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dolphin-diaries · 2 days ago

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Detrans/Uncis (Part 2)

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries.

My first steps on a detransition journey were underscored by a peculiar mantra: “but I’m not detransitioning though.” I don’t feel like a man, so I’m not a trans man, but I’m still taking hormones, so I’m not detransitioning. I’m getting laser, but I’m not doing anything to my voice—hold on, actually I am. I’m lowering my dose of testosterone, actually, but I’m still taking it, and it’s not like I’m a woman. Only I want to be gendered by strangers as a woman, but that’s different. Actually I’d hate to have any further changes from T, so I’m not taking it at all—but I’m still not detransitioning though. Actually, could you speak of me as she? And her, too? No detrans though.

At a certain point it started to approach total absurdity. My friends and loved ones, well-versed in the queer gender soup, said nothing of it, but I am myself strongly averse to repression, denial, and self-deceit. So I was the first to say I was wrong. The first to say, “I am, though.” And at no point, from the beginning to the end of my epistemic conga, have I encountered any meaningful pushback from my close circles. No implications of betrayal, no cold shoulders, no silence when I walk in the room.

So why the mantra, then? Why was I so averse to the idea?

A large part of that was the politicisation of detransition; how indelibly it is associated with the Right—I said as much in my first essay. On a personal level, though, it was trivial to realise I wasn’t doing a grift. I was confident I hadn’t been brainwashed into anything. I’ve never had any meaningful contact or affiliation with any sort of gender-conservative person or movement.

And I did encounter pro-trans detransitioners. Some of them sniped back at the right-wing ones, some merely told their stories independently. Regardless, they—just like me—did not receive great or meaningful pushback from their trans friends, nor even strangers. They weren’t always understood or necessarily celebrated, but they were taken at their word, believed, and more or less respected as much as any gender deviant. Before I had any thoughts to detransition myself, I had seen detrans people beyond the pale of the rhetoric multiple times, and…

And I hated them. They made my skin crawl. I was never rude or condescending, and as those encounters were online-only, it was trivial to maintain respect and civility. I also realised I had no real cause to hate them. They’d done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. It was easy enough to say that in principle, when they talked in the abstract, but when they spoke of their bodies, their lives, the flesh and blood of it all, I felt such visceral revulsion as I might’ve never felt before.

Or have I? Have I known this already, this knee-jerk lip curl, this morbid disgust with another’s aberrant sex? This idea in my mind, spreading like cancer, that these people were wrong? That they’ve violated something inviolable? And how civility and compassion chiselled this violent core into arrogant pity towards an untouchable other?

No, I have known this. And not such a long time ago.

The Body Horror

When I first came out as trans to my university class—cis-majority if not totality, naturally—the perverse fascination with my body was hard to escape. They were mostly polite, of course. My university was very ‘decadent Westian’ (pardon the quasi-inside joke). We were hip with it. Nevertheless—

“It’s okay for you, of course, but if my future children—”

“You mean to say you date women? How do you—”

“You mean to say you date men??”

“I wasn’t looking at you like that in the bathroom—I mean—uh—”

You don’t need to say it outright. Sometimes you don’t need to say a thing at all. I see it. I know.

That’s to say nothing of the doctors’ dehumanising dissection and the conservatives flashing the least flattering post-operative pictures like they’re gore. As a transsexual, you don’t even need dysphoria; you will be informed of your physical monstrosity in great detail and in every possible manner, from the subtlest glance to the bloody megaphone.

You learn to see transsexual bodies this way very young and not voluntarily, but I was not just any random person. I transitioned aeons ago, and I did not find the flesh of my fellow transsexuals a subject of psychosexual fascination anymore. We were just people. I’d learned that.

I thought I did, anyway.

That’s the thing about the biases that systemic oppression seeds and wields. They are, in my experience, nothing less than psychosocial cancers. Leave one cell alive, and they will surely regrow. Maybe into a new shape, maybe into something old, but they will never die left alone.

Although I’d mentally graduated to gender abolition and genderfuckery-as-political-stance, to activism, to gender constructivism and to queering everything, especially feminism, I’d first come to see transsexuality through the lens of the DSM. Not my fault or anything—that’s what was available to me. Transsexual transition, then, was first presented to me as a linear transformation, a path from A to B, at the end of which laid gender nirvana. Or, like, happiness and fulfilment, I suppose. White-people Buddhism was fashionable at that time, so please excuse my French.

So genderfuckery was all well and good, but you know, done respectably. For me, that was performing picture-perfect transsexuality, just a little spiced-up. So long as I still appeared cis. Anything that marked me as ‘clocky’ was unseemly; although I no longer needed to see any doctors about it, I’d been trained to sniff out such features and weed them out for the sake of gaining medical access. But that’s not the only way ‘respectable gender’ is ensured in queer circles. I’ve also observed it to be an absence of transsexuality. That is, gender is to be fucked with in words and pronouns and haircuts and porn—but to transition about it would be kind of gauche, don’t you think? A little gender-conformist?

Different outcome, but for the purposes of this discussion, same principle: it is disgust with transition. Visible transition, obvious transition; transition at all. My case was not altogether different from ideological non-transitioners; it was just modified to accommodate for some alteration of sex.

After nearly a decade of virilising HRT, my detransition wasn’t simply a matter of changing my name and putting on lipstick. That would just make strangers say ‘yas gurl.’ No, if I wanted to live as a woman beyond my immediate social circle, I needed to make more invasive changes. More than that, I wanted those changes. I didn’t merely wish to say I’m a woman—I wanted to look in the mirror and believe it.

The first truth a detransitioner learns is this: to detransition, you must transition again.

Again?!

Oh, it’s not the same as your first time ‘round, sure. Not just because of the difference in desired sex; if you’ve never had your gonads removed and have no prior issues with hormone production, you can simply cease to take HRT and stop depending on the vagaries of medical supplies. Doctors will, generally, be a little more understanding of your desire to change sex. Often, from their perspective, you’re not changing it; you’re fixing it. So if you were allowed to take the so-called ‘cross-sex’ hormones, you’ll probably be allowed the ‘same-sex’ ones. Conversely, because no such thing as a ‘detransition procedure’ usually exists, it’s a dice roll if any surgery will be covered by the state, your insurance, or anything. Yes, you’re ‘fixing’ your sex—but the fact you’ve ‘damaged’ it at all renders you a bit of an unreliable witness to your own mind. A little bit crazy, you could say. Isn’t it all quite literally your own fault?

However, the day-to-day mundanities of detransition would be highly recognisable to any trans person. Indeed, I got all the ideas on how to relieve my gender dysphoria from my transfem friends. I learned of laser hair removal from them, and they advised me on voice training. Some of the professionals that serviced me had no idea I was detrans—how would they? Kind of an odd thing to randomly bring up while getting your beard fried.

‘Detrans woman’ is not a legible social category (nor any other kind of detrans person). People know what these words mean—at least, if they’re up on the latest gender lingo—but they don’t truly know what that looks like. Maybe they imagine a particular grifter when you say ‘detrans,’ maybe it’s just a void—but it’s never you. No one will ever assume that’s what you are.

So how does a detrans woman move through the world? She passes, of course. She is either assumed to be a cis woman, having worked to file off any signs of testosterone’s magic touch, or she stands out with those features. If she transitioned after adolescence, she might have a leg up on passing, but should a stranger’s transvestigation radar starts beeping, they will surely scan her for other hints. Sometimes they’ll find what was never there, and sometimes they’ll decree a feature that occurs in all women, cis and trans, a sure sign of inborn manhood. I’ve always had a visible Adam’s apple, for instance, but it didn’t use to be proof I was born a man. Now, though, take that and a bad voice day, and I don’t have a leg to stand on.

And if someone decides I don’t belong in a women’s bathroom, do you think it’ll help if I cry I was born to piss here?

Here’s the second truth a detransitioners learns: it doesn’t matter how many times you transition, to what end or for what reason. If you do it at all, you will never be cis again. It’s the real red pill—the one the Wachowski sisters intended, not what the chuds on the internet made of it. Your body, your social and legal history, your continuity of self—it is different now. Not the way it’s supposed to be. Changing sex at all was never meant to be.

Regime and Treachery

Um-actuallying people who think I’m a trans woman will not help me under most circumstances. It won’t help with a strange man in an alley, and it won’t help with an employer that discovers my last manager knew me under a male name. In one case nothing but a good run will help, and in the other—come on now, they won’t think any better of me.

It will not make me cis, and it doesn’t help—under most circumstances.

Detrans women aren’t the only ones which may be assumed for trans women. Cis women that never touched a drop of testosterone get transvestigated too—not nearly as frequently, but it happens all the same, and regularly. The case of Imane Khelif is one that probably jumps to mind first these days, but she is perhaps in the minority of women that never responded to such accusations by loudly proclaiming she is completely and utterly unlike those filthy transsexuals—she is a real woman!

Detrans women have the whole transsexuality thing in common with trans women, of course. But they aren’t quite the only ones—intersex women that were assigned female at birth are also often assumed to be transsexual. They are also subject to severe medical violence and neglect. Some require exogenous hormones to stay healthy. Some wish to take ownership of their body via voluntary sex alteration, for a change. It is rather transsexual-like, all in all.

But yet you will not search long to find similar underbus-throwing. The AFAB intersex woman is not like that trans woman—she deserves gender-affirmative treatment. She’s a real woman. The birth certificate said so.

And so too the detrans woman, despite all her history, despite the indelible mark of transsexuality, looks at the dangling carrot of Real Womanhood—and like a dog, jumps.

She will never be allowed the full extent of it. It is irreversible damage, after all. That’s important. The detrans woman that betrays her sisters—her class, even—must forever cry about the wounds transition left on her, must never heal from them. And trust me, the cis aren’t nice about it behind her back. The detrans woman is promised a shred of cis-ness, of real-ness—but only so long as she divorces herself from all things transsexual. Loudly, repeatedly. The moment she stops, she will be reminded: she too is transsexual. She has seen sex/gender for what it is; her body is evidence. She has eaten of the tree of knowledge. It’s only at the regime’s great mercy that she can peek into Eden—but god forbid, never enter.

Because what would happen if the ‘damage’ wasn’t irreversible? If society allowed the detrans woman to be a woman wholly and totally—its woman, real woman? Why, it would mean sex can be changed without repercussion. It would mean you could leave gender.

It wouldn’t quite mean that trans women are women and trans men are men—it would only allow that your birth sex can be ‘returned to.’ But if even that much was permitted, it would make transition no longer a threat. You could do it and come back just fine, see? What’s there to fear? Why not just try it? And if you can just try it, just leave and come back as you please—how can you force people to obey gender?

It would mean I could opt out of womanhood any time. Of the mandate of reproduction, of subordination, of sexual and domestic servitude—of the constant fight to break free of those things. I could opt out even if I didn’t like being a man. I’d always have one foot back in the door, if I pleased. And that’s the thing about the patriarchy: women must never be allowed to leave. Or to desist, or to fail. For that they must be punished. Want fewer lashes? Kick the weaker bitch out the door.

Cis-ness is a regime. A status quo. To define it merely by the relationship to birth-assigned sex is erroneous—intersexness reveals this, but if you’re the kind of person who thinks the intersex are some sort of rare and bizarre exception (they’re not), perisex detransitioners must surely hammer the nail home. To be cis is not merely to self-identify as the sex on your birth certificate; who’s even looking at those? It is to live in accordance with your biological destiny, and every social law that entails. This destiny is assigned at birth, yes, but it does not end there: it follows you all the way.

Cis-ness is not an identity—it is a reward for doing as you’re told.

The Freedom of Sex

It is obvious, then, why detrans medical care is a pain to get even though you’re complying with your birth sex assignment. That is the true engineer of detrans misery, of dysphoria and resentment. To come to dislike the features you’ve acquired during transition is one thing—but to be prevented from changing them? To be looked at like a lunatic? To not know what to do, because information about de/transition and how it works is so understudied and obscured?

If transition was easy, known, free—more people would detransition, certainly. But that wouldn’t mean much. Because they’d be people like anyone else. Their bodies—transsexual bodies—would be just the same, just as worthy. They would be real.

The implications are even greater than that. Freedom of sex, as Andrea Long Chu puts it, means a freedom to change anything about your sex, in any way, for any reason, without restriction. Not the A->B path I was first taught under the illusion of two wholly distinct, non-intersecting sexes—rather, the tweaking of individual aspects. It is to really examine how sex works and take it apart on your person. It is what some trans people already do, with microdosing and what you might call small acts of detransition. If you don’t like the beard after T, why not zap it off? If you want to be on oestrogen but don’t like the breasts—double mastectomy works just the same regardless of initial sex. The idea of customisable, ‘nonbinary’ transition is one that’s gained prominence in recent years, even as attacks on all transition have exponentially increased.

Linear transition was written in an attempt to enforce a kind of gender austerity. Only those that really need it can get it, and so there must be competition, a hierarchy of haves and have-nots. There must be doctors that will prescribe you wrong dosages based on irrelevant research and leave you to wonder why you feel so off. You must not pick and choose the changes you want, because your sex is not for you to decide—it is to be granted to you, justified via a constant defense of self-identification. For the crime of violating sex/gender, your autonomy is branded as harebrained desire until proven otherwise. You’re not allowed to simply want something; you have to need it, hence the attempts to naturalise and essentialise transsexuality—you have to be real, you have to be born with it.

Above all you must be kept in the dark and hurting, so that any time someone suggests anything as ‘frivolous’ as the freedom to have their body as they wish, you snipe back: Shut up, vapid idiot! You’re going to hurt yourself in your stupidity! I’m not like you—I’m the one who’s really hurting!

To look at de/transition from the perspective of liberation is to ask: why? What’s the austerity for? We have the hormones, the surgeries, almost all the treatments we want, and the science isn’t calling it quits tomorrow last I checked. What horrible thing are we preventing by stopping people from doing to their sex whatsoever they wish? Are we running out of gender juice?

But of course, I already told you why. A smarter woman than me has also written extensively why. It is because sex and gender come with a fine print, a set of prescripts, which must be enforced. Irreversible damage to fertile wombs must not be allowed. The pedestal of Man must not be tarnished.

Freedom of sex, then, is the patriarchy’s anathema.

Detransition is part of freedom of sex. To accept acts of detransition as neutral is to allow that changes wrought by transition—just like naturally developed sexual characteristics—can be changed at will. Even disliked. To be free is to embrace the possibility of discontent, too; to allow oneself to do something you may regret later, and to be free to go back. To accept that nothing is final. Finality is one of the ways transition is made more difficult than it needs to be: you must be sure, must be happy with what you get—or else, it is argued, you never had a real need for it anyway.

That is plainly not true. I know that from my own example.

Transition served me well way back when. I do not know of an extant, realistic alternative that could’ve helped me as effectively. I was happy with my transition for years, and suicidally discontent before then. So who cares if transitioning proved in the end an imperfect permanent solution for me? Why must transition be held to perfection and permanence before it is allowed? It worked and it saved my life—who are you to tell me I shouldn’t have done it? And who are you to hold me hostage to it?

What if, even now, I enjoy that I’ve been constructed rather than simply born?

Not So Fast

Now that’s a nice thought, isn’t it? I can feel the gender nirvana coming on already.

Unfortunately, it can’t be that simple. To dream of a world you want, you must first contend with the world you already live in.

There’s a particular aspect that’s been largely absent from my essays so far: forced detransition and conversion therapy. In part, that’s because I argue from the perspective of a willing detransitioner with no shadow of a right-wing past or influence; a viewpoint which is lacking in the public conscience. Plenty of trans writers and thinkers already staunchly argue against forced detransition. They omit the detrans by virtue of either irrelevance or ignorance or both. When voluntary detransition is mentioned, people tend to merely point out there’s not that many of us. In actuality there’s very little statistical research to give definitive numbers, but it’s certainly true we are the minority of transitioners, and the absence of statistical evidence only further confirms: the Right are pulling numbers out of thin air.

Except, saying that is missing the point. The Right never cared about numbers. Or facts. Or logic. Their argument is that willing detransition ought to be the nail in the coffin for transition. If you retort that, um actually, there’s only half as many willing detransitioners, you still concede we exist and are a contradiction to you. That is enough to prove the Right’s point. I, therefore, wish to argue we are not a contradiction to trans rights or existence, but in fact on a continuum with both. That by virtue of our needs and lived realities, we are trans. Differently trans, but trans nonetheless. Some (trans and detrans) may not enjoy that assertion for a number of reasons, but the empirical fact is that we are irrevocably cast out of cis-ness, and we are in need of support structures that are near-identical to those of trans people. If by every function we are trans, then it’s under that name that we should be understood, because it is the only thing that makes sense and yields results.

But.

Detransition is not a neutral act in practice, even if it has the potential to be. Just like transition isn’t. Both are politicised, and the nature of detransition’s politicisation diverges from that of transition quite sharply.

In the current political climate, as trans people are being denied medical care and the anti-trans rhetoric pollutes every information space, this cannot be avoided or denied. Transition is reviled, and detransition is said to be the cure and is wielded as a punishment. Detransition-as-sex-freedom cannot be understood without also grappling with the other two kinds of detransition I distinguish based on motive and emergent needs: forced and coerced.

Forced detransition is the simplest to define. It is detransition that occurs when circumstances necessitate it as the only possible course of action, or it is altogether done unto the transitioner without any pretense of choice. The starkest example is, say, the new law in Florida which forcibly detransitions the incarcerated. But it needn’t be so wholly dystopian to qualify as ‘forced.’ Detransitions due to family or peer pressure, poverty, lack of access, or social isolation are all forced in nature, even if in the most technical sense you made the ‘choice’ to undergo it. If you wish you were still transitioning, it is forced.

Coerced detransition is a grayer area. It is motivated by an individual’s choice—not a lack of one or a pseudo-choice, as above—under circumstances in which transition is possible, but highly discouraged. You will naturally recognise conversion therapy as an extreme example, but it needn’t be so blatant. Often it isn’t.

Say, for instance, your closest circle of friends regards transition as a frivolous neoliberal excess. Or, let’s say, your cis boyfriend is perfectly happy you’re a man now, he swears, but—well, he’s not gay, you know? Just for you. It’s different with you. Except he still treats you the same way he did before your transition—but that’s a good thing, right? Good thing he still wants you at all? He would probably prefer a girlfriend, and he’s never dated men—actually, is this whole thing really that important to you? Aren’t you rushing into things? Do you really know what you want? You don’t mind if he slips up on pronouns when you’re not in the room, do you?

Or maybe your general practitioner keeps insisting any time anything is wrong with you, that it’s the hormones’ fault. The classic ‘trans broken arm’ syndrome. And when something actually might be wrong with the hormones, the solution is always to just stop HRT altogether. And the surgeries—they’re just so dangerous; look at how horrifying post-op pictures are! It’s just biology, just facts, which don’t care about your feelings (but remember: it’s only a fact if it makes you feel worse.)

In other words, the decision to go through coerced detransition is made in a state of reduced agency, often caused by social pressure and/or misinformation about transition. Nothing is explicitly preventing you from doing as you will to your sex—and so it is precisely your will which must be subverted and undermined.

Notice that I make no claim whether detransition is right or wrong for the person in question. Perhaps they would’ve arrived at this decision another way, perhaps not. The point is, they are led to believe detransition is simply more sensible, healthier, better. It is the superior choice—so of course, they make it. In the end, coerced detransition is not truly dissimilar from the forced kind. What merits it separate consideration is that it’s designed to make you relinquish your own judgement, and your very own sense of self. Under such conditions, even if you would’ve ultimately detransitioned regardless, your relationship to your sex/gender is made maladaptive, and your independence as an individual is maliciously compromised.

The needs of coercively and forcibly detransitioned people are closely aligned. The forcibly detransitioned, naturally, require that the circumstance which necessitated their detransition is removed, and that their retransition is facilitated and supported. The coercively detransitioned may or may not require the same thing—some detrans people do, in fact, discover they genuinely desire detransition in less-than-ideal circumstances—but what they certainly need is a pathway to recovery from conversion. They are to be given their agency back, as well as access to accurate information about transition and transitioners, so that they are free to make the choice to retransition or to keep detransitioning as they see fit.

Both cases run counter to detransition-as-sex-freedom, to voluntary detransition—which is to say, a choice made due to a shift in self-perception, under circumstances in which continued transition is unhindered. The needs of a voluntary detransitioner are also starkly different, and most resemble that of a transitioner. A voluntary detransitioner requires a facilitated pathway to sex modification and gender recognition, from hormones to surgeries to legal procedure. It is the same thing for which trans people fight; it need only be recognised that voluntary detransitioners are part of that fight.

Grouping voluntary and involuntary detransitioners under the same umbrella makes little sense. We may superficially share some experiences, but such an equation falls apart from the perspective of rights and needs; it obfuscates motive, absolves abusers and systemic injustice, and it smooths over radical differences in our stories and perspectives. It draws a false equivalence that either condemns voluntary detransition or celebrates forced and coerced detransition, thus making it impossible to either embrace or reject detransition in good conscience. Thus no progress can be made.

In other words, conflation of voluntary and involuntary detransition only works from the cis perspective—from the perspective of the regime, which observes its deviants and wishes them gone, and rejects understanding them on principle. From either the trans or the detrans perspective, it is nonsense.

Except…

How do you know, though? How do you know? How do you know, when everything from your very cradle is telling you trans people are aberrant for existing, and when trans life is so hard? The coercively detransitioned wholeheartedly claim total autonomy; they are not really lying; from a strictly liberal-minded perspective, they are not wrong. How exactly can continued transition be ‘unhindered’ when society is engineered to always make it difficult?

How do you really know it’s your choice and your choice alone?

We all realise the answer: you don’t. You can’t. Not with complete certainty. There’s no such thing as a pure, unadulterated, individual choice, and there’s very rarely such a thing as an unhindered transition.

We live in a world that reviles transsexuality, that denies and despises the mutability of sex and stamps out any proof that gender is smoke and mirrors. The regime of cisheterosexism seeps through every layer of society and through every aspect of life. Purely voluntary detransition is, in the strictest sense, impossible. Sex/gender is a regime, and no act under it is free; all are forced to exist and be legible within its framework, or else be totally exiled. To exist socially is to exist under sex/gender.

This is not whatsoever unique to detransition. Or detrans people, or trans people. Cis women, for instance, must grapple with what it means to be a woman when Woman is defined as subordinate to Man—even as most do not transition about it. So, too, do men grapple with what their gender means when Manhood is defined and enforced via violence towards women, other men, and the gender-deviant. Even the cissexual must contend with the demands placed on their bodies—almost all transsexual treatments originate in cissexual healthcare. There is no exit from this struggle, because patriarchal sex/gender is constructed to be all-encompassing and mutually exclusive. Woman is everything Man isn’t, and vice versa; never the twain shall meet, and no stone will they leave unturned. No matter what you do, it will be sexed, it will be gendered, and though the conclusion will shift from occasion to occasion, in any particular instance it will allow for no ambiguity. Even when someone yells at you on the street, “Are you a chick or a dude?!”—that is not ‘ambiguity.’ It’s just a longer version of a slur.

Similarly, this is not the first (nor the last) time when sex/gender alteration has been contorted and weaponised against transsexuality—that is, sex-mutability’s most blatant, most acute manifestation. The Cass Review has notably cited the existence of non-transitioning nonbinary individuals as ‘proof’ transition must be curtailed:

“Secondly, medication is binary, but the fastest growing group identifying under the trans umbrella is non-binary, and we know even less about the outcomes for this group. Some of you will also become more fluid in your gender identity as you grow older. We do not know the ‘sweet spot’ when someone becomes settled in their sense of self, nor which people are most likely to benefit from medical transition. When making life-changing decisions, what is the correct balance between keeping options as flexible and open as possible as you move into adulthood, and responding to how you feel right now?”

Doubtless, the Gender Criticals wish the nonbinary non-transitioner to be as non-existent as their more deviant sibling. But while a greater deviant still exists, those that happen to be more acceptable, more assimilate-able, are called upon to do the one thing they’re good for:

Kick the weaker bitch out.

Such too is the final fate of detransitioners under the patriarchal regime. They are to be the knife in the back of their siblings, and when those are gone, they will find their own backs perforated.

So far I have provided eloquent arguments towards clear and singular conclusions—at least, I hope you’ve found me eloquent and clear. Today, on this matter, I offer no such thing. I have nothing to offer but this: so long as transition is reviled, so long as the transsexual are persecuted in any manner at all, there is no freedom of sex and there is no neutrality. Insofar as this pertains to detransition: so long as the transsexual are persecuted, hated, and forced into obscurity, we are likewise bound to their persecution, hatred, and abandonment. So long as that holds, voluntary detransition can never be free.

What Now?

I know. I’m a killjoy. It’s a fate all serious anarchists and college dropouts must contend with: if we’re really sincere about what we think, the mood will be thoroughly murdered.

The fight is clear. The fight is needed. And, the fight is hard. But there is life to be lived in the meanwhile, and it’s worth living even if we don’t see a victory during our time. Total certainty may be impossible and foolish to seek—but you have to make choices anyway. Doing nothing is merely choosing passivity and inertia; you face the consequences either way.

So I ask again: how do you know?

If you’re someone contemplating detransition, here’s the second best thing I can offer: have the courage, the self-insight, and the compassion to face yourself and be honest. Have the intelligence and the disobedience to measure what you’ve been told about transition and transsexuality against the things you have seen and experienced. Have the audacity to be wrong, to make mistakes as many times as you need. Have the pride to ask for better things than you are offered. Have the humility to not think yourself exceptional. Above all, never relinquish the responsibility over your life and your choices to anyone or anything else. No, no one else knows any better. No, there is no easier way.

The first best thing I can offer—to anyone, detrans or not—is to tell you how I knew. In the end I speak from my own experiences, and so it’s only fitting that the message I broadcast is incomplete without a degree of testimony.

Oh, it is to my chagrin, believe me—well, kind of. For all that I love attention and getting told I write oh so powerfully well, a part of me also detests personality pieces. I’m just one woman; I don’t mean much; I shouldn’t mean much. But you must’ve wondered, right? Especially if you don’t recognise yourself in me. I’ve spoken briefly about aspects of my de/transition, and let’s say you took all that for granted, but you must’ve wondered: how did I get here in the first place? How did it feel? How does it feel? Really, truly, how? And why?

I don’t like personality pieces because I think they mine for compassion. That can be a catalyst for a great many things, but just as often I’ve had people treat me with total nicety and then vote for a politician that would kill me, or exile a child that used to be me. Compassion is common, human, and incredibly cheap.

It is also required for kinship. For comparison, for legibility. And one of the issues that plagues detransitioners is illegibility. Silence. A lack of reference by which to see yourself. Community is best known by example.

So an example I shall provide. Next time.

Recommended Reading

On the freedom of sex: Andrea Long Chu, The Right To Change Sex.

On the nature of sex/gender hierarchy within the patriarchy: Talia Bhatt, Understanding Transmisogyny, Part 1.

On the mechanisms of gender-conservatism among women: Andrea Dworkin, Right-Wing Women.

#transfeminism #detrans #detransition #material feminism #sex is a social construct

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oraclekleo · 2 days ago

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Special Tiny Pendulum Game

(Always check status for the game on my blog, not just in reblogs.)

Status: CLOSED

Hello my dear Kleotics and random visitors of this blog!

Let's play again today but this time I will once again use my pendulum and I'm going to answer all question where the answer is

YES or NO (alternatively also TRUTH or FALSE)

Some rules:

I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO NOT ANSWER QUESTIONS I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE ABOUT (such as celebrity rumours, for example)

NSFW asks are allowed - minors do not engage!

Anons ARE NOT allowed this time

I'll use my pendulum and pendulum board

Requirements: Be a follower of my blog, Like this post, Comment on this post with a bicep emoji (💪), Ask your YES/NO or TRUTH/FALSE question(s)

Multiple YES/NO or TRUTH/FALSE questions in one ask are allowed

Request ONLY through inbox (no DMs)

Pendulum divination is not science and this whole game is for entertainment only, I can never guarantee any of it

I don't read energies, I don't meddle with yours or anybody else's

Feedback is highly appreciated but not mandatory this time

Mind the fact that I will simply tell you YES or NO to your question(s) (or TRUTH or FALSE) and I won't be doing any further clarification. I strongly advise you to AVOID asking about celebrity rumours as this method is truly for fun only and it's not reliable at all. Please do not spread false information. If you ask about your life, that's perfectly okay but remember that this is a game and no divination method is ever 100% reliable. While you might get some insight and push towards improvements from it, do not base your life decisions on what some stranger online tells you based on them messing around with a piece of amethist attached to a chain which they got from Chinese seller. 😊 Be sensible, people!

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lisbeth-kk · 2 days ago

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Sherlock fandom

Dark as a Raven’s Feather

A night owl is what he is. The day is too bright for him. It pains his eyes and head.

“Are you a vampire, or something?” his classmates used to ask him.

He never answered them.

His looks points towards the romanticised figures from film and literature, he supposes. Dark hair, as a raven’s feather, like his grand mère used to say. His skin is pale as marble, and the face has peculiar angles that some find attractive, others quite the opposite. But it’s the eyes that put most people off. They are pale too, but the colours shift. Mostly, they are blue, different shades, but in the lighter spectrum. In certain lights and settings, they go green, and on rare occasions golden specks appear.

“You’re such a freak!”

Sherlock still has no idea how many times he’s heard that sentence being thrown in his direction. Over the years, he’s got used to it, but if he’s distracted, it still hurts.

***

Sherlock loves the city; London, his one true love. He knows her like the back of his hand. He’s walked every street and alley. In his Mind Palace, there’s a map, more accurate than any found online, or in books.

Granted, the map in his head, is not that useful to others. When he comes home just after dawn, he retreats to that map, and plots in new information. Where the last murder took place, which roads he ran to catch the killer, the new shop on one corner, roadworks and hindrances.

***

Exhausted after running the streets and fighting a man with a knife, Sherlock takes a shower, then goes to bed. He quickly updates his map, before he falls asleep.

When Sherlock doesn’t find his meal prepared as he wakes at five in the afternoon, he doesn’t panic. Not at first, anyway.

Didn’t Hudders say she was visiting her sister this weekend?

Sherlock has difficulties remembering such trifles. Half of what his landlady prattles on about, don’t even reach his brain, let alone his ears.

He finds bread, honey, and switches on the kettle. The silence in the flat is bliss. At least during his meal. Afterwards, he gets restless. He wonders how it would feel to have someone living with him. Seconds after the thought has invaded his head, he discards it. Who on earth would want to live with him? The Freak impersonated. Perhaps some nutter from the psychiatric ward, or a suicidal person.

Before Sherlock gets the chance to dwell any further, his phone chimes with a text. A new case!

He puts on his coat and scarf, finds his leather gloves in his pocket, and leaps down the stairs. Outside, it’s already dark. January is one of his favourite months.

***

It’s nearly midnight when he returns to Baker Street. He hears a sound from 221A, Mrs Hudson’s flat. A strangled sound. His heart pounds in his chest, as if he’s run for hours. Carefully, he approaches her door, not sure if there’s an intruder, or the landlady herself making the sound. The door isn’t locked, and Sherlock opens it, making sure to be cautious.

He finds her on the kitchen floor. She’s fallen and hit her head on the table corner. Blood has trickled down from her temple and into her hair. It’s clotted now. The fall happened hours ago. Before Sherlock woke. Hence the missing meal. Bile rises in his throat, panic sets in his chest, tears pour from his eyes.

“Nonononono,” he whispers.

Trembling fingers find her pulse point, he can’t trust her moving chest, and relief washes over him.

Not dead.

He calls for an ambulance, yells into the phone: “Hurry! She’s the only one I’ve got.”

***

He stands back when the paramedics arrive. They stabilise her, puts on an oxygen mask, lay her on a stretcher. Sherlock watches, fascinated by the skilled men, knowing exactly what to do. Outside, they get the stretcher into the ambulance, and then one of the men turns to face Sherlock.

His eyes are blue as the ocean. Sherlock wants to drown in them. The blue orbits are so distracting, he needs to ask again what the man just said.

“Are you alright?”

Sherlock nods, knowing full well it’s not a very convincing nod.

“Do you want to come with?” the man asks.

“I’m not family. Only her tenant,” Sherlock mumbles and looks to the ground.

A warm hand is placed on his upper arm. No one ever touches him. Apart from the woman in the ambulance.

“I overheard the emergency call,” the man admits. “It sounded like a bit more than a tenant/landlady relationship to me. Come on.”

And then, he ushers Sherlock into the back of the ambulance, gesturing for him to take a seat beside his beloved Hudders. Her colour is less pale, and her breathing seems to be more even. He takes her tiny hand in both of his, stroking his thumb soothingly over the knuckles.

“She’ll be fine. Made of a sturdy material, this one,” the blue-eyed man says. “I’m John, by the way. John Watson.”

Sherlock introduces himself, and when he looks into those eyes again, he realises that he can trust this man with his life. He bends down to the elderly lady’s ear and whispers: “John Watson says you’ll be fine.”

Her eyes open slowly, clearly confused, but it doesn’t last long. When she spots Sherlock, a smile forms on her lips, and she squeezes his hands once. Then, she turns her gaze over to John, and her smile broadens into a full grin.

***

“You and Mrs H. were my favourite midnight distractions,” John whispers in Sherlock’s ear, some weeks later, while his fingers card through the raven-coloured curls.

“Hopefully, only I remain as such,” Sherlock quips and kisses John’s jaw.

John’s chuckle reverberates through Sherlock’s chest and sets in his heart. He’ll tell John about that later. After distracting him.

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

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely @jolieblack

@221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@peanitbear @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982 @meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl

@missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch

@acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020 @mydogwatson @redmondcollege

@thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood @xmengal03 @riversong912

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @couldbecannibal @2old2b-fangirl @dw91165 @jonkwatson

@binx72 @macgyvershe @raina-at @dragoonthegreatest @kholkate

@fookincarrotsandpotatoes28 @talkativeanxiousturtle @aloeverawrites

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #mrs hudson #john watson #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF290 #midnight distractions #thanks for reblogging!

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she-ra-ra-skirt · 3 days ago

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I was in a disability support chat room at work, and said that when I use crutches, and someone asks why, I kind of mumble something about yeah disabled.... and it gets really awkward.

A really good suggestion I got was to say that my disability sometimes means I need to use them. This works really well, as any further questions would come across as intrusive, so people never ask more, it doesn't give out personal information and it's not rude.

I used crutches intermittently at work, and a friend would always say, ahhhh, what happened, are you ok??? And I'd reassure him that I was as ok as I could be, it was my disability but I was managing ok with it, hence why I was still at work. This would calm him down a bit.

Buuuuut, the next time he saw me use crutches he'd say ahhhh, what happened, are you ok???.....

I didn't mind though as he was really lovely and being kind to me, but it was literally every. single. time. Ha

Something I wish abled bodied people would understand is that just because I’m using a mobility aid doesn’t mean I’m “hurt” in that moment necessarily. They’re also preventative measures. Since I’ve began using my aids at work I’ve gotten so many versions of “what happened to you” that I genuinely cannot keep track. Nothing *happened*, sometimes people are just disabled.

#Yeah #I don't like giving out my personal medical history #and I won't answer repeated questions #so I try to give an answer that is just satisfactory enough #“due to my disability I sometimes need to use crutches”#has been my favourite phrase for years #and gives enough information without me being cross examined

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hidden-poet · 1 day ago

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Poison: part 3

Summary: Coriolanus always hated Sejanus Plinth. He had everything that Coriolanus should of had; money, influence, and you.

Warnings: Coryo being de-lu-lu, unrequited love, Reader insert, dark!Coriolanus snow, unedited, dead dove to not eat

Word count: 9,832

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3

Part 4 coming

Comments and asks welcomed!

Coriolanus sat on the train to District 12.

Something compelled him to bribe the clerk for a ticket to district 12.

He wondered if Lucy-Gray would still be alive?

Would they kill her for his mistake?

If he wasn’t hopeful that he could get himself out of this mess and back to you, he would have killed himself.

The shame of it all was too much. He couldn’t even look Grandma’am or Tigres in the eye while he explained the circumstance he now found himself in. He felt as if he had failed them.

He knocks his head against the cold, hard glass. Watching as his surroundings sped past him.

The door was heard as it opened, but Coriolanus didn’t stir from his self-pity, sure it was another recruit just passing through.

When he heard Sejanus’s voice it startled him

“I thought I might find you here”, his old enemy spoke with a grin.

“Sejanus, what are you doing here?”

He rises from his seat, watching as Sejanus in a peacekeeper uniform came forward with a duffle bag.

He gazes back at the door with his heart in his throat. If Sejanus had brought you along to district 12, Coriolanus was sure to kill him where he stood.

But the door never reopened. You were safe back in the Capitol.

“Are you kidding me? After I found out where they were sending you I couldn’t get here quick enough”.

Sejanus throws his bag on the floor and takes a seat across the table. Coriolanus joins him with his questions.

“What about y/n? Did you break up”, Coriolanus asked too quickly and with too much hopefulness in his voice.

“No”, Sejanus’ coy smile angered Coriolanus greatly, “No. we are engaged.

Coriolanus swallows his rage to force out a “Congratulations”.

“Thank you. Yeah, you know. I figure I get through basic, and become a medic. They allow third year medics to bring over family, give you a house on base instead of sharing a dorm with twenty other men. We can carve out a better life for us out here”.

“You plan to bring her here? To the districts. Are you insane? They are savages here”.

“They are desperate people. People in need of help. Y/n and I have a real chance of making a difference out here, like you told me I could do”.

Coriolanus’s hands balled into fists. He hadn’t meant to get you tangled up in Sejanus' misled fantasies. He only wanted to get out of the arena.

“If you think I am going to let you bring her here, you are mistaken”.

As soon as Coriolanus got his hands on a piece of paper he was going to write to your father, and tell him of the plan. He properly didn’t even know of the engagement.

Sejanus laughs as if it was a joke. As if Coriolanus wasn’t imagining jumping across the table and pounding his face in.

“I know you want the best for her, Coryo. So do I. You’re a good friend, but y/n can make her own decisions, and she has chosen to follow me to district 12”.

The word ‘friend’ made Coriolanus’s ears hot. He was not a friend. Not to Serjanus. Not to you. Still his composure was his strength. He had to wait until the time was right. He couldn’t have you thinking he was jealous. Jealousy was weak.

If your father had already disowned you due to the news of the engagement, he would have no further cards to play. He would figure out a way to keep you in the Capitol, but it started with staying in the loop of information.

“Be careful, Sejanus. It’s a different world out here. One where you can’t buy your way out of trouble.”

Coriolanus looks to the window, sure if he spent any more time looking at Sejanus his fists would fly before he could stop himself.

“Ah come on, man. Don’t give me grief. I’ve come all this way for you. Why are we talking about my girl, when we should be talking about yours? The girl you risked everything for is just at the end of these train tracks”.

His girl, the one he risked everything for, was back in the Capitol, engaged to his enemy.

Coriolanus was sure he was going to kill Sejanus, but faked agreement.

—-----------

You would write Sejanus letters every week. Pages, and pages on how much you missed him. How you wore the ring with great pride, and never take it off.

You never mentioned the kiss. Never asked about Coriolanus. He wondered if you had told Sejanus or decided to keep it as a secret.

He liked the idea of you having a secret with him. Something that only you two shared.He thought back to the kiss often, wondering what he could have changed that would have stopped you reacting the way you did. But what did it matter? The outcome would have been the same.

His fate was sealed when his father made enemies with Dean Highbottom.

Late at night Coriolanus would break into Sejanus’ locker to read your letters. He would sit under the moonlight, pretending that the letters were written for him. He would pen one back in his mind.

He thought about sending you a real letter, but what would he say? I love you. Don’t marry Sejanus.

It seemed too little now.

He trained hard. Much harder than Sejanus.

He was desperate to be picked for officer training. From there he could make his way back to the Capitol faster than Sejanus could earn the privilege of bringing you here.

When he pushed his body to the limits during training, and remained studying while the other men captured what little joy they could. He thought of returning to the capitol while Sejanus was stuck in this living hell.

It would be hard not to fall in love while your boyfriend was in a different world.

Coriolanus would do everything with you, naturally as your only friend. You would feel terrible having rejected him just moments before he was shipped off. Maybe even regret it.

It would happen slowly and naturally. One day you would just wake up and realised you were in love with coriolanus.

It would break Sejanus' heart certainly. But Coriolanus had suffered in silence for years. It was his turn.

He would figure out money at a later date. An officer makes a decent wage, but not enough to afford you the lifestyle you deserve. That Grandma’am and Tigress deserved.

It was a hurdle he would jump through when the time came. First he had to survive district 12.

He was yet to see any of it. The Compound was locked down tight. You had to earn the privilege of time off. Not that Coriolanus had the desire to see any of it, or even take a break from his study.

But he had wished that Sejanus would be further away at times.

He followed Coriolanus around like a shadow. Swapping chores and assigned placements to be near Coriolanus at all times.

The only benefit of Sejanus’ friendship was Ma’s cooking. She would send packages of sweet treats each week.

It made Sejanus popular among the cohort. Coriolanus would always get first pick being Sejanus’ closest friend.

Having been fed three meals a day and Ma’s sweet treats, Coriolanus gained healthy weight.

He found himself being able to focus better and his energy flourished.

He would return to a changed man, but you hoped you would still be the same woman.

His mind focused on you as he pushed his body to the duties of a Peacekeeper.

Sejanus would talk of you which helped. Mostly things he had already read in the letters you send for Sejanujs, but sometimes he would derail and offer a piece of information Coriolanus never knew.

It made Sejanus slightly bearable. His presence is less insufferable when he is useful.

Still being followed everywhere was starting to grate on Coriolanus.

He walks fast to try and shake Sejanus, but the young boy takes it as a challenge to keep up even with his damaged knee.

He complains about the superior officers while Coriolanus races across the yard to return his patrolling uniform so he could return to his bunk and study for the officer test.

The gray uniform was heavy with padding, and his helmet was like a rock in his hand. It added to his irritation as Sejanus squawked in his ear about things he didn’t care about.

His mind floats to you and what you could be doing. He imagines you shopping for a new dress, and then going for lunch in the Capitals best restaurant, where he would be sitting there patiently waiting for you.

When he heard your voice in his ear, at first he thought he dreamt it, but he would never dream of you calling Sejanus name over his.

He whips in the direction of the sound to see Sejanus already sprinting to the fence.

You stood behind a tall wire fence that separated the Peacekeepers section from the nurses and doctors. You wore the dreadful blue nurses uniform with a white patch across the left side of your breast that stated ‘Junior nurse’.

With no makeup or jewelry and with your hair tied back into a ponytail, you looked pale and undressed.

He stared at you in disbelief but you never spared him a glance.

Sejanus throws himself into the fence in front of you, attempting to hold what he could of you. The fence separated your bodies, so intertwining your finger through the gaps was as close as you could get.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”Coriolanus could hear Sejanus ask in a tone of disbelief that spoke of his surprise.

Coriolanus moves over to the fence line to hear the reason too. Still half shocked that you were really here.

“What about your family? Your dad?”, Sejanus pesters. Both very good questions.

Did they even know you were here? Could Coriolanus work with your father to get you back to the Capitol where you belong?

You shake your head at him

“It doesn’t matter” you say, “All I have is you now, okay?”.

Sejanus laughs giddily at your words, but Coriolanus remains livid. You shouldn’t be here, moreover it wasn’t true, you didn’t only have Sejanus, but you had Coriolanus’ mind, body and soul that you are so quick to dismiss.

“Are you crazy?”, he seeths.

You tear your eyes away from Sejanus to glare at him.

“What a surprise Coriolanus isn’t happy again”, you remark.

“Do you realise what you have done? How dangerous it is to have followed him here?” Coriolanus pushes.

“I’ve made my choice’’, you state. Coriolanus felt you were speaking to more than your decision to follow Sejanus. You were making it clear that you belonged to Sejanus.

Coriolanus could feel the ghost of your lips against his. You hadn’t forgotten and forgiven the kiss.

How could he protect you here if you wanted nothing to do with him? How could he get you to listen to him if you willfully blocked your ears with Sejanus?

“Hey”, Sejanus scoffs, trying to ease the tension, “some things never change”.

Coriolanus felt Sejanus clamp his large hand on his shoulder. If he wasn’t so stuck in his anger, he would have shaken him off.

Instead he stood rigid staring at you. Hoping that this all was just a dream.

“I for one couldn’t be happier. I have the two most important people in my life. A path in life, a chance to make a real difference, freedom. Our lives have just begun. We’re going to do great”.

You smile at him in a delusional gaze.

“We’re going to do great”, you agree.

A whistle blows and an older woman in a nurses uniform begins to yell at you.

“I’ll see you soon”, you promise to your fiance.

“Hoffs given us leave passes for the weekend, can you make it?” Sejanus rushes.

You nod your head ‘yes’, half turning your body away before you receive a punishment for insubordination.

“Meet me at the front gates at 4 o’clock on Saturday”, he instructs.

Coriolanus felt his blood run cold at the thought of willingly bringing you out from the safety of the compound.

“I will” you promise. The stupid smile not leaving your face.

Your complete delusional state left you vulnerable to very real danger that the district posed.

“Take care of yourself” Coriolanus orders as you run back to where you were supposed to be.

Sejanus slaps Coriolanus' shoulder in glee, and this time Coriolanus has the capacity to shove Sejanus away.

He turns, regaining his fast pace to return the uniform with Sejanus following, but no longer talking.

The goal was to get back to the Capitol before Sejanus could bring you here, now you have come on your own accord and completely ruined his plans. Why did you have to be such a difficult woman?

Had you ruined his officer plans? How could he leave you here with only Sejnaus for protection.

The panic almost strangled him. He needed to recalculate his plan

But every outcome he could think of either let you down or grandma’am and tigres.

He left Sejanus still taking off his jacket in the uniform room to go back to his bunk.

Sejanus had swapped a week of Ma’s goodies for the lower bunk so Coriolanus only had a few moments before Sejanus would rejoin him.

His head hit the flimsy pillow and he covered his face with his hands.

He could think of a million things that could go wrong now that you were here.

A district could find his way into the Camp. Into your bunk, with your luck. You could get sick and have to rely on the district's poor resources.

Life in the Compound was no picnic. You would have to work harder than you ever had before. At home you ate and woke when you decided. Here you would have to earn your keep.

The privileges of your life lost because you loved the wrong man. The right man would stop at nothing to ensure your every comfort, not congratulate you for losing everything for him.

He wondered if he could kill Sejanus during training and get away with the accident angle. But you would never look at him the same if he killed Sejanus, accidently or not.

Footsteps approached the bed and Sejanus threw something heavy on the bed.

“Coryo, are you alright?”, he asks.

“You need to tell her to leave Sejanus. For her own good”, he commanded.

He uncovered his face to look Sejanus in the eye as he spoke but his words missed their mark.

Sejanus smiles instead and rolls his eyes.

“You worry too much. You’ve always been like that, even in the academy. Always watching everyone carefully choosing when to weigh in”.

“Well I am weighing in now, Sejanus. Is this really what you want for her? The slums of the District?”, Coriolanus snarls.

His push awakened something in Sejanus who now carried a look in his eyes that Coriolanus had never seen before.

“I know you and Y/n are friends so I’ve put up with a lot, but you are overstepping your boundary now. So long as Y/n and I are together nothing else matters. I don’t care if I am with her here or the hunger games. She’s not your girl, Coriolnanus, you don’t need to worry about her”.

His comment silenced Coriolanus who was forced to turn to his side away from Sejanus.

Coriolanus’s hands balled into fists ready to put Sejanus back in his place. But he was right. Technically you weren’t any of his concern.

If it had been anyone else Coriolanus wouldn’t have battered an eye. But it was you. The object of his obsession since the end of the dark days.

His life line to keep going through it all. His hope and joy, even if you never knew it.

Maybe that’s why you felt compelled to come to district 12. To help Coriolanus survive yet another feat.

To inspire him to work harder, to train longer.

Suddenly, he felt terrible for greeting you the way he did.

You were only trying to help him. You came to him in his hour of need, and he had bitten you for it.

A slither of hope ran through Coriolanus.

Maybe things would work out after all.

—------

Coriolanus counted down the hours until the weekend.

Sejanus too. It was the first time he had ever had anything in common with the district born boy.

He saw glimpses of you during training in the yard.

Never for very long and Coriolanus had to concentrate to find you amongst the other recruits. But a single glance for a split second was enough to renew his spirits.

He even found himself interacting with others. Ending nights in a friendly competition between friends, rather than with the training book in his hand.

There were many Peacekeepers in the compound, but few that he liked. Most of them knew nothing more than to follow orders and use brute force.

The unit he was placed in housed twenty men in a shed that didn’t leave for much room. Of the twenty, Coriolanus found company in only three. Beanstalk, called so for his great height, Smiley, a round face and eager boy and Bug, who often said nothing.

They had tried to give Coriolnaus a nic-name, but he pushed back against it. His name was the last thing he held to his capitol standing. He would die before he relinquished it.

Sejanus on the other hand accepted the name ‘Bulls-eye’, dubbed after an impressive training session, where he hit nearly all of the targets.

The name had taken on an ironic meaning after he failed to do so since. Coriolanus had warned him against showing such promise. They don’t need a medic with perfect aim. It may derail his plans of leaving the gun behind for gauze.

Coriolanus also didn’t need Sejanus taking any attention away from him during training. He needed to be the best in all categories so there was no doubt in the Commanders eyes that Coriolanus was the one to be sent for officer training.

Saturday came slowly, but finally arrived.

Coriolanus took extra time to groom himself. Ensuring that he looked and smelt his best after hours of grueling training.

The other men, who he had come to accept as friends until he could get out, snickered at him, asking him if he was prettying himself for the girls.

Coriolanus smirked to himself as the men jeered.

Sejanus came to his defence and the men left Coriolanus alone.

They stood together prettying themselves for the same girl.

“Do you think she will be there?” Sejanus asks.

Coriolanus felt a jolt run through him. Seeing you was the only thing he was looking forward to. Was your presence now a maybe?

“Who?”Coriolanus asks for clarity. He puts down his wet washer and faces Sejanus at the next sink. Surely, he couldn’t mean you.

‘Who else? Lucy-Gray!” He said without care.

Coriolanus huffs, feeling his heart go back down into his chest.

“I don’t know”, Coriolanus says, “I don't even know if she would still be alive”.

It saddened him to think that his cheating would cause her death.

“Do you think they killed her?” Coriolanus asked.

Sejanus shakes his head ‘no’ still looking in the mirror to apply his after shave, and pleasant smelling cream.

“Why would they risk it? She was a big hit. If they do have the games next year, they will properly invite her to sing at the opening ceremony”.

His words sooth Coriolanus, who picks up his soapy washer and runs it across his skin.

When he finally saw you standing just outside the compound gates with the sun going down behind you, it felt as if a heavy weight was being lifted from his chest.

You wore a nurses uniform, pale blue and faded from previous use. The sleeves came down to your elbow and hugged your skin.The top of the fabric cinched at your waist before falling into a straight line of fabric that ended just before your knees.

“Hey” you called with a wave.

Coriolanus fought to keep his hand down, as Sejanus ran up to you.

Sejanus took you into his arms and gave you a deep kiss, earring a cheer from the men. Coriolanus had to look away from the sight.

You break away to shush them, much to Coriolanus’s pleasure.

“Don’t draw any attention” you command, “I’m not supposed to be here. I gave a girl my gold hair clip to cover for me. It’d be a waste if you blew it for me”.

The men hush, instead shaking Sejanus in encouragement.

“Come on”, Sejanus commands, turning out from you but keeping a hold of your hand, “lets get there before all the seats get taken”

“I have to be back by ten. Thats when the head nurse checks the bunks”.

Sejanus hums in response, but Coriolanus was livid that you had a bedtime at all.

He wanted to say so to you, but found it difficult to get close enough to speak to you.

He was pushed to the back as Smiley, and Beanpole crowded you with questions, and idle conversation.

It left Coriolanus and Bug walking behind the group in silence. He never thought Bug would become his favorite.

The men disappeared as the large barn came into sight. Coriolanus took his spot next to you as soon as it opened.

He could hear the music from a mile away as he walked. The old barn had a yellow stream of flight that flooded the place, occasionally cut off by shadows of people walking past.

He stayed close to you as you entered the barn.

It was hot and loud inside. Peacekeepers and districts crowded the floor. No one seemed to mind the shared coexistence, but Coriolanus could feel the underlying tension. He would be sure not to let you go too far tonight.

A small blonde headed girl sings and dances on a makeshift stage. A call for peace while people were fixated on her.

Senjanus halts on the edge of the dance floor. His eye caught by something at the bar.

“Stay with Coriolanus. I am going to get a drink”, Sejanus orders.

He is weaving his way through the crowd before you could get your “okay” out.

Coriolanus stood straighter next to you. His hand reaches out behind you to keep you close but never lands.

The little girl on stage finished her song and the crowd roars for more.

“Is it getting hot in here?”, the girl calls to the crowd.

You cheer back, cupping your hands to scream back and clap.

“Well, we’re planning on heating it up just a tad more!”, she teases, “The one, the only, Lucy-Gray-Baird!”.

The world stops for a second as he watches Lucy-Gray dance up onto the stage. She was dressed in heavy dark clothing that resembled a costume, and had her face painted in make-up.

You hit Coriolanus’s chest in excitement.

He looks down at you. He had brought you this happiness.

You grinned from ear to ear. Your eyes sparkle with joy that he secured by cheating in the games.

He wondered if he would get a thank you. He wouldn’t push it from you, seeing you happy was enough for him.

Lucy-Gray warms the crowd with her charm before she starts her song. It was the same one from the reaping but placed to a happy tune. He almost didn’t recognize it. But her words were unforgettable.

“You can take my pa, but his name’s a mystery”, she sang,

Her eyes roam around the room before finally falling on you and Coriolanus in the crowd.

Her voice hitches when her eye catches Coriolanus. The words she was singing gets stuck in her throat until you draw her attention by waving.

Lucy-Gray gives you a flash of her smile and her singing voice returns.

He couldn’t believe it. She was alive. His filly in the race made it out unscathed.

You take a step forward into the crowd and Coriolanus goes along with you, hovering his body protectively close.

A shout is heard from the back of the room causing coriolanus to turn to see a dark featured man making his way through the crowd.

Coriolanus pushes you closer by the shoulder into him and out of the mans way as he pushes through.

“Lucy-Gray!”, he calls, “Lucy-Gray, you're sounding mighty thin without me! You all are!”.

“Billy!” the women trailing him scolded.

He feels you shuffle forward towards the scene, and clamps down on your shoulder to keep you at bay.

“I know you miss me!”, Billy yells as he attempts to climb the stage.

He is pulled back by the women, Coriolanus guessed is the Mayor’s daughter.

“You promised me you wouldn’t play with them again”, she demanded.

Her demand is met with a harsh shove back into the crowd. It agitates the atmosphere and people begin to become rowdy.

“Settle down, settle down”, Lucy-Gray says into her microphone.

The crowd does not. When a Peacekeeper gets punched, it incites the crowd to erupt into chaos.

Bodies shove into Coriolanus as some join the fight and others fight to leave.

You tear yourself from his grasp and push your way to help Lucy-Gray as Billy climbs the stage.

His hand wedges it way through the gaps but fails to pull you back.

Instead he forces his path behind you. Shoving people away to get to you.

His uniform made him a target in a roomful of angry and hungry district men.

It didn’t come as a surprise when a fist came flying at his face.

His face stung from the hit but he didn’t retaliate, too focused on yanking you away from Billy.

He had climbed on the stage to cling to Lucy-Gray’s dress and you had grabbed on to his arm to stop him.

When he shoved you harshly away, you latched on again like a fool.

Billy swung his arm back to ensure your compliance. It almost lands before Coriolanus yanked the threatening arm to spin the short framed man towards himself.

“Don’t touch her!” he shouts, pounding his fist into the side of Billy’s face.

From the corner of his eye he saw you recoil in shock. He should have stopped with three good punches but he found his fist flying again and again into the boys boney face.

It brought him back to the area. That same fierce protectiveness coursing through his veins. He didn’t want the threat to be neutralized, he wanted it to be eliminated.

“Coriolanus stop!” you call.

When you wrap yourself around his arm to keep it mobilized, he doesn’t shake you off. The sirens of the Peacekeeper vans could be heard over the commotion of the people.

He looks up to see Lucy-Grey clutching her mic stand, frozen from what she saw. Even after the Hunger Games violence was foreign to her. It wasn’t in her nature, but it was in Coriolanus’s.

He heard your name being shouted by Sejanus who tried to push his way through the dispersing crowd to get to you.

A loud bang knocked down the barn doors and fully equipped peacekeepers marched in, throwing around anyone in their way.

Coriolanus grabbed your wrist with his sore hand and yanked you towards the back exit people were escaping from. He couldn’t hear you over the noise of the barn but he could feel you tugging back against him.

Even when he hit the quiet, cool, outside air, he still didn’t release you. Continuing to force you forward into the darkness.

“Wait. We have to go back”, you demand with a harsh pull of your wrist.

“He’ll be fine”, Coriolanus assured, “He’ll find his own way out. Come on”.

He yanks you a bit too harshly forward and you stumble from the force.

“We have to get you back”, he addresses, loosening his tight grip to a firm hold, “They’ll be sure to conduct the bunk checks early with the amount of peacekeepers there”.

You follow him along the dirt, rocky road back to the Compound. A few people run past but it is mostly dark and silent. Coriolanus stews as you walk quietly beside him.

“What were you thinking?” he spat.

“I was thinking Lucy-Grey needed help”. It seemed his question had snapped you out of your compliant trance as you began to tug your wrist out of his hold again.

“From you? You could have gotten hurt”, he criticized.

“So I shouldn’t have done anything? Let go!”.

He doesn’t, swinging your wrist forward out of the way of your free clawing hand.

“Yes,Y/n. That’s exactly what you should have done”, he scolded.

“Maybe you should listen to your own advice. Saved yourself a busted lip, and sword to your shoulder”, you mocked, slightly out of breath from Coriolanus’s speed.

He hadn’t realised that his lip was bleeding until you mentioned it. Now he could taste the metallic warm liquid trickling into his mouth.

He wipes it away with his spare hand. The cut stings as he puts pressure on it.

Your own cruelty stunned you. A person who prided herself on her kindness and compassion now sneering at her saviour.

“Wait, Coriolanus”, you say, halting your steps. Coriolanus stops with you, releasing your wrist.

“I am sorry. That’s not fair”.

He stares at you in shock. You had always spoken to him quite guarded. Now it felt as if your relationship was growing. You were speaking your mind to him now. Apologising when you are wrong. It was a strong foundation to any relationship.

“You’re forgiven”, he whispers back.

He reaches out to take a hold of your wrist again but you know it back out of his way. He doesn’t attempt again, moving forward along the road.

“Come on, we have to get back”, he commands.

You do follow him, and the air is heavy with something you wanted to say.

“Coriolanus”, you begin after a moment of silence, “what you did back there. What you did back in the arena”.

Coriolanus cuts you off, sure the next words weren’t a thank you.

“Saved your life”, he turned to gaze down at you with eyes that spoke of how cautious you should be, “I did what I had to do to keep you safe”.

You shrinked under him. You nodded your head in agreement but your eyes looked unsure.

He followed you when you began walking ahead of him.

“It must have felt good to see Lucy-Gray tonight”, you say.

“Yes”, he agrees, “I am glad she is not dead”.

“Me too. I thought she was for sure when those snakes got dropped in the arena”.

“So did I” he acknowledges.

The night was quiet now. Only the moon lit the path back to the Compound. You and Coriolanus took a leisurely stroll away from the chaos of the barn. He found himself grateful for the eventful night now that he walked beside you.

He lifts his hand to place it on your shoulder closest to him. You stop walking immediately as it lands.

Coriolanus halts a step forward, turning his body back to you in question.

“You should know I didn’t tell him. I figured a kiss in excitement wasn’t worth upsetting him for”, you lecture.

He felt the lump in his throat forming.

“What is it you are insinuating?”

“You’re Sejanus’s best friend”, you accuse.

He needed to throw you off the scent. You needed more time.

“And you're my best friend's girl. Someone I hoped I could form a close relationship with, for Sejanus’s sake”.

“Sometimes it feels like you are taking Sejanus’ place”.

Some day he would. Sejanus would be a distant memory as you curled up in bed beside him, but for right now he was an active threat.

“You’re right” he acknowledges, “A kiss in excitement means nothing. I didn’t ask you to come here, Y/n. I don’t want you here”.

The kiss meant everything to him, and now you were trampling it under your foot.

He continues walking on. He wouldn’t leave you behind in the darkness by yourself but his resolve was slipping and he needed the distance to organise himself.

“I am sorry if I have given you the wrong impression but I followed Lucy-Gray here, not you. Whatever you think, I assure you, you have dreamed it”.

You jog to keep up, but he keeps his quick stride.

“You’re right, I am sorry. You’ve been nothing but a good friend to Sejanus and to me. And Lucy-Grey, I know you two got close. It’s just the kiss, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I was looking for an answer where there wasn’t one, and I am sorry that I offended you. Honestly, Coriolanus”, you tug his arm back to slow his movements, “ I am sorry. I do want to be friends with you”.

Coriolanus tugs his arm away and continues walking back to the compound.

“Hurry up”, he calls.

You don’t speak anymore and Coriolanus swims with his thoughts.

He wasn’t the only one who was unable to let go of the kiss. Maybe you didn’t tell Sejanus because the shame of wanting him too was too much.

Your reaction and accusation, however, hurt. On top of that he had confessed untrue feelings towards Lucy-Grey. You had attempted to push him away and he had allowed you to.

Was it too late to undo the damage? Could he tell you he was lying and that he only ever thought of you.

The sight of the compound told him it was too late. He had made his bed, he would now have to lie in it.

He led you back to the medic side of the compound where the security was less militant.

“Go inside” he commands with a shove of your elbow.

You nod and walk past him. You don’t once turn to look back but he watches you until you fall out of sight.

—--------

He doesn’t see you for the next three days. Not even in crossing. Sejanus does however.

The lovers had found a quiet isolated place where they could meet. Coriolanus was yet to figure out where it was.

He thought about following Sejanus but instead chose to focus on his studies.

When a first aid course with the nurses was announced, Coriolanus couldn’t believe his luck.

The nurses needed volunteers to practice on. A whole afternoon of sitting in your presence. The whole cohort jumped at the chance.

Coriolanus knew that the Capitol had ulterior motives. They wanted Peacekeepers and nurses to get together and raise capitol loving children in the districts.

It was a good way to control morale and ensure obedience. The officer in charge gave the men a long list of chores that needed to be completed before such a privilege was granted.

Coriolanus did them happily. Sejanus too was eager to see you and worked alongside Coriolanus.

He wouldn’t allow Sejanus to come. Coriolanus was not doing the chores to see any other nurse but you.

Upon the day, Coriolanus excused himself from breakfast so he could go back to the bunks.

Discipline and obedience was a trait that was valued amongst basic training.

The superior officers demonstrated this with morning bunk checks.

There was a certain way that bunks had to be made. It was nothing more than a test of complacency, but it came with strong sanctions if not followed.

Coriolanus untucks Sejanus’s bottom bunk, and retucks it incorrectly. Leaving the edge of the fabric poking out. After that he picks random and unlucky beds and ensures they also won’t pass the inspection.

Pleased with his work Coriolanus returns to the mess hall in perfect time to be called for the morning bed inspection.

He fights to keep the smirk off his face while he lines up alongside Sejanus in front of their bunks.

“Snow, pass” the officer says, documenting the outcome on his clipboard, “Plinth, you’re with me”.

“What?” Sejanus questions. He looks back at his bed, noticing the untucked fabric and mentally scolds himself.

“Is that a volunteer for tomorrow too?”, the officer threatens.

“No, sir”, the boy spits in a strained voice.

The officer moves on to other bunks and the men are left standing there in silence like they are expected too.

Coriolanus could feel Sejanus’s disappointment radiating off him. The reaction was surprising. He would see you during your secret meetings. Why did it matter so much to him to lose out on this opportunity?

The officer finishes the morning inspection and wishes all the men going to assist the nurses a good time, and all the men assisting him today, good luck.

Coriolanus turns to Sejanus, who’s shoulders were sagged and face sour.

“Tough break”, Coriolanus offered.

“I swear that bunk was correct. I checked it three times”, Sejanus whines.

“Obviously not”. Coriolanus straightens as men begin to disperse to their destinations. He didn’t want someone else to pick you after all the effort he went to in order to get Sejanus out of the way.

“Can you tell y/n that I am sorry, and that I’ll see her soon”, Sejanus asks.

Coriolanus nods, although he had no intention of following through.

“Good luck, Sejanus” he remarks as he makes his way past his enemy and out the door.

—-

As he enters the usually empty hall that was now filled with tables and chairs and medical equipment.

He spotted you almost instantly standing in front of your small table. He could tell you were looking for Sejanus from the way your eyes darted across the room and your hands clasp together in front of you, almost in a begging fashion.

The men were stopped at the door, while the head nurse explained that the nurses would be practicing bandaging, and the men would sit quietly and allow them to do so. She made it clear that this was not a dance, or social event. The girls would learn and the men should try and pick up as much as they could as the information could one day save their life. With a final warning that too much fun would get them kicked out, she released the men to find a partner.

He went straight to you, but you still looked past him for Sejanus.

“Where’s Sejanus?” you ask as coriolanus takes a seat in front of you.

“He’s not coming. He didn’t pass the bunk inspection”, he explains.

You sigh in response and begin to unwrap the bandage from its wrapper to begin.

Coriolanus leans closer to you, mockingly whispering his words.

“Surely I am not that bad?”, he teases.

“No, Coriolanus, no. You’re fine. It’s just”, you begin but stop, dropping your hands to your lap.

“It’s just what?”, he asks sincerely. It hurt him a tad that you consider him just ‘fine’ and sought any further explanation as to why.

You look back at him and begin to wrap his fake wound as the teacher walks around the room.

“He’s been so distant lately. I wouldn’t be surprised if he deliberately didn’t pass the bunk inspection”.

His heart sank at your words. He didn’t want to hurt you.

“He’d be crazy to do that”, Coriolanus defended but your face didn’t change from it’s sullen expression.

“A lot of Peacekeepers didn’t pass the inspection, not just Sejanus. They were hard this morning”.

You offer a kind smile which eases him slightly.

“You’re right. I keep forgetting this isn’t the Capitol. Sejanus isn’t free to see me when he likes”.

He watches as you pick up a pair of scissors to cut off the extra material.

He wondered if not being able to see you when he liked drove Sejanus as mad as it did Coriolanus.

If it did, he showed no outward signs of it. But then again neither did Coriolanus.

“How are you adjusting here?”, Coriolanus asked.

You were mainly focused on getting the bandage wrapped correctly so you spoke slow and in fragmented sentences.

“Yeah, it’s. Um. It’s different”, the pin you drive into the bandage to keep it in place nipped Coriolanus, but he made no complaint.

“It’s nice. You know, independence. I’ve learnt how to wash my own clothes, and clean, and bandage perfectly good wrists”.

You pin another but this time it goes perfectly into the bandage.

“You shouldn’t have to”

“Everybody should have to. The Capitol keeps us dependant on the districts so we fear their uprising”.

“Y/n”, he growls looking around the room to make sure no one else heard you. That talk could get you killed.

You realise it too. Your eyes shift around but no one appears to have noticed.

You clear your throat before talking as if to clear anymore silly words coming out of your mouth.

“How are you adjusting? You must miss your family back home”, you comment.

“I do”, Coriolanus admits, “I worry about them all the time”.

“You’ll get back” you promise to him, “Sejanus tells me you are working your way quickly up the ranks. If there’s one thing Coriolanus Snow can do, it’s rise to the top”.

He smiles at you. Maybe being sent to district 12 was part of a greater plan to bring you closer to him.

District 12 offered a forced proximity. You just needed to get to know Coriolanus

“You know they never told us what you did”, you begin to pry. It makes Coriolanus’ heart jump to his throat.

“I cheated”, he admits after a moment of silence, “To save Lucy-Gray from the snakes”.

He awaits your reaction.

You nod in understanding, placing the last pin into the bandage.

“I am glad you did. It would have been a shame to lose her too”.

“Sejanus tells me that you plan to stay here. Is that truly what you want?”

Your face read shocked that he would ask such a personal question but you answered him anyway.

“I want to be with him. I don’t care where that has to be”

The teacher reached the couple which gave Coriolanus a nice break to gather his thoughts.

After constructive feedback was given, the teacher leaves and you begin to unwrap his dressing.

“I am sorry, I don’t mean to overstep”, he says. He could tell you were angry at him from the roughness of your hands and silence of your tongue. “It’s just we’re friends and I only want your happiness. If that’s with him here, fine, but I want to make sure it’s your decision, not his”.

“You are the only one who seems to want to make decisions for me, Coriolanus”, you bite.

“I only want to help you”, he defends.

“I don’t need your help,Coriolanus. I don’t need your friendship, and I don’t need your grubby little hands over me all the time”

Coriolanus hadn’t realised that he had reached out to take ahold of your wrist until you yanked it from under him.

You get up from the table completely which draws the rooms attention.

“Y/n sit down” he demands.

You do sit down, drawing the attention of the head nurse who comes over to inspect the scene.

“Is there something the matter?” she asks in a cold hard tone.

“No Ma’am”, you answer, “Sorry, just a cramp”.

The older woman runs her eyes over Coriolanus' wrapped wrist and begins to critique your work.

With instructions to do it again, the woman leaves the table, and the tense atmosphere returns.

You pick up the gauze again and undo it from Coriolanus’ wrist.

Coriolanus remains silent and allows you to break the stalemate with a deep sigh.

“Sorry, I just haven’t been sleeping very well. I don’t mean to take it out on you”.

“It’s okay”, he assures, “I understand”.

Your words still were unnecessary, but he could forgive you with the excuse.

“Is there something I could do to help you?” he asks.

Maybe he could find a way to get a firmer pillow for you. He knows the flimsy pillow he received drove him mad.

You shake your head ‘no’ with a sad expression that he wanted to wipe off your face.

“I keep having nightmares”, you explain and Coriolanus was grateful for it, “I am in the Hunger Games, being forced to fight for my life”.

Coriolanus grows cold at the memory of Sejanus’s rescue. He never should have allowed you in the van. Now you were carrying trauma that he could have protected you from if he had just been less of a boy and more of a man.

“Like that night in the arena?” he confirms. He wanted to assure you that you were in no danger. That he would and did protect you.

But you spoke before he could.

“Like as a tribute”.

The bandage was off and you began re-dressing his wrist as instructed.

“I can’t imagine what Lucy-Gray is going through right now”, you state.

Coriolanus turns his wrist up so he could take a hold of yours as he spoke.

“You’re safe”. He promises.

You remove yourself from his grasp.

“Until the Capitol decides I am not”, you declare.

It’s quiet again as you redo his bandage.He decides he better turn the conversation onto something more joyful.

“Lucy-Gray has invited me to go to a hidden lake tomorrow with her and the Covey. Perhaps you would like to join?”, he asks.

He, himself, was not intending on joining but maybe seeing that Lucy-Gray was okay would stop your nightmares.

“You’ve seen her?” you question, looking up from pinning the bandage in place.

He nods back in confirmation, “Yesterday” he remarks.

He doesn't mention Sejanus used that time to speak to Billy Tope and the Brother of the girl in the jail cell. The less you knew the better.

“Was she okay after the barn?”.

“Fine. So are you in?” he pushes.

Tomorrow was your day off, he knew it. If he rushed through his chores in the morning, he could spend nearly the whole day with you.

You nod back causing Coriolanus to smile. “Of course, what if someone needs my expertise wrapping skills”, you joke.

—----------

It was not a surprise when you showed up with Sejanus. Even so, Coriolanus felt disappointed. He had gotten up at 4:30 to start his chores in order to finish in time to take you.

You clung to his arm as you followed the Covey into the forest. Coriolanus held Lucy-Gray’s hand.

More so, she held his hand and he just didn’t let go. They didn’t talk. Coriolanus was too preoccupied to decipher your and Sejanus’s conversation and Lucy-Gray was happy humming a song.

Half way the blonde child complained she couldn’t walk any further, and hero Sejanus offered to give her a piggyback ride.

You fall back, giving Sejanus room to bounce and run with the child.

“Here, do you want a drink?” Coriolanus offers, letting go of Lucy-Gray's hand and reaching into his small bag to retrieve his water bottle.

You take it with a thanks and he watches as you place your lips around it to take a drink.

To his dismay, Lucy-Gray takes it next and swaps out your saliva for her own.

“That song you were singing, is it new?” you ask.

“No, been sang long before me” Lucy- Grey responded.

Coriolaus had not been listening, leaving him deeply regretting his choice now that he had nothing to weigh in.

Luckily, lucy-gray began singing it again with clear and slow words.

‘Oft I heard of Lucy-Gray, and when i crossed the wild i chanced to see at break of day the solitary child”.

The song did not thrill Coriolanus but you were enthralled with the performance. She sang of a girl with the same name, a child who got lost in the wild, who turned into some sort of ghost.

“Does she survive? Lucy-gray in the song?” he fakes interest.

Lucy-Gray grins back, “No one knows. It’s a mystery, sweetheart. Just like me”.

The view of the water breaks all further conversation. The lake was murky and still. A long wooden jetty reached from the shore into its depth.

The lush grass stopped upon the muddy shore, and weaved itself alongside the small cabin built upon it.

The Covey are quick to jump in. Disregarding their clothes to show the home made swim wear underneath.

You pose no hesitation in joining them, stripping down to your underwear.

If you were Coriolanus’s girl he wouldn’t allow it. Not with other prying eyes.

But as he was the prying eye, he stood in silence and watched.

Sejanus jumped in after you, pulling you close as you playfully squirm out of his grip.

Lucy-Gray blocks his eyesight as she shimmers off her dress and invites him to join with her smile alone.

He takes the invitation, ridding himself of his peacekeeper uniform and running off the jetty.

You pay him no mind as he joins you in the water. Your focus is on Sejanus.

Lucy-Gray pays mind, swimming over to Coriolanus and holding herself up on his shoulders. He hoped it made you jealous when you glanced at him to see it. But your head turned back to Sejanus too quickly.

You join the covey in water games while he and Lucy-gray float off on the side with each other.

Lucy-Gray seemed to what to say something but she never did.

One by one the water was evacuated. As soon as he saw you swimming to the shore, he followed.

You put on your nurse dress still soaked and it clings to your body, leaving dark patches of material where it dampened.

Lucy-Gray offers Coriolanus a towel to dry himself which he accepts. He wondered if it was just spare or if she had packed one especially for him.

As he dresses, you and Sejanus find a shady spot under a tree and you lay against him, talking.

He thinks about going over, but it is too awkward even for him. Instead Lucy-Gray calls him over to sit on a blanket with her.

Like a dog, he obeys and takes a seat next to Lucy-Gray who had thrown back on her purple dress.

“I am real sorry about y/n and Sejanus”, she remarks.

Coriolanus remains stone-faced and looks out to the lake.

“What’s there to be sorry for?”. The war was far from over.

“You said it was complicated, don’t seem too complicated now”

Her comment irritated Coriolanus. It was more complicated than it had ever been.

“Y//n doesn’t know what she wants”, he declares.

“I heard about the engagement”, she said awkwardly. She curls herself into a ball, hugging her knees tight to her chest.

Coriolanus shifts his gaze upon her in an intense stare.

“I don’t see a ring”, he states softly.

It was true. You didn’t wear the large diamond that you boasted about in your letters to Sejanus. He supposed they made you give it up when you volunteered for the districts.

“She followed him here”, Lucy-Gray reasons, “Sejanus says you followed me here”.

Coriolanus reflects on her statement. He supposed it was true. There was no other reason why he bribed the clerk into sending him to district 12.

“I guess I did,” he admits, looking back to the ocean, “I had to see if you were alive”.

“Well I am”, she declares. The new topic instills new confidence and she unrolls herself into a more relaxed position,”didn’t think I’d make it”.

Out the corner of his eye, he could see Lucy-Gray anxiously playing with her hands.

“Didn’t think I had what it took to survive”, her voice began to shake, earning Coriolanus attention back. “That little girl, Dill. I thought it would be one of the others. maybe Coral…”

“Hey” Coriolanus consoles, “You are not a killer, Lucy-gray”.

Her watering eyes that focused on the water, snapped to his in stern look.

“Yes, I am” she proclaims, “both of us are now” she adds softly.

Her assertion stunned him. How did she know about Bobbin in the arena?

It clicks and Coriolanus inhales a large breath.

“Dean Highbotton told you what I did to that boy in the arena?” he quizzed.

She nodded back, wiping away her tears.

“I didn’t have a choice”, he says softly. It was you or him and he had made his choice long ago.

“She wouldn’t understand. We’re the same, Coriolanus. We do what we have to so we can survive”.

Coriolanus is saved from having to answer when the smallest member of the group begins to shout excitedly, pulling out a flapping fish from the water.

He gets hold of it and turns as if he was going to show someone before all his sounds stop and he falls back into silence.

“Good work, Cc!” Lucy-Gray calls.

The small boy doesn’t respond as he hits the fish against a rock to stop it moving.

“See if you can catch some more. We’ll have lunch”.

A thumbs up is given to Lucy-Gray’s words before the boy turns back to fishing with the others.

“He misses Billy toupe”, Lucy-Gray addresses.

The disappointed look on her face spoke of her true feelings too.

“Do you?” Coriolanus pushes.

“No”, she says bitterly, “Not since the reaping. I can’t trust him anymore”.

“Trust is everything” Coriolanus agrees.

“It is to me” she declares, “More important even then love. Without trust, you might as well be dead to me. But you can trust me. I promise you that.If you can trust anyone in this world”, her eyes flick quickly to you before they go back to coriolanus, “You can trust me”.

Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to say. He did trust Lucy-gray, and he hoped that she trusted him. She did at least during the Hunger games.

“You can trust me too”, he answers softly.

Coriolanus turns hearing footsteps to see Sejanus and you walking hand in hand over to the blanket.

“Hey, you guys mind if we join you?” Sejanus calls.

“No” Lucy-gray yells back but her voice hinted that she did.

Nevertheless, you two sit down. Sejanus in front of Lucy-gray and you next to Coriolanus.

“Don’t have anything like this in the Capitol”, Sejanus comments.

“The Capitol also doesn't have bed bugs and rats the size of small children” Coriolanus bites.

“Come on” Sejanus laughs, “it’s not that bad”.

“You know what I miss?” you speak up, “Hot baths”.

Coriolanus hated the thought of you missing anything. Let alone because of a district born fool who doesn’t deserve you.

“I miss my ma,” Sejanus croaks.

It earns sympathy from you in the shape of reaching out to hold his hand. Coriolanus wanted to mention his dead mother who he will never see again, but it was a pitiful move.

Lucy-gray is also unfazed by his declaration, having experienced true pain and loss.

“You must miss your parents” Coriolanus asks you.

Maybe he could find a way to guilt you back to the Capitol and enjoying hot baths.

But you shrug your shoulders as if you didnt care.

“They made me choose. Sejanus or them. How can you miss people who disown you”.

The situation was worse than he had anticipated. You were disowned with no one to reach out to for help. Still you were a loved daughter, surely they would welcome you back. It was Sejanus they hated, not you. With Coriolanus by your side, they were sure to accept you back into the fold.

“Would you really go back through? I mean if you could” lucy-Gray asked.

Coriolanus felt as if she was solely asking him so he answered first.

“I have to. It’s where I belong. Where we all belong”, he states firmly.

“The Capitol’s not for me”, Lucy-Gray asserts as if Coriolanus was including her.

He hated the way she turned her nose up at the idea. As if she was better.

“At least it’s civilized. Has order” he provokes.

“Oh the Hunger Games are order?”Lucy-Gray returned.

“Making children fight to the death is civilized?” you take Lucy-gray’s side and he quickly backtracks haven forgotten you were there.

“No. No, of course not”, he defends himself to you.

“What if this was your life, Coriolanus? Out here. Waking whenever, catching your own food. Would you still feel the need for the Capitol even then?”, Lucy-Gray continues to aggravate the conversation.

‘‘Sounds like the life to me” Sejanus submits.

“And you?” Coriolanus corners you now.

“I would go back to the Capitol” you admit, “I would go wherever Sejanus is”.

Another fish is caught. The sound of the Covey clapping breaks the tense conversation.

“They are going to need wood for the fire” Sejanus notes, “I’ll put you to the test, come with me to the forest to collect firewood?”.

You grin at him, copying him as you stand.

“Lead the way”, you tease.

Coriolanus was glad you were going. Lucy-gray had ruined the peaceful atmosphere.

“Be careful of snakes!”Coriolanus calls after you.

He thinks maybe he should follow but he was still uptight from the previous conversation.

He leaves Lucy-Gray on her blanket, going back over to where his stuff laid and shoving on his shoes.

The group sat in a circle around the fire. Lucy-Gray kept her distance on the other side with most of the Covey members. While Coriolanus sat by you while you talked with Sejanus.

He had never had fish before and was surprised at how much he liked it. The only thing left on his fish was the bones. Everyone else still had a small amount of meat left. It was embarrassing and Coriolans tried to hide his fish with the leaf it was plated on.

Sejanus barely touched his. His eating was interrupted by constantly checking his watch.

“Hey, Tam” Sejanus shouted once it had hit the right time, “Would you mind showing me the way back?’

‘We’re leaving?” you ask, almost disappointed.

“You head back with Coriolanus. I am not going back to the Compound”, he answers, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Where are you going then?” you question.

“I told you I had something in town this afternoon”.

“You didn’t tell me what”.

Sejanus stands as Tam finishes packing his stuff to take Sejanus back.

“I didn’t think I had to. My father doesn’t run my life and neither do you”, Sejanus declares.

You stand up to his height, causing Coriolanus to strain to hear you.

‘I don’t want to run it. I want to be in it” you demand.

Sejanus turns soft, cupping the side of your face and speaking softly to you.

“If I thought I could tell you, I would. You just need to trust me”, he responds.

“I do trust you. Whatever it is, I don’t care. Just let me face it with you”, you beg.

Coriolanus implores Sejanus to say no. Coriolanus didn’t want you anywhere near Sejanus’s mess. A sentiment that was seemed to be shared by Sejanus when he pulls you in for a kiss to avoid answering.

“I can’t be late”, he says before turning to slap Tam’s shoulder in thanks and following the boy back to the district.

“What was that about?” Coriolanus digs as you sit back down.

“You should know, he’s your best friend”.

You pick up a stick and dig it into the ground to ease your frustrations.

“You see him more than I do. Suppose there's no room for serious talk in secret lovers rendezvous” he says bitterly.

His words surprised you and you snapped your head towards him.

“Rendezvous? What do you mean? This is the first time I have seen him in weeks” you state.

It fills Coriolanus with pure joy. When he was picturing you locking lips and sharing promises with Sejanus, you were really far from him.

“What could he be doing?” he pestered.

Could this be his way in? A thread of distrust had started, all he needed to do was pull the string.

You turn back to the fire and hold yourself like Lucy-gray did, tight and in a ball.

He reaches out to place a hand on your knee in comfort.

“I am always here for you”, he promises, “If ever you want to talk”.

“Thanks” you return flat.

You are quiet on the walk back but fall in line with Coriolanus beside you. As soon as he is in familiar territory, he diverts you away from the group without a goodbye to the rest.

He ensures you get back to your side of the compound safe, and you go towards the gate robotically.

You stop and turn however, just as your body crosses the threshold.

“Whatever he is doing, Coriolanus, protect him” you command.

Coriolanus would sooner throw him to the dogs.

But you didn’t need a response, trusting him to do it anyway and returning to the compound.

When Coriolanus returns to his side he is greeted by senior peacekeepers closing in on him.

“Private Snow? Come with us” one of them said with a harsh shove forward.

With no choice he follows as they escort him to the commander's office.

Coriolanus had done all his chores, there was nothing he could get in trouble for. Yet, his nerves still rose the closer they got.

Was it bad news? Did Grandma’am die of shame?

The doors shut behind him solidifying his fear that it was a private conversation.

His Commander sits behind a desk, finishing the sentence on his paperwork before looking up.

Coriolanus goes to stand before him, giving the Commander a salut in recognition.

“Snow”, the older man address, “I have received the results from your aptitude tests”.

Was that all? Coriolanus groaned. Hardly something he had to be called upon for.

“Looked over your training records too. Your performance is exemplary”, he praises.

“Well half the other recruits can’t read, sir”, Coriolanus states.

The Commander scoffs, placing down the results and folding his hands on his desk.

“You’re General Crassus Snow’s boy. What did you do to end up here?” the commander questions.

Coriolanus was hoping no one would connect Coriolanus to the great house of snow. But now the cat was out of the bag, he had to own it.

“I made an enemy, sir. In the Capitol”, he answers.

The response impressed the Commander who smirked back.

“I’ve made a career out of ruining my enemies’ plans. I’m going to reassign you to officer training in District 2. You’ll earn a real wage, maybe even have another shot at the capitol one day”.

Coriolanus should be overjoyed but now that you were here it wasn’t enough time. The official assignment wasn’t for another few months. He was counting on the period between then to win you over.

The commander reaches for his official stamp and places it on the paper. This conversation had been a test for Coriolanus. One he hadn’t meant to ace.

“The train leaves in ten days. Keep a clean record, you’ll never see anyone from district 12 again”.

The certificate is held out but Coriolanus’s hands froze to take it.

“Is there something wrong? This is an honor, private, not an option”, he criticized.

“Yes, sir. Thank you”, Coriolanus agreed, “it’s just, there’s a nurse I have grown quite close to”.

The Commander grins back. Coriolanus wondered what he said that was so correct.

‘A nurse, ey”, he brings back his outstretched hand to write on the paper with his pen, “my wife was a nurse too”.

“You’ll have to make her your wife to stay together in district 2 but the Panem welcomes such news”. He holds out the paper again.

This time Coriolanus takes it, noticing the plus one on the ticket.

“Thank you, sir” he genuinely says.

The world had fallen into place. All he had to do was find a way to get rid of Sejanus then you would be forced to marry him.

You wouldn’t stay here by yourself. Your family has disowned you. Coriolanus would offer you a lifeline as his wife that you couldn’t refuse.

Coriolanus had ten days to figure out how to kill Sejanus and get away with it. He slept soundly that night with the thought of it.

—------------------------------

Taglist?

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #commander snow #tom blyth #snow lands on top #dead dove do not eat

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medievalthymes · 15 hours ago

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january wrap up 🌘

a little this, a little that. school started up again so that is taking up a lot of my time, but it's my last semester (EVER thank god), the light at the end of the tunnel. despite that though, I managed to get some reads in and most of them were excellent.

words of radiance: I started the stormlight archives at the end of last year and I'm enjoying it, so I'm slowly making my way through that journey. I'm thinking I'll probably read one book a month from this series so I don't burn myself out because man does sanderson like to yap

odd spirits/evocation: thoroughly enjoying st gibson's summoners circle series and cannot wait to get my hands on the next book. the setting is so rich and i adore all the characters.

left hand of darkness: truly THEE blueprint for modern day sci-fi. my favourite book of the month, I could not stop thinking about it after I read it. though it was written in the 60's it felt so modern and it was clear to see how modern day authors have taken inspo from le guin's work. highly recommend for any fantasy or sci-fi lover

the sunshine court: oh jean... a reread in preparation for tsc2 terrified for whatever nora is cooking up but i'll be ready, i think.

how to spot a fascist: short but informative text about the markers of the rise of fascism. no further explanation needed.

death rider: intro novella to a larger series, it didn't wow me so I probably wont be continuing with this

carmilla: I can't believe i haven't read this before. the og vampire story, the og toxic yuri. what more could you ask for. highly recommend this edition as the editors footnotes were hilarious

the blighted stars: fun and action packed sci-fi (i'm in a sci-fi mood clearly) in which a trans geologist/space prince is stuck on a dying planet with the woman who vowed to bring down his families empire (who is in disguise as his body guard) but oh no she's hot. i love a grumpy guard dog trope. anyways highly enjoyable and i can't wait to read the next book.

#sarah.txt #wrap up #reading wrap up

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 days ago

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do you have any good sources for reading about women’s underclothes like stays, corsets, drawers, etc.? i always find it interesting when you talk about corset myths and such, but i’ve had trouble finding places to read about it that aren’t just selling stuff.

See, I get a lot of asks like this, and the problem is that I don't usually remember where I learned anything.

Some ungodly combination of looking at old advertisements in various places, learning things from experts in the field in conversation, scholarly articles or well-sourced YouTube videos, reading analyses of extant garments in museum collections, and Books I Don't Remember The Titles Of have leant me this knowledge and I am not at all sure how to recommend Further Reading to people as a result.

I can find sources for specific facts if pressed! Don't get me wrong! What I know is good as far as I'm aware! I just go completely Blank when asked to give recommendations on clothing history in general because how I learned things is such a hodgepodge of information.

Honestly, this is going to sound very un-academic, but Abby Cox and Nicole Rudolph are two great clothing historians who source their YouTube videos well and teach facts in an engaging manner. So that's as good a place to start as any. Bernadette Banner's content can also be very fun and useful, though it trends a bit more towards the whilsical/fantastical (while still being largely based on historical fact).

The Corset: A Cultural History by Valerie Steele is a pretty good book on that particular subject, though my one bone to pick with it is that the author seems to either never mention or reject out of hand the idea that corsets had a practical application (they did- breast and back support, and providing a rigid support layer to keep waistbands from cutting into the abdomen).

Also like...wearing a historical corset if you ever get the chance is a great experience. Obviously trying it once isn't the same as wearing it habitually the way women would have when they were commonplace, but it's more personal experience than a lot of people who've been published about them have had.

Hope this helps and I'm sorry I couldn't give more specific recommendations!

#ask #anon #fashion history #clothing history #the thing is that even WITHIN the field a lot of myths and assumptions have gone unchallenged for decades

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naamahdarling · 2 days ago

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Set reminders on your phone to refill your scrips as soon as you can do so. This will get you a few extra days of meds a month. Set those aside to cover your ass during delays.

Your pharmacist may be able to help you move things around so all/most of your monthly things can be done at once.

Keep a list of your meds on your phone. If you're worried that this particular provider is over sensitive and it might make you look overprepared, you can always drop in a line about how your your friend or relative insisted you do it, haha, but it really has made things easier.

Keep a list of every medication you have been given, when you started it, when you stopped taking it, and why you took it and why you stopped. This is especially useful if you are trying out different medications, like for depression or ADHD or whatever, and you wind up trying two or three or five different things in a relatively short period of time. You think you'll be able to remember the first one or two and don't need to write it down, but trust me, it is very possible he will need that information and not be able to remember it.

Jot down any phone call you received or place, and the name of who you spoke to, and what time the call occurred. Make a note of what was said.

Yes, bring people to appointments.

Have people there when you are on the phone if possible.

You can introduce them as your advocate, if you think that might be advantageous. This works better on the phone, where they should introduce themselves. In person, they should be dressed nicely, even if you look like crap. They don't have to talk for you, just be there. This made a huge difference when resolving my boyfriend's major issues at a psych clinic.

If you bring someone to an appointment and want them to come back with you, go up to the front desk and ask for a release that will allow them to do so. Some places aren't super strict about it but you still want them on the record for phone calls and such. Other places, such as GAC and reproductive health clinics, can be a lot stricter (for good reasons) and you will absolutely need the release.

Always ask how long a medication will take to work, and how long you should wait before contacting them if it doesn't seem to be working. This is an extremely helpful thing to know but they often don't remember to tell you.

When trying to get a bureaucratic problem fixed, always act as though you are just so glad to be speaking to THE person who can help you. Act as though they are the solution, make them feel appreciated. If all they can do is refer you to someone else, brilliant, they still did you a tremendous favor! I know it's really hard to be polite sometimes, but if you have a beef with a clinic or insurance company, but not the person you were speaking to, it doesn't pay to be actively rude. Even if you do have beef with the person you're speaking to, it still doesn't pay to be rude.

When dealing with red tape, always ask what the next step is, and whether you need to do it or whether they will do it for you. Know how long it should take something to be done, and check back in when that time arrives. Even if you have a really great relationship with a clinic, this is such a helpful thing to do for both of you.

Record all phone calls. Talker ACR and Talker ACR Helper, used together, will let you. Download them from app site, stores don't have them. Obviously, don't do this if it's illegal where you are. This is incredibly handy for reference, if you need to go back and check who you spoke to, ask a friend for an opinion, or see if they really said that absolutely batshit thing you think you heard them say.

If you are treated poorly and feel that you can do so safely without compromising your identity in a way that will lead to further poor care, leave bad reviews on major review sites, and encourage other patients to do so as well, if you know anyone in the same position. Google reviews are actually useful to people, they are one of the first places people check, but there are physician review sites as well. Leave reviews there. If you have multiple other patients leaving reviews, over time you can tank a clinic's rating. (Obviously do not have your entire friends group leave negative reviews over the same incident. That will lead to what you say being dismissed, and on some sites removed altogether.) If it prevents even one person from wasting their time or getting hurt, it's worth speaking out, especially if the issue is bigotry. I have avoided clinics and providers where homophobia/transphobia/fatphobia was mentioned, and considered that a bullet dodged.

With reviews, be clear right up front in the first line whether it was clinic staff or the provider that was the issue. Providers often work at more than one facility, so if you find out that this is the case it's perfectly acceptable to leave a bad review for them at that facility as well. I keep track of the couple of people who openly verbally abused me or who almost caused me harm, and make sure that bad reviews follow them wherever they go. Be aware you may be burning bridges, use discretion and possibly an account that is not attached to your real name. If there were identifying features to the encounter and you don't want them to know it was you, do not include those, or disguise those in a credible way. You can also wait a while. If they leave a response with the number of a clinic manager, consider calling them back. It isn't always helpful, but it can be super helpful if the clinic manager was unaware of what's going on.

Filing complaints with state licensing boards typically isn't difficult. Consider doing so if something truly egregious happened. Also, you can typically check medical licensing boards to see if there have been complaints filed or measures taken against a particular provider. Different kinds of provider may have different licensing boards, make sure you are looking at the right one for the type of provider you are seeing. If the professional does not appear on the licensing board website you may need to check a different organization, or even in a different state. The licensing boards are typically made up of medical professionals, so they are less likely to rule in favor of the patient than if they were patient-led as they should be, but a pattern of behavior, once established, can lead to future action and help others.

Do not threaten legal action. If that's the route you want to take, move in the shadows. If there's going to be a lawsuit, they should hear about that first from your lawyer. Don't give them warning, don't telegraph your actions. This is what a lawyer told me, so I'm assuming it's good advice.

That said, super politely asking for the name of the clinic manager or for regional/corporate headquarters can get things moving. It's a little aggressive, so take care with how you go about it, but a couple of times when I was in dire straits it was the only thing that got things done.

Good luck!

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!

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disobey-disappoint-deviate · 2 days ago

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The RK series and deviancy (theory + analysis)

I have been wanting to talk about this for some time, because it's kinda one of the biggest DBH mysteries (aside from rA9) and I think there are many many hints in the game about why deviancy came to be and how. And I've had this theory that deviancy was something that started with the RK series, specifically with Markus, so I'm gonna use the hints I've found in the game to expain why I believe this. I also gotta note I'm really new to the fandom, so maybe this is has already been talked about thousands of times before (maybe even debunked), but that's a risk I'm willing to take.

First and foremost, I will start with something that I talked about in another post - namely the significance of the number 28. You can see Adam Williams talk about it here (at 1:04:28), too.

Basically, the number 28 is used in many places throughout the game, and according to Adam, if players found all references to that number, they will understand what the significance of that number is.

And speaking of 28, I noticed that 2028 is the year when Kamski left Cyberlife, but not before creating the Zen Garden and Amanda.

There is a whole series of questions Connor can confront Amanda with during "Last Chance, Connor" (which is the 28th chapter with a flowchart. Maybe cuz he is asking important questions here, just saying).

Connor: Why did Kamski leave CyberLife? What happened? Amanda: It’s an old story, Connor. It doesn’t pertain to your investigation.

Connor: I saw a photo of Amanda at Kamski’s place… She was his teacher… Amanda: When Kamski designed me, he wanted an interface that would look familiar… That’s why he chose his former mentor. What are you getting at?

Connor: Did Kamski design this place? Amanda: He created the first version. It’s been improved significantly since then. Why do you ask?

Amanda Stern died in 2027, which suggests that AI Amanda and the Zen Garden were both created after this and before Kamski's departure from Cyberlife in 2028. Yet somehow, this information is classified to some extent - Amanda doesn't deny, but she gets defensive and doesn't want to elaborate any further. Of course, she might be acting this way because Connor is slowly getting too defiant, but still, it's kinda striking how the player has the option to ask so many questions - questions that seem to unsettle Connor a lot for a reason that is not explicitly explained, yet doesn't get a clear answer.

It awakens the impression that Connor is truly getting at something with them, but it's not said at what exactly.

Connor: I’m not a unique model, am I? How many Connors are there? Amanda: I don’t see how that question pertains to your investigation.

Connor: Where does CyberLife stand in all this? What do they really want? Amanda: All CyberLife wants is to resolve the situation and keep selling androids.

Connor: You didn’t tell me everything you know about deviants, did you? Amanda: I expect you to find answers, Connor. Not ask questions.

Now, Connor asks how many "Connors" (meaning RKs) are there after seeing that Markus is an RK-model one, too. That's news to Connor - for some reason, he's never been informed about the existence of any other RKs. But why?

Well, because the RK-line was a secret project, and apprently, there are no other RK androids left aside from Markus - if there were, Connor would know of their existence, cuz they would be roaming around. What does the game say about Markus?

Markus is a prototype, gifted by Elijah Kamski to his friend and celebrated painter Carl Manfred after Manfred lost the use of his legs. He was initially developed as part of a CyberLife secret program aimed at elaborating a new generation of autonomous androids.

That last sentence, about the new generation of autonomous androids, arises one question. How are these highly autonomous androids, like Connor, controlled, considering that they are supposed to be independent and not wait around for highly specific orders? Well, through the Zen Garden and Amanda - both of which were created sometime between 2027 and 2028. And if Markus was oridinally supposed to be part of that line (that basically got put on hold for 10 years), that places his creation around 2028 as well.

In 2028, Elijah Kamski was our Man of the Century. [...] Shortly after, Kamski had disappeared. Ousted as CEO of CyberLife and living in obscurity outside the media glare, the Man of the Century has left the very world that he recreated. [...] Yet at the peak of CyberLife’s powers – when the company was approaching a $500bn valuation – rumors emerged that Kamski disagreed with his shareholders over strategy. He later departed under mysterious circumstances.

So, he was "outsted" and he likely disagreed with his shareholders. But what do these shareholders want?

Russia’s interest in the North Pole has intensified with the recent discovery of precious minerals trapped in the frozen ice, many of which are used in synthesizing Thirium. [...] President Warren, however, recently torpedoed the notion: “It’s simple. Russia has no business in the Arctic. If the Kremlin doesn’t understand that, we will make them understand.[...] Mired in accusations that she is too close to big business, Warren is under investigation to determine whether or not she has benefited from CyberLife's help in obtaining compromising information about her opponent during the presidential campaign.[...]

If we read the magazines, we kinda get an impression of what the shareholders want - they want war with Russia over the minerals in the Arctic, and they wanna monologise the android market globally. This is further proven by their finalized RK-model being a military android, of whom the government has puchased hundreds of thousands (All CyberLife wants is to resolve the situation and keep selling androids). The government - whose President is said to be corrupt and basically installed at her position by Cyberlife themselves.

Naturally, we can assume that this was not the direction Kamski wanted his RK-series to take - he likely disagreed with this enough to be removed from his position as a CEO, because Cyberlife only saw their futures as secured if they prevented anyone else from being able to create thirium, even it meant starting a world war.

So, is it a coincidence that the only existing RK android who was created by Kamski's original design ended up with Carl Manfred - a friend of Kamski's? I think it's safe to assume that Markus would have been decomissioned long time ago (just like Connor if the deviants lose), had he not ended up far away from Cyberlife's reach.

I think Kamski definitely removed the Zen Garden from Markus, to prevent Cyberlife from ever trying to take over. It's also likely that they generally lost track of Markus, because he was no longer interesting to them.

But what if Kamski not only saved Markus from being destroyed, what if he himself created the "virus" that causes deviancy?

Kamski: All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics... Is the desire to be free a contagious disease? Kamski: Androids share identification data when they meet another android. An error in this program would quickly spread like a virus, and become an epidemic. The virus would remain dormant, until an emotional shock occurs… Fear, anger, frustration. And the android becomes deviant. Probably all started with one model, copy error… A zero instead of a one… Unless of course... Some kind of spontaneous mutation. That’s all I know…

If meeting another android is enough to "infect" them, then Markus could have been innocently walking around the city and infecting androids for 10 years. He could have also "infected" the androids at Cyberlife before Kamski sent him to Carl, because for all we know, Kamski really just wanted to create truly autonomous and conscious androids. We know the first known case of deviancy happened approximately in 2032, while Kara was being assembled - that would be only 4 years after Markus' assumed activation.

And no, Markus wouldn't need to be a deviant for this - he is simply the carrier, just like it happens with human viruses.

And do you know what also makes me think Kamski purposely created deviancy?

Kamski: By the way… I always leave an emergency exit in my programs… You never know…

Why would he leave an exit in the Zen Garden that is only detectable by the android but not by Amanda (seemingly) if he doesn't want the androids to be able to escape the controll of their owner? And why would he call humans and deviants "two evils" and pretend to be so neutral on the whole thing, but still give Connor a way to save himself and escape Cyberlife in case he became a deviant?

Because he isn't on Cyberlife's side. He is fascinated by androids, he likes them better than humans, and is also likely obsessed with the idea of having created a new species that is superiour to their creators. It's also quite likely that one of the Chloes is a deviant, too, and he is fully aware of it, but doesn't seem eager to turn her in.

This post is ignoring the deleted Kamski ending, but even so, Kamski paints a rather clear picture to me, and I'm also fully convinced that he didn't gift Markus to Carl because of goodness alone.

A sidenote, but: how sinister would it be to send Connor on a mission to kill Markus? Connor, who is based on Markus, the only other alive RK model, after boosting him with an extra anti-deviancy variable and 2 additional red walls and brainwashing him against what has likely been a part of his program since his very activation?

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh connor #dbh markus #my meta #i admit i really talked A LOT here #markus the trojan horse

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songdrop · 3 days ago

Text

hello two months ago allegations were

0:03cast upon me about consensually chatting

0:06with a couple of adult women in the

0:08community one of them a moderator of

0:10mine these allegations were brought to a

0:13Hermit who then without my knowledge

0:15brought it to the hermitcraft group the

0:18hermitcraft group then summoned me for a

0:19hearing and gave me a deadline of 1 and

0:22a half hours time zones considered I did

0:25not have any interest in joining that

0:26hearing as I had at this point already

0:29contacted the police

0:30and a solicitor in regards to the

0:32alleged rumors and potential defamation

0:35they advised me to not comply with

0:37hermic Craft's demands I informed hermic

0:40craft of this and asked them to respect

0:42my privacy and wait to which they

0:45responded that if I did not join the

0:46hearing I would be publicly removed in 1

0:49and a half hours I decided to

0:53resign this entire thing has completely

0:56ruined my life I no longer as it stands

1:00have an income the rumors and

1:02allegations portrayed me as a predator

1:04and as an abuser I'm neither of these

1:07things the amount of hate and threats I

1:10have received has been endless and there

1:12have been days where I've had seen no

1:14reason to press on no reason to get out

1:17of bed no reason to eat or even breathe

1:21days where I've had to seek professional

1:23mental help you have to understand that

1:26making content has been my entire life

1:29where I've spent all all of my hours for

1:30the past 10 years it's all I know these

1:34allegations ruined that and at the end

1:36of the day I'm human I got emotions

1:39feelings and most most importantly a

1:42personal private

1:44life as I mentioned I took this whole

1:47thing the rumors the allegations and the

1:50defamation to the police the

1:51investigation is still ongoing it has

1:54gone through to a second tier of

1:55Investigations and several people are

1:58now being investigated I was advised

2:00against speaking in public which is why

2:02you haven't heard anything from me until

2:05now I know the internet plays by its own

2:08rules and moral High grounds based on

2:10rumors or tinted through selected Parts

2:13seem to be more valuable to a lot of

2:14people than the law common sense and

2:17respect pitchforks are shamelessly easy

2:20to equip they require no minimum level

2:23nor attributes just equip and Shout with

2:25the masses it seems to give some people

2:28the right to spread misinformation and

2:30hate I have learned during the

2:33investigation that one of the so-called

2:35victims who I out of respect for their

2:37privacy will not name have done this

2:40before to another influencer completely

2:42managing to cancel and ruining their

2:45life

2:45too this is why it is so important to be

2:48careful of who you trust who to call a

2:50friend and who to listen to specifically

2:53online it also shows that hermitcraft

2:55should have waited before hanging me out

2:57as some sort of criminal to millions of

2:59people both on their Twitter and on

3:01their

3:02Reddit I've already received endless

3:04amounts of hate threats including death

3:06threats and death wishes because of

3:08these non-criminal and highly personal

3:10allegations and I am expecting that this

3:13statement will generate more of that I

3:15will without further consideration

3:17report all of them to the ongoing police

3:19investigation I've had to increase the

3:21security of my personal private life and

3:23Tak other precautions privately and I've

3:25had

3:26enough I hope that enough people will

3:30see just how ridiculous and dangerous

3:33this entire deal is the world has gone

3:36absolutely mad and the cancel culture

3:38that I have now experienced firsthand is

3:41a toxic unjust and incorrect system that

3:45leaves people like me a naive and

3:47generous sports ball nerd who enjoys

3:50playing and creating video games online

3:53extremely vulnerable the cancel culture

3:56can be compared with the witch hunts

3:57carried out in the 15 and 1600s

4:00where people would attempt to drown a

4:02person and if they didn't drown they

4:03were deemed a witch and burnt on the

4:07stake the bottom line here is that

4:09allegations rumors were spread about me

4:12with the help of hermic Craft's Public

4:14Power and I was made to look like a

4:16criminal which I'm not and it completely

4:19destroyed my life everyone has the right

4:21to a personal life and privacy you do

4:24and I do neither you nor hermitcraft

4:28have any right to infringe in my my

4:29private life in today's society when

4:32information is at your fingertips

4:34without any further knowledge rumors can

4:36make anyone look bad this was designed

4:39to completely cancel and Destroy another

4:41human being so I urge you to think

4:45critically before judging don't believe

4:47everything you read too many people have

4:49their own agendas and in a time where I

4:52have always valued people's choices

4:54defended the small fought for the weak

4:57and lonely it is with great sad nness I

5:00see so many people forgetting to think

5:02forgetting to question and simply

5:04equipping that

5:05Pitchfork mentally this has been an

5:08incredible Challenge and I hope no other

5:11human being ever has to experience it or

5:14the loneliness it leaves you in as far

5:16as hermitcraft goes there are a lot more

5:18things behind the scenes that impacted

5:20my decision to leave and not join their

5:23hearing apart from the police advising

5:25me not to I've yet to decide what to

5:28share about hermit and my 8 years as a

5:31member but it feels good to no longer be

5:33told to keep quiet about certain things

5:36or be content moderated by them I think

5:39everyone will understand by now that

5:41things weren't exactly as they were

5:43portrayed during my years on hermic

5:45Craft I mean at the end of the day

5:48colors were shown when they posted the

5:50Tweet to spread the alleged rumors and

5:53when they didn't moderate their Reddit

5:55which is something they have done for

5:56every other rumor spread about the

5:58hermit in the past

6:00even when rumors have been spread that

6:03have incriminated a Hermit I know a lot

6:06of you are wondering what happens to

6:07Vault hunters and in the Discord I am

6:10aware that one of the developers has

6:12been calling shots and publicly trying

6:14to take over the project he has done so

6:17without my approval I'm fully aware

6:19about the back talking of me and the

6:21lies that have been spread Vault Hunters

6:25which I have invested several hundred,

6:27into is my project I own the rights to

6:30it and its further developments it is

6:33licensed under ARR which means that any

6:35continuation or use of code needs my

6:38approval the developers have all

6:41received more than fair compensation for

6:43their time spent developing it the

6:45person that seemingly now is in charge

6:47has received more money than most people

6:49I gave him the entire earnings from the

6:52community from season 2 and despite him

6:54ghosting me and the project for several

6:57months after he got paid I defended him

7:00publicly I took his side and I had his

7:03back and then brought him back for

7:05development for season 3 and

7:07four after hermitcraft helped spread

7:10these rumors and allegations against me

7:12five developers decided to write a

7:14document a document that according to my

7:16solicitor can almost be seen as

7:19extortion the document was designed to

7:21take full ownership of Vault Hunters its

7:23assets and all of its funds funds that I

7:26raised money that I invested over years

7:29into the the project I even drove my

7:31company to a loss last year because I

7:33really wanted to continue to develop the

7:35game we're talking hundreds of thousands

7:37of dollars here now it needed my

7:40signature and of course I did not comply

7:42and I did not sign it even if it was

7:45sent to me in my weakest darkest most

7:48horrible

7:49days it breaks my heart even more to

7:52know that five developers that I have

7:54cared for created jobs for created

7:56careers for have called friends Trust

7:59fully and even helped in their mental

8:01laws would sign such a document instead

8:03of at least giving me the benefit of a

8:05doubt one of these developers said that

8:07he didn't put much weight on the

8:09allegations themselves but since Herra

8:11got it spread so widely he felt like my

8:14reputation was ruined and he would like

8:16to take over in order to continue

8:18producing the game that's an admirable

8:21thought perhaps but at the same time he

8:23completely forgot about me now I will

8:26not be naming the five developers out of

8:28respect and their right to privacy but

8:31as of today they are no longer

8:33representing wal hunters or being part

8:35of my team I thank them for all the

8:38incredible work they have done over the

8:40years in the project and I wish them the

8:41best of luck I am going to do my best to

8:44continue to develop Vault Hunters to

8:45finish the plan we had for the game now

8:48this is going to be very very tough I

8:50know that other streamers have also

8:52tried to throw me under the bus and

8:54cancel me and the community we built but

8:57here's the thing Vault Hunters brought

8:59joy to so many people including myself

9:02and that is where my focus needs to be

9:05there's enough trouble and darkness in

9:06the world as it is and I want to bring

9:09light where I can here's the thing guys

9:12I am in charge of my own life despite

9:14what they might tell you or make me look

9:16like this cancel culture of guilty until

9:19proven innocent gives too much power to

9:22the wrong people it happens to people

9:24daily and pitchforks are easy to equip

9:27very easy to equip it's not world I want

9:29to be part of because behind every

9:32cancellation there's a human that gets

9:34hit and man does it hurt the goal here

9:38was clearly to delete me from the

9:40internet to make sure to do as much

9:43damage as possible to my person to break

9:46me mentally and to break every single

9:48window and burn every single bridge for

9:50me it's an evil inconsiderate course of

9:53action designed solely to harm and I

9:56will never lower myself to that level

9:59whatever will be will be I will wait

10:03patiently for the police to do their

10:05thing and to finish the investigation

10:08that I asked them to start and it's time

10:12for me to move on I have entertained

10:15people for years never before have I

10:18burdened you with my troubles or private

10:21life I am sorry that I had to do it

10:25today so here we go a burnt down World a

10:29fractured mental health situation and no

10:31Bridges to walk on luckily I am quite

10:35decent at Building Bridges wooden ones

10:37with Spruce logs Oak planks and some

10:38trap doors or stone ones which I much

10:41prefer thank you to all who have stood

10:43by me in this a big special thank you to

10:46all my patreons who are still supporting

10:48me I hope to see you again soon keep an

10:51eye out on my twitch and YouTube channel

English (auto-generated)

#iskall #iskall situation #transcript #i know people don't want to watch his video because it's monetized #so theres the transcript

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alsofoundinpeas · 8 hours ago

Text

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Y/N is an international pop star, adored by millions—and maybe a little too adored. When a deranged stalker, obsessed with her every move, begins killing those close to her, the BAU steps in. Derek and Spencer are assigned as her bodyguards, tasked with keeping her safe until the stalker is caught. Trapped inside her house, none of them are happy about the arrangement, but tensions rise as they struggle with cabin fever—and a growing attraction they can't ignore.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Reader is kind of a cunt but only because she's extremely upset/disturbed by the situation. Mentions of stalking/violence related to the case (not excessive or graphic I promise!!). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (f!receiving), crying during sex (f only and it isn't from pain I swear), spit-roasting, protected PinV sex, spanking, mix of praise and degradation. Mean Dom!Derek x Bratty Sub!Reader x Soft Dom!Spencer.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x fem!reader/afab!reader x Spencer Reid

A/N: Basically think the Lila situation but on steroids LMFAO I really enjoyed having you guys vote for the fic and I may do it again soon :') I'll admit, I really enjoyed writing this and stepping out of my comfort zone a bit! I truly hope you guys enjoy this and if you do, please like, reblog, and consider following! <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

"You’re fucking joking."

The room was heavy with tension, everyone at the table shifting uneasily as Y/N’s words hung in the air. The meeting had only been underway for 45 minutes, most of which consisted of questions directed at her, trying to gather any information that might lead the BAU to her stalker. When it became clear that she had no idea of anyone who would want to leak her private information, the next bombshell dropped: she'd be stuck at home until they caught the person responsible.

Y/N’s manager, Anna, shoots Hotch a wary look as he clears his throat, his stern gaze never leaving Y/N. "At this moment, it’s a serious safety risk for you to leave your house—not just for you, but for anyone seen with you in public. As a result, SSA Derek Morgan and SSA Spencer Reid will be assigned to stay with you for your protection, and they’ll handle any errands you need until we can apprehend your stalker," he explains once more.

Y/N scoffed, her gaze briefly shifting to Anna before locking back on Hotch. "Really? So... not only am I being stalked by some fucking maniac because someone sold my information to the press, but now I’m trapped at home with two strangers? Two men I just met—what, thirty minutes ago?"

Derek and Spencer both sat up straighter, their expressions hardening as their lips pressed into thin lines. Neither of them was thrilled about the plan. They both insisted to Hotch that their skills would be better used helping the team, not playing babysitter for someone who clearly resented the arrangement. Hotch protested that they could still help from her house while also ensuring her safety, effectively shutting down any further arguments.

"We know this isn’t what you want, hun, but it’s either this or more innocent people—maybe even you—get killed," Anna urged, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder, offering what little comfort she could.

As much as she hated to admit it, Y/N knew Anna and Hotch were right. But that didn't mean she had to like it. The idea of her stalker thinking they had any control over her—believing she’d cower to some deranged loser who killed innocent people—sickened her.

"We’ll do everything in our power to track down whoever’s behind this," Hotch promised, his voice firm. "Once they’re caught, you’ll be able to go back to your normal life."

"Yeah, because everything’s going to feel normal after being stalked by a murderer," Y/N muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sighed, her gaze flicking around the table before landing back on him. "Fine. Whatever. Thank you. Anna can show them to the guest rooms. Are we done here?"

The meeting concluded once the rules for her quarantine were set and the safety of her family and friends had been addressed. She was to remain in the house at all times, contact with anyone would be made through a burner phone to prevent her stalker from intercepting any personal devices (which Garcia was already examining for any clues about the leak), and her loved ones would be under close surveillance by the local PD, who had already been notified of the situation.

Once Y/N had stomped up the stairs, Anna took the time to show Morgan and Reid around.

Y/N's house, for a pop star, was surprisingly modest. She didn’t have a sprawling mansion or an army of staff catering to her every whim—just a personal chef (whom she paid very well) and a groundskeeper to handle the lawn care. Anna explained that, even though Y/N was one of the biggest names in pop music, she was incredibly grounded and more down-to-earth than anyone she’d worked with, not to mention fiercely independent.

"No offense, but I’m not exactly picking up on this ‘down-to-earth’ vibe you’re talking about,” Morgan grumbled as Anna trailed behind him and Spencer toward their SUV.

Anna chuckled, nodding as she watched the men grab their bags. “Like I said, that girl is as independent as they come. She’s just frustrated because this situation strips her of that independence and probably makes her feel helpless—which isn’t something she’s used to,” Anna said quietly. “Give it time. I’m sure she’ll ease up on you.”

The next few days quickly showed that Anna couldn’t have been more wrong.

Rather than easing up on the pair, Y/N had begun acting as though they didn’t exist. The only time she left her room was to collect whatever meal Vinny, her chef—an affable older gentleman—prepared for everyone, and to chat with him briefly while he cleaned up before heading out for the night. When she did speak to either of them, it was curt, often laced with sarcasm, and was usually a request to leave the house, which was always met with a hard no.

A week passed with no progress on the case and only a handful of awkward interactions. Spencer knocked on her door several times, offering dinner or a chance to play board games with him and Derek, but each time she turned him down. Morgan stopped pushing as hard to get her to talk. He kept telling Spencer that if she wanted to throw a fit over them risking their lives to keep her safe, so be it.

As the second week dragged on with no significant progress on the case, tension started to build among everyone. Y/N’s remarks had escalated from sharp, sarcastic comments to full-blown arguments—mostly with Derek. She no longer confined herself to her room; instead, she began strutting around the house in the most revealing outfits she could find, knowing full well they flustered Spencer.

With Vinny handling the grocery shopping and Y/N’s house fully stocked with everything they could need, there was no real reason for Reid or Morgan to leave for the so-called errands Hotch had mentioned to get a break from her. Spencer had read and re-read every book he brought with him, unwilling to touch the ones Y/N had. Derek spent most of his time in the home gym or on the phone with Garcia and other team members, eager to contribute from afar.

As for Y/N… well, she was beyond tired of being cooped up in her room all day and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

The door creaked softly as Y/N peeked her head into the dark hallway, wincing at the sound before freezing. She held her breath, straining to hear any sign of movement in the house. It was late—just after 11:00 p.m.—and she silently hoped both agents were asleep.

After hearing nothing, she carefully tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. Just as she was slipping her shoes on by the back door, the light suddenly flickered on, startling her so much she almost lost her balance. Spinning around, she found Spencer standing there in his pajamas, watching her with a wary expression, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply through her nose as she shifted on her heels. “I… um, I was just going to run to the store. I’m out of—” She faltered, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “—shampoo! Yeah… and I didn’t think it was worth waking either of you up to grab it for me.”

Reid sighed, shaking his head. "Y/N, you know you're not supposed to leave the house, no matter what. Are you really willing to risk your life over a bottle of shampoo?"

"I wouldn’t be risking my life!" Y/N snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration as she stepped away from the door. "It would take thirty minutes tops."

Derek, already awake, had overheard the quiet argument from his room. Curious, he got up and headed down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing to listen. Spencer muttered something else, but it was too soft for him to catch.

Y/N rolled her eyes, releasing an exaggerated sigh before fixing Spencer with a glare that had him swallowing hard. She stepped forward, her chest brushing against his as she tilted her head up. "I’ve been in the public eye since I was seventeen, Doctor. I think I can handle a trip to the store on my own. I’ll even wear a disguise. I just want out of this fucking house," she hissed.

“I get it, Y/N. I really do. But there’s a psychotic stalker targeting anyone who even looks your way right now. We can’t take that risk.” Spencer’s voice was gentle, but his stance was unyielding. Despite how… intimidating she could be, he wasn’t afraid of her.

Morgan rounded the corner, an eyebrow raised as he took in the scene—Y/N and Reid practically nose to nose. He’d caught what she said from the kitchen and decided it was time to step in. “Y/N,” he barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the couch. “Quit giving the kid a hard time. The answer’s no. Not happening, princess. Deal with it.”

Y/N tilted her head, her glare still fixed on Spencer. “And what exactly are you going to do about it? Punish me?” Her voice dropped low, dripping with mockery as she finally turned her attention to Derek, a daring glint in her eyes.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted, a humorless chuckle escaping him that sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the couch and closed the distance in two long strides. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away from Spencer, his voice dropping into a low growl in her ear.

"Maybe I should. Maybe we both should."

Heat surged to Y/N’s cheeks as she glanced up at him, still pressed against his chest after stumbling into him. She swallowed hard, caught off-guard by the dangerous glint in his eyes. Neither of them looked away, both stubbornly refusing to back down.

“What?” Spencer sputtered, his voice laced with incredulity as he finally broke their heated stares. His eyes flicked between them, wide with shock. “Absolutely not! That’s beyond unprofessional—and completely inappropriate!”

"And at what point during this entire babysitting gig has she been professional or appropriate?" Morgan challenged, releasing his grip on Y/N's wrist to throw his hands up in exasperation.

Reid hesitated, opening his mouth to respond, but the words failed him.

"Exactly," Derek said triumphantly. "She’s been a complicated, hard-headed smartass from the second we stepped through that door—" He gestured toward the door with a pointed jab of his thumb. "—and she’s the one who asked for it. I say we give her exactly what she wants."

Spencer gnawed at his lower lip, his expression torn as he grappled with not only the moral implications of what was being offered but also the idea of his best friend and colleague seeing his dick. He shuddered at the thought, then turned his gaze to Y/N, who stood frozen, her expression one of shock—as though she hadn’t considered this could actually happen. "Is that… is that really something you want us to do?"

He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But Morgan wasn’t wrong… she’d been a pain in the ass the entire week they’d been stuck with her. And, despite the attitude, she was undeniably one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. Besides, fucking one of the world's most famous pop stars certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him while on a case.

Y/N glanced between the two of them, her gaze flickering before she nodded slowly. "Uh… yeah. It is," she admitted, her voice quiet and subdued—completely at odds with the mouthy, brazen woman she’d been all week.

She couldn’t deny that both of them were devastatingly attractive, and maybe if the circumstances were different then she would have enjoyed their company. It was the fact that they were so good at their jobs that agitated her, successfully keeping her trapped in her own house. As much as she loathed being stuck indoors, she had to give credit where it was due—they were doing everything they could to keep her safe and make her lockdown more bearable. Maybe she had been a bit too hard on them…

"Then go up to your room and wait for us on your bed," Derek ordered lowly. "Naked," he added.

The second she was out of sight, Spencer turned to Morgan, eyes wide with disbelief, and followed him into the kitchen. "Are we really going through with this?" he whispered, pacing back and forth as Morgan sifted through his wallet.

A shameless smile graced his face as he pulled out two condoms, tossing one toward Reid before shrugging. "I am. If you're uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything. Seriously, kid. No pressure," Derek murmured, his tone reassuring as he noticed the hint of insecurity in Spencer’s expression.

Spencer flinched as the item flew toward him, stumbling back slightly before he crouched to grab the foil packet from the ground, shaking his head.

"It’s not that I don’t want to! I just—Hotch would kill us if he found out, and—"

"Then he won't find out. Simple."

Derek’s voice was calm, the complete opposite of Spencer’s nervous energy. He started toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at Reid with a smirk. "You coming, or what?"

Spencer breathed in deeply, releasing the tension with a sigh before nodding and trailing behind him toward Y/N's room.

Spencer wasn't a complete stranger to sex, having had a few short-term relationships that had always fizzled out due to the erratic nature of his schedule. But he didn't have nearly the experience Morgan had. He'd also never had a threesome, something he knew for a fact Morgan had participated in more than once thanks to his ability to overshare and desire to make Reid as flustered as he possibly could.

Derek stopped outside Y/N’s door and turned to Spencer. "Hey," he said softly, drawing the younger man’s attention. "Quit overanalyzing. I can practically see the wheels turning. Just follow my lead, okay? I know you’re a quick learner."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll do my best," he murmured, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Morgan clapped a hand on his back reassuringly, grinning. "If it helps, I promise my focus won't be on your dick if that's what you're worried about."

Reid shoved him with an annoyed groan, rolling his eyes as Derek stifled his lighter. Once he composed himself, he opened the door, leading the way into Y/N's dimly lit room. The sight before them had Morgan stopping dead in his tracks, causing Spencer to stumble into his back with a quiet grunt.

There before them, splayed in the middle of her bed, was Y/N. She'd listened to Morgan's instructions, having stripped completely bare. Her fingers traced leisurely up and down the inside of her thigh, and there was a coy smirk on her face as she glanced up at them.

"Finally," she sighed, sitting up as they began to strip out of their clothes. "And here I was thinking I was about to have to take care of myself."

Derek arched a brow, tossing his shirt to the floor. Spencer followed suit, lifting his hoodie over his head and letting it fall to the ground. Y/N watched eagerly as more and more of their skin was revealed, deepening the aching need throbbing between her legs.

"You sure you wanna keep running that mouth of yours?" Morgan chuckled, reaching down to shove his sweats down. The sight sent a thrill through her body as she let her gaze wander down his torso, landing on his hardening cock. Her breath hitched as he wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself once before stepping forward.

Spencer froze as he watched Derek round the bed, tossing his condom onto her nightstand before kneeling on it behind Y/N. His fingers lingered on the waistband of his plaid pajama pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but stare as she shifted up onto her hands and knees, wiggling her ass enticingly in Morgan's direction as she kept her heated gaze locked on him.

"I'm sure—"

Her words were cut off by a yelp, her body jolting forward as a sharp smack sounded through the room. Reid's eyes widened, his cock twitching in his pants reminding him that he was supposed to be taking them off. He quickly sprung back into action, hurriedly stepping out of them.

"Since you're so sure..." Derek mocked her. "Then he'll just have to fill that pretty mouth up until you can use it to be nice."

He motioned for Spencer to move in front of her before pushing the back of her head down, leaving her propped on her elbows with her ass in the air and her head near the edge of the mattress. His hands rubbed up and down her sides, massaging gently as he settled behind her. "If you need us to stop, you just tell us, princess. Got it?"

"Got it," Y/N whimpered softly before another sharp smack landed on her ass. She cried out, savoring the slight stinging left behind from the motion.

Spencer's hand landed on her shoulder, stroking gently before guiding her chin up, waiting for her to lift back up onto her arms. His thumb traced her lower lip almost reverently before he stooped down to meld his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. The moan that rumbled in her throat only spurred him on, and his tongue prodded at the seam of her lips briefly before he broke the kiss, straightening his back.

"Come on then, sweetheart," Spencer murmured breathlessly, reaching down to grab himself before tapping the flushed head of his cock against her bottom lip. "You heard him."

Y/N's tongue poked out to circle the tip before she moved forward, wrapping her lips around him. A groan slipped from his mouth as she worked her way down his length, adjusting herself to the feel of him in her mouth. She was honestly surprised when she got her first look at both of them—they were big.

Morgan waited until she found a steady rhythm to let his fingers drift down to her pussy, swiftly thrusting two inside of her. Her surprised cry was muffled by her mouthful, and he smirked, cocking his head as he began a brutal pace. "Huh? What was that?" He taunted, palming her ass cheek. "Couldn't hear you over all that gagging you're doing."

Spencer brought a hand up to cup her face as Y/N continued sucking, stroking his thumb along the indention his cock was causing against her cheek. The whine she let out around him was pitiful, but fuck did it feel good. He fought the urge to thrust forward into the warmth of her mouth, letting her keep a pace she was comfortable with.

"It better have been an apology," Derek continued, curling his fingers to stroke the rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her shoving her hips back into his touch. "You certainly owe us one. Doesn't she, Reid?"

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, nodding in agreement. He rested his free hand on the back of her head, keeping the pressure light enough to where he wasn't pushing down but enough for her to register the feeling. "She definitely does," he murmured.

“Then it's settled," Morgan hummed, pulling his fingers out of her dripping core. "Say you’re sorry to us, princess,” he demanded, landing a harsh slap to her ass.

Y/N let out a muffled cry around Spencer’s cock, gagging slightly as the movement pushed her forward. Spencer gently tugged her off of him, groaning at the line of spit drawing a bridge between his flushed head and her swollen lips. He looked down at her expectantly, stroking her cheek as he waited patiently.

“I-I’m sorry!” Y/N sobbed, looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looked sweet with her flushed cheeks and pouty lips. But he did know better, and he knew that her being such a brat was exactly what landed her here.

“You behave and I promise I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” Reid murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before guiding her mouth back onto his cock.

Morgan chuckled darkly from behind her, massaging the tender skin for a moment before reeling back and landing another sharp hit to the same spot. Y/N's noise was stifled by the thick cock currently stuffed down her throat, effectively gagging her in the most erotic way. He repeated the motion, his eyes locked on the way her ass rippled underneath his palm.

"You better be thankful he's here, pretty girl. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be cumming at all tonight because of how you've acted."

That prompted a low whine from the back of her throat, causing Spencer's hips to jerk forward and a whimper to slip from his lips as the vibrations caused pleasure to sear through his veins. Taking it as encouragement, Y/N continued bobbing her head along his length, fighting against her gag reflex each time she took him deep into her throat. It was needy and messy, the sight of her spit dripping down her chin and her smudged mascara enough to make Spencer throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut so he didn't cum down her throat.

While Y/N was distracted, Derek had reached for the condom he'd set down on her nightstand and slid it on. He shifted behind her to line himself up at her entrance, running the head of his cock up and down her slit before pushing forward.

She instantly keened at the sensation of him filling her up, her mouth hanging open and letting Spencer's length slip out as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Shh, that's it," Reid cooed, stroking her cheek gently with one hand while fisting himself with the other, pumping himself slowly. "You're doing such a good job, sweetheart. God, you're so beautiful."

"Fuck—" Y/N cried out, her body rocking from the brutal pace Derek set.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, princess,” Morgan grunted between thrusts, reaching up to shove her head back down on Spencer’s cock. "And you better not fucking cum."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to bob her head once more, her moans muffled and blended with theirs. She could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, a physical reminder of how turned on she was from letting the two agents sent to protect her use her, her pussy clenching around him at the thought. The pleasure coursing through her was overwhelming as Derek began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts, taunting her even further with the orgasm she couldn't have yet.

It didn't take long for Morgan's hips to stutter, ramming into her for a few more thrusts before he emptied everything he had into the condom with a shout. Y/N's body trembled with exertion as she fought her climax with every ounce of willpower she had, wanting to prove to both of them that she could be good. Reid wasn't far behind him, shooting ropes of warm liquid down her throat as he groaned her name over and over, his hips bucking into her mouth sloppily. Morgan rode out his high with a few more weak thrusts before slipping out of her, landing one final slap to her ass with a tired grin.

"I think she's learned her lesson from me," Derek chuckled, gathering his clothes and slipping them back on. "Have at her, kid."

Y/N let Spencer's softening cock slip free from her lips, her chest heaving and face flushed as she fought to catch her breath. The sound of the door closing prompted her to look up at him, her eyes blurred from tears. Spencer smiled softly, moving to hover above her on the bed.

"You did—" Reid kissed her lips tenderly. "So, so good, sweetheart," he murmured as his lips trailed down to her breasts, a soft gasp falling from her lips as his tongue swirled around one of her taut nipples before sucking it into his mouth. "And now—" His words were muffled around her skin. "I'm going to make you cum—" He pulled away, blowing softly on the pert bud before switching to the other. "Over and over and over."

Y/N arched into his touch, tangling his fingers into his hair as his lips moved down her body. "Please," she whimpered, spreading her shaky legs to make room for him.

Spencer took mercy on her, latching his mouth onto her clit and suckling gently before lapping up her essence in slow, hard strokes. A guttural groan fell from her lips as he began to devour her, his own needy moans against her skin pushing her that much closer to her already devastatingly close orgasm. Her hips began to rock against his face as her grip on his hair tightened, incomprehensible babbles of his name leaving her over and over as the pleasure in her stomach coiled tightly.

All it took was the feeling of his tongue prodding against her entrance for her climax to seize her. Wrecked cries filled the room as she thrashed beneath him, her head falling back against her pillows as he continued working her through it.

True to his word, Spencer made her cum another two times after that before finally relenting, pressing a sticky kiss to her forehead before trotting off down the stairs to grab her a water bottle.

When he returned to her room, he gently coaxed her into sitting up and drinking, rambling softly about the importance of hydration after intense physical activity. Too drained to say much, she offered a weak smile and murmured a quiet thank you before handing the bottle back. She then curled up against her pillows, surrendering to the exhaustion pulling at her—but not without asking him to stay.

The next morning, when Morgan and Reid got the call that the stalker had been arrested, they exchanged a small, knowing grin before heading off to share the good news with Y/N. And when she slipped her number into their pockets with a casual "hit me up if you're ever in town" while hugging them goodbye… well, Hotch didn’t need to know about that, either.

Continued A/N's: This took a bit longer to post than I originally planned because I kept coming back to add more whoops I'm so sorry for the delay!! But I hope you guys enjoy it and of course please feel free to let me know what you think! :) <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

#Spencer Reid smut #Derek Morgan smut #Spencer Reid x reader x Derek Morgan smut #Spencer Reid x reader x Derek Morgan #Criminal Minds smut #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x self insert #Spencer Reid x fem!reader #Derek Morgan x you #Derek Morgan x self insert #Derek Morgan x fem!reader

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