#International Business | Features | How We Live

[xtruss]

'It Hasn't Delivered': The Spectacular Failure of Self-checkout Technology

— 15th January 2024 | By Sam Becker, Features Correspondent | BBC

Self-checkout technology has grown, but not every business and consumer is happy with the investment. Credit: Alamy

Unstaffed Tills Were Supposed to Revolutionise Shopping. Now, Both Retailers and Customers are Bagging Many Self-Checkout Kiosks.

It's a common sight at many retail stores: a queue of people, waiting to use a self-checkout kiosk, doing their best to remain patient as a lone store worker attends to multiple malfunctioning machines. The frustration mounts while a dozen darkened, roped-off and cashier-less tills sit in the background.

For shoppers, self-checkout was supposed to provide convenience and speed. Retailers hoped it would usher in a new age of cost savings. Their thinking: why pay six employees when you could pay one to oversee customers at self-service registers, as they do their own labour of scanning and bagging for free?

While self-checkout technology has its theoretical selling points for both consumers and businesses, it mostly isn't living up to expectations. Customers are still queueing. They need store employees to help clear kiosk errors or check their identifications for age-restricted items. Stores still need to have workers on-hand to help them, and to service the machines.

The technology is, in some cases, more trouble than it's worth.

"It hasn't delivered anything that it promises," says Christopher Andrews, associate professor and chair of sociology at Drew University, US, and author of The Overworked Consumer: Self-Checkouts, Supermarkets, and the Do-It-Yourself Economy. "Stores saw this as the next frontier… If they could get the consumer to think that [self-checkout] was a preferable way to shop, then they could cut labour costs. But they're finding that people need help doing it, or that they'll steal stuff. They ended up realising that they're not saving money, they're losing money."

Alamy One of the frustrations of self-checkout can be the extra work of having to find a specific PLU code to ring up a purchase. Credit: Alamy

Unexpected Problems in the Bagging Area

Many retail companies have invested millions – if not billions – of dollars in self-checkout technology, which Andrews says was first developed during the 1980s, and started appearing in stores in the 1990s. They're not exactly cheap to get into stores: some experts estimate a four-kiosk system can run six figures.

Despite the cost to install them, many retailers are reversing course on the tech. Target, for instance, is restricting the number of items self-checkout customers can purchase at one time. Walmart has removed some self-checkout kiosks in certain stores to deter theft. In the UK, supermarket chain Booths has also cut down on the number of self-service kiosks in its stores, as customers say they're slow and unreliable.

Dollar General, one of the fastest-growing retailers in the US, is also re-thinking its strategy. In 2022, the discount chain leaned heavily into self-checkout technology – it's not uncommon to see only one or two employees staffing an entire Dollar General store in some areas. Despite the investment, they are now planning to increase the number of employees in stores "and in particular, the checkout area", according to the company's CEO, Todd Vasos.

"We had relied and started to rely too much this year on self-checkout in our stores," he said during the company's Q3 2023 earnings call on 7 December 2023. "We should be using self-checkout as a secondary checkout vehicle, not a primary." (Dollar General did not respond to the BBC's requests for comment).

“Some Data Shows Retailers Utilising Self-checkout Technology Have Loss Rates More Than Twice The Industry Average.”

Some retailers cite theft as a motivator for ditching the unstaffed tills. Customers may be more willing to simply swipe merchandise when using a self-service kiosk than they are when face-to-face with a human cashier. Some data shows retailers utilising self-checkout technology have loss rates more than twice the industry average.

In addition to shrink concerns, experts say another failure of self-checkout technology is that, in many cases, it simply doesn't lead to the cost savings businesses hoped for. Just as Dollar General appears poised to add more employees to its check-out areas, presumably increasing staffing costs, other companies have done the same. Despite self-checkout kiosks becoming ubiquitous throughout the past decade or so, the US still has more than 3.3 million cashiers working around the nation, according to data from the US Bureau of Labor Statistics.

Humans or Machines?

Consumers want this technology to work, and welcomed it with open arms. However, years later, they're still queueing for tills; waiting for store-staff assistance with errors or age checks; and searching high and low for the PLU code of the Walla Walla Sweet Onions they're trying to purchase.

In a 2021 survey of 1,000 American shoppers, 60% of consumers said they prefer to use self-checkout over a staffed checkout aisle when given the choice, yet 67% of consumers have had the technology fail while trying to use it.

Alamy Experts say some self-checkout kiosks may stand abandoned as some shoppers transition backed to staffed tills. Credit: Alamy

The bottom line is businesses want to cut costs, and shoppers want to get in and out of a store. If self-checkout isn't the answer, they'll find another avenue.

"It's not that self-checkout technology is good or bad, per se… [but] if we try self-checkout and realise we're not benefitting from it, we might switch back to not using it," says Amit Kumar, an assistant professor of marketing and psychology at the University of Texas, who studies consumer behaviour and decision-making.

That appears to be happening in many cases, as customers' frustrations with the technology persist. But Andrews says that while stores may change up their strategies – as seen with Dollar General and others – many large retail chains are likely to keep kiosks in stores due to sunk costs. "They spent billions putting it in stores, and are hoping they can still get the public to buy into it," he says.

Retailers may continue to rely on the technology, but many aren't putting all their farm-fresh eggs in the self-checkout basket. Instead, they're increasingly giving customers the option to choose between human and machine.

For the customers that do choose to do the labour themselves, there's one thing Andrews believes won't change. However ubiquitous the technology is, and however much consumers get used to using the kiosks, shoppers are likely to find themselves disappointed and frustrated most of the time.

"It was part of a larger experiment in retail in trying to socialise people into using it," he says. Simply, "customers hate it".

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover - A.H

a/n: this is honestly kind of shit but whatever

might make this a mini series?

part two here!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: reader kind of flashes hotch, really inconsistent with how the gov works i'm sure, there's also definitely not an oven in the break room but in my world there is <3

wc: 3.8k

Hotch's voice reached you, but the words tangled into an indecipherable code as they hit the air. You nodded, a reflex, but it was as if your brain had short-circuited. You could make out fragments--a hit on you, stay at office, 24/7 protection, you can take the back office. But no matter how many times he said it, it seemed to ricochet through your head, making less sense each time. You were on a hit list? A hit list?

It all felt very made up, like a script ripped straight out of a tv show. Risk was a part of the BAU job description, but a hit list? For a fleeting moment, a chuckle hovered at the brink of your lips, but it was swiftly swallowed by a wave of dread that rose in its place. You blinked a couple times, probably too many in a vain attempt to clear the fog and bring Hotch's face into focus.

"But what about all my stuff? And you want me to camp out here in the office? For how long, Hotch? I mean, I'm all for overtime, but this is... this is a lot, and I--," you babble, your speech racing ahead of your thoughts. "And my baking? That's my biggest stress reliever. Not to mention my DIY projects--I can't just abandon my half-finished throw pillowcases. Plus, how many pairs of shoes is too many for an office closet?"

Your pout formed a delicate bow, and though he said nothing, his eyes softened. Hotch could feel the frown marring his features. He might never say it, but seeing you like this struck a chord, making it a little hard to breathe. 

Circling the desk, he planted himself in front of you, his hand settling on your shoulder. "Hey, take a deep breath," he urges softly. "Let's take it one step at a time. List out what you need, someone will bring it here. Your baking supplies, DIY projects, even your shoes."

True to Hotch's word, as usual, you found every piece of your life carefully compartmentalized into cardboard boxes, lined up carefully in the office that now doubled as your temporary room. There was an odd sense of dislocation in finishing your workday and needing only to count about thirty steps before arriving at your room.

You swung the door closed, the sound sealing the room as a deep sigh wrapped around you and you started sifting through the boxes. The pullout couch serving as your bed was less than appealing, its worn fabric making you grimace internally. Nevertheless, you diverted your attention, busying yourself with the organizing of your extensive collection of things. Spencer would definitely shake his head at the sight of the vast amount of clothes you had brought.

The irony wasn't lost on you; surrounded by the office's ceaseless motion, yet you felt more alone than in the stillness of your own apartment. God, this was pathetic, and you needed a drink, but you had a nagging suspicion the office handbook would have a thing or two to say about that. You spent a solid two hours attempting to infuse the sterile space with a touch of home, it wasn't perfect (at all), but it would have to do.

Rossi knocks on the doorframe, poking his head in with a grin. "I didn't realize we were redecorating the bureau in shades of bubblegum," he teases. "How you doing, kid?"

"Actually, it's blush," you correct with a mock-serious tone, meeting his smile with one of your own. "I'm fine," you insist, but Rossi's knowing look prompts a quick add-on. "I am, really, I mean I've always said I wanted my own office."

"An office with a view of the bullpen, no less. You're living the dream," he says, his eyes scanning the room. "Need any help with anything? Or anything else from your place? Maybe your favorite mug to make feel more like home?"

"Don't worry, I'm already one step ahead of you," you assure him, revealing a drawer brimming with mugs.

Rossi lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Why am I not surprised?" he chuckles with a broad grin. "Well, I'm heading out for the night. Remember, I'm just a call away if you need anything. And Hotch is still here, buried in paperwork as usual."

He left, and you were alone--a cue to try and cling to some normalcy of your routine; you drew the blinds and slipped into the comfort of your pajamas. You hauled yourself off to the office bathroom, reluctantly at that, and proceeded to attend to your skincare, brush your hair, and polish your smile with a thorough teeth brushing.

Eyeing the hallway warily, you made a silent exit from the bathroom, the carpet softening your footfalls. But in your rush to avoid prying eyes, you crashed into a solid wall of a figure, the force sending you tumbling backward. You hit the floor with a muted thud, your ass hitting the ground, legs splayed inelegantly in front of you. Your eyes rose to meet the firm, penetrating look of Hotch. Of fucking course.

There was a pause as Hotch's eyes drank in the sight of your flushed complexion and the wide, doe-like eyes that seemed to capture the light just so. He felt like his heart could stop then and there. And he knew it was wrong, but he certainly liked the sight of you sprawled below him. He blinked, breaking the trance, and offered a concerned, "Are you okay?" His hands were outstretched, ready to pull you back to your feet. 

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade as you held onto Hotch's hand, the feeling unexpectedly comforting, rough in yours but nice. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm all good, sorry about that," you managed to say, the words squeaking out a tad too eagerly. 

You stood up, and his closeness was all-consuming. You were suddenly intensely aware of every breath, every throb of your heart, and your mind went blank; the usual stream of thoughts replaced by a buzzing silence.

His eyes held yours for a fraction longer than necessary before he stepped back, creating a respectful distance. The hallway's warmth seemed to dissipate with the space, leaving you with an unexpected stab of disappointment. 

"Rossi said you'd be here. Anything I can do to help?" 

You rationalized the offer as a gesture of your goodwill, but a small part, well a big part, of you knew just wanted to be close to him, to be alone with him maybe--in the office, after hours, in his office. This was weird, I mean, you'd always admired your Unit Chief, but this was different. You chalked it up to the day's unfortunate series of events--you were tired, and lonely, and you needed desperately to snap out of it before you made a fool out of yourself.

"No, you need to rest. It's been a long day, and you've been through enough." He paused, his gaze assessing you. "How are you holding up?"

"At this rate, I'll need a sign that says 'I'm fine,' to stop the check-ins." Although you silently doubted that would deter him. You gesture to the surroundings. "And this? It's like a sleepover at work. Just hoping this so-called hit man doesn't show up."

Hotch internally recoiled at your words, leaving him with the sensation of a cold grasp tightening around his heart. He cleared his throat, the joke falling flat in the gravity of his concern. "I'll be here for a while longer. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come find me," he managed a nod before retreating to his office.

A while longer? You knew Hotch was a workaholic, but it now occurred to you that he must never sleep. Quickly, you gathered your scattered belongings, and made your way to your office.

The pull-out couch seemed even less inviting than you remembered, if that was possible. You perched on the edge, the metallic frame cold through the thin mattress. As you lay down, the couch seemed to swallow you in its awkward angles. Perfect. Tossing and turning, you struggled to find a comfortable spot. Eventually, exhaustion won over discomfort, the rhythm of your own breathing lulling you into a fitful sleep.

Your eyes flickered open at some point during the night and the blinds drifted apart, as if by an unseen hand, and through the gap, your eyes fell on a hooded figure, the face not visible in the dim light. Your muscles locked in terror, an icy fear clawing its way up your spine as you tried to move--to reach for your gun, to call out for Hotch, to do anything. But as if imprisoned by an invisible force, you could only watch, confined to the bed, as the figure crept towards the door. 

A scream tore from your throat, a raw and piercing sound that ricocheted off the walls and echoed through your eyes. This was it, you thought. 

Then, in an instant, you were awake and disoriented, your breaths coming in short bursts, and your body covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Your fingers clenched the sheets, the fabric twisting in your grasp as you fought to decipher what was reality. Your eyes snapped to the blinds, half-expecting to see the figure from your dream materialize, but the emptiness beyond them slowly calmed your racing heart.

With a throat dry as parchment and your pulse still echoing in your ears, you drifted from your room towards the break room. As you ambled past Hotch's office, you paused. The door, slightly ajar, felt like an invitation. Despite knowing better, a foggy curiosity nudged your feet forward. With a shaky breath, you eased the door open wider and slipped inside. 

His office felt different at night--it was quieter, more personal, and you felt like an intruder on Hotch's private world. You took a moment, absorbing the sight of his meticulously organized desk, the case files that were always present.

It was tempting to try to piece together the man from his workspace, but you held back. As you turned to leave, a familiar scent stopped you--the subtle hint of his cologne hanging in the air. It wrapped around you, easing the tension that had sunk into your limbs. Almost without thinking, you found yourself sinking into the couch.

The room, infused with his distinct scent, seemed to have your blinking growing heavier, more intentional. You nestled deeper into the cushions; the fabric familiar beneath your fingers, lulling you into a sense of security. Just five minutes, you thought.

Hotch's steps were slow, his eyelids having a hard time staying open as he made his way through the bullpen. He carried his briefcase, the leather handle worn and conformed to his hand. He contemplated a detour to your office, a silent check-in to ease his mind, but he dismissed the idea--you were probably still asleep, and he'd definitely look like a creep. Reaching his own office, he noticed the door ajar, a sliver of morning light spilling through the gap.

He stepped into the room, and time seemed to stand still as his gaze landed on the couch. There you were, fast asleep on his couch. Your hand lay gently under your cheek, a makeshift pillow softening the hard angles beneath, while your nose gave the faintest twitches. Your lips were parted as if mid-whisper and strands of your hair were splayed in a disarrayed crown around your head. He knew that in no way could that have been comfortable. It hurt his back just looking at you, but still you looked so peaceful.

He moved with quiet steps, heat creeping up his neck as he placed his things on the desk. Turning back to you, he couldn't help but notice the gentle dishevelment of your pajamas, buttons undone in innocent disarray, the fabric parting to reveal the gentle slope of your breasts. He felt an odd mix of emotions--a gentle chiding for finding you in such state, and the guilt of finding the sight so undeniably sweet. 

A quiet cough escaped him, more out of habit than necessity, as he approached a cabinet where blankets were neatly stacked--a nod to many nights spent just as you were. He draped one over you, his movements slow and unhurried, shielding you from potential curious eyes before finding his normal place behind the wooden desk.

He tried to focus--really, he did. I mean, he had a towering pile of paperwork and responsibilities that demanded his attention. But despite his best efforts, his gaze involuntarily drifted to you time and time again. It was as if he needed visual confirmation of your steady breathing to assure himself that you were okay. He thought about you here all night, alone, and he found his knuckles whiten against the grip of his pen. He knew you had security on you at all times, but somehow, he found no comfort in that.

Hotch's eyes flicked to the clock--7:30 am. You still had at least another half an hour before you technically needed to start work, although truth be told he would let you sleep as long as your body allowed. There was no way in hell he was going to disturb you when you looked so content. 

As Hotch worked, the morning light grew stronger, casting a warm glow over his desk. It was nearly 9 am when the sound of shifting fabric eventually roused you. You were waking up, blinking away the remnants of sleep, confusion etched on your face. As your eyes caught sight of the clock and Hotch, mortification set it. 

"Oh my gosh, Hotch. I am so sorry," you blurted out, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. "You could've woken me up--I... I should've set an alarm. And I shouldn't even be here, but I can explain, sort of..."

In a flurry of motion, you leapt from the couch, only to feel a sudden tug at your chest as a button from your top snagged on a stray thread. The fabric pulled open, revealing way more than what was appropriate for your boss to see. Your face turned a shade redder as you scrambled to cover up. Hotch, momentarily sidetracked by the sight of the cleavage of your tits once again, quickly refocused and interrupted your flustered explanations.

"It's fine," he assured. "Given everything that's happened, you needed the rest." He nodded towards the couch. "You're always welcome to sleep here if you need to--though I can't promise it'll be any more comfortable next time."

"Oh no, it was super comfortable, really," you insist, despite the awkwardness clinging to your words. Hotch gives you a look that says he's not entirely convinced. "Okay, well, I'm going to uh... go," you mumble, stopping short at the door with a sudden concern.

Hotch understands immediately and offers, "They're all in the briefing room--won't be out for a while."

With a relieved nod, and minimal eye contact, you dash out, hoping to reach your office unnoticed. But because the world just hated you these past days, just as you're rushing by, Morgan's hands come to your shoulders to stop you.

"Easy there, mama," he teases, a smile on his face. But as he gets a good look at your attire, his grin grows wider. "What in the world...?" he starts, laughter in his voice. He glances from you to Hotch's office door, then back again. "Hold up, hold up--you didn't... with Hotch? Are you?"

"What? No, Morgan, absolutely not! Why would you even--oh my god," you gasp, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. God, I mean, the day hasn't even started, and you needed it to end. Realizing your voice has risen in your flustered state, you quickly lower it to a harsh whisper, your eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard. "Why would you even suggest that?"

"Um, maybe because you're making a grand exit from the boss man's office in your PJs? Just a wild guess."

"No, Morgan, it's not what you think," you insist, but your attention snaps to the sound of the team's voices nearing the door. "I don't have time for this," you mutter, darting back to your office. 

In a whirlwind, you shed the pajamas, slip into your work attire, and hastily run a brush through your hair. Good enough. 

You threw yourself into work, the stack of papers becoming a welcome distraction, a rare sense of relief rather than the familiar dread. It was a considerable effort to divert your mind from the distractions--Hotch, the hit man, and Morgan's incessant teasing. Not that anyone would believe that you and Hotch were together; he was the very definition of sophisticated, handsome, and successful, and you were just, well, you.

Not that there was anything wrong with you. You liked yourself just fine; you laughed too loudly at jokes, talked to your houseplants as if they were your old friends, and you had an odd fascination with weather patterns. These things made you wholly you. You just knew you couldn't be more different from Hotch.

With a bit of luck and purposeful avoiding, your day passed smoothly, sparing you any unnecessary run-ins with Hotch. Everyone had gone home for the day which is why you stood in the break room attempting some baking recipe from Pinterest. 

The slippers on your feet padded against the carpet as you hummed around the room. With swift motions, you ushered the coffee cake batter into the oven, then turned to tackle the mess you had created on the countertops. Cleaning as you go wasn't your usual style, but office break room didn't seem like the place for your usual creative sprawl. 

Your phone had buzzed incessantly with Penelope's calls--her offers the keep you company is why you loved her, but you weren't going to subject her to that, no matter how many times she said she didn't mind.

Hotch's office was quiet, save for the soft scratching of his pen against paper as he finally closed his files. He moved into bullpen and as he passed the breakroom, the soft hum of the light and faint sound of movement drew him in. There you were, engrossed in tidying up, with your hair casually gathered above your shoulders and wearing your sweats, Hotch found him instinctively pausing to watch. 

He knew he shouldn't bother you, knew he was likely the last person you'd want to see, yet he found himself rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on you, the warmth in his chest intensifying with each fleeting second.

The moment you turned and saw a figure, a sharp gasp cut through the silence, and the icing in your grasp became a sweet projectile that flew across the room. Relief washed over you as you realized who it was.

"Jeez, Hotch, give me a heart attack why don't you," you said, half-laughing as your heart rate settled. "Especially when there's a hitman who might beat you to the punch."

Hotch parted his lips to speak, but you were quicker, a stream of thoughts tumbling out before you could stop them. "I thought everyone was gone. You weren't at your desk earlier--oh wait, you had that meeting with the DOJ, right? Did they have anything about the people who marked me?" 

In your haste, you closed the gap between you, and only then did you spot the icing on his cheek. "Oh, sorry about that, Hotch," you said with an apologetic grin, reaching out as if to wipe it away. 

As your palm made contact with his skin, a shared realization of the intimacy of the gesture washed over you. Time seemed to slow as your thumb traced a lingering path through the icing, your whisper barely audible, "There."

The word seemed to hang in the air as you froze, the proximity suddenly overwhelming, your breath caught in your throat. Hotch's backward step was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. You cleared your throat awkwardly, cheeks warming with a flush. "Um, did you need something?"

Hotch shook his head slightly, "No, just wanted to check on you before I head out."

You gave a thumbs up, mustering a smile. "Well, consider me checked."

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. "Goodnight," he said, to which you echoed in response as you watched him leave.

Alone now, you slumped against the counter, your hand pressed to your face. Consider me checked? God, someone needed to tape your mouth shut.

[dee-writes-anime]

do you have any headcanons with soft yandere hawks?

Obsessed? No, Baby, this is Love

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami i x Reader

SUMMARY He's not crazy and he means well, that's all! OR yandere hawks headcannons

CONTENT WARNINGS Hawks being overprotective, stalker tendencies, obsessions, and stuff like that!

AUTHORS NOTE I love making headcannons! They're pretty stress free and it's nice to take a break once and a while from plotting and writing and instead just being able to yap. Thanks for the request anon! <3

Constantly checking in

Hawks texts you more than a grandma on Facebook. It starts with a simple “Hey, how’s your day going?” but quickly spirals into 57 messages asking if you’re eating, sleeping, and possibly getting your required dose of love for the day. “I know you're fine, but just wanted to check—are you still breathing? Have you drank enough water, or should I remind you again?” You almost feel like you’re his pet, except, you know, way cuter.

He’ll “protect” you (a.k.a. hover over you)

His wings? They’re not just for flying, no. They’re like a personal shield that always shows up at the worst possible moments. You’ll be minding your business, and suddenly, there’s Hawks, hovering two inches behind you like a warm, feathery cloud. “Just here to keep an eye on you,” he says. And you’re like, Can I breathe though?

Who doesn't love surpise gifts?! (that double as surveillance devices)

Hawks loves to surprise you with thoughtful little trinkets, but they always come with just a touch of paranoia. “I saw this keychain and thought it’d be cute for you!” Sure, it’s cute… until you notice the tiny GPS tracker hidden inside it. “It’s for your safety,” he says with a wink. Right, Hawks. We all know it’s just in case someone tries to get too close to you. How sweet… and creepy.

Oh! Funny running into you here! :D

You think you’ve got your life together, doing errands, living your best independent life, but oh wait—here’s Hawks, just happening to be at the same café as you. “What a coincidence! I was just nearby!” Uh-huh, right. And I’m just shocked you also happened to bring coffee for both of us. It’s fine, though—he’s just making sure you’re not plotting to run off into the sunset with someone who doesn’t know your coffee order by heart.

He hides his jealousy so well! (can you hear his eye twitching?)

You ever see someone try to hide a full-on mental breakdown with a forced smile? Yeah, that’s Hawks when anyone looks at you for more than a second. Someone says “hi” to you at the grocery store? Expect a dramatic, almost cinematic shift in his vibe. His wing stiffens, the smile freezes, and you can practically hear the internal scream. “Oh, hey, did you want to buy something from their cart? I’m sure they don’t mind…” Sure, Hawks. Totally not possessive.

He's so sweet!... why is it almost scary?

At first, you think it’s sweet when Hawks remembers that you prefer a certain type of tea. Then you realize he’s tracking everything. “Remember when you said you liked that red dress from last summer? I got you a matching scarf!” And you're just standing there like, “Thanks? Are you trying to get me to fall in love with you or just lock me down forever?” His answer? “Both. But mostly the first one.”

Overprotective in the most (un)subtle way!

If you ever think you're going out for a “normal” night, you’re so wrong. “You don’t have to go out tonight, do you? It’s really cold out, and I’d hate for you to catch a cold.” Translation: “I’d prefer if you just stayed here and let me watch over you like a hawk (pun intended).” You try to resist, but then he hits you with the puppy eyes, and suddenly, you’re canceling plans to stay in and binge-watch Netflix with him… because clearly, you’re too important to be out in the world without him.

He's obsessed in love with the little things!

Hawks is obsessed with every single part of you, even the things you don’t notice. He’ll bring up the exact way you tap your foot when you’re anxious or how you always hum that one song when you’re about to do something important. “I thought you’d like these earrings because you always wear that shade of blue.” He’s scarily good at remembering everything. And you’d be a little worried if you weren’t so flattered by the fact that this man can’t get enough of you.

Bottom line? Hawks is like the perfect mix of sweet and “don’t you dare leave me alone for more than five minutes” obsession. But hey, at least you don’t have to worry about losing your keys, right? Because he’s got a tracker on everything—including your heart.

TAGLIST

@surielstea

[changingplumbob]

How will the Yorks react to my plan to host a bachelorette challenge?

Deanna - Potential bachelorette Joey - Deanna's aromantic yet allosexual older brother Artemisia - Deanna's younger sister, has the evil trait Devin - 2 time Starlight Accolade winner for her acting career and Deanna's older sister Luna - Devin's wife, Deanna's sister in law Aaron - Deanna's pa (father) Calista - Deanna's ma (mother) Alfred & Rilian Villareal - Deanna's nephews

Joey: I assume you all know why I have gathered you here this evening

Artemisia: You contracted a WTD

Joey: What? No, we don't have the mods

Aaron: Look if you got someone pregnant we don't need all these theatrics

Devin: Excuse me pa? We always need theatrics

Joey: I didn't get anyone pregnant. This isn't about me, it's about Deanna

Deanna: Very funny

Joey: The watcher and I have decided you should star in a bachelorette challenge

Luna: Oh I love watching those! They're so romantic

Devin: Oh can I host? Please let me host!

Aaron: Cara your sister hasn't said yes to it

Joey: Let me give you my pitch. Tartosa is a perfect background for love. We invite a dozen or so ladies to come and get to know you Deanna, really know you. I think it could be a happily ever after for you

Deanna: I have university Joey

Devin: You have time between terms right? Oh please say yes De, my friend Norah would love to come help direct

Deanna: Aren't these things normally rather straight coded

Joey: In some dimensions, yes. But we live in a great world where homophobia is next to non existent

Devin: Except for Luna's dad, but he's not here now so its fine

Alfred & Rilian: RIP Jacques

Luna: *laughing* Wait- When did they learn to do that?

Artemisia: Ahhhh, Joey was talking

Joey: The point is we, the watcher and I, are bound to be able to find some women or non binary individuals who fit your tastes De. And we can get some family based challenges for them to compete in for extra time with you. Or get other celebrities or local businesses to feature

Calista: Oh we should ask the owners of Postres de Alegría! Maybe then I'll actually be able to get some of their pastries when I show up

Aaron: Tesoro you know if you want the raspberry tart you have to get there before midday. They can't not sell just because you might feel like a treat after your shift

Joey: If not Bob could help out, or he might know some people in Brindleton Bay who have niche interests we could use for a challenge or two

Aaron: I don't know that I like the idea of one of my bambina's pixel parts being on TV

Deanna: Yeah I second that opinion

Joey: We won't actually show any nudity, relax. Now Devin you can be host but I will obviously need to talk to any other watchers. Our watcher thinks it would be fun if they had some input about what skills their contestants would work on. If they don't she'll still need to know like orientations and official stuff

Luna: *sighs* Now you believe in multiple watchers?

Aaron: Joey has just always been rather devout

Deanna: I guess I am single...

Joey: You are

Deanna: And I'm definitely over Paris

Joey: Yes

Deanna: Reece will have to be allowed to do something or he'll pout

Joey: I can sort something. So, will you do it?

Deanna: Sure. I mean who doesn't want true love right?

I'm going to do it *internal screaming*! I'm going to start working on an intro post and some graphics so people know what the submissions need. Submissions will be open until Christmas but I'll push it out a week if needed. Ideally I would love to have households of six at a time, so I'll put slots up in groups of six as people show interest. I don't want to start off with 12 or 18 etc slots if I'll only get four sims. I'm realising a lot of my planning will need to know how many sims there are so I'll be opening up soon to help my brain.

Introductions, hosted by Devin, won't begin until mid January when most people are back from New Years holidays. So yeah, I was actually so nervous writing this all out, I need to calm down. Here's some basic Deanna info I'll put elsewhere to get the cogs in brains turning. This third child of an Italian family is studying physics with hopes of being an engineer but her main aspiration in life is Mansion Baron. She's a lesbian but I checked in game and sims with that orientation are able to flirt/form romantic attachments to non-binary people as well as cis or trans females.

[enullarts]

The dawn of a whole new world

Wrote a trans!m!byleth x Cl/aude from f/e/3/h birth fic bc i thought about them for too long and developed emotions again

cw// tmpreg, descriptions of birth, mostly neutral wording, Byleth is the one who got pregnant

"I love you. With everything I am. And the next time we see each other... it will be at the dawn of a whole new world. A peaceful, happy world."

If Byleth had known how serious Claude was about this he would have held onto him longer, kissed him harder, done everything within his power to memorise his beloved Golden Deer's features, smell, taste. But it was not meant to be, time did not stop for anyone and there was a religion to build back up in Fódlan and a war to quell in Almyra. He also understood this, and the sooner he and Claude began this journey, the sooner they would be reunited.

And it wasn't like they never saw each other, the international relations meetings between the nations still occured regularly, except for the fact that they were now on opposing sides, trying to come to a mutually beneficial arrangement for both countries. Byleth lived for those weeks where either he would come on a peacekeeping mission to Almyra or Claude, now going by his true name Khalid, would visit his old Fódlan home. Quick stolen glances, kisses on the hand, nightly sneak outs as they tore into each other like animals starving.

They managed to keep their relationship downlow for a while. That is, until one day, Byleth felt a flutter in his lower abdomen which had slowly been growing over the course of the months. At first, he had thought he was just becoming a bit plump from regular hearty meals around the monastry. But a quick visit to the healer quickly dispelled any guesses on what it was. He was pregnant.

A pang of fear sank into his heart, he had no idea when he would next see Claude, sometimes he would not see him for years. Sending a private message that could be intercepted some way would spell chaos for the fragile relations the countries were embroiled in as it was. They were not wed, the baby, although desired and loved, would be deemed a bastard and a liability for Claude's claim to the throne. No, he had to keep it a secret.

He swore the healer to secrecy and informed only his closest advisors within the monastry. His robes would cover his changing form well enough and in the last few months he would temporarily withdraw from public view with the excuse of needing it for internal affairs. (Not technically a lie).

Time went on and his belly only grew, his back ached from all the standing and moving he had to do, he was by no means fragile, but the extra weight, the nausea, the anxiety, sometimes it would all become too much and he would take ill, needing Seteth or Rhea to take over while he rested. Despite his illness he loved the days he could lie in bed and feel his and Claude's baby. He spoke quietly to them, hoping the baby could hear his voice and know how much his other papa loved them even though he didn't know when their child would get to meet him.

Finally, his belly grew big enough it was no longer able to be concealed, and he took to solitude, remaining in his room and only seeing selected people who knew about his condition and the child's father. Marianne came by often when she wasn't busy with Hilda and they would sit and read books together.

--

The sun had just risen when Byleth awoke to a painful cramp in his abdomen making him grunt and curl in on himself, both hands encircling his now full term belly which was rock hard and clenching angrily. He breathed deeply, gently rubbing circles around his sides as he smiled down, tracing a stretchmark. "Hello, love... are you practicing again?"

He waited a moment and soon his belly relaxed once again, allowing him to sit up slowly, one hand continuously on his lower abdomen, supporting his lower belly. He had noticed it had dropped significantly in the last few days and the contractions had gone from every few days to every day now, they were beginning to hurt for longer too. Not to mention all that weight in between his hips. Some days he felt so full and low he thought the baby was about to fall out of him. But he had reached full term now, and a few days really. And still no sign of the baby arriving.

He had a feeling today would be different though.

He dressed himself lightly, it was a light summer morning, the heat of the day had not yet taken hold and a cool breeze blew in from his opened window.

Byleth closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting himself calm and take in the day. His mind wandered back to the night more than nine months ago now that had apparently conceived this miracle child. Whispers of "I love you" and desperate and quick touches, they only had a few hours of privacy before Claude would be off again. Definitely not as romantic as the both of them would have liked.A cloud blocked the sun for a moment and a chill ran down Byleth's spine now, a flash of fear entering during this moment of vulnerability.

Due to Byleth's creation he had doubted he could bear children, or that he would become sick like his mother when the time came to bear the child. But he felt good today, calm.. he could only pray this was a good sign. He wanted this baby more than anything, and he wanted to live to see them grow and meet their father.

--

"Oh!" Byleth gasped, clutching his abdomen as he dropped the book he had been reading in his private library with Marianne. It was midday and the pains were definitely worse now, coming regularly. The lady quickly hurrying over to help her former teacher stay standing.

"Is it the baby, Byleth?" Marianne asked quietly and rubbed his back as he softly panted through the latest pain.

He could only nod, an emotion of grief welling up inside him. Was Claude going to miss the birth of their child? He had been adamant about keeping it from him to not interfer with his work, but now that the time had come for the baby to arrive- that he was going to give birth without Claude with him, that he wouldn't be the first to hold their baby? Oh.. it hurt.

"Byleth... you're crying..." Marianne's voice drew him back as she made him sit and produced a little hankerchief to gently pat away his tears. Her eyes gentle with concern. "Does it hurt a lot? Is there anything I can do?"

Byleth dried his eyes further with the meat of his palm. "Help me to my room... We should prepare."

--

It was well into the night until Byleth's labor had progressed into the active phase, he had stripped into wearing just a night gown and had shed his undergarments as his water kept leaking slowly over the stone tile floor as he waddled around, clinging to the bedposts or walls when he needed to breathe through a contraction. He didn't allow anyone near him, no one to touch him. Every touch just reminded him of the fact that the person he wanted the most wasn't here. Didn't even know he had to be here.

"Ohh... nghhh..... a-ahh..." Byleth huffed through his latest contraction, sinking into a squat by the end if the bed. "Ch...check.." he ordered softly and allowed a healer to come over and he spread his legs.

"8 centimetres, your grace... Nearly ready for pushing.." Byleth sobbed, his knees buckling so he now sat on the ground, arms supporting him against the bed. He was exhausted, having born the labor so long now. "Help me.."

More healers came over now to help him onto the bed, they wiped his forehead, neck and face down with a cool cloth and massaged his angry contracting midsection in an attempt to help him open up more. Byleth's face was grief stricken, all the hands on him nauseating. They were not who he wanted.

--

"A-Ah..!! A-Aah!!" Byleth moaned loudly, his back arching forward and hands gripping the back of the headboard as his belly clenched tight once again, barely any time for rest between pains now.

This time, the pain came with a new signal. Push!! It said and Byleth gave in easily, beginning to feel the baby finally move lower within him. His breath came quick and shallow as he adjusted to the new feeling of the baby moving and wiggling itself downwards while he pushed. He sobbed again, head lolling to the side as he rested, his hands coming to hug his abdomen.

"G-get out..." He trembled as the healers once again tried to assist."But, your grace! You're about to give birth, we need to-"

"Get out!!" Byleth cried again, curling in on himself and away from them. "Guards!"

"Byleth!" Marianne whimpered as the guards entered in a panic. "Wait!"

"Get them out!" Byleth ordered, tears escaping his eyes now as he grit his teeth and felt the next pain beginning to build. He needed to be alone, he could not stand the idea of these people seeing their baby before Claude could.

"Now!!"

As the healers and Marianne were ushered out Byleth got himself onto his hands and knees and cried out as his body bore down instinctively. His entire body shook with the effort, all his calm overtaken by this desperate need to birth this baby yet also his heart screamed out for his love, that somehow, somehow he knew the pain Byleth was in, what was happening right now, and he was on his way to his side.

But there was simply no way... Claude was in Almyra, a month's trip away at least.. He would have to do this alone.

--

Time passed in a blur, Byleth's pushing alternating between him sobbing from pain and effectively bringing the baby closer.

Another hour went by and only a sliver of the baby's head was visible between the man's lips. Byleth kept his hand there as an anchor to keep himself focused. His sheets were drenched in blood and sweat from all his moving and pushing.

He was anxious, feverish and feeling delirious from pain, his breathing still shallow despite trying to calm himself, he was thinking about his mother. She died to give birth to him, what if... what if he...No.. he couldn't think that way. He was going to see his baby and raise them properly until Claude could see him too.

"Khalid..." he murmured as he tensed for another push, his head falling back against the mattess, eyes squeezed shut as his body squeezed against the burden within. "Khalid....!"

A soft breeze of cool air flittered through the open window, followed by a thump of something heavy dropping onto the ground. Byleth's eyes flung open anxiously, if they were being attacked he would have no way to defend himself in his current state. But instead his eyes met those warm green ones he had come to know so well. Before he could even utter the name he was at his side, pulling him into a warm embrace.

"I'm here, Byleth..." Claude murmured, his lips pressed to the top of Byleth's head, inhaling his scent as he held his lover tightly.

"Khalid..." Byleth sobbed, his hands beginning to cling to the other man, desperate for support as his body clenched harder and more of the baby appeared between his legs even without his efforts. "I-it's coming.. Oh, Gods, its coming out. It hurts."

Claude pulled Byleth close, keeping him as upright as possible while the man pushed and pulled his legs back as much as possible to give room to the emerging baby. "You've done so well Byleth... I'm so sorry, I came as fast as I could..."

"How?" Byleth managed after releasing the push and relaxing against Claude's chest, nuzzling into him for comfort, his scent comforting.

"Lysithea... She performed a portal spell at Marianne's insistence... I understand why you kept it from me By.. but Gods... I should have been here.." Claude's voice shook with pain and concern that Byleth had been in pain for so long all alone. "Where are the others?"

"I sent them away..." Byleth mumbled. "I couldn't bear the thought the baby would be held by anyone but you..." A tired sob ripped from his throat as he felt another contraction build yet again. " I'm so tired Claude... Oh Gods, help me..!!"

He wailed as another contraction built up, stronger and stronger until he was pushing even without conscious effort yet again, the baby's once again making progress, little by little. Inch by painful inch. Even with Claude there comforting him it felt torturous. He thought of his mother again, had she endured this agony for him too?

"a-ahh... mhhh ohhh..." His breaths became sharp and pointed, the widest point of the head finally beginning to crown just as the contraction let up again and the baby receded just slightly. "N-no, please, ah.. ah please..!"

His head turned towards Claude's, catching his lips desperately. The other moaned into it with surprise.

"Please.." Byleth panted anxiously, his hips rolling gently. "I need you..."

Claude didn't need to think twice after hearing that, his mouth caught Byleth's in a firm and deep kiss, his hands wandering down his lover's body, refamiliarizing himself with it. He cupped one of Byleth's supple and plush breasts and gave it a gentle squeeze, earning a soft moan from the other. He noted some milk began to pearl out of it as well; gingerly he used the tip of his finger to catch the drops and licked it, it tasted somewhat salty.

Continuing his groping downward, a quick slide over Byleth's taut frame, over stretchmarks and new love handles, he took the time to admire how full and different Byleth had become since he last saw him.

Byleth's pants and moans as he still struggled to push the child into crowning went on but Claude was almost enraptured by the sight of that belly, clenching with strength down, bringing the baby closer.

Finally he reached down, gently over Byleth's thigh, inner thigh, and then...

"Oh Byleth... you're doing it, love... they're right there ..." His hand cupped the full crown of the head now as he peppered Byleth's face and neck with kisses. The other having dropped his head down against Claude's shoulder, eyes closed and mouth open and panting as he strained to keep the baby's head out. This time the crown stayed.

Claude moved his hand upwards, finding that sensitive little nub and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Oh!" Byleth gasped, his hips bucking towards Claude's hand then relaxing more, nuzzling into the crook of Claude's neck as Claude's hands began to stroke the nub gently. "... y-yes... Oh..."

Claude continued his gentle strokings, letting Byleth adjust and lean into the pleasure between the pain of the stretch. He tried to time the heavier stroking with the contractions, building more and more momentum until finally Byleth spasmed, mouth open in a silent O as he came and the baby's head slipped free.

"That's it! The head's out, Byleth! Gods you're beautiful..."The baby's head was full of little brown curls, and Claude brought Byleth's hand to the head and watched as his love felt around, laughing softly.

"Hello my little love..." Byleth whispered before turning to Claude with a smile. "They... they look like you.""Well, I suppose that's okay. I just hope they'll be more like you in personality" Claude laughed, kissing Byleth's forehead. "One more push, babe.."

A final tense moment and then another shudder as the rest of the body slid out and the baby began to wail as Byleth brought them up to his chest, tears falling from his eyes as he regarded the squaling bloody little baby. He was smiling from ear to ear.Claude's hand joined Byleth's on the baby's back, he kissed Byleth's temple and then used his shoulder to wipe some tears from his eyes. "Oh my gods, Byleth... you did it..."

--

By the time the healers were let in again, Claude had gone, but on Byleth's finger, a green ring with a flower motif decorating around it. A promise for a wedding not too far from now.

[veryinnovative]

@jegulus-microfic | january 2, prompt: fire | word count: 1.575 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger intern james potter

“A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries? What does that even fucking mean?!” James shouts into the receiver as he winds through the busy masses of bodies crossing the roads, the traffic light across blinking for him to hurry. “Can’t I pick up something for him from Burger King or something? You know, like a normal human being?” 

On the other end of the line, Barty snorts a derisive sound. “Yeah, you try feeding him cheap chain franchise slob and see how that plays out for you. The fucker thinks Versace is a low-class brand, James. He probably doesn’t even know what the inside of a Burger King looks like. Besides, that place is fire. They have good shit.”

Groaning, James picks up the speed and sets out for a sprint, having missed the bus to Howick and resorted to the most reliable way of transport—his two sets of healthy, always moderately trained legs. 

“Are you running? You better not be fucking running, Potter. You’re going to come back all sweaty and with creases in your cheap-ass button-up and then I’m going to be the one getting shit for not driving you and ruining the image of Regulus Black’s executive assistant—”

“Suck a dick, Barty,” James bites back after barely evading a car, its tires screeching at him in warning. He throws the driver an apologetic smile.

“I’m serious. You meal-prepped, Potter! Asked where the fucking office microwave is, are you out of your mind? Lunch is on company credit, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got an image to uphold now you’re working for Black Enterprises!”

“The cafeteria is too rich for my taste. Besides, I like meal-prepping. It’s calming.”

“Your fucking tuna stinks up the place.”

“Maybe that’s just your big bullshitting mouth.”

“Listen here, you piece of—”

“Oops, entering a tunnel, hear that?” James cups a hand over the receiver and makes a low, grating sound—mimicking the static rasp of a bad cellular connection. “See you!”

He tucks away the phone before entering Beauxbatons, the restaurant Barty had told him to go to because Regulus was craving his guilty snack, which, to James, sounded like an item right off a witch’s menu. Then again, he was a poor twenty-three-year-old who had just had a gap year fresh out of university, lived in a run-down apartment tucked in Southern London, and knew nothing of the expensive tastes a man like Regulus Black possessed. Thirty-something years old and not a single skin blemish. Must be all the fucking truffle and caviar and whatever Boiron guava puree he eats.

“Welcome,” one of the employees asks. Of course, all of the staff are also wearing pristine clothes and have perfectly sleeked-back hair.

“Hi,” James answers, now all too conscious of the developing sweat marks below his armpits and the dampness cooling on his back. “I’m, uh, here to pick up lunch? Sorry, I forgot my order so let me have a peek at my messages…”

The employee blinks like James has grown a second head. “Take-away? Sir, this is a dine-in restaurant.”

Good thing James has come prepared. He shuffles through the contents of his bag, phone in the other hand and tip of his tongue peeking out in full concentration. “Oh, that’s alright. I brought something to carry it with me. I also got some Tupperware if you don’t mind rinsing it beforehand.”

“No, sir, it’s not a matter of containers,” the employee starts, her lips pursed into a tight line. “We don’t do takeaways.”

James stops and frowns, bag half slung over his shoulder. “Isn’t this Beauxbatons?”

“It is.”

“My boss sometimes has people pick up his lunch here.”

“You must be mistaken… We do not lend any type of service like that.”

James sighs. Great. Amazing. Just what he needed. “Right. Do you mind if I make a call? I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake then.”

The employee, undoubtedly taking pity on him and his disorderly state that suggests he’s been running the past ten minutes, nods. “Of course.”

Heaving a sigh, James scrolls through his contact list and taps on ‘Regulus’, never mind that he has been firmly instructed to only call him during emergencies. But considering the sort of day he’s been having, he considers this one.

Regulus picks up after the third ring. “Potter?”

It’s been two weeks and he still won’t fucking call him by his name, going off on tangents about formal office conduct and etiquette. Potter this, Potter that, bridling when he’s called by his first name for a change in an environment that would kiss the soles of his feet if he’d ask. “Hi, I’m at the place you sent me the address of but they don’t do takeaways so I wanted to know what you want to eat. You cool with Wagamama?”

There’s a pregnant pause—all too telling of how Regulus is probably taking a deep breath and doing the thing where he either pinches the bridge of his nose or rubs his eyebrows. “Have you mentioned the takeaway is for me?”

“No, I haven’t.” What difference would it make, James wants to ask. But in a world where Regulus Black is pretty much revered, he is confident it would make a little difference at least.

“Do that, Potter.”

James rolls his eyes before returning his attention to the employee. “He wants you to know his name is Regulus, by the way.”

Her eyes widen. “Reg—Do you mean Mr. Black?”

James clicks his tongue. “That the one.” The employee doesn’t look convinced and James holds up his hand just above his chest. “About this tall? Curly black hair? Probably in one of today’s morning tabloids, not hard to miss. I could put him on speaker if you’d like?”

There’s the frantic wave of her hands, head shaking vigorously. “Oh! You should have told me from the start, Sir. Please, what would Mr. Black like to eat for lunch? I—I’m sorry. We are very exclusive in our service and are most honored Mr. Black has once again chosen our humble establishment—”

“Just,” James sighs, skimming over the menu laminated standing on an easel by the entrance, not possessing the energy to listen to someone go off on tangents about his boss again. Not like he does so internally at night, anyway. Absolutely not. “A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries.”

“Not fries, a salad—” Regulus reminds him over the phone, but James has decided that he will just about eat whatever James decides on.

“Potter—” Regulus tries again and James flat-out hushes him. To his surprise, Regulus actually shuts up.

The employee nods, over-excited. “Oh, of course, an excellent choice. How would Mr. Black like it to be cooked?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know, on a grill?”

There’s a faint garbled noise coming from Regulus that James will definitely tuck away in his memory.

But the employee is too thrilled to be serving someone as pompous as Regulus to notice the lack of culinary terminology James possesses. “Oh, I meant the cook of the meat!”

“The cook of the meat?” James repeats. “I don’t know, whoever is on shift? Regulus, who do you want to cook your burger?”

The employee makes a high-pitched sound at the same Regulus sighs in a very exaggerated, exhausted manner. “Just tell them medium rare.”

“Medium? What is this, a video game difficulty?”

“Medium rare!” the employee chirps, her smile wry. Strands of hair stick out of the previously perfectly pulled-back bun like the situation has created plenty of static to dishevel her updo. “One medium rare wagyu—”

“Don’t forget the fries,” James adds, unable to fight off the grin cleaving his face. This, he loves most—fucking with rich people. ‘Who do you want to cook your meat?’ he’s a genius for that one, an absolute innovative mastermind. Make him head of corporate next at this rate.

“You had to call me for this?” Regulus asks him as James watches the poor girl scurry off to the back, undoubtedly to ring in the order and gush about the perfect, rich, hot-looking Regulus Black on the phone by the restaurant’s hallway.

“It was an emergency. I get you the wrong order and you, I dunno, bite off my head like Miranda Priestly.”

“I don’t know a Miranda Priestly.”

“No? Shame. Would’ve loved her, a real feisty woman that one. She works in the fashion industry, though.”

“Potter.”

James tries not to bark out a laugh. He can’t help it, Regulus is just too easy. “Yeah, I’ll get you your overtly expensive A3-grade cut of meat that could pay for my weekly rent. Didn’t take you for the type of man to get burgers, by the way.”

“That’s why I’m asking employees of a lower tax bracket to pick them up for me.”

Okay, that’s kind of funny. Regulus Black can be fucking funny if he wants to, he just rarely chooses to. James barely masks his snort at it. “Got me there, boss.”

“Get a cab back to the office. And stop calling me boss.”

“My bad, Sir,” James drawls, knowing that Regulus reacts particularly well to this specific formality. 

A second of silence that stretches on for a little too long. James clears his throat, wondering if the line cut off. “Regu—”

“See you soon, Potter,” Regulus speaks, faster than usual, almost like he’s flustered, and with a strange pitch to his words before he hangs up.

[isagrimorie]

It’s always frustrating whenever the BAU tackles a case where either the victimology or UnSub has similarities to Prentiss’s background/upbringing but the writers rarely use it to give insights on Prentiss or have Prentiss’s background provide some insights into a case.

As an example, The Performer is an episode featuring Gavin Rossdale as a rockstar whose kayfabe was being a Vampire ala Lestat but fake.

The show could have dove a little into the goth community, a community Emily Prentiss used to be a part of. Did they do that? Unfortunately, no, they hung a lantern on it. The writers had Penelope tease Emily about how she used to dress Goth. Even though, Emily still dressed like one but corporate style.

In the episode, Pleasure is My Business. The UnSub grew up around wealth and privilege and then used sex work to lure her victims.

We discover in Lauren that Prentiss was in a similar enough situation re: Operation Valhalla.

Ala The Americans show, Prentiss used intimacy to get close to Ian Doyle.

Emily Prentiss became Lauren Reynolds because she matched Doyle’s type.

I know the writers had a vague idea of Prentiss’ past only that the writers had breadcrumbs pointing to a rich, mysterious past. They don’t have a crystal ball, but the privileged background could have been a jumping off point for a discussion, an insight to the UnSub’s thoughts.

In the season 16 episode, Orpheus Wrecks, the writers could have again used that case as a way to get more insight into Prentiss’ hidden personal life. As a Politician’s kid, and a somewhat savvy political operator herself, Prentiss would have been as familiar, if more, to the DC wonk space as Bailey was.

Prentiss would also be familiar with the Beltway Elite app even if she didn’t use it herself.

(As a former Spook, the idea of having an app like that in her phone would give Prentiss OpSec paranoia. She would not want her photo distributed everywhere. Being on Politico was enough of a headache for her tbh).

I know Prentiss’ whole thing is she wanted to distance herself from her mother’s political life but she would still have friends and would have known more people as she climbed up the ladder in the FBI.

Other shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Elementary, and Person of Interest almost always use a kernel of similarity/parallelism in their various cases of the week as a jumping-off point to tell a richer story about their characters.

Criminal Minds does but selectively.

This is what makes the show frustrating. You can always tell when the show could have threaded the Case/Monster of the Week and connected the case to one of the characters.

Morgan and JJ also needed more exploration. The only one the writers they consistently use this with is Reid.

To the writer’s credit they have vaguely gestured at Emily’s mysterious past— setting up Emily’s existential crisis about her morality in the face of what she’s done while she worked for CIA and JTF-12.

But then the show goes several episodes mentioning the problem, an arc villain, and it’s frustrating!

(I sometimes lowkey wish some Whedon trained writers joined Criminal Minds to establish a good character-to-case ratio. Like, Jane Espenson. Or someone from Person of Interest writers room joining the Evolution writers team. The idea of Denise Thé writing for the CM ladies makes me yearn because delicious character development + inventive messed up twists. Erica Messer does a good job showrunning— a different job altogether than just writing for the show. But also— I yearn! Think about a POI caliber writer in a CM writers room! It would be so good to have, IMO. Not that PoI was entirely perfect either, I have my frustrations too!)

——

Chris Mundy seemed interested in delving into the internal lives of the characters, especially Emily’s. Demonology was really important for our understanding of Emily Prentiss.

Her guilt, her low-key self-loathing— the way she runs from the people she loves because she thinks she’s not worth it. The way she can conform to be anyone to fit into a situation and not stand out.

Her casual regard for sex as a tool to help her get accepted. All things that were helpful for Prentiss when she became a spy.

As Michael Westen from Burn Notice said: “People with happy families don’t become spies. A bad childhood is the perfect background for covert ops.”

TLDR— It’s just frustrating because they’re always nearly at the cusp of a great character driven procedural but then almost always back off from giving us really good food.

[krisluxxeeempress]

SATURN OPPOSITE PLUTO SYNASTRY| ASTRO SYNASTRY SERIES

I had to ponder this synastry aspect for some time; and that, folks, would explain this dynamic. Considering the planets involved, Saturn being the master of time and Pluto representing a time, in time; Suggests that this is the synastry of couples with age gaps. With Pluto’s influence, this would indicate a profound and distinctive age gap or at the very least, a major difference in maturity levels or worldly perspectives and beliefs.

The Pluto person is more than likely the younger one whereas, Saturn may be the older person. Though, the Saturn person may have a difficult time with the Pluto person especially, if they’re younger and provoking change in the “set in their ways” Saturn person. This is certainly a karmic synastry combination.

The Saturn person is like your parents, aunts/ uncles, grand parents all in one- the old generation, so to speak. Whereas the Pluto person is the new generation. Sometimes, the older generation doesn’t respect the younger generation. The energy is mutual though, sometimes the younger generation does not value, respect or hear the older generation. This misunderstanding from both sides, derives from a lack of respect for the old and new. The first opposition that this synastry will attract, is others on the outside glaring in with judgmental eyes, who are looking for the audacity of the Saturn and Pluto person for even being in a relationship with such differences- including age.  The Pluto person will be judged for having mommy or daddy issues and the Saturn person will be judged for being a creep or lacking in some area, because why wouldn’t the Saturn person be with someone their own age?

Squares in astrology are internal and or personal challenges whereas, oppositions are challenges and problems others bring to the same table you are sitting at- usually, minding your business.

The Saturn and Pluto person may be happy with their differences because depending on the signs, both people can really learn from the other and they appreciate that. However, others on the outside cannot deal with that, they become triggered and bothered. This “triggerazation” more than likely comes from the Saturn person’s side as opposed to the Pluto person’s side – no pun intended.

Understand that Saturn governs time, generations, patriarchy, and history. Everything that we see, believe, and are taught aka conditioned to believe; all derives from Saturn. Pluto governs unconscious power, beliefs, transformation but also generations. Pluto comes in to change on a psychological level and eventually on a physical level.

The Pluto person is a direct threat to Saturn person, or so, this is how others view this relationship. If it’s not a profound age difference then it may be a difference in religious beliefs, gender, sex, skin color- something that is viewed as a threat if this change occurs. 

The Pluto person can be a black person and Saturn, a white person. The Saturn person may have been raised to be racist, but he/she somehow fell in love with the Pluto person, the black person.

If the Saturn and Pluto person have children, they would have successfully changed or contributed to a new generation and DNA. This is threatening to the Saturn person’s side, who for the sake of my example, is racist. So, the opposition will come from external forces to try and break this synastry up to prevent a change, a long-term change, a generational change. This is another reason why I mentioned in the beginning that this is a karmic synastry because these two, both, have generational curses to break and they need each other to do it.

This couple will deal with unlimited stigmas, stereotypes, and hatred from external forces. Not to worry though, there’s a lot of people on social media making a living off their videos featuring their profound differences- people love it. I am thinking about one couple who is interracial. The man is older and white, and the woman is younger and black, and they have a mixed family. I’m thinking of another couple who is also interracial. The woman is black and has had 10 children by her Chinese husband.

Personally, I am attracted to older men and whenever I am seen with one, because I am in the Pluto in Scorpio generation- I don’t get the side eyes or judgments from people my age. I get the most judgement from the older men’s side. Women and men, his age will give me the judgmental looks, probably assuming I have daddy issues- and maybe I do, haha.

[geoffrard]

Now that @mcrswarmzine is out, I can finally share my contribution!

Gerard and Geoff give us a history lesson

Gerard Way and Geoff Rickly first met—where else—outside a record store in Kearny, New Jersey, weeks or months before MTV started regularly playing Geoff’s band Thursday, months or years before Geoff produced My Chemical Romance’s first record. Gerard was leaving the record store, and there was Geoff, leaning back against the wall, cool and collected, too thin, too young, unsure of himself.

“I remember it super vividly,” Gerard said in an interview once, when asked to recount their first meeting. “Do you remember?”

Back then, Gerard lived in Belleville in a basement apartment. Through the muggy darkness of his bedroom, his hand reached out towards the few strands of light that made it underground, wishing for better ways of making art. Geoff lived underground too, back then, coming alive when Thursday filled the unfinished basements of New Brunswick with people and sound.

Gerard and Geoff first met—where else—at the Eyeball House, where Eyeball Records conducted business. Gerard was an artist, reserved, looking to give back to the scene Geoff’s band had helped create. Eyeball’s owner helped connect them. The shirt Gerard designed for Geoff’s band featured a dove on each side, the front dove captured at the moment of shattering, the back a mechanical bird captured at the moment of dissection. A lever in the bird’s heart read revenge mechanism.

Gerard and Geoff first met—where else—at the Eyeball House, where Eyeball Records hosted infamous parties. The intern’s brother pulled Geoff aside, picked up a broken guitar, and painfully plucked out the opening chords to a song—Vampires Will Never Hurt You. Geoff was not impressed. He’d never tell Gerard that, though; the scene was for everyone who made music their home.

Gerard and Geoff first met—how else—because Mikey Way introduced them. Geoff heard of Mikey’s comic artist brother and begged for an introduction. Geoff wanted to write a comic book together. Gerard wanted to write a record. They made the record.

Gerard and Geoff first met—where else—in the crowd in a random basement in North Jersey, but neither remembered the encounter with enough clarity to recall it.

Gerard and Geoff met—where else—on the streets of New York, strangers brushing shoulders, exchanging glances, one rushing to a show he was too young to attend, the other dreaming of comic book worlds devised with his younger brother in his family’s dark basement apartment.

Perhaps Geoff Rickly and Gerard Way met—where else—in Jersey, on September 20, 2023, when each joined the other’s set for a song. That night was their first time sharing a stage as Geoff from Thursday and Gerard from My Chemical Romance, representing the bands who made them and created our corner of the music world, in almost twenty years.

How much of the crowd discovered their shared history that night? Can a single history exist, on stage in front of an arena of people with their own histories with those two bands, some dating back to first shows or records, some starting that night? Do artists exist off stage? If a band plays to an empty basement, is it a band?

Maybe, for me, Gerard and Geoff’s history began on Geoff’s birthday a few years ago, the day I met my best friend Nic. We met because we both loved My Chemical Romance but grew close because we loved Thursday. Our history is as intertwined with Geoff and Gerard and Geoff and Gerard’s histories are with each other’s. Music does that. Makes itself your home.

Only a few days before she returned home to Australia, Nic was there in Jersey, trying to stay on her feet in the churning mass of people in the crowd. I was at home, sick in bed, watching someone’s shaky livestream, squinting through the fever to see if I could spot her. I’d caught Covid the weekend before at a festival we attended together. The official story was that the My Chemical Romance crowd got me sick, but Nic had only just recovered herself after catching it in the crowd at a Thursday show. So I wondered if I’d caught it from her anyways. There are a few stories.

[pillowfort-social]

Happy New Year! We’re kicking off 2024 with a Community Update after a very eventful end of 2023. We’ll give you a look at what Staff have been doing behind the scenes, an update from our Developer Team, and a preview of what’s in store for the platform. Community Stats: 

As of January 19, 2024 Pillowfort currently has over 170,467 registered users and over 9,928 Communities. The rest of this post is under the cut.

In 2023 we have…

Avoided shutdown thanks to your generous support.

Launched Pillowfort Premium

Tested and launched Drafts 

Added new premium frames. 

Updated our Terms of Service.

Updated our Business Plan.

Continued work on the PWA & Queue.

Blocked ChatGPT Bots our platform.

Announced our upcoming policy on Generative AI.

Increased weekly invitations keys to from 10 to 50. 

Continued patching bugs. 

Welcome New Users!

Welcome to Pillowfort. We are so glad you are part of our community. If you haven’t yet, check out the Pillowfort101 Getting Started Guide.

Thank you for keeping Pillowfort Alive! 

Your support during the End of Year Fundraiser helped us avoid ending contracts with our Staff and averted the end of our platform for another six months (July 2024). We can not express our gratitude enough to you. This has been an extremely challenging and stressful time for each member of the team. We are going to work hard to keep Pillowfort online. You have motivated us to continue the fight to be a viable platform. You may have noticed that our donation bar has reset to $5,000 at the beginning of January. This number is our monthly operating costs going forward.  Each month in 2024 that we meet our funding goal it will extend Pillowfort’s life past July 2024. 

Generative AI Ban Policy Update

We will be implementing our updated policy regarding Generative AI in the next site update. Prior to when the policy will be implemented we will share with the community what our definition of Generative AI is and our moderation process. 

We're aware that there are concerns about how moderation systems surrounding generative AI have been abused and used for harassment on other sites: we have consulted with experts on how to avoid those issues, and the suite of moderation methods from international universities also assist with identifying harassment. Abuse of reporting systems will be taken seriously by Staff.

End of Year Fundraiser Limited Edition Badge Gift Form

The form for gifting the Limited Edition Badge to other users who couldn’t donate is now live! Click Here to Fill Out the Form. (Note: We’ll be also making a separate Staff Alert with the link as well.)

Updated Business Plan

The Pillowfort Premium subscription model remains our primary answer to generate the necessary funds needed to cover the costs of running our platform. We will continue to offer optional premium features which can be purchased by users a la carte. However, we will be working on completing the following major projects / updates as an expansion of our revenue strategy in the first half of 2024:

Release of the Progressive Web App w/ Push Notifications - The data is very clear that the lack of a mobile app is hindering our overall growth. A PWA will allow our mobile users to experience all the functionality of a native mobile app and will be much easier for our Developer Team to build & maintain than a native app. We also won't have to worry about App Store content restrictions.

Post Promotions & User-Submitted Advertisement Opt-Ins - Users will be able to promote their posts (as advertisements) by paying a fee. No subscription is required to promote a post. By default, this promoted content will only be displayed on a page specifically for viewing promoted content. While this will mean potentially less revenue, it is important to our philosophy to respect our user’s experience and not force advertising on everyone. However, users can opt into viewing promoted content in their home feed, and will receive a discount on premium features for doing so.

Subscription Gifting - Users will be able to purchase subscriptions that can be gifted to other users. Subscriptions can be gifted to a specific other user, or can be added to a communal pool for any unsubscribed users to take from. We will provide special badges for users who gift subscriptions.

Pillowfort Premium Price Increase - We will be adjusting prices to help us fund our overall operating costs. We will notify the community before any price increase is final.

Mobile Pillowfort Premium Frames - Add an option for mobile users to view Pillowfort Premium Avatar Frames in their feeds.

Other Goals for Completion in 2024 (Goals are subject to change)

Release Queue & Scheduling

Rebuild the post image uploader widget.

Rebuild the way notifications are logged & retrieved in the back-end to be more efficient & reduce errors.

Release an Onboarding Guide for new users.

Release Multi-account management/linking.

Add 2-Factor Authentication.

Enable Community Membership Applications.

Release Community Topics/Organization Options.

Help Us Keep the Lights On!

At Pillowfort we do not receive any funding from venture capital or other outside investors because we are committed to keeping our user experience a priority, and not being beholden to outside interests. While this approach allows us to stay true to our ideals and content guidelines, it also presents many challenges to our team in the form of limited resources, personnel, etc.

Our continued survival depends on the generosity of our community. If you are able to, please consider supporting us with a one-time or recurring monthly donation to help keep Pillowfort online. Any money donated to us now will be applied as a credit to your account when we release paid features & benefits in the future.

Bug Bounty Reminder

We are still offering a Bug Bounty. If you find a bug on the site, particularly one that could pose a threat to the security or functionality of the site, contact Staff through our Contact form or directly at info@pillowfort.social. If you are unsure if we received your report, you can send us a DM to the Staff account here, or DM one of our social media channels to check on the status. 

We sometimes do not receive all notifications from users on other social media. DMing the Staff account on Pillowfort to check on the status is the preferred method. 

The first individual to notify us of a certain issue will be eligible for monetary compensation, depending on the severity of the issue found and the information provided.

Abandoned / Modless Communities Transfer 

We are taking Ownership Transfer requests for Abandoned and/or Modless Communities. The form is available here. 

Pillowfort Dev Blog

Follow our very own Developer Blog for the latest updates from Lead Architect & Founder Julia Baritz.

Follow Us on Social Media

Interact with Pillowfort Staff, ask questions, plus learn about upcoming features and more on social media. 

Pillowfort: Staff Pillowfort Dev: PF_dev_blog Bluesky: pillowfortsoc.bsky.social Tiktok: pillowfort.social Instagram: pillowfort.social Facebook: Pillowfortsocial X/Twitter: @pillowfort_soc Tumblr: pillowfort-social Reddit: pillowfort_social Threads: @pillowfort.social

Best,

Pillowfort Staff

[outlanderanatomy]

2024 SiWC Panel with Diana Gabaldon

Greetings Outlander fans! My, I have missed you all… 🤗

This weekend I find myself in beautiful Surrey, British Columbia,  Canada, attending the Surrey International Writers’ Conference, more commonly known as SiWC!

I drove from Oregon to Canada lastThursday. It was a beautiful day but the  normally 5.5 hr drive turned into nearly 7 hours due to two collisions in Washington state.  Yes, it was an inconvenience for those on the freeway, but I was grateful to arrive safely and I hope those involved in the crashes are OK.

Thus far, I have attended several events featuring Diana – she is one busy lass! All were delightful and I will share them with you, but not in chronological order mostly due to the technical issues of posting via  iPad. 😉

Today’s event was titled “Compelling Expositions,” a panel featuring Diana Gabaldon, Michael Slade, Robyn Harding, and Darren Groth (not shown).  K. C. Dyer moderated (also not shown).

Diana looked stunning, layered with in a deep red shawl because the room was freezing! 🥶

Many fruitful topics were covered by the panel. Here are some highlights including Diana’s responses:

Question:  Which is your fav scene from your writings? Diana chose the scene from “Outlander” book wherein Jamie rescues Claire from Black Jack Randall’s clutches. They shelter at a tavern –  Jamie tells Claire he is not ready for bed and proceeds to whip her with his sword belt. This set up a major clash between the two characters because each POV was justified from their perspective. Claire was trying to find a way back to Frank but Jamie knew her actions put all of their lives  in danger. I must confess, this choice surprised me. I suppose because Diana has written so many splendid scenes. How would one even choose? 🤔

This is wee bit of the excerpt from the scene (pp. 249-250 “Outlander” Kindle version) that is Diana’s fav!

“Come to bed, Jamie. What are you waiting for?”

He came to stand by the bed, swinging the belt gently back and forth.

“Well, lass, I’m afraid we’ve a matter still to settle between us before we sleep tonight.” I felt a sudden stab of apprehension.

“What is it?” He didn’t answer at once. Deliberately not sitting down on the bed by me, he pulled up a stool and sat facing me instead.… 😯

Question: How do you deal with pacing? Diana responded that pacing depends on context. For example, if there is an emergency then the writer wants to keep sentences short and terse. Pacing allows the author to create tension between two elements. A question is raised and then answered to move the story forward. (Psst…. She didn’t mention that sometimes the answers to questions she raises don’t get resolved until two books and ten years later!) 😂

Question: How do you deal with slang or dialect? Diana feels dialogue is the most important way to define a character.  An author using another language (e.g. Gaelic) needs to educate themself in the language. She watched films with Scottish characters to hear their spoken English. At conferences, if she heard anyone speaking with a Scottish accent, she invited them for coffee and listened to them speak. Diana also recommended reading books written by someone who speaks the language. She read several Scottish authors to help her get a feel for syntax, cadence, etc. Frankly, her devotion to her craft is a splendid example to all aspiring authors. 🥰

Question: Do you plan out a chapter or scene ahead of time? Diana does not. We already know she doesn’t write in a straight line. She also does not tell her characters what to say or do. She waits patiently for them to speak to her.  This being my fourth SiWC, I can tell you hers is a unique approach. Most writers I encounter plan out scenes, many even work from  a classic outline. She also doesn’t know ahead of time how a book will end. I guess the one exception here is that she seems to know how the “Outlander” books will end. Sob! 😢

Question: Who is your favorite author. James Clavell, she answered without a moment’s hesitation.  Clavell authored the marvelous, “Shogun,” for those who might not know. Although it has been some time since I read it, it is well worth doing so. 👍🏻

These were highlights of the panel for me.

The full panel discussion can be accessed on the blog.

I hope you enjoyed the panel. Need I say, my fav author for “Compelling Exposition” is none other than Diana Gabaldon? 🤩 🥇 🏆

The deeply grateful,

Outlander Anatomist

Follow me on:

Twitter: @OutLandAnatomy

Facebook: OutlandishAnatomyLessons

Instagram: @outlanderanatomy

Tumblr: @outlanderanatomy

Youtube: Outlander Anatomy

Photo and audio credits: Outlander Anatomy

[fearyandear]

My Headcanons for Societyboy!

I tried giving him features the other boys didn't have, like eyes that are downcast and a hooked nose. I also gave him adult braces because I thought it was a cute mental image to have this angry douchebag arguing over people and getting self-conscious when you stare at his teeth and laugh. He had pretty black hair that he thought was too boring to get your attention again, so he tried bleaching and coloring it himself, ending up with this. He doesn't take care of it, his hair is a mess aah. Also, he's self conscious of Quest because he has a skinny little body and that man is 😳

I have a bit of writing on him that I'm not sure I'll actually get to finish, but my take on our ex is:

He's an egocentric loser we confessed to first at the end of junior year of high school. He accepted because it meant he had bragging rights over his other friends. You stay together through senior year, the excuse of you both being busy trying to get into college truimphed over any actual intimacy taking place (most of your dates were just you watching him play a game in his room or studying).

Finally it was over, you both got accepted into the same college, graduated, and over the summer, you both prepped to move into your dorms (seperate). As the first year went on, you both made separate friend groups. Slowly, he started feeling uneasy. He realized there was a good chance you might leave him with so many new people in your life, and so much time spent apart; to combat this, he kept insisting on you following him to his hang outs, or staying over at his dorm instead.

You didn’t mind him becoming clingy at first; he had always felt very independent from youbin highschool, and he wouldn't care about stuff like cuddling and holding hands together before. This was nice.

But it only got worse as the years trickled by, and he became very demanding. You were slowly becoming an island, unable to hold friendships without upsetting him, relying on him, and being left behind anywahs when he spent his time with his own group. You graduated, and lasted a few months living together before you finally snapped and broke things off.

He was furious. He didn't think he did anything wrong and thought the progression of things was just how relationships were meant to be. He convinced himself that you were only throwing a hissy fit, and you'd come back. When it wasn't happening as immediately as he wanted, he started stalking you online, unable to comprehend how you could live without him.

When you'd post good things about your new life, vitriol overtook him and he started commenting shitty things, making his own posts, insulting you and hating you and still, expecting you to one day wake up and come knocking back.

But you wouldn't.

And it's been over a year already. He's still alone, blocked on all your accounts (though he got new socials to keep looking at you), in the same apartment (despite being offered to move somewhere cheaper because you might come looking for him), and still thinking of you daily. He didn't want to allow himself to feel it, but he's sad.

He misses you so much. He misses sleeping by you, misses hearing you talk about your hobbies, misses your cooking, your voice, your hugs and kisses, all the ways you made him feel special and not like the sad sack of shit he really was. It's time he finally owned up to his mistakes, internalize how he fucked up your life, and actually try to get better at being more thoughtful of you. He still thinks it's you he has to end up with, somehow, in some way.

As he browsed through your social media again, that's how he found the link you surely clicked on. It's somewhere neither you nor him have ever made an account on. That means he's not blocked there! His heart beat fast as he copied it but didn't click it yet; he had to calm down. This had to be like, the universe affirming him, right? Throwing him another chance to see you again. He wanted to make it count. But he was... anxious, too, after so long. He had to wait to buy and take a few edibles before he finally resigned himself to what would come next. He'd win you back. He joined the server.

(Then, enters Societyboy's Route. Not Quest's, this one would be similar but different.)

[archonsoflove]

His love language | part 1

featuring: alhaitham, zhongli, kaveh x gender neutral! reader

{words of affirmation}

Alhaitham is a quiet soul. Late nights are spent with parchment paper illuminated by warm candlelight. And in these quiet moments he finds himself writing letters to you. Your travels to Fontaine for research have left him noticing your absence, carving a space hollow in his heart until your return. 

I can never say it enough, but I adore you, and wish you the safest of travels. Come back to me in one piece. The letter he gave to you before your departure two days prior.

I find myself thinking of you more often once the sun sets. Busy days give way to night, and my mind is no longer filled with work, but of you, and wondering what sights you are seeing without me beside you. This is what he writes this particular evening.

He seals the letter with a wax seal, intricate lettering on the front addressed to the nation across the mountains. If he could write a million more poems, prose and letters, he would, knowing you would read every single one of them. 

•

{quality time}

Evenings with Zhongli are spent walking through the Harbour. Lanterns spill golden light onto your faces, and whenever he catches your eye, his breath hitches, words leaving him completely. 

After years of experiencing and feeling, he is certain you are the love he had been searching for all this time. 

He speaks of legends long gone, and old friends from decades past. And if you could, you would listen to him for as long as he is able to weave stories into being. 

Tea in the mornings is brewed to perfection. You wake to Zhongli puttering in the kitchen, the fresh smell of mint and honey in the air rousing you from sleep. Silk sheets brush against naked skin as you sit down – at his stubborn request – to try his tediously perfected blend. 

The sun leaking through a window leaves him entranced, and he can not help but kiss you tenderly, sweet tea on your lips and between tongues. Peaceful mornings like these, where you both have all the time in the world to bask in each other’s presence is what you love most.  

•

{giving gifts}

Kaveh is sincere and giving to a fault. Silver bracelets, spices and light novels brought home from international projects are the least of your worries now. Returning from a project in the desert with a small desert fox bundled up in Kaveh’s cloak tells you all you need to know. 

This time, his gift is very different and very much alive.

“I know you said we weren’t ready to adopt, but maybe, just maybe….” Kaveh steps cautiously into the living room, handing the bundle over to you tentatively. “Maybe we can keep this little one?”

“Oh, Kaveh…” you sigh in both awe and exasperation. The little bundle wriggles in your grasp and a small head pops out. Tan ears flop out first, before a pointy black nose is nuzzling against your hand. 

“A fox!” You couldn’t contain the smile fighting against your scowl. “Kaveh…how did you even catch this one?”

Kaveh gives you a relieved laugh, a light flush high on his cheekbones. “They followed me home from the desert. I think they lost their mother. I simply couldn’t leave them there!”

“They?” your eyes widen. “There are more?”

Later that evening, Alhaitham knocks on your door, a box in hand. Sure enough there are two more foxes. It seemed your family of two was now five, and you couldn’t help but think that it was just the perfect number.

-------- 》 Part 2

MASTERLIST

[odinsblog]

Internalized Racism Inventory

1 Do I trust people of color? Do I ever react to people of color in ways that indicates suspicion or mistrust?

2 In my work or educational experience do I seek out approval from white individuals for a job well done over that of other people of color?

3 Do I/have I ever been embarrassed to respond to another person of color in a language other than English for fear of being associated with my cultural/ethnic group?

4 Do I/have I hesitated to participate in cultural/ethnic heritage events at my place of work/educational institution for fear of being identified with one of my cultural/ethnic groups?

5 Am I a harsher critic of the choices or behaviors of other people of color than I am of white people?

6 When choosing a healthcare provider of other provider of services that requires specific educational training (i.e. attorney, educator etc.) am I less likely to select a person of color versus a white person?

7 Have I/Do I intend to alter my physical features in any way to hide or obscure my own cultural/ethnic features?

8 When choosing a place to live, would I prefer to live within a community that is a community of color or a predominately white community?

9 How often do I refer to other people of color as “ghetto” or by some other derogatory/diminutive term?

10 When choosing books, toys or similar gifts for the children in my life how conscious am I of images, sounds and experiences that reflect their ethnic/cultural identity?

11 In my place of work do I give more weight or credence to the thoughts and ideas shared by white people versus people of color?

12 Do I believe people of color?

13 Have I ever questioned whether a colleague or service provider (of color) was chosen for their position based on an affirmative action initiative?

14 When choosing sources of entertainment (literature, movies, music etc.) how often do I choose art created/produced by people of color?

15 How often am I embarrassed by or fearful of another Person of Color?

16 How often do I mistrust my own thinking or carry around doubts about other People of Color’s ability to think well?

17 Do I ever actively or passively believe or support racial stereotypes about my own racial group (for example: laugh at a racist joke)

18 Have I ever played the role of “gatekeeper”, assisting the white power structure in preventing certain People of Color from admission to an organization, or promotion to a leadership position – for fear of the perception that we’re “taking over?”

19 How often do I overcompensate – actively go out of my way to contradict or disprove a stereotype that I think white people may be holding about me or others in my racial group?

20 Am I ever ashamed of People of Color? How often do I feel ashamed of or avoid those whose skin is “too dark,” hair is “too kinky,” eyes “too slanty,” who dress “too ethnic,” or who talk or play music “too loud?”

21 Do I ever censor my own opinion or passion, or hesitate to make waves when my knowledge and experience are overlooked in a conversation or discussion or argument with white people?

22 Have I ever thought about my own racial group: “We are our own worst enemy.”

23 How often do I doubt myself? Or second guess myself?

24 Do I put on a different persona when I go into white people’s business, organization or home?

25 How often am I unsupportive of a Person of Color’s leadership? Have I ever undermined or sabotaged their leadership?

26 Do I hold People of Color to a higher standard than I hold White People?

(source) related post ↵

[polyamorousmood]

I am in a poly relationship and was wondering if you or any other polyam people have advice for a newer polyamorous person who is feeling insecure. My girlfriend has a boyfreind and we get along fine but recently when she talks about how pretty other girls are I don't get jealous but I do feel really insecure because I really don't see myself as attractive and I know she loves me and it's not like a fleeting relationship were almost at a year but I still just don't know how to not compare myself to the other girls we interact with. I don't know if that made sense I hope it did

Even if you in particular don't have an awnser I would love to hear thoughts from other people in the community because I don't know any other polyamorous people in real life

I am not making light of your struggle, but this is literally laughable to me. You being poly or okay with poly makes you a holy fucking grail. When you have the holy grail in hand, you don't say "yeah it's a holy relic of mythic proportions, but this is very rudimentary craftsmanship."

Going to the Louvre doesn't make you dissatisfied with the landscape painting your friend made for you. 🖼

Having said that, it's a reasonable ask to mention to your partner to make little changes to how they talk about things. Maybe not comment on how pretty something is on someone else if it's a feature you're particularly self-conscious of for yourself. Or to end gushing about others with some reassurance for you like "oh my god she's got the PRETTIEST eyes... but she'll still never be as cute as you are when you smile!!"

also like. Personally. Work on internalizing that you don't gotta be pretty. I know that's not something pretty people get told, but I've literally never seen you so you can trust I think this is good advice. You don't have to perform beauty for people who love you -- they just love you. And you can just be. You just don't need to be thinking about it 90% of the time. Be too busy living. Its good.

Of course, other people should add their thoughts!!

[d-criss-news]

Darren Criss and Cat Cohen Will Lend Voices to GWYNETH GOES SKIING in Edinburgh and Utah

Gwyneth Goes Skiing is headed to Edinburgh Fringe this August, and will also make its international premiere in Utah.

Darren Criss will provide the singing voice of Terry Sanderson alongisde Edinburgh Comedy Award Winning comedian, actress and singer Cat Cohen, who will lend her voice  as Gwyneth Paltrow on the vocal track with hits including I Wish You Well and See You In Court. 

Darren Criss is best known for playing the role of Blaine Anderson in Glee (alongside the real  Gwyneth Paltrow!). In 2018, he was awarded Emmy and Golden Globe acting awards for his  leading role in The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. Criss has also starred  on Broadway in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying and Hedwig and the Angry  Inch. 

Edinburgh Comedy Award-winner Cat Cohen’s live comedy performances combine stand-up  comedy with cabaret-style songs. The comedian, actress, and singer’s first Netflix comedy  special, The Twist...? She's Gorgeous, was released in 2022. As an actress, she has appeared on  comedy series such as High Maintenance, Broad City, Search Party, and What We Do in the  Shadows.

Criss and Cohen digitally join Trixie Mattel who makes a special on-screen appearance as  Gwyneth Paltrow’s mother, Blythe Danner. They are seen alongside the original Gwyneth Goes  Skiing cast - Linus Karp as the Goop-founding, Door-Sliding, Shakespeare-In-Loving, consciously uncoupling Hollywood superstar Gwyneth Paltrow and Joseph Martin as her nemesis, Terry  Sanderson, a retired Optometrist from Utah.  

The world debut of Darren and Cat’s voices will be back where it all began, Park City, Utah. The  now-infamous location of Terry Sanderson and Gwyneth Paltrow’s collision in 2016 will play  host to the US transfer of Awkward Productions and Pleasance Theatre’s runaway hit. Gwyneth  Goes Skiing’s transfer to The Egyptian Theatre marks the first international transfer for Awkward  Productions’ work. 

Gwyneth Goes Skiing, which is a co-production between Awkward Productions  and the Pleasance Theatre, returns to the slopes after two sold-out and critically-acclaimed runs  in London. This silly play-with-music marks Awkward Productions’ return to the Fringe  after Diana: The Untold and Untrue Story had a sold-out run in 2023. 

Gwyneth Goes Skiing recounts the collision in 2016 on the slopes of Deer Valley and the court  case seven years later that enthralled the world. This very silly story of justice, betrayal and  optometry makes the audience the jury, asking them to decide who's guilty and who's gooped.  Gwyneth Goes Skiing features a whole lot of fiction, a sprinkling of verbatim lines from court  transcripts and delightfully catchy original music by Leland (RuPaul’s Drag Race; Cher’s  Christmas; Troye Sivan’s Something To Give Each Other). 

Performance Information The Egyptian Theatre, Utah  Thursday 16th – Sunday 26th May 2024  328 Main Street, Park City, Utah 84060 https://parkcityshows.com