#just two nb's against the system

[jamiedc-they-them]

Rest (Platonic)

Summary: Travelling the universe is something you adore, with your sister and newfound best friend, but old demons still haunt you, no matter what...

Notes: Bad headspace, needed a comfort fic and it turned into a vent fic I'm sorry :))) Also in this, R is Nb and Aroace, but it barely plays in. So do substitute what you wish :))))) topics covered in the case of trigger: Depression; Suicidal Ideation; Premature Birth; survivor guilt.

You couldn't remember the name of the system you were in, but it looked breathtaking. a shimmering horizon. It reminded you of your favourite book series, Dune, with the number of stories going on at once, and yet the small scale it seemed to have in such a vast galaxy. That, and the beauty of the shimmer of the sun as it ran off the planet, this one being a shade of red instead. It was odd, how despite the distance things seemed to rhyme. It reminded you of one of the things you heard the Doctor say:

"No job. No boss..." Yeah, that was you, but not by choice. You were looking. Looking with all you had in you. Ruby used to joke with you. "you're putting in a full-time effort to at least be paid for it."

You leant your head on the Tardis door, sighing. You wish you had the freedom he had, and yet you were human and tired. So, very tried.

"Hey," you jumped at the sudden voice. Turning, you saw the Doctor. He smiled at you, "you alright over here, babes?"

You snorted at the nickname. Your asexual-aromantic nature, along with just how your brain worked in a desperate attempt to fit in with society, made you read it the wrong way when he first used the nickname. He, seemingly with second nature, spoke to you about it. He was open, that was one of the many things you loved about him. He was open. You could go to him about anything and everything. And you did. You, him, and Ruby had good chats on your adventures, sometimes just having a picnic and talking. Hell, he was the one who helped you feel at home in your gender expression as a non-binary person, showing you some dresses to wear. Whatever you wanted to wear on the day, he was there to help. Ruby helped with a bit of makeup when you wanted it, and the three of you became inseparable.

But still, all this running around. Ruby had already gone to bed. Yet, here you were, mind still running amok.

"Can I ask you something?" you ask. The Doctor nods, leaning against the other door, his full attention is on you, "do you ever sleep?"

He smiles, part of him knows you're joking, but it doesn't fully meet his eyes. How can he read you so well? Are you that predictable?

He looks out at the system you're in as well, "I do," he says, "should see me on that console some days. Just out like a light," he even clicks his fingers to emphasise the point. You hum.

He then turns serious, "But I do. Don't worry. I mean, it took 15 generations, but I do rest, Y/N. Just, the hyperactive mind sometimes," he taps his head, "always onto the next thing, you know?"

You nod, not meeting his eyes and looking out at the system again.

"Ruby ever tell you about how I came to be in this world?"

The Doctor shook his head, "she didn't," he said, "but I always felt she thought that it wasn't her place to. I never wanted to pry."

You nod, appreciative of your two friends, "Premature. Didn't weigh much at all, like a pound or so, can't remember UK measurements for babies," you smile, "but yeah, not a lot at all."

The Doctor nods, smiling a bit at your humour, but stays silent as he lets you continue, "Some of the kids on my ward didn't make it...and I just, I don't know. With all we've seen, you know? Fate and all that? With Ruby's snow and everything...maybe it's like, like - I don't know, sorry," you put your face in your hand. Your hand goes into a fist, and you knock it on your head a few times.

"Hey. Hey, no," The Doctor says, voice gentle but having a bit of firmness to it, as he pauses your movements, "it's ok," he says, "take your time. I'm here," he puts your hand to his chest, and you can feel the two hearts beating, "I'm listening," he promises, "I'm right here. Take all the time you need."

You don't even clock the accidental pun. You just look at the eyes of your best friend. How you've grown to care and love this man in such a space of time, you don't know, but you have grown attached to him, and him to you. His earnest gaze, love of life and all around him, and time he makes for you and himself, you think it is. Someone who just has this comforting aura around him and how he exudes it to all who need it.

You don't deserve -

"Hey," he says again, dragging you out of your mental hell, "I'm here, Y/N."

"I just -" You can feel the emotions inside of you - they may not always come out externally, but here they are. Tears, you can feel the tears pricking at your vision, "why did I make it, you know?"

The Doctor softens. His gaze went from concerned, to protective, to loving, to sadness. The emotions all dance around each other at once, then coalesce.

Physically, that comes in as a hug.

"Oh, honey," he says, hand going to your head, "I may have met many a human, but none like you. They're all unique people in their way, and I am so, so, sorry that one way that you are is with this pain."

"Who's in pain?" a tired question is asked. You both part, seeing Ruby rubbing her eyes and stretching. Her eyes are still shut, and she's wearing some pyjamas she found in the wardrobe.

She locks eyes with The Doctor first, a silent moment of communication passing by in an instant, before she looks at you:

"What's wrong, Y/N?"

"I, uh -" you stutter. The Doctor puts a hand on your shoulder. He feels you shake under it.

Ruby softens as well, "oh, sweetheart," she says, holding out her hands, "why don't we take a seat, yeah? All of us?"

The Doctor looks at you: your call.

You sniffle a bit, before nodding. Before you move, you put a hand to The Doctor's, giving a squeeze. You move to your sister. He shuts the doors.

Ruby takes your hands, giving them a soft squeeze, before sitting with you on a sofa that the Tardis had recently added to itself near the console. You had passed out a few times on there, and it (or she? you weren't sure how to refer to the TARDIS) created it for you.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Oh, no, don't apologise," Ruby says, trying to meet your eyes as you look everywhere but your sister, "I'm not angry at you. Not ever. Not with this, especially. I'm not expecting you to just be ok with what happened."

"Trauma never fully goes away," The Doctor says, crouching down near you and putting a hand on your knee.

"It feels like it should though, right?" You argue, "You said that, like, you're the one who is more open."

The Doctor smiles a soft one, "I am," he says, "but that doesn't mean it just goes away. It never does. It lingers. What I'd say though," he says, "is it's leaning on people and talking about it that can help you take a step forward if you ever stumble. It can manifest in different ways and feelings."

"It's just --" you look at Ruby, her face falling more at the pain in your eyes, "you're trying to solve your birth mother's identity. And" you look to The Doctor, "you have your pain. I just - I don't want to add to that."

The two best friends look at each other, before you. Ruby holds you tightly to her. The Doctor sits next to you on the sofa, hugging you as well.

"Oh, love," Ruby says, "I'll say it as many times as needed, you're never a burden. Ever. We've always got time for you. And" she pushes back a bit - The Doctor with his hands around your shoulders - and puts her hands on your cheeks, "you are always going to be my sibling. And you are always going to be one of the best people I know, ok?"

You bury yourself in Ruby's shoulder. She kisses your head before holding you tightly.

The Doctor and her meet eyes. They'll make good on this promise.

You pull away from Ruby, the pair having a hand on your back.

"I'm tired," you say. Despite the meaning going both ways, given the way you rub at your eyes, they can tell which way the pendulum swings right now.

"Understandable," The Doctor says in a non-judgemental tone. He looked at Ruby, and she nods.

"Here," The Doctor says, holding out a blanket. You take it. You then notice that he's given a blanket to Ruby as well and holds his one.

"What -" you sniffle, "what are you doing?"

"Sleeping here, of course," Ruby says.

You look between the two, "Guys, no -"

"This is your safe space," The Doctor says, "and I love that. We're your safe space, too. I know you're tactile and love deeply. So, why not combine the two?"

You chuckle. You don't know what to say.

You look to Ruby, and she just nods, before getting up.

Ruby lays down near the sofa on one side, The Doctor on the other.

"Thank you," you say.

"Always," they say in sync.

You all rest. Or find it, in the end.

The Doctor is right, the trauma may never fully leave you. But this is your safe space. It holds value to you and has helped you both find yourself and through many a crisis. And it always would.

As they always would.

[utilitycaster]

To expand that point about queerphobia (also, to an extent, gender equality) from the tags on someone else's post and sort of tying it back to my post yesterday about wanting to see characters work through similar experiences: I think it makes a lot of sense in the case of Exandria and Hale to build a world that does not have queerphobia and to allow people to choose to insert it if that is something their table wishes to explore. It's very much a case of wanting to build a diverse but non-utopian world that is welcoming to a wide variety of players.

I think it's a very understandable urge to want to see characters deal with the same challenges we face, and I think there are TTRPG settings that have done a good job depicting homophobia or transphobia; it's present though not common in Fantasy High, and The Unsleeping City is very close to the modern-day real world and has, well, period-typical attitudes.

The reason I get frustrated when it comes up in discussion of Exandria, and now Hale is that it's almost always used for one of two reasons: explaining why people (either specifically or generally) don't like a character; or even more frequently, explaining hesitancy between two characters in a ship. It's a convenient way to say "this person is oppressed or afraid for reasons that are objectively in no way their fault and which make the people who dislike them objectively bigoted and wrong". The problem is, while that's a valid story to tell it's often really not the story the cast is telling with these characters. Even more frustratingly, it often is used to steamroll other stories that may place those characters in just as innocent a position.

Some good examples in which this has happened in the fandom are Jester and Dorian. Jester lives on the Menagerie Coast, which is referred to a pretty wide variety of materials as being a place that is especially trans friendly (in a world where trans and nb characters already frequently occupy prominent positions and are not depicted as experiencing pushback). Her mother, a courtesan, indicates that she takes clients of varying genders. The biggest influences on her life are her mother and an otherworldly fey entity who famously can shapeshift. There is absolutely no canonical evidence that Jester would be unaware of the broad range of genders and sexualities in the world nor that she would feel obligated to embrace one that she is not; in fact there is quite strong evidence to the contrary. But if you claim that she's experiencing compulsive heterosexuality, it excuses you from having to consider that Jester is genuinely not interested in Beau, or at the very least is genuinely interested in Fjord.

Similarly, it was, at least prior to the reveals of early Campaign 3, common to headcanon that Dorian had run away from his parents because he was trans and they were transphobic. A trans reading of Dorian is still obviously entirely valid, but he left because his parents were suffocating and overbearing and often pit him against his brother. Dorian is still absolutely the victim in this! It's a valuable thing to relate to for people who have experienced parental abuse and impossible expectations. But it does still force you to think about Dorian's parents as complex people who came to this conclusion of childrearing (even if they are still in the wrong) and not just mindless bigots to be disregarded. And I think the former is nearly always a better story than the latter.

What also frustrates me is that this rarely works through the ramifications. The systemic queerphobia that would be required to put compulsory heterosexuality in place still exists once someone overcomes that and comes out; but that never comes into play when people are talking about the ship, because it's only ever used to explain why the ship hasn't happened yet, never as a significant part of the world that would affect the characters throughout their entire lives.

These are only two examples; there are countless others, some particularly egregious (*cough* Essek comes from a society that explicitly believes in reincarnation across bodies of varying genders and the queen for eternal life is in a lesbian relationship, I promise you his fraught relationships with his parents are way more complicated than simple homophobia or transphobia) but all of which seek to incorporate bigotry not as the destructive and deadly phenomenon it is, to be explored in the safe space of fiction, but as an incredibly lazy shortcut to be discarded as a continuity error once it's served its purpose.

[nametakensff]

Suggestible (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

The first fic of a few I have for these two because I am deeep into this shit now lol. Ended up at 4K!

H/arry, whilst working on the murder case in M/artinaise and ever so slowly piecing his identity together, notices an interesting reaction in K/im to his budding cold. I guess the first part of a series that will become increasingly NSFW, but for now mostly just alluding to it!

Based on an insane little piece of dialogue in the game where K/im suggests that other people sneezing makes him sneeze

~~~~~~

Content:

Future/hinted M/M, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, H/arry has a latent sneezing fetish that he doesn't remember having yet, spray, stifles, sneezing into handkerchiefs, slight elements of voyeurism but only because H/arry is a confused mess lmao

CW: lots of drug and alcohol mentions, lots of self-hatred

NB - I guess please don't read if you plan on playing the game and want to go in with no prior knowledge - it doesn't really have any plot heavy spoilers but takes place within the story

(also also - decided to write this in 2nd person narrative to somewhat resemble the style of game play - it's not perfect but it was fun to try haha)

Minors DNI please!

Lieutenant Kitsuragi trails behind you as you jog your way across the empty boardwalk and towards the fishing village. The air is piercing and bitterly cold – you are starting to feel the effects of it as the salty air whips against your face. It has been snowing on and off for hours, and you are woefully underdressed. This has not been a good day for you – few new leads, endless dead ends. And a hangover. The hangover to end all hangovers. Not even the frigid winter weather can distract you from the dull thud of a lingering headache, painful pulses beating in time with your heart. It feels as though your brain is too swollen – or your skull is too tight.

Suddenly, you feel it – the familiar, fluttering sensation of a building sneeze. You have been a little under the weather ever since you awoke in your hotel room several days earlier, having no recollection of who you are and woefully bereft of substances to abuse. You had put any subsequent discomfort down to just that – the miserable lack of alcohol, nicotine and narcotics in your system. This tickle, however – it is something all of its own. You stop dead in your tracks, practically skidding to a stop as it crests. You have no hope of holding back the encroaching sneeze. Your mouth hangs open, a great yawn of irritation, before – at last – release.

It comes out sounding more like a desperate shriek than anything else; a few startled seagulls scatter, flying away in a maelstrom of confusion and feathers. You didn’t mean to cause such a scene, but the cold air, the breeze, and now the beginning of a miserable cold – it all proves too much for you. You take in another shuddering gasp before you’ve even recovered from the previous explosion and do it all over again.

“HAAAEEEIISHHHHhhh!!!”

There are no seagulls left to scatter this time, but you hardly notice for the way this sneeze, even more violent than the one before it, sends you flying forward and staggering on your feet. You manage to catch yourself before you fall face down on the sandy ground, panting slightly in the aftermath. It practically tore itself out of you, leaving your throat more than a little hoarse. Perhaps a drink would be just the thing to remedy your misery…

You’re shaken out of your alcoholic deliberation by a familiar, soft voice. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is resting a gentle, gloved hand on your shoulder, hovering next to your crouched form. His voice is as placid as always, but you can’t help but notice a slight hint of concern. You right yourself immediately and snuffle at the mess that’s threatening to overflow from your nose, already a bright shade of red from years of alcohol abuse and the biting cold of the beach.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?”

The Lieutenant notices the thickness of the sound, a barely perceptible look of displeasure passing over his face. You see him reach into his pockets and pull out a large handkerchief – the very same you have seen him use before to cover his face as you performed a field autopsy together. He proffers it to you and you hesitate for just a moment - then your nose starts to run into your moustache. This prompts you to take it from him and snuffle into it apologetically. You realise this pathetic sniffling will do nothing to stem the flow – you surrender and blow your nose with as much conviction as you possibly can. The sound of it is devastatingly loud, almost as disruptive as the sneezes preceding it. You glance at Kim sheepishly from behind the material. If it’s as disgusting to Lieutenant Kitsuragi as it sounded to you, he doesn’t so much as flinch.

When you’re finished, you offer the soiled fabric back to him with an outstretched hand. He looks at it with mild dismay.

“You keep that, officer. I carry a spare with me at all times.”

Stupid. That was stupid of you. Why would you hand him a snot rag? You dismiss the thought before the negativity drags you down further into the already miserable grips of your hangover. But for whatever reason, you keep note of this new information regarding the handkerchiefs. It’s not as though this is out of the ordinary for Kim. He’s so organised and focused – a great cop. Not like you. Of course he would carry a spare. Moving on, you ask the lieutenant for his opinion of what you ought to do next.

“Hm…We should return to the Whirling-In-Rags. Try Klaasje again and see if she’s ready to discuss the murder in more detail.”

It sounds like a perfect idea to you. The wind is fiercely cold and you never did get round to buying a windbreaker. Your hangover is making it impossible to tell if the major discomfort you’re feeling is from the alcohol dissipating within your husk of a body, or the virus threatening to take hold of your sinuses. Either way, getting out of the cold is imperative.

You approach the vicinity of the Whirling-In-Rags Hostel – at last. Your chest burns. Normally, a brisk jog is nothing to you – if anything, it energises your ailing body after a particularly lengthy binge. But today, you feel miserably worn out. You pause for a moment, look towards the Lieutenant, and attempt to speak. You fail, nothing but a series of wheezing gasps issuing from between your lips, followed by an increasingly hacking cough. You buckle over your knees and continue to hack like the washed-up middle-aged man you know you are. Kim places a hand on your back - he seems worried.

“This isn’t good. You’re unwell, detective. Perhaps you should rest a while in your room?”

Something tells you this isn’t a suggestion exclusively for your own benefit. A perfunctory glance tells you that Lieutenant Kitsuragi is tired, and as miserably cold as you. He wouldn’t mind a break inside a warm building, thawing out over a cup of coffee. Nevertheless, you feel disappointment blooming in your chest. As if you weren’t already a pathetic excuse of a policeman - missing memory, decked head to toe in questionable clothes and with a penchant for drug and drink on the clock – you’re now so weak you can’t even handle a mild case of rhinovirus. Pathetic.

You stand upright in an attempt to signal that you are and always have been a perfect beacon of health. You tell the Lieutenant that time is of the essence; you’ve been working on this case for days and have no time for further setbacks. He acknowledges this with a small nod; he seems to appreciate this professional, business-like approach to the matter. He doesn’t say anything more but merely walks beside you as you stride towards the Whirling-In-Rags.

You barely manage to take a few steps before the tickle is upon you again. You tense your jaw and attempt to quell the sensation by taking in shallow, measured breaths, but no dice. In seconds, it tears its way out of you as before, echoing off the walls of the nearby buildings. It is so loud that you wonder if the scabs protesting outside of the Union can hear it over the sounds of their own angry chants. Again, you stumble forward under the force of it, feeling light-headed.

The Lieutenant reaches out to grip your shoulder, steadying you just in time. You wait and sniffle miserably in preparation for the following sneeze, lingering in the depths of your sinuses, but it never comes. You straighten up, blinking tears of effort from your tired eyes, when you become aware of a certain sensation. Kim’s hand squeezes your shoulder with a sudden flex. Could this be a gesture of affection? Reassurance? This is not the Lieutenant’s regular style. He is far too cool for that kind of thing.

You look over your shoulder in curiosity as the Lieutenant continues his grip, despite your having collected yourself. You can see that behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes are unfocused and heavy-lidded. His mouth hangs slightly open, and he is holding a fist – expectantly? – before his face. The expression is…familiar. You’d seen it before, though not on Lieutenant Kitsuragi.

As you furrow your brow in deep consideration, reaching for an explanation that only just manages to elude you, slight movement from Kim pulls you out of your thoughts. You watch as his head tilts back, stays there for a just a moment before he’s jerking forward into his gloved fist, pressing it against his nose and mouth. His features contract severely, moulding his ordinarily placid face into a twisted, almost angry and unrecognisable countenance. You feel his fingers flex again. His entire body shudders, and as it does so, you hear him utter a tiny sound.

“-hHdt’!”

You blink, still not putting two and two together. Maybe this amnesia was worse than you had initially assumed it to be. Was he – seizing? No. Of course not. You continue to watch in confusion as he seems to uncrumple with a gentle exhalation. You think he might be done, but no. Just as quickly as one breath is exhaled, a replacement is sucked back in hurriedly. You watch as he repeats the action, ducking forward into his fist again, more forcefully this time. His shoulders jump with the effort and his hand squeezes substantially harder against you.

“h’Ngxt-!! hh…”

That strange sound again – this time followed by an uncharacteristically shaky exhale.  A moment later the Lieutenant straightens up and assumes his regular composure, releasing your shoulder as if nothing just happened. If you hadn’t watched this series of events unfold right in front of you, you’re sure you would have missed it altogether. He blinks several times as if to clear away tears. Still you have no idea what the fuck just happened – any remnants of the pained expression that cinched his features tight has vanished, leaving him to look as calm and collected as before. You stare at him, eyes roving over his face. This intrusive observation gives you the last bit of information you need to understand. His nostrils flare delicately as he indulges in a sniffle, moisture gathering around the irritated rims and glittering ever so slightly in the afternoon sunlight.

Had those been…sneezes? Those tiny little swallows of air?! You feel a grin spread across your face, any discomfort of your own forgotten for the moment. You bless him enthusiastically. Ignoring the inkling that tells you not to tease or cajole him, you also comment on how adorable the Lieutenant’s sneezes are. Like a kitten. A badass cop kitten.

He thanks you somewhat reluctantly, blatantly ignoring the kitten comment. He clearly wants you to move on from him and focus again on the case. You continue to make your way towards Whirling-In-Rags, but don’t miss out of the corner of your eye the sight of the Lieutenant covertly pinching his nostrils shut, before pulling down towards his septum. He is wiping the resultant moisture of those sneezes away with his gloved fingers. This realisation makes your heartbeat spike for just a moment. You choose to ignore this.

You walk into the establishment – the increasingly familiar sounds and sights greet you as you pass through the door. The Hardie boys are in their booths, an unwelcome fixture. You glance sidelong at them – Titus glares daggers back at you. You think you should puff up your chest and stare him down in a battle of warring machismo, but at last minute think otherwise. It would do nothing to repair your already abysmal lack of authority if you sneezed at him mid stand-off. You glance away. He smirks, arms crossed firmly over his broad chest, clearly enjoying this silent display of dominance. You get an all-consuming urge to spin around and put him in his place – but you feel shitty. Much too shitty. It would probably end with his fist in your face.

You approach the staircase leading to the bedrooms when you feel that familiar, irritating tickle blossoming anew in your sinuses. Not again, not here! Not in a busy room full of so many people. You want to maintain your cool cop image – sneezing is not a cool thing to do. You briefly think to yourself that Kim is cool, even when he sneezes - but it is a foolish thought. You’re not him. You fight to suppress the gasp that fills your lungs, fumbling in your jacket pocket for the handkerchief the lieutenant had given you – but you’re too late. Two huge sneezes rocket out of you, sending veritable clouds of spray across the base of the staircase. They practically break the sound barrier, two near identical “IIIIEEEESHHHHhhtt!!!” screams of irritation. Kim doesn’t steady you this time – you reach out and do that yourself with the help of the banister.

Jeers erupt from the Hardie boys across the cafeteria floor – you only just manage to hold back an embarrassed blush from creeping over your weary face. You have finally managed to extract the handkerchief from your pocket. You decide a honking performance will do very little to remedy this utter humiliation, dabbing softly at your aching nose instead. You begin to climb the stairs; a sordid walk of shame.

“That’s just what this establishment needs, following the hanging, bloated corpse – a biohazardous drunk anointing his plague unto us all.”

That snark came from Garte – the bartender. No, the Cafeteria Manager.

“Just ignore him.” Kim mutters close to your ear. You proceed to flip the bird at Garte instead. As you make your way upstairs, you swear you can hear a tiny gasp from behind you. Without the sensation of a hand gripping your shoulder and signalling the completion of a sneeze, you have to strain your ears to even confirm they happen at all.

“’Ngxt’ch! h’ddt’! Hh’Ggkt!!”

Those are definitely sneezes. Slightly louder than before, enough that you can hear the Lieutenant’s own soft voice blending in with the strained sound of them. Your stomach is suddenly alive with butterflies. In your mind’s eye you can visualise the way his face crumples with each of them – nostrils flaring outwards as he valiantly bites down against them. You are sure if you try to do the same, your head will explode. Or at the very least, an aneurism is a surefire possibility. You shudder at the thought of it. You want to offer a blessing to the Lieutenant, but based on the previous reception it received, you decide against it. This could be the start of a beautiful partnership – Harry’n’Kim, Du Bois and Kitsuragi. Disco Cop and Cool Cop. You can always brainstorm on your trademark duo name at a later date. Either way, you decide to ignore the Lieutenant’s strangled outburst. A soft exhalation behind you signals that he is finished – for now.

You reach the top of the stairs. With great dismay, you realise that perhaps for the first time in your life, you are experiencing firsthand the effect of all those years of chain smoking. The wheezing gasps bend you over for a moment. Lieutenant Kitsuragi stands nearby, just short of nervously hovering, waiting for you to recover. You finally catch your breath and stride as confidently as you can towards Klaasje’s room. You extend a fist to knock on the door when you feel the soft touch of Kim’s hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks. This has to be a new record. He has touched you on four separate occasions – all in a span of under thirty minutes.

“Perhaps you should take this opportunity to rest after all, detective.” Kim offers. You sense by the firmness of his voice that this is less of a gentle suggestion and more of a request. He smiles wryly.

“You are not very likely to get her to open up to you if you deafen her with your sneezing.”

Your stomach flips at hearing that word come out of his mouth. It is confusing but not entirely unpleasant. Whilst he doesn’t laugh, you can see the amusement held in the subtle quirking of his lips. You think for a moment that you should tell him your sneezes are the pinnacle of masculinity – ladies dig a huge, manly sneeze. You choose instead to sigh, practically deflating as any will to remain poised upright seeps out of you. You know he’s right. The filthy sheets of your bed beckon to you.

You agree with him and turn heel to your own room. He looks pleased – perhaps a little relieved. How disastrous did he think the interaction would have gone, had you proceeded? He turns to face you as you stand outside your respective doors.

“Don’t worry, detective. I will wake you up in a couple of hours, and we can resume our investigation. There is no point in making yourself ill.”

You nod. You are both about to enter your rooms when you feel it again. The tickle. It is persistent and increasingly difficult to control. You feel a gasp inflating your chest, helpless to do anything other than let the sensation overpower you. There is no time to even lift the handkerchief to your face. You do manage to turn away from the Lieutenant as the sneeze rips through you, baptising your own door with a trembling “aaAAAAEEEEGSHHHHhh!!!” A cloud of spray settles on the wood, droplets of spray shimmering under the harsh lighting. Gross.

“Bless you.”

A blessing. You feel relieved – and slightly giddy. Your stomach flips again. It is likely out of politeness, but the Lieutenant has at least not run for the hills in response to your disgusting display. You start to thank him when – oh, sweet confusion - he interrupts you with another sneeze of his own. He isn’t fast enough to bring a fist to his face this time. You can see every minute twitch of his facial muscles as he suppresses the sneeze through sheer willpower alone.

“Hh’Gnxt!! Huh’NGxtt!!”

The second sneeze follows immediately – his head dips twice in quick succession. That look of desperation suits him just fine, you think. You decide to abandon the thought as quickly as it forms. You are only partially successful in doing so. His hand reaches into the pocket of his trousers – he succeeds in removing the handkerchief in the duration of that second sneeze, you notice in great appreciation. You would never have managed to pull that off.

You watch as he raises the handkerchief before his face for a final sneeze. This one looks more irritable than the ones prior – the expression plastered on his face is openly more agonised than before. He pauses for what is likely only a second longer before the tickle reaches its apex, but that is more than enough time for another thought to cross your mind – one of an entirely salacious nature. You think that the face he is making resembles the sweet agony of another kind of release. You try to unthink it, but it’s too late – you’re absolutely, undeniably thinking it. The second passes. At last, the lieutenant smothers his final sneeze into the waiting folds of the handkerchief. It is considerably louder than before, even with the assistance of the fabric covering.

“hHh’nNGgxtt!!..chu…”

The soft vocal exclamation that rounds off the sneeze sounds weary, like it took a lot out of him. He sniffles briefly into the handkerchief, rubbing at his nose before tucking the cloth back into his pocket. Is it your imagination, or is said appendage starting to look a little reddened from the effort?

“Excuse me.” The Lieutenant mumbles, sounding uncomfortable. Embarrassed, perhaps?

You bless him before you remember to bite your tongue. Luckily, he accepts it with a soft “Thank you.” You watch as he removes his glasses and swipes at a stray tear rolling down his cheek. He replaces them just as quickly, giving you hardly any time to take in the sight of him without the thick frames. It is for a brief moment only, but the word ‘vulnerable’ comes to mind.

It dawns on you quite suddenly that he must be sneezing because you have infected him with your disgusting, no good germs. You ask him if this is the case, unable to hold back the shaking guilt as you voice your question-cum-self-abasement. He waves it off immediately.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, detective, I assure you. I’m fine.” He pauses for a moment, looking hesitant to say more. You say nothing. This awkward silence seems to prompt him to continue.

“Sometimes the power of suggestion is too much for me. When somebody sneezes in my vicinity, I find my body often wanting to do the same. And your sneezes are particularly…” He trails off for a moment, in want of an appropriate term.

Masculine? Sexy? Bad-ass? You go with the first one. He shakes his head gently.

“…Suggestible.” He finishes. You’re not quite sure you catch his drift, but you do recall that he had mentioned something like this before. ‘Dancing makes you dance like sneezing makes you sneeze’. He had said that, in the church – he had been enthusiastic to interject, and then immediately changed the subject. You had had no idea what he had meant at the time – not once had you ever heard anyone say anything even remotely similar. It had been easily forgotten. Until now.

You smirk. You hope it isn’t akin to ‘the expression’, but is happening nonetheless. You cannot help it. This. Is. Gold.

You manage to hold back from laughing, but what you cannot help is calling him adorable. For the second time that day.

“I’m a 43 year old RCM policeman. I am far from adorable, officer.” He states firmly, almost as if he is chiding you. You do not miss, however, the softness in his eyes and the momentary twitching of his lips into a tiny smile. You do laugh at that. Bad idea. The laugh quickly morphs into a painful, wrenching cough. Whatever light-hearted moment you’d been sharing, you have ruined it. Your throat burns with the effort. God, but you want a drink. And a smoke. Maybe some speed. You finish at last, wiping spittle from your lips with the back of your sleeve.

“Please rest, Harry. I will check up on you soon.”

He casts a final worried glance your way before nodding curtly. You watch as the door clicks shut behind him. After a moment, you make your way into your own room, not even bothering to kick off your shoes as you collapse onto the pile of twisted sheets. Far too tired to think about the past that eludes you, about the case, about any of it, your eyes start to slip shut.

But it is back. The tickle. You have no means of fighting it, and you’re not sure you want to. You sneeze, smothering it into your sheets at the last second.

“HHHRRMMMPPPSHHHh!!!”

You peer cautiously at the sheets. You have left a considerably large damp patch on the section that covered your mouth and nose. Gross – that should be your middle name. You feel disgusting, but before you can begin another spiral of self-deprecation the exhaustion overwhelms you entirely. A final thought passes through your mind as you surrender to it. Did the Lieutenant hear you?

Next door, settling into the chair at his desk, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi tenses at the sound of your sneeze. It was loud enough to be heard not only the next room over – indeed, anyone on the second floor may have been startled by it. His breath hitches, once, twice, before he is tipping forward into his gloved hands, steepled around his face. Depleted of energy from the prior onslaughts, he is unable to hold them back at all.

“-hh! Hck’tshuu! Hupt’Tshhht!! ‘TSCHH’uu!! hm...”

He glances in unmasked irritation at the damp speckling of moisture now adorning the palms of his gloves.

“Merde!” He grumbles under his breath. The Lieutenant pulls the gloves from his hands, pausing to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles for one indulgent moment, before resuming the paperwork he had failed to complete the night before. He hopes, for both your own sake and his, that once he wakes you your sneezing spell will have passed – due to a temporary chill and nothing more. Neither of you have the time for this absurdity. He sniffles once more and begins to write.

[sugar-omi]

tags : suggestive content, yall are 20-21, ok for masc/fem/nb readers, dom reader, drinking, spitting drinks in coves mouth, possessive or jealous or yandere cove idk babe pick your poison <3, non-established relationship, maybe 1 sided love on coves part but not explicitly said ofc

synopsis : you’re tryna enjoy a party but cove wants to go home so he can have you to himself, so you shut him up..

imagine cove is following you all around this beach party but hes too awkward to follow you to the hoard of people dancing and hes so jealous of everyone looking at you with wolfish eyes and hes so jealous of everyone griding and bumping against you

he takes a sip from the beer you left behind and steels his nerves to go up to you.

his body is trembling, whether its from anger, jealousy, or something else is anybody’s guess and all he can think about is how he should be the one grinding against you, he should be the one you’re looking back at with those eyes...

and he feels electricity go through him when you look at him approaching, your eyes lidded and hazy with lust and booze.

“y/n..” cove pulled you away from some scrawny skater boy and into his chest, easily towering over the shorter man and the mean look on cove’s face just the cherry on top to make him leave with nothing more than a grumbled “asshole..”

“don’t you wanna go home? ma-”

“cove i wanna have fun! if you don’t wanna be here than go home, or come back later!”

cove pulled you closer to him, not even considering leaving without you.

“if you’re horny i’m right here y’know...” cove bravely mutters in your ear, buoyed by the cheap beer and boxed wine in his system.

the look shared between the two of you is hot, its full of years of aged lust and you can’t deny cove looks especially good tonight. his baggy muscle tank top does nothing to hide his new muscles, the arm holes- if you can even call them that, show his toned and bronze sides and whenever he leans down you get a nice view of his chest and a flash of his nipples.

you tear your eyes away from his exposed skin, trying to not think about toying with his chest which isn’t hard when the buzz in your veins and cove’s brilliant blue eyes distract you.

cove is saying something more, but you can’t hear anything after he just insinuated, no directly said you could fuck him, and you take a swing from your cup.

grabbing cove by the frail straps of his tank you pull him to your level, smashing your lips against his and cove’s lips fall open in a breathless gasp. you trickle the liquid into his mouth, most of it dripping down your chins and staining your shirts.

you force cove’s mouth closed, hand cupping his jaw and you cover his mouth, feeling him swallow as you lick the alcohol off his throat and you lap over collar bones, sucking a hickey there while you’re at it..

“cove... lets go home okay?”

[thedreadvampy]

hmmm so to reflect on a conversation me and mum had in our little impromptu bell hooks book club:

(nb: here I am using "men" and "women" to describe the roles and expectations for people pigeonholed into masculinity or femininity under patriarchy - this includes a mixed group of people of all genders in a way that is not necessarily static)

so:

men are culturally held back from loving others or themselves

therefore men both are harmed by and enact patriarchy

women are sick of cleaning up after men and handling their emotional work. we've been expected to do it our whole lives and liberation from patriarchy for women necessarily partially entails us no longer being expected to do this one-sided labour which both exhausts us and prevents men from the space to develop

why should it be on us to continue to do the invisible labour of Figuring Out What To Do? women are consistently pushed into being the people who Figure Out What To Do.

in an emotional conflict, men are traditionally left saying "I'll do anything, just tell me what we have to do!" and leaving women to figure out, both for themselves and for the man, what the actual path forwards is.

and in the end isn't that the path forwards?

that we're still conditioned, as women, to singlehandedly "do for" men the job that can only be properly done by two people working together, ie loving.

by falling back into the trap of trying to Fix The Problem ourselves - come up with theory and practise to liberate men - we deprive men of the space to figure it out.

the same way women doing a man's housework their whole life deprives him of the chance to look after himself, acceding to the demand that you do his emotional work for him deprives him of the opportunity to learn how to love by himself.

we're taught implicitly that love is wage labour. men are expected to pay - in money, in security, in compliments, in favours, in sex, in physical intimacy, in emotional vulnerability - for someone else (a woman) to do the labour of emotional questioning, self-reflection, path-setting, care, negotiation and compromise, thoughtfulness, figuring out how to love and be loved, and putting it into practise.

ie "women are machines you put Kindness Coins into until sex/love/emotional intimacy comes out"

you can't love yourself for someone else. nor can you figure out how to love them. they have to be an active participant. but men are rarely forced into a space where they have the room to learn those skills.

the impulse, which my mum particularly found led her to a challenge point with hooks' work, is that if we identify the problem as being that men do not know how to receive or give love, our conditioned response is that we should flood them with unconditional positive regard, forgiveness and love.

but that is already what's asked of us by patriarchy - to forgive, excuse and continue to make space for men regardless of how their actions harm us or others

what we need to work towards is offering the same conditional love we offer to people who aren't men - infants, girls, boys, and women. conditional in the sense that it's given freely and openly but is subject to context and behaviour.

if we are treated poorly, neglected, used, ignored, or abused, we don't owe infinite love and forgiveness. our love and forgiveness is contingent on, well, the Will to Change.

nobody we love has to be perfect at loving us or themselves. but relationships require work and both parties need to be putting the work in - proactively asking questions and trying to find answers for themselves, not expecting the other to do all the planning and thinking.

we owe this to ourselves and to men. men only have the space to change if there are boundaries to what we will accept, and consequences to inequitable behaviour.

what we do owe, both to men and to ourselves, is to accept men as people who have experienced harm, and who are struggling against a system which wounds and oppresses them as well, and to accept them as our equals - neither more or less deserving of care, love and forgiveness than anyone else.

some of what that means, as well, is interrogating our own biases. do we give room for men to change when they're trying? not by letting them off the hook, but by recognising the difference between shittiness and clumsiness and offering guidance? how do we as women enforce patriarchy (on men, women, boys, girls, or infants)? how do we do the work of trusting our own judgements and desires and knowing ourselves outwith patriarchal gender roles and expectations? bc we deserve better than to be men's emotional navvies, just as they deserve the space to understand and engage with their own emotions.

the best thing we can do for men is to stop doing shit for men. to make it clear that love and intimacy isn't a thing we do for men but a thing we do as a joint effort, or not at all.

[decarabiandivorce]

Tbh the sheer magnitude of angst potential that decarabian has is untapped. Imagine thinking everyone loves you, that you know you’re taking care of them and they appreciate what you do for them, that people look up to you in respect. But in reality your kingdom is falling apart, everyone including your own wife hates you and your actions, simply because you’re blind to the world around you, trying and trying to protect everyone but nearly everyone else thinks you’re trying to hurt them. You have so much love in you for everyone you know that it system overflows into hatred, apathy, and obsession, and the two people who could ever have the potential to truly understand you and your motives are both plotting together to kill you

(he needs therapy)

😔 he needs both therapy and a divorce. Those who hated him realized they couldn't do anything about it just left. They would rather embrace the cold than defy him. No wonder why the only people left in his city were those who 'respected' him. Its survivorship bias. The naysayers are all outside his walls and so of course only the yes-men were in earshot.

Also yeah once Amos is like "you know what? I should leave him!". Decarabian starts to Spiral. Its not healthy at all, and it effects him a lot. Amos was completely justified in leaving him, and thats why i think Decarabian's winds get even worse. You know how there were tornadoes and such when Dvalin attacked the city? Yeah. Yeah.... Anemo guy gets abandonment issue 3.0 and acts like a dragon.

This just makes his citizen hate him even more, driving more people to the Nameless Bard's side. Oh once he realizes that all of them are on that bard's side he's going to blame the bard for everything. "Things were perfect until you came along!" Type of monologues. Its a mutual hatred, NB hates Deca for stuff that Deca didn't even do. They should stab each other :)

I can just imagine him at the top of his tower, the halls are as silent as they always been but its only now he can sense the *missingness* of it all. He knows something is wrong. He knows that he isn't happy. But he refuses to wake up. His throne glitters while the stone beneath him shatters. For the first time in a long time he feels emotions other than content. Anger. Despair. Bitterness. Guilt.

If he surrendered would he be able to see Amos again? See his citizens again.

Thats such a silly thought! He's trying to protect them! There is a war outside!

But Andrius's blizzards are weakening. When was the last time that wolf fought against his winds

When was the last time he went outside and talked to anyone

Everything is fine! Its perfect.

He misses her so much. He misses her so much. He misses her so much. Amos where did you go? Are you eating well? Are you cold? Your ring is right in my hand. Please come back. Please. You would do anything for her

Well, besides what she wanted.

Was happiness worth the lack of protection?

[hp-hcs]

Not really a request but holy crap your nb blaise fic was absolutely amazing hell yeah ill integrate that into my belief system. Do you have any other hcs about that bc it's super cool

(more) nonbinary! blaise zabini headcanons — a (sort of) part two to my fic uniforms

there’s a lot, so i’ve divided them up into sections and subsections

also i’m tired and it’s late if there are any typos shhh no there aren’t

~ 𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 ~

they’re better at makeup than you, hands down

isn’t blaise like canonically (aka, the actor) 6’3”? well anyways, they wear heels. they don’t need them, but they own six inch stilettos and won’t miss a step. absolutely strutting on the moving stairs while everyone watches like “how the fuck—”

(if you ask why they wear them, their answer will always be “so i can step on men, duh”)

~ ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 ~

• mrs. zabini •

their mom is hella supportive!!!

one of her definitely-not-murdered ex-husbands mysteriously went missing after making some joke at blaise’s expense

no, mr. auror, i haven’t a clue how my husband ended up at the bottom of the black lake with the word ‘transphobe’ magically carved into his forehead what that’s crazy

• slytherin squad™️ •

draco: shouts “i knew it!!!!” and runs off to go get his money from whoever he bet against

theo: could not give less of a fuck. i kinda hc theo as being fluid or at least apathetic to their own gender, so it’s all love & support over here!!

mattheo: needs it explained a couple times, but once he gets it, he never messes up their pronouns and will fight any bitch who does

pansy: absolute queen. she will d r a g them to diagon alley to go shopping with her and will buy them their first personal makeup palette. we stan.

enzo: already knew. knew like, two years ago. when they come out, he’s just like, “oh!! i’m so happy you finally figured it out!! i’ve been waiting for you to say something for ages!!!!”

• adults •

dumbledick: completely ignores their pronouns bc all slytherins are evil and he’s definitely not biased or anything

snape: is an asshole about it.

voldemort: would be like 🧍‍♂️“ok but ur still one of my death eaters right?”

narcissa: does that one fake polite smile and nod that every white mom is capable of. “how lovely, dear.”

bellatrix: man, bitch is crazy. who even knows

tonks: AGGRESSIVELY supportive

• golden trio (& co.) •

harry: gets into an argument with the slytherins and calls blaise “he”. draco’s ready to beat his ass, but blaise just calmly explains their gender identity and harry apologizes, then goes back to arguing with them, ✨respectfully✨.

ron: (what no i’m definitely not a blairon shipper shut up) immediately switches to strictly gender-neutral language and goes out of his way to ask them what terms/compliments/etc they’re comfortable being called.

hermione: hot take! i hc her as a closeted lesbian with internalized homophobia, and i think she’d try to make an argument about “bUt ThEy iS pLuRaL”.

neville: cutie pie!! he just nods and is like “okay! 🥹🌱”

ginny: doesn’t give a fuck. blaise is on the slytherin quidditch team, and damn if you think she isn’t going to do everything in her power to continue trying to beat them

luna: sagely nods like it was obvious. “oh, the nargles already told me.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

comments are always appreciated!! the author thrives off encouragement, like a toddler being given a gold star sticker!!!

[oc-aita]

(Hi im back again with more object ocs <3)

AITA for attacking someone I used to be friends with?

I (15-17 at the time, NB They/she/he) went to this boarding school because my parents wanted the best opportunities for me. It was weird to get used to, in fact I don't think I ever really did, what with everything that happened.

There was this guy (same age, NB they/them, lets call them T) who was HATED by the entire school. They weren't the best person though, as they would go around spreading rumors about everyone they don't like and generally being very, very negative. Being the goody two-shoes I was at the time, I thought, maybe they just needed a friend? So I approached them and we became "friends".

Quote-unquote, because T was pretty awful to me. I think they've always wanted someone like a friend? But only someone who would agree with everything they say and do. They would constantly spew negativity to me and around me, like I was just their outlet. I was patient, but I could only handle so much, and hanging out with them quickly started to feel exhausting. Eventually, I distanced myself from T, needing a break from all that.

I was immediately approached by two people I recognized, the two most popular cheerleader girls of the school. They told me they've seen my ire for a while, and wanted to invite me to their friend group. I have been admiring them for a while (I was part of the school baseball team), so I immediately accepted. And they proved to be way better friends than T ever was! At first.

I had no idea, and I think T knew, that they had a lil system where they would get their friends to help them silence anyone who speaks out against them or their popularity.. By beating them up. They didn't involve me in this for a while, I think because they wanted to get me to be comfortable with them first, but eventually the time came. T had gotten on the girls' bad sides (they are. NOT SUBTLE with their insults.), and so the two arranged a meeting behind the school to do what they always did when that happens. And they chose me to do the job, making it the last time T and I would face eachother in high school.

This was never meant to be too serious, but I think I got too overwhelmed by my resentment for T, and the girls kept verbally pressuring me to go on ahead, so... I struck T harder than I should've. I made a wound that could've killed them. I didn't process anything else that happened, but apparently the girls panicked and immediately called the ambulance because they do not intend for anyone to die.

T lived, thankfully, but they dropped out from highschool for treatment and I think because of other reasons too. The cheerleaders covered for me and any others who have participated in similar "meetings", so I got away with it, but I feel really guilty. AITA? I think I'm gonna start college immediately so I can better myself...

Edit: T showed up at my college. Looks like they didn't fully heal, and... They hate me now. They've started trying to bring down my reputation. I don't want to face them or talk to them.

Edit2: T forced me to talk to them while I was about to leave to go to my GF's house for summer. It was obvious they never changed at all, so I told them that, and left. And then I got hit by a bus and died, so uh....

[farmverse]

uh. farm here. gonna try my hand at a memory post. let’s see.

last updated: oct. 30th

there are certain things relating to my kids that i’m gonna keep to myself. my memories are… kinda bunked up, content-wise, since some of them tie into the hypersexual tendencies and trauma of the current system as a whole. i might talk about it if asked explicitly, but i’d prefer to do so privately and only with trusted friends. unfortunately, my anxiety makes this a lot more difficult, and ultimately i would very much prefer not to be asked at all.

no idea how i lost my arm. pretty sure i was very young — i’d had the mechanical arm as long as i can remember.

it was bulky and heavy and simple. not really as articulated or flexible as it sometimes looks in canon. it was stiff and restricted, with pretty limited movement in terms of actually spreading my arms. the closest i could really get was letting it hang at my side, holding it straight up, or taking it off, which wasn’t something i did just at random.

i did take it off sometimes, though. usually for repairs or when my nightmares got particularly bad in the winter. (the cold metal would panic my sleep-brain, so i would just take it off, burrow into the blankets, and curl up with jake. he was a good boy.)

the claw hand was finicky sometimes. my mom used to help me work on it. she was good with mechanical engineering, which. tracks for a minerva campbell, i guess. after “finn the human”/“jake the dog,” i mostly did repairs on my own, since i essentially lived in isolation.

my dad took care of the crops, when i was a boy. he taught me how to do the same. bartram was our only pack animal. we mostly used him for transport, but he was a good companion, too.

i tried to live with my parents after fth/jtd, but prince made things hard, and my resistance against his presence in my/our head certainly didn’t help matters. we got better as time went on, but learning to coexist was a long process.

i was transmasc. still am. prince is too. the only reason i was able to grow a beard was because of the crown’s magic.

the kids were mine. i’d rather not discuss their parentage, but i know that they were all my biological children.

jay was the oldest, ‘course. he came along a couple of years after fth/jtd. i think i was…idunno. too young, in hindsight. but then came hunter (red hair/eyes), then nepta (goggles) and stormy (bandana), who were twins. bonnie was the youngest.

bonnie was about five years old to jay’s thirteen, and there was a considerable gap between hunter and the twins. i think hunter was eleven, and the twins were seven. i was about thirty.

i know that at some point between jtd and fac, i took a nasty blow to the right shoulder, which i had to stitch up myself while also trying not to scare the kids. it took a while to heal and made it a lot more difficult to move my prosthetic for a while. i was left with a lot of lingering pain, and my range of motion was somewhat limited.

jay was transmasc, and nepta was nb and transfem. the other kids were either cis or still figuring things out.

nepta was the more talkative of the twins, but was still pretty quiet, especially compared to bonnie and jay. stormy didn’t really talk at all.

stormy later came out as autigender. just showed me a post about it on their phone after we’d gotten settled in fionnaworld. started using they/he/storm/it, but didn’t seem to mind that i mostly used the first two, just because that was what i was used to. i did make a point to mix it up from time to time.

…right. yeah. that was a thing. we all moved to fionnaworld after the events of cheers. it was a fresh start. the kids got to go to school and have friends aside from each other. it was good for them. jay and ld really found their footing. it was a good place for us, since nobody there knew about the destiny gang or the snowman unless we wanted them to know.

i raised babyworld finn. we called him babs. and that’s what i still call the babyworld finn of the current system (@monstermertens) even though he’s not the one i knew.

there was a crown in fionnaworld. when it was made an official part of the multiverse, the crown… activated, i guess. i don’t remember exactly what went down. something, something, crossover event… fionna ended up meeting some old “friends” of prince’s that i’d intended to leave behind. it was. a bad scene. one i’d rather not dwell on too much.

that said, i think it ended… okay. mason was freed of bill and went back to the falls — i remember talking to ford a little. he was a good guy and i stayed friendly with him and mason, similarly to how fionna and i did with simon — and i’m pretty sure wirt went to live quietly in the woods of his homeworld.

prince and i got a lot closer after that. learned how to work together rather than constantly being at odds. he met the kids, eventually, but stayed mostly internal for a while. ld liked him, i know that. she kinda helped pull him out of our shell.

i… debated. getting a brand-new, more modern prosthesis. the whole crown debacle resulted in mine getting… taken? destroyed? unclear exactly. but i was used to my mechanical arm, and i didn’t see the point of learning my way around an entirely new one. so i stuck with it.

despite that, i worked in construction. at first it was a lot of fixing shit the scarab destroyed, but once that was done, i think i focused mainly on roofing. lots of prancing around on staging and roofs almost like a deer. i didn’t hate it, but i was very particular about how things were done. it made me hard to work with sometimes.

…i might’ve had another kid at some point, after we’d moved to fionnaworld, but it’s, uh. fuzzy.

at the very least, i was. very worried about jay and ld as they got older. maybe a little overprotective. but i had my reasons. (i would’ve supported my son regardless, but we were all too young for a new generation just yet.)

jay started wearing a hat he got from one of simon’s friends, astrid. she said she had a whole bunch in stock and the boss wouldn’t miss one or two. guess she meant simon. either way, i’m not complaining. he’d give it to ld in the wintertime, since she stubbornly refused to stop shaving the sides of her head. it was cute.

i felt like the kids all deserved their own rooms at the new place, but. eight kids. plus me. luckily, we got to be part of building our own house during the restoration of the city. we got to have our multi-level, nine-bed, three-bath abomination. (i’m trying to rebuild it in the sims…)

jake was an abnormally long-lived dog. pretty sure the mutagenic nonsense did something to him, but, hey. i’m not complaining. that’s my best buddy. he was almost as old as i was and, although lazy, it didn’t seem like he had any intention of stopping. he’d tolerate stairs with only about as much complaining as one might expect from main!jake.

i think he liked fionnaworld. at least, he didn’t seem to mind that we were leaving farmworld. just found himself a nice sun patch and took a nap while we humans took care of shit.

he didn’t mind the floor, but i still wanted things to be nice for him, so i made sure his favorite spots to lay down had things like dog beds, rugs, and blankets nearby. (he was a smart dog, he knew how to use ‘em. cute as hell to see, too.)

[xeter-group]

Another vent post man I love this platform

Why the fuck is life so short I spend 40 hours a week at work and then I get home and I have my hobbies to do which are almost all academic and then I have my chores and then on the weekend I have to buy food and get exercise and catch up on sleep I missed and wash my sheets but don't forget I need to do political advocacy too otherwise I'm completely bereft of morals.

And then my internal debate bro starts asking why I'm only advocating for an economic issue not advocating for any other issues. You are queer yet you aren't actively advocating for queer rights? You hate women and poc too? You hate disabled people? You hate refugees? You hate the planet? You hate developing nations? You are a hypocrite. You only pay lip service to your beliefs. You pay taxes to a war crimes committing nation.

You donated a bunch of money to a political organisation, yes, but it wasn't to direct aid. You could afford to donate more. Why did you stop at the tax deduction threshold, huh? But if I directly donated to people it would be a bandaid solution. If I donated to a charity it would go to admin staff only.

You're becoming captured in the political system by joining and donating to a party. But if I reject electoralism then I'm just a theorycrafting leftist who wages war against the peoples front of judea for not being radical enough.

By the way don't forget your existence is 25% consumed, hurry up. Be more productive. Be smarter. Achieve more. Yeah your thesis grades were the highest of anyone you talked to but you HATE YOUR HONOURS THESIS. ITS CLUMSY. ITS NOT NOVEL. YOU WASTED YOUR LAST SEMESTER OF IT. you're toxic and stress people out and make them feel stupid and it was good you left academics.

dont forget to exercise. Did you stretch today? Did you look outside? Your eyes suck. Have you eaten too much meat this week? Savage. Have you spent too much on food this week? privileged. Oh is your stomach too large? Thats not the kilograms of food and water you just had, you're turning into a pot bellied boomer dad. Your BMI is 19 thats basically on the pathway to being overweight.

what happened to learning chinese? No time? Typical uncultured white person. Can't look beyond their own borders. What happened to learning Khmer? Just because you don't talk to your Khmer mother anymore? Why do you only consider asian languages anyways? Yellow fever? Why are your friends all asian anyways? Only ever had one friend group? Isolated. Not social. Awkward. You're basically 100% white because you're not from east asia anyways. Can you even use chopsticks? Oh my god wow your spice tolerance is better than I thought it would be!! You know, because you aren't asian enough. Stop liking kpop. The companies abuse their idols, you can't look at them or hear their music. If you ACTUALLY had morals you'd boycott the industry.

Don't forget to internally reflect on your biases. Don't forget to reflect on your gender. You don't have time to reflect on your gender? You're faking it. You're not that nb/trans. Don't forget to voice train though. Your friend passes way better than you and you need to catch up to them. But don't be jealous either. don't look like you're just copying them. You need to develop a fashion sense. At your age and you can't even shop for your own clothes without feeling perpetually embarassed or awkward or scared or indecisive? Fucking lmao. Subject yourself to the beauty standards. Look at people online more. Judge them. Pick apart what you like and don't like. But don't do that to yourself, its fiiiine, nobody else is looking at what you're wearing. Are you even bisexual? You haven't even dated anyone. Of the two amab people you've ever liked one is now transitioning. The three afab people you've liked aren't. And anyways, if you are aspec its not that, its just because you're awkward.

You don't really need therapy. You don't even want to kill yourself anymore. Most people have dreamt up idle vague plans about suicide before anyways. Its not that bad. You don't have panic attacks like your friend/romantic interest/previously a romantic interest does. You're fine.

You're fine.

Nothing's wrong.

Everything is normal.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

...

...

...

I'm too busy for this. I have things to do. I need to wash my hair or I'll look awful at work tomorrow.

[atlanticcanada]

NB Premier calls public consultations on French immersion ‘a shouting session’

New Brunswick Premier Blaine Higgs said January’s public meetings on changes to French education in English schools became “a shouting session,” insisting that he’d continue to keep the topic front-and-centre.

“It’s not over, it’s just the beginning of fixing our Anglophone system,” said Higgs on Monday, days after Education Minister Bill Hogan announced the about-face to end Grade 1 French immersion.

“I respect Minister Hogan had to make a change given where we were,” said Higgs.

Minister Hogan heard loud criticism directly from parents and teachers at meetings in Bathurst, Moncton, Saint John, and Fredericton.

The sessions were initially organized as a “world café” format of discussions table-to-table, but became an impromptu open mic event when people in Moncton began shouting over Hogan's introductions.

An open mic portion was subsequently added to the Saint John and Fredericton meetings. There was overwhelming opposition amongst all who spoke.

“Many of the teachers in the English system have great ideas,” said Higgs. “Unfortunately in these sessions, rather than kind of get to the root cause of how to fix this, which the commissioner wrote a report on, it became a shouting session and it becomes distractive in terms of what is the real point.”

Premier Higgs did not attend any of the in-person public meetings.

“I think if (the) premier is noting they were nothing more than “shouting sessions,” I think the premier should get at what exactly was being said during those sessions,” said Connie Keating, president of the New Brunswick Teachers Association. “Why did they feel the need to shout? What was the message that they felt government wasn’t hearing?”

Keating said teachers have been trying to make one priority clear to Higgs.

“What we need is properly resourced classrooms where teachers have the ability to actually address the learning issues that are in each classroom,” said Keating.

Higgs mentioned the NBTA’s involvement as being imperative to any ongoing discussion, in the context of any future changes to French education in English schools.

Higgs said his goal of having all students speak conversational French by graduation couldn’t be achieved with what he termed a “two-tiered education system” with French immersion and English prime.

“We’re a bilingual province and if we really, truly have that as our ambition, which I do, then we need to look at our education system first,” said Higgs.

Chris Collins, the executive director of Canadian Parents for French in New Brunswick, said Higgs should leave French immersion alone and focus on English prime.

“We need to put some resources in there, we need to hire more teachers, we need smaller class sizes, we need to improve the courses that are available,” said Collins. ‘But there’s nothing (Higgs) can do with regards to French immersion. The people have spoken. It’s very clear. They’re totally against these changes.”

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/7xVPHnN

[b-splendens]

gender, marriage, relations, descent (culture stuff)

i did it. woohoo. unlike my magic system which never got off the ground

SO everything IS based on the family; birthing and raising children.

couples who procreate are ranked the highest, value/moral-wise. but it's more viewed as a duty than really a value judgment. no one really cares who you bang as long as you're discreet about it (and not extramarital about it) and MAKE BABIES.

there is an ethical loophole to this. in the past, monasteries/nunneries would be the primary adopter of parentless children. when the joseon analogue came into power, they forced most of these institutions to essentially adopt less and sort of give a monopoly on it to non-procreative couples (same sex, trans, etc). non-procreative couples essentially fill a vital ethical obligation to make sure that every child has good CONFUCIAN parents. surrogates are seen as extremely immoral and Not an option. They were used in the past infrequently, and usually were of the (abolished) slave class, and thus are associated with barbaric, historical inequality.

however, bloodlines and honoring one's direct ancestors is still valued the highest, which is why the joseon analogue royal family has never adopted outside of their own family and birthed their own children directly, whenever possible.

inheritance usually aligns with the eldest child, regardless of gender. descent (whose surname the child bears) is a trickier question. it usually falls to which side of the family would give the child more eminence, respect, etc. but instances where the statuses of different families is unclear then can be disputed. traditional ceremonies in the past have settled these disputes, consulting with shamans, or even getting the village together to vote on which family is just better. in more recent times though, it's been a personal decision between the couple.

couples have historically been seen as an uneven affair; one end of the couple predominates, while the other one is more subordinate, regardless of gender. it is a more recent idea that (gasp) the two could be on more equal footing.

gender is also a little weird. heading into marriage age (historically, adolescence), people would go through something called a "gender reckoning," in which they would basically cement their social roles. If they were trans, it would be either already affirmed or they would start officially transitioning. If they didn't want to marry the opposite gender, then boom. it is known, and matchmakers would adjust accordingly. most parents would want their children to just have children themselves, but forcing their children into self-repression was looked down upon; the anguish that would result was seen to manifest in harm against the community.

but after one's gender reckoning, historically, you would be locked. gender norms of appearances were extremely strict. even as women were allowed into all kinds of roles, they would be made visually distinct from men. gnc people were made out to be EXCLUSIVELY non-binary. and nb people occupied a kind of weird, almost admirable gray zone. they were accepted because they could still procreate like everyone else; so it didn't really matter what gender they actually were. and those who could not or refused to do so were given extra leeway to enter fields like science, more hands-on civil service, military service, etc—the thinking being, that if they can't raise their own children, they would "raise" the country as a whole. but whatever their individual understanding of gender was, they were expected to stick CONSISTENTLY with one form of presentation.

nowadays, what's progressive is the notion that consistent appearance does not equal gender, as well as the idea that "NO, DAD, I DON'T want to have or raise children and I don't have to!" Polyamory too is probably experiencing a resurgence (dunno). In the past it was infamous for causing succession/inheritance disputes and seen almost in romantic, mythical/medieval terms. Nowadays, with the slight breakup of the family unit and general disruption of society, inheritance is less important.

SO: to recap

no explicit homophobia, but rather, prejudices based on the idea of blood ancestries and the ethical obligation to reproduce that have been slowly eroding.

no terrible gender discrimination, but rather, some strict behavioral and mostly appearance norms slowly fading out.

a rather firm binary, but with an acknowledgement of the in between or outside.

lineal descent based on seniority and status (hierarchy).

room for all kinds of monogamous married couples, with an explicit superior and inferior half.

special culture tidbits: - gender-reckoning - descent/surname determination rituals

and bonus! - some compound last names (disyllabic surnames) originated from historical/mythical figures whose parents combined their surnames

[astrumocs]

Aaaand I couldn’t update Paswon without updating her bestie, Marlox! Marlox is a trusted part of her crew who’s also a Shepard and knitter in their off time. :]

[temmtamm]

Yandere donnie w sweetheart nb reader who's also a soft shell mutant, I'm interested in what his reaction would be

"I'm here."

Yandere Donnie x softshell reader

[TW: ARGUING, VIOLENCE, INJURIES, HINTED STALKING AND MANIPULATION]

(Asks open and appreciated)

____________________________________

"Donnie, I am not having this discussion again. This conversation is over." (Y/N) stomped into their room reserved for themself in their lair, not even bothering to look their friend in the eyes as they did so.

"Oh, but the contraire, (N/N)-" (Y/N) huffed, closing the door mid-conversation resulting in angry mumbling coming from the other side of the door.

This same argument happened practically every month for the two, which would explain (Y/N)'s almost nonchalantness when approaching the topic.

Oh, and what topic is that??

Fighting.

Ever since (Y/N) almost got their shell shattered, Donnie had been pushing to get them a battle shell like his own as well as take on training. His reasoning was usually, "I won't always be there to save you." to which (Y/N) called bullshit. It was almost uncanny how much Donnie had always been there for them, though they equated it to his access to new York's camera systems.

This argument had been different though. Donnie was much, much, much more persistent.

"You can't just close the door whenever you disagree with me, (Y/N)!! You can't hide from facts!"

(Y/N) gritted their teeth as they fell back on their bed, yelling back over at Donnie through the door. "Don..Please just go, I don't want to talk about it anymore." Unlikely to happen, but their words seemed to be effective since Donnie had seemed to fall silent on the other end.

Though, that was only for a short period of time.

"...You think you can protect yourself? Fine....I'll be waiting for when you need that battle shell."

And then all (Y/N) heard was fading footsteps- Well, more like stomps.

(Y/N) let out an exhausted sigh, burying their head in the pillows of their guest bed as one of the hand self-consciously went to gently graze over their softshell. They hated how these arguments always left them so insecure.

They aren't weak, and they don't have to fight to be strong!! They don't have to be like Donnie, they can work with their weakness instead of shielding it.

But still, some days those walls came up and the small thoughts in their mind turned to screams.

What if Donnie was right?? What if their weakness was really that bad? Should they handle themselves delicately, like how one would with a flower??

But they aren't a flower, they are a living being. And unlike a flower, they can reason with enemies.

....But just like a flower, they were unable to fight against their threats..

(Y/N) sighed once more before reaching for their phone, turning it on to check the time. Their eyes widened upon seeing a message notification pop up on the screen of their phone.

It was signed by April, who said she was going to be late so her and the other three might just crash at her place.

(Y/N) smiled softly at the message, feeling a little better knowing that they had some people to talk to when they felt like this. (Y/N) switched up their position so they could text back, sending a quick.

'Can I join you?? Don's place is feeling a bit...stuffy for a lack of better words.'

April replied back within a few seconds, stating that she'd be down for their arrival if they wanted.

(Y/N) stood up, quickly reaching into some of their dressers of a disguise before making their way to their rooms door. They hesitated for a few moments to open the door, afraid Donnie might be waiting by it, just itching to give them another lecture. Eventually, they swung the door open though and much to their delight, there was no Donnie.

In fact, there was no one around anywhere though that wasn't that concerning considering they were all with April.

Despite half of (Y/N)'s brain screaming at them to alert Donnie that they were leaving, they instead decided to just leave without another word.

As soon as they slipped out of the sewer hole the felt the cold new York air nip at their skin, the fresh smell of rain filling their nose.

"I forgot it was raining.."

They breathed a heavy sigh, allowing the breeze to wash away some of their troubles as they slipped out of the manhole cover and began making their way over to April's. They walked through the streets silently, the only sounds being footsteps and the occasional honk of car horns.

The city was buzzing with life, people walking briskly past them in various states of emotions on their features. Some were calm, others were angry, some were even excited.

Halfway through the walk, (Y/N) decided to take a little short cut Leo had taught them by slipping through the alley-ways. The darkness of the alleys would concern any normal person, and despite not being a person, (Y/N) was very much normal and therefore immune to not getting the spooks.

Their feet moved smoothly on top of the pavement as their toes barely touched the ground, taking them swiftly through the alleyway. The wind blowing harshly against their face sent a chill down their spine. The petrichoir smell that at first calmed them had started to turn against them and be used to enhance their uneasiness.

They suddenly regretted leaving the lair.

The so called "shortcut" was starting to feel unnecessarily long and to add onto that, (Y/N) felt a familiar odd sensation run up their neck, one that they recognized as the feeling of being watched.

Yeah, fuck this. They are running to April's.

As (Y/N) ran, legs burning up due to the

increased speed, they heard a small little detail- a sound that made their blood run cold.

There was another set of footsteps following them. It was delayed only slightly from their own, making them able to make out the noise.

They stopped abruptly and held their breath, their entire body tensing up as they waited for Hypno, Meat Sweats, or something of the sorts to appear out of the shadows.

"I know you're there....I'm not angry...Are you following me?" (Y/N) resorted to their usual tactic, talking it out. Unfortunately, there was no response back, making it hard to really talk it out. (Y/N) squinted at the shadows, hoping to make out the figure of the other person so that way they could find out who's there. The only response they were given was some kind of clicking sound, followed by the smallest sound of someone clearing their throat behind them.

Before (Y/N) could see who this was, however, something shot out of nowhere and slammed straight into (Y/N), knocking them backwards. (Y/N) scrambled to flip over so they didn't land on their shell, resulting in their face and arms being the target of the harsh concrete below them. "You motherfu-" (Y/N) bit their tongue, holding back any curses that they wanted to shout out in favor of going for a more docile route.

"Hey, I don't mean no harm...This alleyway yours or something?? I can go.." (Y/N) staggered up to their feet, touching their nose as they did to make sure it wasn't bleeding. They whipped their head back over to where the shot was to see what was there.

It was...a robot? It had purple encasing that had a plastic glow to it, as well as a dragon symbol on the side. Though it wasn't hard to see that the encasing was just a rushed attempt at some sort of armor as there was a mettalic glow hidden under the cracks of the armor. (Y/N) clicked it into their head that they were unable to talk a robot out of its actions and decided to take on a new tactic.

Running.

(Y/N) quickly turned around and took off towards April's apartment, sprinting as fast as their legs could take them. Maybe if they make it to the apartment in time the turtles could help? But as soon as (Y/N) turned around the corner, the sounds of the approaching robot got too loud for them to hear anything else;

A low metallic whine. A clink of metal against metal. The unmistakable rumbling of machinery powering on. The sound almost even screamed louder than (Y/N)'s thoughts did.

It sounded so close to them, like it was right on top of them. So close to ripping them apart...

Then suddenly, a loud thud rang out across the area. Then, after a second of silence that made (Y/N) tense up in fear, everything seemed to clear.

They can't fight. They've been hit.

...

Donatello was right.

(Y/N) looked down at their body, finding a familiar red liquid oozing out of their side. They couldn't tell if it was the shock or what, but it didn't hurt- At least not beyond a stinging feeling that nipped at the wound.

No. Not yet. They weren't ready for this. They didn't want to die.

Suddenly, a strange light blinded (Y/N) for a brief moment, making them look down again to see a strange yellow substance coming out of the robot. In a split second, (Y/N) realised that it was the robots own...blood? Oil? But....where was the light coming from..?

"Hands off, dragons!!" (Y/N) didn't have to wait long for an answer, as the culprit of the light quickly flee into the scene, that's to some jets attached to him. It was Donnie. (Y/N) had never thought that they would had ever been as happy to see that turtle as they were in this moment.

(Y/N) opened their mouth to say something, but all that came out was a groan of pain. Their vision blurred for a few moments as if their mind was fighting to stay awake. This is probably the worst pain they ever felt....Not because it was overbearing, but because the adrenaline didn't allow them to feel it completely, meaning the wound could be much much worse than they enticipated.

Donnie turned his head to get a look at (Y/N), gasping at the sight. His blood ran cold and any emotions that filled him up before was quickly replaced with anger.

No, not just anger. Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

"(Y/N)....Close your eyes..."

"..Don..."

"CLOSE YOUR EYES!!" (Y/N) froze up for a couple minutes before cautiously obliging. The scream shook them to the core, not because Donnie rarely yelled or anything, but because he had never raised his voice at them. He screamed around them, but never even dared to direct it at them before.

All they saw was black, but the sounds left almost nothing to the imagination of what Donnie could be doing to the bot.

Cracking, mechanical whirring, and scarily fleshy sounding scuelches.

They could sense movement behind the walls. Something was moving towards them. Their heartbeat picked up, adrenaline rushing through them like nothing else. The sound of metal shattering made them flinch at how close it sounded. They quickly lifted their hands up to their face to block themselves from getting hit, though still didn't dare open their eyes. They were waiting until Donnie could say so.

A loud thud was heard and then the movements stopped. It was almost deafeningly silent save for the labored breathing of both (Y/N) and Donnie.

"(Y/N), you can open your eyes..."

Slowly, (Y/N) peeled their hand away from their face and opened their eyes, allowing their eyes to adjust to the sudden bright light that had entered the room. When (Y/N) could finally open their eyes, Donnie had already taken a step back.

Oil was everywhere as well as chunks of metal and plastic that once used to form the robot but now was unrecognizable. That wasnt what caught their attention though, what did catch their attention was the small droplets of blood on the concrete.

They didn't want to, but they couldn't help it and they let out a scream that echoed throughout the alleyway. Tears threatened to spill forth as they looked up to Donnie and saw what they feared. He got hurt. He had a gash on his arm. "Don....Youre..."

Before (Y/N) could slip out their sentence, Donnie slid down on the ground above them and pulled them into a tight hug, a rare action for the purple masked turtle. (Y/N) was surprised at how warm he could feel. And how comfortable it was, despite the fact that they were in a bad position. It was comforting and warm. Even though the hug was uncomfortable at first, they quickly melted into it, burying their face in the crook of his neck.

"It hurts...Donnie...You were right. Now you're hurt just cause I was too stubborn to say it.."

Donnie pulled back to get a look at (Y/N) and inspect their wounds. "Forget me, I'm more worried about you. Did they get your shell??" (Y/N) shaking my shook their head no, which made some tension in Donnie's body ease up.

"Good, now can you see why I was so scared..?" (Y/N) felt a burning sensation in the back of their throat. Donnie was scared for them, not angry at them when the two argued. They didn't know why that effected them so much, it was probably because they always thought of Donnie as someone who could always come out on top and never have to be scared of anything. But seeing someone you love in such a fragile state made their heart ache, especially knowing what happened next.

"I'm sorry for putting you in trouble, I'm sorry for everything.." (Y/N) mumbled, looking down.

"It's okay, It's okay...I'm here..Lets get back to the lair, okay?? I can patch us up.."

...

Donnie had to say, he hadn't really expected this to work...Though, he also hadn't expected the robot to actually hurt (Y/N) as well, and that overshadowed any gratitude he held for the purple dragons for fulfilling their end of the deal. He was going to be sure to make sure that they regret for that small mistake. That wasn't important now, though.

What was important now was making sure (Y/N) is safe.

Thanks for watching ♥︎

[dungeons-are-too-cold]

Hey, could I just request a Garcia x nb or gn!reader? R is a hacker cybercrime unit, is polar opposite to Garcia (not so much outgoing, kinda dark if you get what I mean lol), and BAU just being surprised because they never suspected it. Thank you! Have a wonderful day/night! <3

I hope this is too your liking! This was actually an amazing prompt and I absolutely loved writing it! There isn't enough Garcia content in the world so I'm always happy to write some! I broke things up into three parts so i could write a bit about how you met and everything too, I hope thats alright Warnings: Nothing really, mentions of alcohol, mentions of existentialism very briefly Word count: 1.6k

You and Penelope had been dating for a few months, but it was taking a while for you to feel comfortable with meeting her team; at least meeting them as he partner. You had seen the BAU in passing, obviously, often in the elevator as they were just a few floors above the cyber crime unit where you worked, but your limited interactions so far had gone not exactly well.

The last time the BAU needed the cyber crime unit’s help was actually how you and Penelope met. Your differences were immediately noticeable. Her bright clothes and fancy jewelry really stood out against your all-black ensemble. Cyber crime is no joke and their dress code let you know that. You didn’t mind it, as standing out wasn’t exactly what you wanted to do, but that’s what Penelope was all about. She was like a ray of sunshine. Immediately she wanted to be close to you, share her computer space, and gush over your Linux systems. She even offered to take you to lunch, which you reluctantly accepted. That lunch was the best thing that ever happened to you, and the two of you had been dating ever since. The rest of the case was not as great.

You know how Penelope does that whole flirting thing with her coworkers? Yeah, well, your quips usually come out a little more existential than endearing. When Reid had to sit down for a while after your comment on the inherent amoral nature of the universe and the random assignment of meaning and value that people have given action and identity, you didn’t think they were stoked on having you around. You couldn’t wait to get back to cyber crimes either.

            With that said, Penelope was very important to you, and you would do absolutely anything to make her happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Penelope’s birthday was coming up and she was super excited. You were over at her place for a movie date one night when you could hear her talking to Morgan on the phone in the other room. They seemed to be discussing details about the party he was planning with Rossi, and it really caught you off guard.

            “So, sweet cheeks, I actually have someone you need to add to that guest list of yours… Yeah it’s a little bit of a surprise…okay well all I can tell you is that they are very special to me, and I want them to meet all of you for real, as my family.” Immediately you rushed over to your girlfriend trying to get her to pause the phone call. Penelope struggled to swat you away, which ended up turning into a full-on chase around her apartment. Still, she continued. “I may or may not be talking about my partner, but until the party you just put that out of that pretty little head of yours. Just make sure there’s a seat for them next to me at the table, okay I love you! Bye!”

            Penelope slammed her phone down on the table a little too hard as she ended the call.

            ‘What was that about?” you started.

            “I could say the same to you baby, do you not wanna come to my birthday party?” Garcia feigned upset; she is nothing if not dramatic.

            “Of course, I want to be there, just, I know your friends don’t like me. And I’m not exactly the most enthused party guest, I’ll have no idea what to say or what to even do with my hands!”

            “Your hands will be in mine the whole time,” she cooed as she pulled you closer to her. “They are going to love you because I love you, okay?”

            “I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            You did your best to put the party out of your head until you were walking up the driveway to Rossi’s mansion. In an attempt to dry your palms, you rubbed your hands down the front of your black jeans and smoothed out your shirt. Just as you were about to turn back to the car, Derek Morgan burst through the front door to greet Penelope, nearly picking her up with his hug.

            “There’s my favorite birthday girl! Happy birthday, baby!” He said as he spun her around. As she came back to her original position next to you, Derek finally acknowledged you were here. “Hey, Y/n, right? From cyber crimes?” Morgan seemed incredibly confused as to why exactly you were here. You couldn’t tell if it was good or bad though.

            “Yes! Derek, they are actually my partner and special guest for the night so be nice” Penelope said as she playfully nudged her best friend’s shoulder. His face immediately lit up upon learning the special place you had in Penny’s life.

            “Well, it’s great to see you again, Y/n, and welcome! Let’s get the two of y’all inside now, it’s getting kinda chilly out here.” Derek stepped aside and let the two of you find your way through the front door. Almost sensing your anxiety like a superpower of hers, Penelope placed her hand in yours and led the way.

            Rossi’s home was massive, much bigger than anything you had ever seen before. It almost made the team look smaller than it actually was in comparison. JJ and Emily were having a glass of wine in the kitchen with a man you assumed was JJ’s partner Will. Reid and two little boys were sat on the floor with some crayons at the coffee table, coloring in what looked like Spider-man coloring books. Hotch watched the three of them fondly with a whiskey in hand as he and Rossi chatted away on the couch.

            “So, I know you’ve met the team, but that in the kitchen is Will, and those two little boys are Henry, who is JJ and Will’s son, and Jack who is Hotch’s son,” Penelope explained before the room had noted your presence. The second everyone saw Penny walk in, though, they were all over her, showering her in hugs and affection. You let yourself be pushed to the side, not wanting to get caught in all the hugging and touching quite yet.

            “Happy birthday Auntie Penelope!” the two boys squealed in unison, like they had been practicing all night.

            “Happy birthday, Pen” Emily and JJ said as they sandwiched her from either side.

            The boys all gave Penelope a kiss on the cheek and made their way back towards their seats until Rossi noticed you off to the side.

            “And is this y/n from cyber crimes? So, you’re the partner Derek has been telling us about all night? He said Penelope seemed quite smitten over the phone.” The room seemed oddly quiet as you sent a small wave to everyone.

            “Yes, y/n and I have actually been dating since that case we worked with them. It was love at first sight.” Penny lovingly sighed as she cuddled up on your arm, leading you to a seat on the couch.

            “Well, congrats you two,” Hotch said taking a seat across from you both. “Honestly, though, I have to say I’m` surprised.”

            “I hope that’s nothing bad,” you joked. They were the first words you had spoken all night, and you were already dreading where the night was going.

            “Oh, not at all. Our Penelope is just, quite…unique.”

            “Which is a polite way of saying she can’t keep secrets” Emily said as she shot Penelope a side glance. “I think we’re all just a little shocked that she was able to keep this under wraps for so long.”

            “The two of you seem so different as well,” JJ chimed in. She wasn’t wrong. You were sure that she assumed Penny would want someone more outgoing and social. Even you had thought that at the beginning of your relationship. The two of you seemed to balance each other out though, and that’s what you loved.

            “I think we help keep each other sane,” you joked again, starting to get into a rhythm with the team. “The balance is actually really nice.” The team seemed enamored with you. It was nice to know that your first impression hadn’t ruined things completely. Surprise aside, they were all very happy for you and Penelope. You could tell they just wanted Penny to be happy, and she seemed ecstatic to have you on her arm tonight as her date. Finally, you felt yourself relax as you watched the conversation around you.

            “So, what took you so long to bring y/n around to the family dinners?” Rossi asked Penelope.

            “Well, we just wanted to take things slow. As crazy as I am, you lot can get a bit rowdy when you’re wine drunk.” She said as she gave side eyes back to Emily as payback for earlier that evening.

            “Also, after I nearly broke Dr. Reid on that case, I was a little hesitant to meet everyone again,” you chimed in.

            “Actually, I found your line of question on morality quite intriguing, and I ended up doing quite a bit of reading on moral codes and evolution of humanity, especially in the context of developing society, and I’ve even been reading up on existentialism as well. It’s quite- ”

            “Thank you, boy genius,” Penelope interrupted, “but it is in fact my birthday and I’d like to believe that there is still some good in the world, so maybe let’s hold off on the Sartre before dinner?”

            “We’ll have to chat reading at some point,” Reid remarked to you before heading to refill his drink. “You want anything y/n?”

            “Thanks, but I think I’m alright for now,” you said, but you were much more than alright. You had everything you could possibly want in life with Penelope on your arm. She was your world, and you were just happy to be in hers.

I hope this was what you were looking for! I had a really great time writing it so let me know what you think in the comments! Sorry it took so long for me to get this one out, I'm going back to school rn so I've been getting ready for my college semester lately lol, but this was such a good time to write so i hope ur happy with it! Send an ask/request here! Check out my master list here!

[stardustedknuckles]

Hi there! I’m a cis dude who might get to play a super-fluid nb changeling in my next campaign, and I wanted to thank you for posting your thoughts about that dichotomy vis a vis Quay Seelie. Part of my reason for wanting to was to explore what you talked about (and fun mechanical interactions), and hearing your earlier comments about changelings being a fantasy for non cis people really solidified giving it a try. If you have any more thoughts on the subject would you care to share?

Oh I could wax about the inherent nb factor to changelings all day! I love them. My changeling grew up raised by a group of them who shared personas between them. So out of the six, any one of them could take on the "mom" persona and the "dad" persona and each was as valid as the other. To literally become that persona is so much more than just changing a face. It's a life with history and a way of looking at the world. I also had a third gender parent because why wouldn't they? So these five changelings grew up as friends and they're essentially in a poly relationship with relationships within that. If it hurts your brain to try and suss out, then you're on the right track. There's no DNA to worry about when you can alter your own, there's just the community looking out for its own and the power imbalances that could come from like, a kid playing at being an adult etc. So my character nyx grew up with a brother that was also technically a cousin and they were two of four kids of their main communal group. The changeling who took on the role of Mom for nine months was different three of four times but the Mom persona was essentially the same person. Like I said, if it sounds like it almost makes sense but doesn't, you've got it.

That's the kind of stuff I love to play with. That's the fluidity afforded by a race and character that can not only look like anyone but spend time becoming them. Personas as legacies, as stories passed through generations. So much of the lore around changelings emphasizes how untrustworthy people find them, but my DM runs their world in good faith and let me tell you, things are so much more fun when you can experience being a changeling freely. Maybe there are individual people a little freaked that you can look like them, but without a systemic prejudice and mistrust there's no element of hiding yourself that you HAVE to carry (as a trans person) into the role. Maybe as a cis person you'll enjoy the sense of needing to hide, of having a secret if your DM rules that there's a prejudice against your kind. It's not necessarily what I want in a game of escapism. (and I'm aware you could be different in other ways that relate to masking or hiding too, but as gender and presentation go it's so inherent to changelings!)

I hope you have a blast playing them. I hope the ability to change as easily as breathing informs something great about your character and provides a great conduit for discovering and playing out facets of your own identity and values. I think you'll have a great time with them.

It's also very fun to get into the technicalities of changing into someone when you have to guess what's under their clothes lmao. I mean with a lifetime of experience you get the shape right without even having to try but what if there's a birthmark on their butt you've never seen? What's their dick gonna look like if you've only ever seen them clothed? What are the implications of being able to adjust your own voice box such that you can perfectly pass as a kenku because when you mimic the sound of water or rocks falling it is flawless? Do you want a tail? Rules as written say you have to have roughly the same humanoid configuration but my DM says since humans have a vestigial tail it's okay for my forms to have them so long as I don't try to break the game with it. Good faith playing opens up so many doors.

I hope you have the best time with them!