammate was the best idea you’d ever had—or the worst. But here you were, tangled up in something you couldn’t quite resist.

It all started when Lando and Oscar became teammates. Their friendship blossomed quickly, the kind of bond that seemed effortless. So, naturally, it wasn’t long before Lando introduced you to Oscar. And, well, Oscar caught your eye in a way you hadn’t expected.

He was everything your brother wasn’t—polite, calm, and kind. Where your brother was loud and relentless, Oscar was steady and thoughtful. You couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them could even be friends, let alone teammates.

But the real surprise? You caught Oscar’s eye, too. What began as casual texts and lighthearted calls quickly evolved into something more. Dates, secret meet-ups, stolen moments that felt like they belonged to another world. You didn’t tell your brother for a multitude of reasons. First, it wasn’t any of his business. And second, you knew exactly how he’d react—relentless teasing, endless questions, and a level of overprotectiveness you weren’t in the mood to deal with.

When you and Oscar decided to make it official, it was a quiet decision, just between the two of you. Well, the two of you and your best friend—because keeping secrets from her was impossible. Beyond that, no one else knew. And maybe that was part of what made it so thrilling. The secrecy added a layer of excitement to every interaction, every glance, every touch.

The moments before a race were your favorite. The paddock buzzed with energy, the air electric with anticipation. And amidst it all, there were the secret kisses, the fleeting touches when no one was looking. It was a game, a dance of stolen moments that only the two of you understood. The thrill of it all made your heart race almost as much as the roar of the engines.

Lando's invitation to the Chinese Grand Prix felt like the perfect follow-up to his stunning victory in Australia. You couldn’t be prouder of him, and being here felt like a privilege. The atmosphere buzzed with energy, and you were eager to cheer not just for him, but for Oscar as well—your two boys.

Now, you found yourself standing behind the barriers, shoulder to shoulder with McLaren team members who shared in the collective anticipation. The hum of engines roared in the background as the cars sped around the track, each lap bringing Oscar closer to something extraordinary. His first-ever pole position had already felt like a monumental achievement, but now, with the race on its final lap—lap 56—Oscar was leading. His car, sleek and powerful in its vibrant McLaren orange, glided through the turns with precision, almost effortlessly.

The tension in the air was palpable, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you cheered with the team. Oscar had practically won by now, the gap between him and the car behind him widening with every second.

Standing there, witnessing the culmination of hard work and talent, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with pride—not just for Oscar and his incredible performance, but for Lando, who was right behind his teammate. The cheers around you grew louder as the finish line approached.

The chequered flag waved, signaling the end of the race, and as Oscar crossed the finish line first, with Lando right behind him, a surge of overwhelming pride and joy coursed through you. It was a moment of pure triumph, made even sweeter knowing how much Oscar had struggled during his home race in Australia. To see him claim victory here felt like vindication for every ounce of effort he had poured into this season.

As Oscar parked his car behind the gleaming P1 sign, your gaze never wavered from him. His car came to a halt, and in the corner of your vision, you caught sight of Lando parking just behind, the two McLarens standing like trophies of the team’s efforts. But your focus was locked on Oscar, on the way he climbed out of the car, exuding both exhaustion and exhilaration.

Helmet off, his face glowed with triumph as he threw up his arms in his signature victory pose, the crowd erupting in cheers. The moment was electric, but your heart raced for a different reason as you watched him turn—not towards his team, who stood waiting with cheers and open arms, but towards you.

Oscar’s strides were purposeful, his gaze unwavering as he crossed the distance between you. Your breath hitched when he reached you, ignoring everyone else, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that was full of relief, joy, and something so uniquely him. You held onto him tightly, feeling the intensity of the moment.

As you pulled away slightly, his face was so close to yours, his brown eyes meeting yours in a way that made the world around you blur. For a fleeting second, there was a pause, a shared understanding, before he closed the gap. His lips met yours in a kiss that was unplanned but utterly perfect—an unspoken testament to everything he couldn’t say in words.

The team’s cheers rang louder behind you, but in that moment, it was just the two of you. The thrill of victory, the secret you shared, and the raw emotion of it all were woven together in that single instant. And for that brief, breathtaking moment, nothing else mattered.

As he pulled away, his voice was quick but steady, the words tumbling out before he turned away: “I love you.” And just like that, Oscar was off, moving to embrace the cheering team members who waited to celebrate his victory. The moment hung in the air for a beat, the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

You didn’t need to think twice about what had just happened. That kiss—bold, unapologetic—wasn’t just seen by the team. It was seen by the cameras, the crowds, and possibly even the entire world. And your brother. But none of it mattered anymore. Oscar had chosen this moment to make it clear where he stood. His love, his support, his pride in being with you—none of it wavered, regardless of what anyone thought. To him, the name you carried meant nothing in comparison to the connection you shared.

As your eyes trailed back to him, now surrounded by his teammates, the warmth of the moment was interrupted by a familiar presence. Your brother was already in front of you, arms crossed, his face set in that classic judgmental look he’d mastered over the years.

You tried not to squirm under his gaze, instead forcing a smile and stepping forward to embrace him before he could say a word. "I’m proud of you," you said quickly, deflecting with a playful tone as your arms wrapped around him.

Lando’s body stiffened for a split second, his eyebrows raised in suspicion, but he eventually hugged you back. "Hmm," he muttered, clearly not convinced but letting the moment slide—for now. You could already see the gears turning in his head, and you knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation.

As the top three entered the Cool Down room, the adrenaline still seemed to linger in the air, blending with the excitement and chatter from the race outside. The drivers were greeted by monitors showing highlights of their performance, the distant roar of the crowd fading into a steady hum. Lando followed a step behind, his usual playful energy evident in the slight bounce of his step as he grabbed a water bottle from the corner table. The tension of the race seemed to dissolve, replaced by camaraderie as they settled in, catching their breath.

It didn’t take long for Lando to break the ice in true Lando fashion. He turned towards Oscar, pointing at him with dramatic flair, his expression mock-serious. “Osc, don’t think for a second I didn’t see that,” he began, his tone accusatory yet laced with humor. The way he gestured, finger wagging as if scolding a misbehaving child, made it clear he was enjoying every second of this.

Oscar, who had just picked up his towel to dab the sweat from his face, froze mid-motion. He glanced at Lando, a mixture of confusion and resignation flickering across his features. “Here we go,” he muttered, almost too quietly to be heard. But he didn’t need to say much. He knew exactly what this was about.

“My poor eyes!” Lando cried dramatically, his free hand flying up to shield his face as if he were genuinely scarred. The theatrics escalated quickly, his voice rising in exaggerated despair as he staggered backward a step for added effect. “I’ll never recover from this trauma.”

Oscar sighed, shaking his head slightly, though the smallest twitch of a smirk threatened to betray his amusement. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, man,” he said, his voice dry but tinged with tolerance—the tone of someone well-practiced in dealing with Lando’s antics.

But Lando wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “I mean, honestly,” he continued, his mock indignation unwavering, “a little heads-up would’ve been nice. You know, like—‘Oh, hey, Lando, I’m about to make the whole world cringe by publicly making out with your sister.’ Something like that. Is that too much to ask?” His grin widened as he tossed the water bottle between his hands, his eyebrows arched in that trademark cheeky expression.

Oscar rolled his eyes, lifting the towel to hide his face for a moment as if shielding himself from Lando’s relentless teasing. “It wasn’t that bad,” he replied, his voice firm but quieter now, as if trying to downplay the moment.

“Wasn’t that bad?” Lando repeated, his voice climbing an octave as he placed a hand to his chest like he’d been mortally offended. “Mate, I think I just lost three years of my life.” His grin made it clear he was enjoying this far too much, but beneath the jest, there was no malice—just Lando being Lando.

Oscar finally allowed himself a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. Next time, I’ll send you a formal invitation first,” he deadpanned, the sharp wit of his retort earning a mock gasp from Lando.

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Lando shot back, finally leaning against the wall as if he’d exhausted his dramatic reserves. But the mischievous glint in his eye remained, a silent promise that he wasn’t going to let Oscar off the hook anytime soon.

The night paddock lay in near silence, the excitement of the day's events now reduced to a soft hum in the background. The dim glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows across the asphalt, illuminating the reflection of Oscar's trophy as he carried it proudly in one hand. His other arm rested securely around your shoulders, a gesture that brought a quiet warmth as the two of you walked side by side.

Lando walked just a step behind, still buzzing with energy despite the lateness of the hour. His natural playfulness was impossible to suppress, and it wasn’t long before his voice broke through the calm, cutting through the stillness with a sense of exaggerated drama. “Soo…” he began, his tone drawing out the word as if he were preparing to deliver a theatrical monologue.

Oscar groaned quietly, already anticipating where this was headed. “Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his head dipping just slightly. You felt his arm tighten around you briefly, as though bracing himself for impact, while you stifled a small laugh. Lando was nothing if not predictable.

“You two have a lot to explain,” Lando finally said, his voice laden with mock sternness as he caught up to walk alongside you. His brow furrowed in an attempt to appear serious, but the mischievous sparkle in his eye gave him away. He raised an eyebrow for effect, his gaze darting between you and Oscar as though he were demanding a confession for some unspeakable crime.

Feigning innocence, you tilted your head, a sly smile playing on your lips. “What do you want to explain?” you asked, your voice light and teasing. It was clear you weren’t going to make this easy for him. Even as your heart raced slightly at the idea of confronting the topic, you couldn’t resist the urge to play along.

Lando stopped walking for a moment, crossing his arms as he stood in the middle of the path, looking every bit like a self-appointed interrogator. He narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching as though he were holding back a grin. “You two are like… a thing?” he asked, his words slow and deliberate, emphasizing the weight of what he was asking.

Oscar exchanged a quick glance with you, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking—this was so typically Lando. As much as the question lingered in the air, it was impossible to take him completely seriously. Still, the tension buzzed ever so slightly beneath the surface, and it was clear that neither of you could sidestep the question for much longer.

But after a few lingering seconds of silence, Lando cleared his throat dramatically, clearly preparing to fill the void. “I mean, it was obvious,” he declared, his tone laced with faux confidence, as though he had pieced it all together from the start.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. “No, it wasn’t,” you shot back, shaking your head at him. “You had no idea, Lan.”

Lando’s eyebrow shot up as he feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest in mock indignation. “Excuse me? I’m incredibly observant, thank you very much.”

Oscar, who had been quietly amused throughout the exchange, finally chimed in, his voice calm but teasing. “Yeah, right,” he said, glancing at Lando with a smirk. “You only noticed because we made it too obvious today.”

Lando threw up his hands in a theatrical shrug. “Well, maybe. But still. I figured it out. That’s what counts,” he insisted, though the grin on his face betrayed how much he was enjoying winding the two of you up.

You rolled your eyes, giving him a playful shove. “Alright, Sherlock. Sure, you ‘figured it out,’” you teased, unable to keep the grin off your own face. Despite the teasing, there was an undeniable warmth in the moment—a mixture of relief and lighthearted acceptance. Leave it to Lando to turn even the most awkward revelations into something almost comforting.

“But seriously now,” Lando said, his tone softening as he let his teasing demeanor fade away for a moment. He glanced between the two of you, his lips curling into a genuine smile. “I’m happy for you guys,” he admitted, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

Oscar smiled warmly in return, his arm tightening slightly around your shoulders, as if silently thanking Lando for his support. It was a simple moment, but you felt the weight of Lando’s words—his approval meant more than you’d realized.

“Just a bit mad for not telling me sooner,” Lando added, raising his eyebrows as though pretending to scold you. Though the hint of mischief in his smile quickly undermined any seriousness. “You could’ve spared me the whole awkward guessing game, you know.”

© norristrii 2025

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[trainer-from-unova]

a second

Ⓢ english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ

ship: the void x afab!reader (x robert reynolds)

summary: void started feeling something about you, and when he discovered that bob was your boyfriend he felt frustrated. wanting to live what he lived every day he convinced you that kissing him or having sex with him wasn't being unfaithful since they both share the same body.

au: bob and void are a system

c/w: post-canon, feelings realization and denial, love confession if you squint but void's very bad at feelings, background relationship with bob, implied cheating but I'm not sure about that, teasing, noncon/dubcon rough kissing, consensual rough sex, piv sex, masturbation, fingerfucking, biting, multiple orgasm, no protection

a/n: this starts like my drabble "muscle memory" but obviously it's longer, more spicy and ends very different / english isn't my first language / edited version after watching the movie: Ⓢ

word count: 3622

Everything can change in a second, including him. As a system, one personality may not remember the experiences of the other, but the muscle memory remained. On the few occasions that Void was present he couldn't help but turn his neck in the direction ______ was facing, fix his eyes on her, prick up his ears when he heard her voice, and even feel the urge to take her hand. To make matters worse she was often in his mind, and he didn't know if they were memories that weren't his own or if it was his imagination, which, for some reason, designed all sorts of scenarios with her. Those were things, or rather according to him, distractions that got on his nerves. He wanted to believe that it was more Bob's fault than his, so when he had the chance, on one of the occasions when he had control of his body, he went to ______ to question her.

When the young woman opened the door to her bedroom after hearing a knock on it, she smiled when she saw who it was, although when she saw his serious expression, it was quickly erased.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm Void," he informed her just in case, and she nodded, "Can I have a word?"

"Yeah, come in," she said stepping aside to let him in. As she closed the door behind him he looked around her bedroom, and noticed a cork mural on one of the walls, which had pictures with several of the so-called "Thunderbolts" and other friends, but mostly with Bob, with both of them grinning from ear to ear or pouting; selfies taken by them or full body shots taken by others, in different locations and wearing clothes from different climates. "What do you want to talk about?" she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts and making him turn to look at her, who was approaching him slowly, at the same pace as he was.

"I see flashes... of you, in all situations," and if the young woman was already confused and interested in his presence in the body and in her bedroom, with that sentence the confusion and interest increased. "I don't know if they are memories of Bob or if it's my imagination playing tricks on me. I want to know if what I feel is mine or his."

"...What do you feel?" she asked intrigued, leaning closer to him.

"Weakness," he answered quickly and without any hesitation, very sure of himself as usual. She looked at him in surprise and confusion, though she tried to be discreet and didn't realise that her breathing was hitching with nerves; Void already make her nervous, not because she was particularly afraid of him but for Bob's mental well-being, and this strange conversation wasn't helping. "I feel... a certain favouritism towards you, which distracts me when it shouldn't. Has he said anything to you about it?"

"Um- yeah, well," she said with a shy smile. "We've been dating for a while."

"...Oh."

He understood everything now, including the pictures on the corkboard, but he didn't understand the frustration he felt inside him. He didn't understand what she saw in Bob because, although he hadn't met him (for obvious reasons), it was clear to him that he was better than him or anyone else in every way. It wasn't love, it couldn't be — that word had no meaning for him, and he didn't see himself capable of falling in love with a human, even if she wasn't very normal and ordinary. He could only make sense of what he felt and the fact that he found her physically attractive with one explication.

"I suppose Bob's love for me is contagious," she said trying to hide the smile that formed on her lips.

"What you call love is just a chemical reaction I feel since I have a human body, since I share a body with him," he said, not very pleased with that fact, but unable to stop his eyes from scanning her up and down, from her lips to her breasts as he felt his body heat up, and she realised, "It's just the instinct to preserve the species," and she simply rolled her eyes at such a scientific and unromantic response, but he saw the perfect opportunity to bring up one of the memories he had, and perhaps it would lead him to be able to create a similar one of his own. "Yeah, that's what I remember," he said smiling sideways as he stood dangerously close to her and her face — she didn't flinch, she was used to being so close to him, even if it was someone else, "you rolling your eyes, naked while screaming my name... God," he said almost in a whisper as he slowly approached her lips.

For a second she thought about letting him do what he intended to do, and for a second he almost succeeded — but she averted her gaze and ducked, subtly avoiding him. He froze, processing what had just happened since he wasn't expecting it, while the other one stepped back a little and realised something.

"Well, I think you're..." she sighed deeply and took a quick glance at his crotch, "having a chemical reaction to preserve the species inside your trousers," she said trying to sound as serious as possible, but at the same time the situation was so surreal that she couldn't help but want to laugh.

He lowered his gaze to look at his crotch, though he didn't really need to, because he could feel it, and it frustrated him. It also frustrated him that he felt that his hands and her hips, like their lips, were magnets, but that she didn't want to bring them together — not if it wasn't Bob, apparently.

"Just one kiss," he said trying not to sound too desperate or pathetic, let alone intimidating. "Please," he said approaching her again, taking her hands in his.

"Bob and I have never discussed whether having a relationship with you would count as infidelity..." she said worriedly as she subtly shook her head. And it wasn't that she didn't want to ask, as she was curious about the answer, but she never asked him, as Bob hated to remember the existence of Void.

"Of course it wouldn't be, we have the same body," he said with the same gesture, trying to convince her with his confidence and calm tone. "Besides, he doesn't have to know," he said as he moved closer to her face again, placing his dominant hand on her cheek and behind her neck to lift her face, "nor will he be able to," he said before finally merging their lips and wrapping his other hand around her waist.

She tensed as she felt his lips on hers, but was there anything she could do to resist? He was Void, he was stronger than her — but he had the same body as Bob and kissed just like him. She let him do it, and surprisingly, it felt as good as if he were her boyfriend, causing her to inadvertently put her hands on his shoulders. When they parted they looked at each other's lips and then into each other's eyes — he looked at her hungrily, and she looked at him confused by what she had felt, and uncertain whether to continue.

"I don't think we should," she said, "this is wrong."

"Then why did it feel so right? And why are you still in my arms?" he asked smiling sideways, mischievously. "I can offer something different as well as similar," he said stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She, still hesitant, remained silent and thoughtful as she averted her gaze. He looked at her eyes and then her lips, and from her lips to her eyes, again and again. When he grew impatient he approached her lips again, but this one pulled back again and looked him earnestly and steadily in the eyes at last.

"...Say it," she said unable to keep her eyes from wandering to his lips for a second, but quickly returned to his eyes. He pulled back a little as his smile faded. Now it was he who looked serious and thoughtful, and she knew he knew what she meant. "Why so serious?" she asked tilting her head and the smile forming on her lips, looking for their eyes to meet again and enjoying the fact that she was now the one teasing him. "It's just a shorter way of saying what you've said before," she said as he put his hand from her cheek to her waist.

"I just want to have sex with you," he said wearily.

"Three words, honey," she said as she shook her head, "Even if it's a lie, just say it and I'm yours for a while. This is a barter, it works like this."

"I love you," he said defeated.

"See?" she asked teasingly. "It wasn't that hard."

Wanting to silence her and feel her closer again he moved closer to merge their lips again, and this kiss was better than the last one for she was ready for it.

When they broke apart for lack of air he raised his hand in the direction of the door to bolt it shut like a jedi (or rather, sith), not wanting any interruptions from the others in the house.

The clothes were a nuisance he wanted to get rid of violently. He would have been able to tear the fabrics of her clothes with his bare hands had she not stepped forward and begun to undress. He was in the greatest hurry to undress, and his eyes again scanned her body from top to bottom. Quickly the clothes ended up on the floor, making a path to the bed.

"Look at you... So hungry for sex, so human," she said still with her tone and smirk, already lying on the bed as he climbed over her like a predator over its prey. He was looking at her like one, like a victorious hunter, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't like being looked at in that way — Bob had never looked at her like that before.

"I'm going to prove to you that there's nothing human in me."

Part of her wanted to ask him why a "God" like him needed so badly to prove to a human like her that he was also a God in bed if he supposedly didn't love her and it was just a chemical reaction he wanted to soothe and satisfy, but she assumed correctly that he wouldn't like to be questioned on that score and let him do it.

He leaned over her, and she could feel his erect member brushing against her. Now he wanted to scan her with his sense of touch, so he touched and squeezed with his hands wherever he wanted to touch as she spread her legs and rested her hands on his shoulders.

His face hid in her neck, which he bit and sucked. Then Void's lips descended to her breasts, where he intended to do the same and more. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away as she felt one of his hands grasp one of them tightly as she felt his teeth bite and stretch the nipple of the other. He wanted to devour her and mark her. He wanted to leave something of his own in her, and hopefully the next time Bob got his hands on her he would realise it wasn't him that did it, making him feel more insecure, sad and angry and thus having an easy opportunity to have dominance over the body and repeat what he was doing again.

When he came back up to her face he kissed her again quickly and intensely, and she was about to discover another difference between him and Bob: he got straight to the point and Bob took his time. He was devouring her mouth with such a relentlessness that it seemed he was actually hungry, wanting to satisfy his appetite with a good piece of meat. Her hands slid from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, slipping the hollows of her fingers through his locks of long hair as he thrust his tongue inside her, eliciting subtle moans from both of them as their tongues made contact.

He wanted to indulge his most primal instincts once and for all, and at this point it was almost a physiological need, but he took pity on her and decided to touch her, to make her enjoy it more and prepare her for what was next. Also, deep down, he wanted to do what Bob was lucky enough to be able to do whenever he wanted.

He settled in on her right and she closed her eyes as Void's dominant hand began to slide too low, seeking her warmth and wetness. His index and middle fingers just stroked over her folds, marvelling for a few seconds at the wetness of anticipation as she felt his erect member against her right thigh and a teasing smile against her neck.

"You're so wet," he said in her ear as he caressed her.

"It's not personal," she said, not wanting it to go to his head. He couldn't help snorting through his nose — to be honest he liked her sense of humour.

Void slid his fingers up to the top of her vaginal lips to caress her clit with an almost unique energy and enthusiasm, without warning and making her moan and writhe instantly. Luckily for both of them the walls of the base were soundproof, and probably by muscle memory he knew exactly where to touch. And even as she tried to move her hips to seek even more stimulation (or maybe try to pull away because it was too much pleasure) his other hand clamped tighter on her, preventing her from being able to move any further. She was a mess who only knew how to moan and talk nonsense, but she really wanted to avoid giving him the satisfaction of hearing the word "God" from her lips, even if she didn't say it in reference to him — he was already getting too much satisfaction out of seeing her in this state because of him.

When she noticed him stop masturbating her there, just as she was on the verge of orgasm, she noticed him slide his fingers back into her vaginal lips, and his fingers made their way inside her as well without warning. She wrapped her arms around his head, moaning at the intrusion. He was merciful only at first, as he pushed them in. Then he began to move them in a steady rhythm, causing the wetness inside her to be heard. When her orgasm came he couldn't help but form a smile of mischievous pride.

Void tried to search inside his mind for any shred of patience or sanity he had left, but he found none of that inside him — he was only burning with the energy of a million suns. He withdrew his fingers to finally massage his member a little, preparing to finally enter — this time the way he really wanted to. As he positioned himself between her legs and almost without thinking (out of habit) she tried to bring her hand towards the member pointing at her like an arrow, but before she could even brush against it he filled the void inside her, ignoring any cordiality but fitting perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. She tried to stifle a great moan as she felt him fully inside her.

His gaze remained fixed on her face as he thrust his member in and out of her — his long, tousled hair falling across his forehead and eyes, his mouth letting out light moans and his breath hitching. Void's hands stayed on her hips, pulling her closer to him as he increased the intensity of his thrusts even more. Quickly the bed frame began to make its own sound, with a very faint metallic squeak and small knocks against the wall that grew louder as he leaned and settled over her. His hands went to her legs, forcing them behind his back, and she too went back to hugging his head and clutching at his hair.

"Say it," he said in his typical deep voice in her ear.

"God," she cried in his. That reminder of what he was was music to his ears, but more than a God he was an animal — a wild dog in heat.

Quickly her mind began to feel increasingly foggy, beginning to feel a great warmth inside her lower abdomen along with the wet sounds of their private parts colliding. She knew she was about to cum, and when she did, he, far from stopping, kept going. Deep down she was willing him not to stop — she begged him, not only with her eyes, but also in words mixed with whimpers. At that moment she was out of her mind, unable to think clearly.

Thanks to his supernatural strength he was able to have a lot of stamina, but the accelerated pace soon took its toll in the sense that he was about to cum too. He didn't want to, he wanted to hold on as long as he could inside her — her insides were still so tight, wet and warm that all he wanted to do was keep going and not stop for a second. He thrust deeper than he should have, stealing her breath for a second, and then he cum inside her, stopping short as he filled her and sighed deeply.

He pulled out and dropped down on top of her, but he didn't have a second to relax, as she pushed him off of her and moved to the side, seemingly annoyed. He knew it couldn't be because he had cum inside her, as he knew it didn't matter to her as there was no risk of getting pregnant.

"No aftercare?" he asked confused and slightly annoyed as he watched her reach over to the bedside table next to her, taking a half-empty packet of tissues between her fingers.

"Do you mind?" she asked now, annoyed and slightly confused as she got out of bed.

"I just told you that I love you!" he reminded her indignantly as he pointed with his arm to the spot where that had happened, where they were standing before, because he did want to do that — he wanted to relax and have her hold him after what they'd done, after what they'd been through.

"Didn't you just want to fuck?" She asked as she bent down and picked up his clothes from the floor to throw them on the bed, letting him know that she wanted him to get up and get out of there as soon as possible.

"I made you cum twice, you have my cum-" he said pointing to her crotch where it was starting to come out, and she grabbed a tissue from the small plastic packet to quickly wipe it off.

"Bob make me cum more and cums at the same time as me," she reported casually and without even looking at him as she threw the handkerchief into a small bin she had lying around.

Where was the passive girl from before, who begged him in every possible way not to leave her side? It seemed that now she was the one who had changed her personality, wasn't he the only system in that house? He didn't understand her — first she refused to kiss him, then she asked him to tell her he loved her, then they fucked, and finally this. Was this how unpredictable and unstable he and Bob were perceived?

"Didn't this mean anything to you?" he asked as he watched her hurry back and forth, picking up her old clothes and grabbing new ones from the wardrobe.

"Did it for you?" she asked stopping short to look at him seriously as she raised an eyebrow.

"...No," he replied, or rather, reminded himself as he got out of bed.

"Hurry up," she said annoyed pointing to the bedroom door with her head, indicating that she wanted him to leave as soon as possible, "and leave Bob alone," she added quickly, and even though she was the weaker of the two, it sounded like a threat.

She would admit that Void did well and had a good time humiliating him for acting like a human (or rather a dog in heat), including when he said "Please" when he asked her for a kiss, when he sort of confessed and when she coaxed the "I love you" that didn't really mean anything to her. Besides, she would never forget the hungry look in his eyes as he watched her, but if she agreed it was because he had the same body as her boyfriend — he kissed with the same lips and after a kiss she couldn't refuse to go on, going for more. But the one she loved was Bob, the shy and respectful boy who looked at her as if she was the Goddess there, who took all the time in the world to caress and kiss her between all kinds of compliments and "I love you"s that really moved her and she responded. And Void, although he didn't understand it, knew it. For a second he forgot that she wasn't really his. He may have felt favouritism for her, but she felt favouritism for Bob. He knew she wasn't lying when she said it wasn't personal. And unlike this one, he was truly alone.

© trainer-from-unova / alicent burton | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[darkmatilda]

𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer genuinely can't believe that you're being kind to him. and you—well, you weren’t ashamed to admit that seeing him with the child had just a little melted your heart.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, a very fleeting mention of the babysitter kidnapper, but other than that, the fluffiest shit ive ever written (don't get used to it) (love them so much shshaha its unhealthy) (spencer performing MAGIC TRICK!)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.3k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by lovely @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat love you so much you have no idea

The yellow Ford Falcon XB was reaching its record speed, slicing through the racetrack like a released arrow, emitting that signature mechanical growl and drawing dozens of captivated gazes.

At least, that’s how it looked through the eyes of a six-year-old.

Through Spencer’s eyes, it was just a toy car being pushed across the wooden surface of the table by a small hand.

The boy’s brown hair nearly touched his shoulders, and he wore a blue soccer jersey with a number on the back. His gaze wasn’t curiously darting around the office where they were alone—it was fixed solely on his favorite toy.

Reid watched him in silence for a moment, letting him play in peace before starting the conversation he, unfortunately, had to initiate.

For some time now, they had been working on a case involving the abduction of babysitters—each disappearing while on the job, vanishing after leaving the house with the children they were watching. Whether heading to the park, the playground, or a store, that was the only variable. The rest of the details were so methodical, so patterned, that there was no doubt they were dealing with a serial offender.

"Liam," he began, drawing the boy’s green eyes to him.

Spencer didn’t feel comfortable in this role. He never considered himself particularly gifted when it came to interacting with children—which was strange, considering everyone around him seemed to think otherwise. Especially since the arrival of his godson, Henry, had given him more opportunities for it.

"My name is Spencer, and…I’d like to talk to you for a moment."

He paused. The boy's face took on an odd expression; he didn’t respond, just looked at him with a certain shyness. Spencer hesitated, opening his mouth only to close it again.

All the previous babysitters had been taken the moment they looked away, leaving the children alone. From a child’s perspective, it must have been confusing. One moment, their beloved babysitter was with them, and the next, uniformed officers arrived, whisking them away to a place where more strange adults asked them strange but gentle questions.

For example, if they saw anything strange.

Strange? The children never really understood what that meant. After all, they had just been playing at the park like they did every afternoon. What could possibly be strange about that?

Spencer sighed. He didn’t want to bombard the boy with questions that would, at best, earn him a nod or a shake of the head. If he wanted answers—testimony (though the word felt absurd when referring to a six-year-old)—he’d have to take a different approach. He needed Liam to open up naturally. Even if it took a little longer.

"Is that a Falcon XB?" he asked, deliberately exaggerating his interest as he nodded toward the toy car teetering at the edge of the table. He moved around to take a seat beside the boy, slouching slightly. It always seemed easier to talk to kids when they were at the same eye level. "Can I see it?"

Liam stared at him for a moment before nodding.

Spencer carefully picked up the toy. His hesitation wasn’t just about earning the boy’s trust—though that was important. No, the real reason for his reluctance was the fact that, just five minutes ago, he had watched Liam absentmindedly shove the car into his mouth, biting down on its yellow surface.

"It’s really cool. Is it your favorite?" he asked, trying to push aside the thought of bacteria. The countless, countless bacteria.

There are an estimated 700 different species living in the human mouth…

Liam nodded again.

Focus, Reid. Cars, not bacteria.

"Did you know the original Falcon XB had an engine that let it reach over 220 kilometers per hour? It was so popular in Australia that the police used it for high-speed chases."

The boy studied him in silence for a moment, but Spencer could tell he had his attention.

“So…it’s a police car? Why doesn’t it have a siren?”

“The ones used by the police did," Spencer explained. "They also had lights on the roof so they could chase criminals. You know, yours might not have them because…”—he lowered his voice—“…it’s actually a secret police car.”

Liam frowned, clearly not following. “A secret police car?”

Spencer nodded.

“Used for undercover missions,” he continued. The boy’s full attention was locked onto him now—he must’ve hit on something that really fascinated him. “By secret agents, so they wouldn’t be noticed. And when they really need to…”

He glanced at Liam out of the corner of his eye, making sure the boy was still watching him closely. Once he was sure he had him hooked, Spencer clasped his hands together, concealing the Hot Wheels car between them. He held them still for a moment, letting the anticipation build.

Then, finally, he pulled them apart—revealing nothing but empty palms.

“…it disappears.”

  The boy’s mouth fell open in amazement, gasping. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the sight, even though, to him, it was nothing impressive. He had done this trick hundreds of times—it was so simple. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about watching the boy’s reaction, seeing how intently he studied Spencer’s hands, completely baffled by the disappearance of his toy.

Then suddenly, in the middle of it all, Spencer felt someone watching him.

He shifted his gaze toward the doorway, toward the figure standing in the threshold—the sight of whom caused his smile to falter. Not out of displeasure, but more out of surprise. And it wasn’t just her presence that caught him off guard. Lately, they had been running into each other in the most unexpected situations, to the point where he was starting to get used to it. What he wasn’t used to was the expression on her face.

By now, he had memorized the looks she most often wore around him—irritation, sarcasm, playful exasperation. But the way her head tilted slightly to the side, the faint curve at the corner of her lips, and the softness in her eyes didn’t fit into any of those categories. 

 Spencer felt his shoulders tense. He wasn’t sure if he had always been this paranoid or if it was a newly acquired trait—maybe one tied specifically to her—but a sense of unease settled over him. Before standing up to approach her and find out what she wanted, he cleared his throat and turned back to Liam one last time. He placed his hand behind the boy’s ear, pulling out the toy car as if it had been hidden there all along.

“I’ll be back in a moment, alright?” he informed him.

The boy didn’t even look at him, completely engrossed in examining the car from every angle, as if truly believing it could vanish on command. Spencer found himself smiling again. But that expression faded entirely when he stepped closer to the woman leaning against the doorframe. She shifted slightly backward into the hallway—probably to keep their conversation out of the child’s earshot.

“You know,” she started before he could say anything, raising her eyebrows slightly.

She lifted something in her hand—something Spencer hadn’t even noticed before, too focused on analyzing the look on her face. That suspicious look on her face. It was a plastic box of crayons.

“When JJ ran into me in the hallway, shoving this into my hands and begging me to find Spence and give it to him, I was a little confused. But now I get it.”

She nodded toward the boy.

Spencer instinctively followed her gaze, mirroring its path. At the same time, she shoved the box of crayons into his hands. Caught off guard, he had to grip it tightly to keep from dropping it. She then crossed her arms over her chest.

He glanced at her face once more and suddenly sighed, finally realizing what this meant.

“Oh, well, let me guess,” he began, rolling his eyes upward. “Because you had to deliver this to me, you now expect something in return. And you won’t tell me what, you’ll just keep me in suspense for the next few weeks, casually reminding me that I owe you, until eventually, you demand something absolutely ridiculous.”

He spoke with confidence, convinced of his theory. But as a prolonged silence settled between them, he started to doubt it. Especially when she averted her gaze for a moment.

Someone might think she was crafting a particularly sharp retort—he himself considered it for a second—until he realized she never needed time to think of a comeback. When talking to him, they rolled off her tongue at machine-gun speed.

Another brief glance toward the boy.

"This is about the case with the kidnapped babysitters, isn’t it?" she asked, completely ignoring his entire speech. "I heard something about it. The kid—he's okay?"

Spencer didn't hide his surprise at the question. It took him a moment to realize that it was completely natural in this situation—almost anyone would have asked it. Maybe it was just the rare trace of concern in her voice that caught him off guard.

“Um… yeah…yeah, he's okay,” he stammered, his tongue suddenly twisting over the words. He had no idea why. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the strange fog in his brain.

“I mean, I was just about to talk to him, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t see anything. Same as in the previous cases. This unsub doesn’t…doesn’t hurt kids.” Suddenly, he became aware of the weight of the crayons in his hands, remembering them again. He added, “And, uh, thanks for this. When we work with kids, we often give them paper and crayons. Sometimes it’s easier for them to draw something than to say it out loud.”

She let out a sound—a hum—suggesting that she understood.

He caught himself mentally keeping track of time. They were probably breaking a record for how long they had gone without arguing. Or at least without one of them slipping in a tiny jab at the other.

He was experiencing so-called cognitive dissonance.

“So, they stuck you with babysitting duty today?” she asked. Before he could respond, she let out a quiet snort. “Well, no surprise there.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer frowned. “By the way, this isn’t a common thing. I’m not particularly good with kids. Usually, they assign someone else for this, like—”

“I’m not particularly good with kids,” she repeated, her voice laced with mockery.

Oh. So they were back to their usual dynamic.

“Congratulations. You heard me correctly.”

“I know I did,” she shot back, sharper this time. “I just don’t agree. I watched you two for a moment. You are good with kids. Didn’t you see how excited he was when you did that trick?”

“He was just surprised. I made his toy disappear.”

“Which doesn’t change the fact that he’s a kid whose babysitter was just…” She mouthed the word kidnapped, only her lips forming the shape of it. “Something he might not fully grasp, but still—he was taken to a completely unfamiliar place, away from his parents. And instead of being terrified, he’s calm, even fascinated by what you showed him. So, like I said, you are good with kids.”

Spencer listened to her explanation, an odd feeling creeping over him. A kind of uncertainty, like she couldn’t possibly be talking about him. He almost wanted to turn around, check if someone was standing behind him, if the words were meant for someone else. But he didn’t—because, strangely, even moving felt difficult at that moment.

“Anyway,” she murmured suddenly, breaking the prolonged silence between them. “I’ve got to go. And don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything this time. I’ll let you off the hook—just this once.”

Before she left, she focused on his face one last time. That strange expression was still there—the same one from the beginning of their conversation, the one that had thrown him into cognitive dissonance. That strange expression that, maybe, was… something kind?

He returned to Liam, so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed the boy watching him for quite some time. He gave a small nod, pulling himself back to reality, back to the case at hand.

“She’s your friend?” Liam asked, his gaze drifting to where the woman had just been standing.

Spencer set the box of crayons down on the table, within the boy’s reach. He considered the question for a moment. He decided, however, that a six-year-old didn’t need the complicated details of their relationship.

“Yes.”

A brief silence followed his—well, lie.

“Really pretty.”

Laughter gathered in his chest. It was, in its own way, charming—the infatuation hidden in his shy words.

"Yes," he nodded gently. "I mean, she knows that” 

"Because you told her?"

He hesitated at those words, genuinely unsure of what to say. Fortunately, the boy wasn’t waiting for an answer. For a moment, his green eyes locked onto the toy car still sitting on the table, then back to Spencer, full of silent request.

"Can you teach me that trick?"

*

"Okay, buddy. Don’t stress. You’ve got this. Good luck."

Spencer patted the boy on the back. Liam gave a small nod, as if gathering courage, then hesitantly made his way toward the woman.

At the sight of a child suddenly at her feet, her eyebrows lifted high. She crouched down, asking him something in a soft voice.

Liam held out both fists, the yellow toy barely fitting in one of them. It was obvious where it was hidden, yet the woman pretended to consider her choice carefully before pointing at one hand.

Proud of himself, he revealed both empty palms—then pulled the toy car from behind her ear.

Her lips stretched into a wide smile, exaggerated in surprise. Then, she sought out his gaze, holding it for a lingering moment—just long enough for Spencer to realize he was smiling too.

[six-tooth]

anyway feeling very normal about this scene

the fact that after a long, unpleasant day of absolutely nothing going his way and constantly being reminded of how much everyone else dislikes him, he's too tired to keep his act up and seeks out a genuine conversation with the one person whom he hasn't interacted with through the entire adventure

Pomni about to answer sincerely before realizing it's Jax and changing her approach, either out of caution or uncertainty by him being so... casual

she braces for one of his usual remarks/jokes but is surprised when he answers with neither, simply letting her know how he's doing as well

finally, when he's called over for another task, he's still visibly annoyed but follows through without much protest and waves goodbye to Pomni, who is undoubtedly confused by what she just saw.

there have been a couple of instances where the series shows us that Jax is being affected by the circus more than he lets on, and they were really focused on during this episode.

this got me thinking about what Goose really meant by him "getting worse"; most people (myself included) interpreted it as his actions gradually escalating to a point where it could result in conflict with the rest of the cast, but after this scene and near the end where he leaves and gets in his car, it could be understood as his repressed emotions finally catching up to him and turning his mental well-being for the worst. It could also be a mix of the two

now this is the part where I put my delusional cap on, but there has been a significant build up to Jax and Pomni's relationship through the whole series, the most notorious one being:

his hand missing from Pomni's moment of realization that the other people she's been trapped with are trustworthy and care for her. You obviously can't blame her for coming to this conclusion, but I think that's exactly what made this small interaction a lot more important

Jax has been pushing others away and masking his emotions for who knows how long, and one of the primary focus and messages of TADC is connections with others and how important they are, so for them to show us Pomni seeing Jax have a brief moment of vulnerability, I do believe it's reasonable to think that they will eventually develop a relationship with some amount of significance, maybe even something close to a friendship

but yeah, feeling very normal