#I've moved to inference

[hellgram]

i decided to choose peace while playing through the weird pointless crystal braves dead horse kicking so i'm having fun about the one (1) ilberd mention. when alianne was like yeah the only reason the braves functioned at all was because of ilberd. HUGE win for my rotten soldier

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[pepperyduck]

pins & needles

summary: how various jjk men react to ur new/unnoticed piercings! incl. nanami, gojo, geto, choso

warnings: veryyyyyyy suggestive (esp in nanami's), (new) piercings, geto's & nanami's is a new relationship type thing. excuse any typos pls😞. 18+ mdni!

a/n: i got like 3 new piercings over the weekend, this is just self indulgent and cute methinks. also tyyy for 700 :3, i'm trying so hard to get over the writer's block. love u all!

choso + smiley piercing!

"i've never been happier to see you," choso groans as soon as he enters your dorm, kicking off his shoes at the door. though his voice is monotone, you can infer he's tired, worn out from a day's work and fighting curses.

"rough day?" you scoot over in bed to allow room for your boyfriend, smoothing out the sheets and flipping your blanket up.

"very." the singular word is the only response choso gives before beginning to strip his uniform right in front of you. as you're watching intently, choso gets almost completely naked before grabbing some clothes he'd left over; a pair of baggy pants and an "i heart my girlfriend" shirt that you gifted him, and lazily putting them on.

"i did something today, cho," you inform him, and choso’s attention immediately snaps to you, eyes showing that he was obviously wondering.

"what’d you do?"

you give him a bright smile, all the teeth in your mouth shown to him, the shiny ring glistening atop your pretty gums. choso’s brows furrow together, his pupils coming to realize there was something new in your mouth, something different about your smile.

"what’s…that?" he asks, stepping closer and closer and eventually sitting on the bed with you. you giggle at his curious looking, his eyebrows still knitted together in an inquisitive way.

"a piercing, silly," you inform him, carefully flipping up your top lip to show where the jewelry went through the frenulum of your inner lip.

"does it hurt?" choso leans in even more, straightening his eyes with the freshly pierced hole in your mouth.

"not really, just a little bit," you tell him, letting go of your lip and pressing a quick peck to choso’s lips. it catches him off-guard, choso’s face lights up red because he thought he couldn’t kiss you. smiling triumphantly, you pull away from your boyfriend.

"it—um—it looks really pretty on you." choso compliments, "can i kiss you again? please?" and he’s so sincere and sweet, always asking permission for everything. so endearing, really, even with his deep, dark voice.

needless to say, when he kisses you again, choso is making sure to flick the jewelry all around with his tongue, faintly enough to not hurt the new wound. and it becomes a habit from thereon.

gojo + bellybutton piercing!

"i missed you so much, baby."

satoru is on top of you, arms caging you in while you lay underneath him, smiling and feebly grasping the biggest part of his bicep. it had been over a month since you'd seen your husband, he'd been away on a business trip for far too long.

"did you miss me?" his words are drawn out and dramatic, like always, like he was teasing you—but he was practically always teasing you.

"yes, satoru," you blankly reply, "i missed you."

just before you can roll your eyes, gojo's kissing you, a bit enthusiastically, but you quickly melt into his touch. as annoying as he could be, you loved him, you missed him. you had longed for him the moment he left—that was a fact you couldn’t deny.

as quickly as he meets your lips, satoru leaves, disconnecting himself to trail down your torso that was draped in a way-too-expensive t-shirt of his. but the one thing that doesn't leave you is his eyes, he keeps an intense stare on your face as he moves lower and lower towards your waistline. his fingertips dance along your sides before pinching the fabric of the bottom of the shirt and slowly lifting it up.

his eyes are no longer able to stay on yours when he catches a glimpse of the sparkly blue rhinestones on each ball of the jewelry stuck through your navel. of course, you chose the shade that best matched satoru's eye color.

"no way!" satoru exclaims, beaming with a new-found excitement for the little hole in your tummy, "you actually did it?"

"yes, satoru," you repeat, threading your fingers through the white tufts of your husband's hair.

gojo's nimble fingers come to play with the jewelry—the size comparison comedic from how large his hands are. he studies the now fully healed wound, moving the jewelry all around and practically forgetting the previous heated mood.

"do you like it?" you somewhat nervously ask, intimidated by the tedious investigation of your bellybutton.

"yes, duh," satoru dramatically quips, "you think i should get one next?"

nanami + nipple piercing!

kento had tried so hard to ignore it.

you didn't mean to distract him, really. it was a simple mishap at first, not wearing a bra when kento came over. but after the first time, he didn't seem to mind, he was gentlemanly enough. his eyes stayed averted—when you were looking at him, at least—so you took it as a green flag to remain braless when he was at your house without worry.

but nanami's only a man.

so here you are, after work, after your boyfriend had come over, ranting to him in your kitchen about your boss and whatever bullshit you had to put up with that day. but your words land upon deaf ears, noise drowned out by the sight of the little hearts poking out from the shirt you're wearing. he's sat at your dining table, legs lazily spread as he half-listens to you.

"—like, what?! what else am i supposed to do in that situation?"

for the first time in your venting session, you lock eyes with kento, noticing how they flash up quickly from...your chest.

"ken?"

"um—yes?" he chokes, a little too obviously for him to not be embarrassed over.

a smug smile rests over your face, nanami was caught red handed, ogling at your boobs and the cute heart-shaped jewelry that adorned them.

"what'cha staring at?" trailing closer to him with a teasing tone in your voice, you're killing him, embarrassing the poor man as the seconds roll on. kento doesn't reply either, only a raspy breath leaving his lungs as his response. his face heats up and his expression drops, shamelessly glancing down at your chest once more—one, two—counting the peaks of your nipples through the shirt.

"i'm sorry," he finally chokes out, unable to keep his eyes from flashing up and down, to your eyes then to your chest, again and again.

without any words, you slot yourself between nanami's legs, inching your chest closer to his face. it was so funny how easily his stoic persona disintegrated under your presence. he'd never been this close to your chest—to you. and it's intoxicating to him, he's ashamed how he loses himself by simply being eye level with your boobs.

but that guilt quickly washes away when you take his hand and place it perfectly to cup your tit—index finger and thumb resting right around the pretty jewelry under your shirt.

tdlr; that's the first night your boyfriend stays over at your place.

geto + clavicle piercing!

"you look lovely tonight."

smooth as ever, geto compliments you, his voice dripping with a sweet nectar. your insides warm up despite the harsh cold outside, the thick coat draped over your frame doing little to combat the weather.

"thank you," you whisper and smile at him, stepping into the door of the fancy restaurant suguru had chosen for your date. third date, to be exact.

once you're at your table, suguru helps you shimmy the bulky jacket off your shoulders, revealing the tasteful, deep-cut top you had chosen for your date—along with the two studs on each side of your collarbone that your clothing showed off rather perfectly.

it takes suguru a few moments to notice once he sits down. he tries to strike up conversation, relying on the simple questions and responses he can utter without getting too distracted. however, within a few minutes, geto is cracking, eyes every so often flickering down to the gems that aligned your clavicle so prettily. he can't help it, because with every slight movement you make, the jewelry sparkles in the dim light of the restaurant—it's hard to ignore.

"are you okay?" you interrupt your previous dialogue when you take note of geto's increasingly hazy replies, and how he seems a bit spaced out.

"yeah," suguru swallows deeply, "i really like your—um," his pointer finger vaguely motions to his own collarbone, and you have to look down at your chest before you realize what he’s talking about.

his mouth is dry. he’d already thought you were, like, the sexiest woman on earth, but this, oh this, was just too much. geto was unsure as to why he found the piercings so distracting, so hot, but nonetheless enjoyed the view he had.

"oh, thank you!" you giggle, smiling brightly and ghosting your fingers over the piercings—you’d honestly forgotten that this would be the first time he’s seen this much of your body, and the piercings ended up being the perfect touch to make suguru lose his mind.

and he can't wait until he's able to feel on 'em, too.

[moonstruckme]

Heyyy! So I'm obsessed with your writing! Your EMT series might be my favourite thing I've ever read.

I was wondering if I could request an EMT Marauders x reader story where she gets really sick but thinks it's nothing and downplays it to them, only for it to end up being Pneumonia or something. And maybe they feel guilty for not realising it sooner?

I know you've probably already written something similar to this so no worries if you don't feel like writing it but I'd love to see your take it if you decide. Hurt/comfort is my favourite trope in the world. I just can't get enough of it!

I hope you're doing well!

Thanks gorgeous, hope you're doing well too <3

cw: pneumonia

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You make sure there’s plenty of honey in your tea when the boys get home. 

“Hi,” you greet them, pleased when your voice comes out semi-normal. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” Sirius flops onto the sofa, nearly on top of your curled-up legs. “How was your day?” 

You try to keep your answer brief, your cough plied into submission with honey and warm tea but not for long. “Good. Got some things done.” 

You don’t mention that after every one of those things you’d had to have a thirty-minute lie down, or that many of them involved disinfecting surfaces you’d accidentally coughed near. 

“Being sick isn’t an opportunity to get things done.” Remus sinks into his chair, leveling you with a reprimanding look. “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

You shrug. “The only reason I haven’t been at work is because—” A couple of coughs fight their way out of you. James’ expression pinches as he sits on the arm of Remus’ chair, but thankfully the fit passes quickly. You take another sip of your tea. “Because I don’t want to pass it to anyone. I think I have to go back tomorrow, though.” 

Sirius makes a soft tsking sound. The boys are all still in uniform, his tattoos peeking out from the short sleeves as he traces looping circles on the side of your knee. “But you’re not better yet.” 

“Yeah, but I’m running out of sick days.” 

James frowns. “How long has it been?” 

You bring your tea to your lips, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’ve been out for a week.” 

“But you were sick for a while before that,” he says. “What is that, ten days? Eleven?”

You shrug. 

Sirius is looking up at you with a puckered brow. “Do you feel like you’re getting better?” 

“I think so,” you say optimistically. It’s quickly undermined, however, when you’re caught up in another coughing fit. You have to set your tea down to keep from spilling it, holding a tissue over your mouth. 

James’ eyes widen, and Sirius sits up to rub your back. 

“That doesn’t sound very good,” James says. 

“No,” Sirius agrees. He reaches to feel your face, but you brush him away. 

“Don’t-—ack—don’t get too close. I don’t want to get you sick.” 

“I’m not gonna get sick, you baby.” He pushes past your hands. “Let me do my job.” 

“You just got off work.” 

“Yeah, well,” his voice softens, taking on a sympathetic hum as he lays his palm flat to your hairline, “maybe I maybe I was talking about my boyfriend job.” A pause. “I think your fever’s gotten worse, my love.” 

You whine. “Really?” 

“‘Fraid so. Have you noticed your symptoms getting worse at all?”

“I don’t” —you cough and reach for your tea again— “think so.” 

“Dove,” Remus says warningly. 

“It’s hard to tell,” you admit. “It’s moved around.” 

“Like where, honey?” James asks. 

“Like, in my…” You feel your throat contract, another fit brewing. You touch a hand to your sternum to avoid speaking. 

“In your chest?” Remus infers. 

You nod. 

He hums and moves to sit on the coffee table, his knees touching yours. You try to warn him away, but Remus shushes you gently. “Let me look at you.” 

He brings one hand to your face, feeling the way Sirius had, and touches the other to the pulse point on your neck. His touch is gentle and cool against your warm skin. You don’t know what exactly he’s looking for, but you find yourself fighting the urge to fall asleep in the basin of his palm when it slips down to hold your cheek. 

“You don’t need to talk,” says James, “but just nod yes or no, okay? Have you noticed yourself feeling more tired lately?” 

You nod tentatively. 

“Yeah? Less appetite?” 

You frown. “I don’t think—” You’re cut off by your own hacking. 

“One week off work, and she completely forgets how to follow instructions,” Sirius teases, rubbing your leg. 

“Terrible patient,” James agrees. 

“Alright,” Remus says once your fit ebbs. “I don’t have a stethoscope, but can you turn sideways for me?” 

You do, confused. Remus puts his ear to your back. You must make an odd face, because Sirius grins at you, reaching over to pinch your chin affectionately. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus instructs. 

You try, but it doesn’t get far. Your lungs expand maybe halfway before you’re coughing again, horrible, wracking coughs punctuated by stabbing pains in your chest. Remus sits up after a few moments, rubbing your back. 

“Sorry,” you manage. 

“Why are you sorry?” Sirius pulls you into him, cradling your head to his chest. “That sounded like it hurt, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Remus answers for you, brows bent with sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. At least now we can get you some medicine, though.” 

You cough weakly. “You can?” 

“Sounds like pneumonia?” James asks Remus. Your boyfriend nods. 

Sirius coos, petting your head. “I’m sorry, baby. I was thinking it was just a cold.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you croak. “I was, too.” 

“Feels like we ought to have known the difference, though,” James admits. When Sirius gets up, he’s quick to take his spot, tucking you underneath an arm. 

“Where are you going?” you ask Sirius. 

He’s putting his shoes back on. “To get someone to write you a prescription. The sooner we get you on antibiotics, the better. It’ll give you something to show your boss, too.” 

“I don’t need to come with you?” you ask hopefully. 

He winks, grabbing his keys. “Perks of knowing people at the hospital.” 

“Perks of flirting with the doctors, he means,” Remus mutters after he’s gone. 

“Hey,” James laughs, giving his boyfriend’s knee a playful squeeze, “it works out for us, doesn’t it?” 

“Sometimes,” Remus allows. He fixes his gaze on you. “Anything we can do to help you feel better, sweetheart? Do you want to try a hot bath? Steam would be good for you.” 

You look down into your now cool mug. “Could I have some more tea?” 

He takes it from you with a kiss to your head. “What a silly question.”

[ssahotchnerr]

Could you write something where someone compliments Hotch for "babysitting" and "helping out" when hes out with his kids and he gets all 😑😑 do you mean parenting my children?

standard parenting

omg LOL cw; dad!aaron, reader is referred to as mom, a ton of domestic fluff, very light suggestiveness (hehe reader and aaron are soo in love <3) wc; 1.2k

"Jack." Aaron moved forward, spotting his son as he climbed up a curved ladder, at the ready if he were to suddenly slip. "Careful."

"I am." He took the last, big step, his hands gripping the supporting bars and landing on the platform safely. "I've done this two times already Dad."

"Help your sister down the slide, okay? I'll meet the two of you at the bottom."

"Okay." He confirmed, beelining down a rattly bridge in the direction of Ellie.

It was approximately 3 pm on a Tuesday, the park filled with the afternoon rush of children freshly out of school. A doctor's appointment had brought Aaron out of the BAU early, and after picking up Jack from school, Ellie from preschool, he figured there was no better way to burn off energy than the playground.

Hopefully it allowed for a quiet, relaxing night at home, with both kids in bed at a decent time.

Aaron stood at the bottom of the slide, peering upwards and squinting - he had regretfully left his sunglasses in the car. Ellie stood at the top, looking a bit lost once her turn was next, the slide intimidatingly large for a newly four-year-old.

"Jack's coming, honey."

It took some convincing; Aaron reassuring her he was right there, there to catch her if she overshot into the mulch. Jack would be right behind her. Further hesitation on her end: Do you want Jack to go first? No. Are you sure you want to go down? Yes.

Finally down came Ellie, giggling profusely and not paying a mind to the static the slide caused (Aaron mentally winced at the sound). Jack followed soon after.

"See, there you go." Aaron praised, hands moving to his hips.

"Again, please please please." Ellie whined gently, looking up at Aaron with her identically adjacent brown eyes. It was something she was beginning to master, the puppy dog look that could cause him to cave within seconds.

He was in for it.

"Sure pumpkin." Aaron grinned down at his little piggy-tail headed daughter. "Just a few more times though, Mom's waiting at home."

"C'mon Ellie. I'll race you." Jack suggested, kicking up dirt as he bolted off without waiting for a distinct answer. She ran after him, as fast as her small legs could carry her.

Aaron called out after him, "The stairs, Jack."

"I know!"

"Cute kids."

A mother - Aaron inferred - commented, falling alongside him. Aaron's eyes continued to track the two of them, ensuring they remained together and stayed far away from any arched ladders. They dashed up the stairs, into the depths of the play structure.

Aaron offered her a friendly smile in return, "Thank you."

"It's nice to see someone so attentive for a change." She huffed, notably an impressed breath. "Most babysitters just sit on the bench on their cell phone."

Aaron's expression dropped; a mix of confusion and dumbfound, his smile gradually fading. The only thing going through his mind: I'm sorry, what?

"Well, I'm not like most babysitters." He frowned, pressing his lips together and eyebrows drawing into a line.

"Good for you." She commended, not taking the hint. A child called out to her, causing her to move forward. "See ya."

She left, but scowl on his face stayed.

It hadn't put him in a bad mood, but rather, a dulled mood. The inference could've been an honest mistake, it most likely was, but it settled funny within him.

Only at Ellie's, 'Daddy look!' did his face brighten up. For them.

-

"Hi Momma!" Ellie bounded into the kitchen, nearly crashing into you and smiling from ear to ear. "We're home!"

Jack added to her status report, voices intertwining. "Dad took us to the park!"

"It looks like you two had fun." You grinned, using the pad of your thumb to swipe away an unblended bout of sunscreen on the side of Jack's nose. You also took note of his grass stained sweats, and the dirt scuff on Ellie's knees.

"We did! Jackers helped me down the slide and Daddy pushed me on the swings-"

"No one pushed me on the swings." Aaron commented, his hand finding the small of your back momentarily as he brushed past.

"That's 'cause you're big." Ellie made a face at her father.

"Can we go again on Saturday?" Jack asked, "I wanna bring my soccer ball."

"We'll have to see what we're up to, bud," Aaron answered, also fetching him a cup of cold water. The car ride consisted of Jack stating how thirsty he was, and how he refused to drink the lukewarm water his bottle held. "But I don't see why not."

Meanwhile, Ellie plopped herself onto the floor, pulling off her shoes and dumping the remnants of lingering mulch onto the floor.

"Hey hey hey let's not do that." You said, your nose scrunching lightly too; the normal kid-stink that followed after an afternoon spent in the sun. "And baths, both of you. Go on, I'll be there in a second."

Ellie's voice carried as she ventured up, something along the lines of bringing her mermaid Barbie in the tub with her. You ruffled Jack's hair gently as he passed, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

"You know what someone said to me today?" Aaron asked, turning towards the sink to wash his hands.

"Aren't you forgetting something first?"

He stopped, a knowing smile forming on his face. "How dare I."

Aaron moved forward, hands finding your waist to pull you near, placing his lips onto yours for a few seconds. Albeit how short it was, you savored it; coming home after a long, long day.

Satisfied, "Enlighten me."

He paused to actually wash his hands, flicking the water droplets off once he finished. You tossed him the hand towel that happened to be nearby.

"Someone mistook me for a babysitter."

"What?" You snorted out a laugh.

"Left me speechless." He exasperatedly rolled his eyes, wiping his hands and throwing the towel back onto the counter. "Can you believe that?"

"Well, you know how some people can be." You shrugged. Your statement wasn't much help, but what could you do.

"Oblivious?"

"What prompted it?"

"Standard parenting. I was simply keeping a close eye. The slide made Ellie nervous, Jack was being a bit adventurous today, and the playground itself was a nightmare. Everyone had the same idea I did, it was packed."

You hummed in response, dumping the neglected water from Jack and Ellie's water bottles out. Aaron continued to ramble on.

"And she saw the two of them. Jack - he resembles Haley a bit more, sure. But Ellie?"

"Your twin."

"Exactly." Aaron scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Babysitter. How in the world does that title come to mind before Dad?"

He shook his head as his eyes found the ceiling; utter disbelief.

"You know," you raised an eyebrow, regaining his focus, "you're hot when you're fired up."

"Am I?" Aaron smirked, pulling you in again just as he did before, arm winding behind your back.

"Mom!"

A whine drifted from upstairs, Aaron pulled away from your lips with a comically heavy, defeated sigh.

You shoved him at the chest playfully, grabbing a laugh from him, heading upstairs.

"She, huh." You teased, "Are you sure it wasn't some strategically formed ploy in hopes you were unmarried? Wouldn't be the first time."

He trudged up the stairs behind you, a chuckle shaking through his chest. "I doubt it. She seemed genuine."

"And you would know." You quipped, ends of your mouth turned upwards.

"With my profiling expertise?" He bantered back, playfully patting your behind as you reached the second level. "I'd hope so."

[lukolathoughts]

Nicola loves the girls, the gays, and Luke Newton.

Dearest gentle readers,

Well! What an interesting few days. I'm not sure where to even start. I just want to let Jakeholes know, this isn't the blog for you, so it's best you move along now before you start foaming at the mouth.

In my first blog, I touched on subtext and reading between the lines. This is something I teach to my students and encourage their critical thinking skills. I will give out a photo and ask my students to 'infer' from what they can see in the photograph. 'Inference is a process of deriving logical conclusions from premises known or assumed to be true. It is also a guess or an opinion that is formed based on the information that you have.' In an exam, if I gave the students a photograph and they simply told me that all they could see was that the sky was blue, the grass was green, the lady is wearing a green coat and the man a hoodie and a baseball hat, they would not get very many marks.

However, if they described what they could 'infer' from the photo, such as that handhold does not look genuine and his fingers are stiff, their laughter seems over the top, the man isn't wearing a coat in January. They seem to be looking directly at the photographer, they never make eye contact in any of the photos. This would get them some more marks. Then if they went that one step further and asked WHY to all these points and backed it up with a statement explaining why - they would get even more marks. For example, why isn't the man wearing a coat in January? This could suggest the weather is not that cold in London at the moment, or the this picture might be from an earlier time period. They could look at the shop displays for evidence. Why does the lady never make eye contact with the man, could it infer that she is uncomfortable doing so or the thought never occurred to her? Why are they looking directly at the photographer? Could it possibly indicate they knew the paparazzi were there? And why would they want the paparazzi to take their photo's? What do you say to that class? Are they a couple happily in love? Write me a story on it, one, two, three go! They say a picture paints a thousand words.

Now since Deux Moi dropped the photos just as I was cooking the kid's tea (British slang for dinner) I have once again been glued to Twitter. I had to take a break for a bit and ensure my offspring didn't starve, but I thought oh god another shitshow and the day isn't even over. But I open Instagram and I swear I had the best laugh I have had all day really. I'm not sure when these photos were taken. The weather does look mild to be January and Jake is wearing a hoodie, but my husband is stupid like this and walks around in board shorts. In January. In Wales. When I tell you it's baltic cold, I mean it. But men apparently don't feel the cold especially if you're 24 and plastered to the side of your bestie or PR girlfriend, however you prefer. Us Brits love analysing the weather, probably because it's so shit here. So the timing is not really the issue for me. What made me laugh was was those two belly-laughing in some London alleyway looking like, 'look at us, we're so funny, everything is hilarious haha.' This was quite surprising to me as I genuinely did not realise Jake had a sense of humour, especially around Nic. What did she say that was so funny? We know she has the ability to make Luke belly laugh just by scratching her nose really. It was almost as if it was all a bit orchestrated for the cameras they were staring directly at. 'Smile and laugh for the camera Jake! You've been framed!'

So what was this? A PR set up that Nic and Jake were clearly aware of? Call me sceptical, but I've never seen anything so obviously fake and staged in all my life. Well except the motorbike segment on Graham Norton on the 13th of December last year. I have thought a lot about this and I know I might get some hate, but it's my opinion and I'm sorry Nic if you ever read this. Another thing us English teachers like to do is DESCRIBE things. Describe it to me Peter, or it didn't happen. Touch, smell, sound, taste, sight. Those are the five senses and if you write me a story, you bet your ass they better be in it or it's an F for you. So Nicola, describe to me how it felt racing through London on the back of a motorbike driven by a geriatric, Guinness drinking granddad (do you like my use of alliteration here fellow English teachers?). Graham Norton - 'we have a picture of you on the bike!' Erm, no you have a picture of Nicola stood next to the bike with her thumbs up. There was a video released by her PR company simultaneously that shows Nicola in a STUDIO sitting on the bike and it moving very, very slowly. We do not see her whizzing away up the road on the back of said bike into oblivion, screaming like Michelle Phieffer in Grease 2, clutching on to cool rider Guinness granddad for dear life. In fact, when asked about the experience she recalls literally nothing. If it was me, I'd have been like OMG Graham I almost died! The wind was howling, I was freezing, all I could hear was the rush of wind and the honking horns of cars. All I could see was the glare of lights and traffic and I tasted my own tears through fear.

Watch it if you don't believe me. There was nothing. Am I positive it didn't happen? Actually yes, show me the footage and I'll believe. Why did she go through this elaborate scheme? I have my theories and I will not share them here. I have said enough. But I did get an image in my mind of Luke in Rome rubbing his forehead and thinking, what is she up to now? He was probably secretly a bit proud.

Ok back to tonight's debacle. After the shit show that was Luke's disastrous family weekend than had more taps dripping than the Leaky Cauldron in Harry Potter, I find it highly convenient these photos drop today of all days. I know that Nicola HATES Deux Moi and the feeling I believe is mutual. Wouldn't DM have looked at these photos logically and thought, well these two look like besties out for a stroll? I suppose she does not care, whatever sells right? Was this to yet again spite Nicola?

Or was this Nicola who saw everything that Luke endured this weekend, and quietly told her PR team to 'drop' the photos of me with Jake to divert some attention away. Did she come charging in on her white horse (motorbike) to save the day? There is also the highly suspicious tanned photo of Nic at the WT premiere and then Luke's photo from the funeral, (I do not condone this by the way and I was upset for him this morning and his invasion of privacy) which also shows a bit of a red, sunburned face. Did Nicola once again panic and try to control the narrative? I am lately still picking up on her nervous, scared energy in my readings. She is very nine of swords in her head. Losing sleep etc.

I do love a good mystery and folks, I guess if you are reading this and nodding and not screaming obscenities at me through your screen, I guess you are stuck here with me on the ship for the long haul. I actually loved these photos tonight as it gave me a good laugh and and it proved to me even further that Jake is to Nic what Kurt Hummel is to Rachel Berry. Besties. It is also quite ironic that the first pap pics of them last October dropped the week his trailer for WT dropped and these photos land the week his film is released! What are the chances! Coincidence, Sherlock?

PS. No I do NOT believe Antonia was at Luke's family member's funeral. We have to stop treating this girl like the bogeyman. Let her go and live her life. Luke is living his I have no doubt.

PPS. It is not homophobic to recognise someone is gay. I INFER this from his own Instagram and his friends and partner's posts. I am fed up of being called homophobic when I have a lot of gay friends and two gay cousins.

PPPS. Luke and Nic sitting in a tree, KISSSING. I see you Nic, you savvy little mamma ;,)

[starlit1daydream]

On the subject of Equius Zahhak: hypersexuality and patriarchy.

It's been a hot minute since I promised to write something like this, and I've been meaning to test a new writing style for these big posts anyways - so I'm going to try my hand at explaining my personal interpretation of Equius Zahhak.

Equius is one of my favourite side characters in Homestuck, and though the individual components of his characterisation are intentionally facetious and humourous, all of these components then come together to form a fantastic and deeply layered commentary, however unintentional.

Let's begin with the basics: our introduction to Equius proper.

The narrative makes it clear from the start how you're meant to feel about this guy for starters - he's a creep and a weirdo. Nepeta says as much in their very first interaction on-screen:

This is backed up by the narrator themselves exhibiting a discomfort with him, painting him as a cryptic and eerily observant loner:

Once again, he's making people uncomfortable. Discomfort is going to be a very common theme going forward, particularly once we tap into Equius' personal interests and the justification behind them.

The next sign is when we first see him properly on-screen, and the narrator is immediately mortified by the state of his room and advises us to move on with the story.

So, immediately, any cognizant reader knows what's up. This guy is a joke character. A punchline, a fool, a weird asshole with no redeeming qualities. This is, of course, the intended reaction.

...Which then brings us to the subversions involved with Equius' character. Every single off-putting and strange thing about him is subsequently repainted in a more flattering light by the conclusion of his screen-time.

What begins as an overcontrolling, possessive demeanour towards Nepeta becomes a genuine, albeit perhaps overbearing desire to protect his moirail from harm. The context of him being Vriska's neighbour helps us infer that he's very, very aware of the dangers of FLARPing.

What starts as a bizarre and testosterone-poisoned obsession with strength becomes more of a fleshed-out character flaw. It's an inherent fault that Equius cannot control that brings him more distress than anything else. We'll delve into that later.

This is not, of course, to say that Equius is without genuine fault. You are still meant to find problems with his behaviour, of course you are; the Aradiabot fiasco is an intentional violation of personal agency based around an unhealthy obsession. He allows himself and his moirail to die because of his refusal to disobey the vapid and classist hemospectrum.

Okay, so why is he like this?

I'm glad you've asked. This is where this delves more into conjecture, based around a few different things.

The state of the internet and online culture at the time of Equius' inception; and the ramifications therein.

What we know to be true about the aspect of Void, and how Equius interacts with it.

The added retroactive context of Hussie's handling of queer topics (as a non-binary person themselves!), particularly on the subject of gender identity.

Let's start with point one.

Equius and hypersexuality.

At the time of Homestuck's inception, it was a veritable fact that the internet was overrun with overt sexuality, oft for the sake of shock value as opposed to arousal. Screamers and shock sites like 2girls1cup, goatse, Mr. Hands... (that last one is particularly relevant).

I cite Mr. Hands in particular because therein we get to the use of bestiality as a gross-out punchline. This is what Hussie's invoking with Equius; you're looking at this guy and seeing a gross freak who hangs horse porn on his walls. It's appealing to the fact that:

Homosexuality was considered a funny punchline.

The furry fandom was considered a funny puchline.

Bestiality was considered a funny punchline.

And so, this thirteen year old child hanging gay horse porn on his walls is meant to be played for laughs.

But with the retroactive lens we're looking at this through now? It's not only deeply disturbing for reasons I don't think I need to explain, but it's also a portrait of unhealthy teenage sexuality and the ramifications of exposure to explicit content at a young age.

Because it's a veritable fact that Equius does not understand boundaries and has a deeply flawed relationship with his sexuality. It's the kind of hypersexuality induced by childhood exposure to sexual material, and I would go as far as to call it a kind of CSE.

Need more proof of this? Dave Strider. Bro's weird sex puppets and usage of pornography as a punchline undeniably fucked Dave up, and explains the way he so regularly uses sex, particularly gay sex as a source of humour. Dave is the same problem that Equius rises, played seriously at a point in the story wherein these things are no longer treated so facetiously.

Furthermore, it becomes clear that Equius does not actually understand what he is consuming and emulating. Pornography isn't pornography to him, it's fine art. He's uncomfortable and unhappy with his sexuality because he lacks a label for it and doesn't know what it is he's feeling. This is tied to his Aspect of Void; but more on that in just a second.

This is uncomfortable. It is meant to be uncomfortable.

Equius' toying with casteplay and power dynamics is a clear representation of this frayed relationship - and it also segues into our point about his lack of self-worth.

Equius, the Heir of Void.

The Void Aspect. The Aspect of irrelevance, secrecy, ignorance, simplicity and absence, amongst other things.

The Heir Class. The Class that indicates an overabundance of the player's Aspect that overwhelms them and embodies them.

Equius is he who inherits, becomes and is consumed by emptiness. Because Equius Zahhak does not have a sense of selfhood or self-worth. The inference brought about by his title as the Heir of Void is that Equius is overwhelmed by nothingness.

Combine this with his Dersite status and the consensus on Lunar Sway (Prospit indicating externalisation, Derse indicating internalisation) and you get a very clear image of how Equius' title translates.

An overwhelming, consuming sense of internalised absence and nothingness. This is where Equius' hemospectrum adherence comes in! It's a cover up to compensate for his purposelessness and lack of meaningful identity. He sees himself as being deficient in anything real or of substance, and so adheres to the system placed before him because it is the only thing he feels he understands.

Once again, this is uncomfortable and a real phenomenon amongst teen boys. We see it with Eridan, too; young and confused teenagers with no sense of purpose falling into harmful and bigoted pipelines because they have no sense of direction otherwise.

(In a roundabout sense this explains Tavros' role as well; The Page indicates a deficit in their Aspect throughout the session and so the trolls lacking Breath in the form of directionlessness fits fairly well).

It's almost like watching a young boy fall into the alt-right, or start feed into Andrew Tate-style snake oil bullshit. It's the exact same kind of exploitation on a much larger scale; because it's the whole of Alternian society orchestrated by Doc Scratch.

You know... the Doc Scratch meant to represent online groomers?

So, we've been over about all I can cover about Equius' sexual trauma, lack of boundaries and emptiness/lack of self. So, how does this translate? Particularly thinking on the last point, I'd like to give my two cents about a very interesting headcanon for Equius that's been circulating a lot lately.

Equius, and gender identity.

A transfeminine reading greatly enhances the content of Equius' character, and provides a narratively satisfying character arc and means of development for them.

(From hereon out, I will be referring to Equius by the pronouns she/her).

I've seen Nekropsii sum this up beautifully, and I'll paraphrase this interpretation to the best of my ability; Equius' manifestation of masculinity is akin to a poison to her.

It makes her into a grotesque, testosterone-poisoned freak that physically cannot interact with anything around her without hurting it. It is the metaphorical confusion and fury of dysphoria made literal. It is the emptiness and lack of self that I myself can corrobate as a trans woman myself.

Masculinity is a curse for Equius. Much like quite a few other Homestuck characters (Dave & Jake come to mind), Equius really fucking hates being a guy.

So, this ties into my final point.

How I personally would have developed Equius had she been given the screentime to keep being relevant to the story.

The transfeminine character arc seems obvious. I believe that, if a person would be willing and able to tackle the more obscene and deliberately uncomfortable components of Equius' character, you could make an incredibly raw and interesting portrayal of transition and identity.

What's more; this is corroborated by Equius' closest relationship. Nepeta Leijon, the Rogue of Heart. The girl whose role indicates the ability to share identity and selfhood. Nepeta could very, very easily function as a catalyst for Equius gaining her own identity and being helped through the transition process. It makes an already STRONG and stable moirallegiance all the more interesting and heartwarming to witness.

This is not to say that Equius should not have agency herself, of course; an important part of this development would be the formulation of an independent self without debilitating outside influence. It would be allowing herself not to be consumed needlessly by Void.

Equius, and further relationship dynamics.

Equius' relationship with Gamzee (which I have always read as a one-sided kismesis) is also very important to me. This is not healthy. Equius is using Gamzee as a vessel for her fantasies and lack of boundaries, and through her black feelings she vents out her frustration with her sexuality and intrinsic need to obey and serve someone of a higher caste.

I don't think I need to tell any of you how well that works out once Gamzee goes sober. (I'd rather not dwell on the topic of the Makaras too long; that's something for a wholly separate post - and one that I'm sure would end up being rather scathing towards Hussie).

Finally, Equius' relationship with Aradia. This is also one I feel is unhealthy and once again one-sided. It is the same principle as Gamzee; merely in the red quadrant as opposed to the pitch one. Equius is using somebody as a vessel to vent out her feelings of purposelessness and frustration, and deliberately ignoring the lack of reciprocation.

Both of these connections are similar; and both of them end with Equius getting her shit kicked in.

How one would retool and treat these relationships post-character development is up to them, but I personally think it would be healthier for Equius to step away from both of them. I don't think Aradia would want or need Equius' continued presence in her life, and Gamzee is notoriously terrible at relationships. (We know damn well how a reciprocated blackrom with him turns out, just ask Terezi).

Equius, in conclusion.

That's all I really have to say on this matter; a long-winded and ultimately self-serving wall of text that I'm sure will come off as masturbatory and stupid when I read over it again. That being said, I wanted to lay all of this down in one place.

tl;dr - Equius Zahhak is a complex and interesting character with commentaries on teenage hypersexuality and unhealthy masculinity, and reading her as a trans woman provides an incredibly interesting character arc for her in the long term.

[wolfiesmoon]

A rare ingredient

Inumaki x gn!reader

sometimes only being able to say onigiri ingredients gets a little tough on our boy :(

@kairiscorner just tagging you since you wanted to read this!!

The upside of having a crush is, well... everything good that comes along with having a crush. Your smile is the most beautiful thing ever to him. He feels oddly happy most of the time and especially happy when you're by his side. He wants to share everything with you, every minute detail of his life.

The issue is, however, that you've only transferred to Jujutsu High recently and can't understand anything he says. Unlike his other classmates who reply with "thanks" and a grateful smile to "spicy cod roe" as is intended, you simply give him a confused smile every time.

And that doesn't even cover the fact that he doesn't have any words to describe his love for you. He wouldn't have them even if he were able to talk normally like everyone else.

"Kelp." he greeted you, waving.

"Ah, hello!" you inferred that he was greeting you, waving back to him. He swears you look better every day and help but gaze upon your amazing face.

He is eternally grateful for the uniform that covers the lower part of his face, because he doesn't think he would have gotten away with blushing so much around you otherwise.

Normally he would surprise you by sneaking up on you from behind but after you told him that freaks you out he stopped. You're the one person he's willing to make that exception for. Maki isn't as lucky, unfortunately.

"...Tuna mayo." he never knows what to tell you, and considering his limited vocabulary, that would be kind of hard to do anyways. It's fair to say that you do most of the talking when alone with him.

"Uhhh, I met up with my non-sorcerer friends today." you always assume the role of storyteller with Toge. He's a good listener. Though you don't know why he always insists on staying by your side.

"I didn't tell them what I've been up to, of course. They wouldn't believe it anyways. But aside from that, we went to our favourite café that we frequented all the time in middle school." you smiled fondly at the memories that flooded your mind at that moment.

"Salmon." he wants to be invited to that café, too. Prefferably just the two of you. On a date.

You smiled awkwardly at him, nodding. You never know what in the world he's trying to tell you so you just "smile and wave" most of the time.

He furrowed his brows slightly, then looked off, seemingly thinking really hard about something. You raised an eyebrow in question.

"...Prawns." ("...I love you.")

His eyes met yours, and your eyes slightly widened. Did it finally get through to you?! Did you somehow understand his little confession?!

"You've never used that one before..." your expression returned to normal, still smiling at him, atlhough a bit intrigued by the rare ingredient now.

"By the way, are you alright? You're making a weird face." you moved closer to him, inspecting the upper half of his face.

"Caviar." he covered his face with his hands.

You're going to be the death of him.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Sebek Zigvolt - Nightmare Suit Vignette

"I'll tell you a story that may be of use"

[Halloween Town – Center]

Sebek: Hey, skeleton!! I brought what you asked for. Where do you want me to put it?

Jack Skellington: Thanks, Sebek-kun. Could you put it there beside the well?

Sebek: Beside the well…? Hey, there's so many things littered all around it! Like this, get rid of this basket right now!

Jack Skellington: Ah, sorry, sorry. I'll do that right…

???: You would like this basket removed, is it? Understood.

Sebek: Ack! Skeleton, move faster! Stop dawdling! Move that basket quickly!

Azul: No need to rush, I've already removed it. So please, you may place your items there.

Sebek: Urk… What have I just allowed to pass?

Jack Skellington: Hm? Is there a problem in having Azul-kun move the basket for us?

Sebek: A massive problem, yes! Urk, being in this man's debt is an eternal blemish…!

Azul: Oh, I wouldn't consider this a debt. That is, as long as I am given a fair compensation.

Sebek: You chose to move it on your own! I didn't ask you to.

Sebek: Who left that basket there in the first place? …Hm?

Sebek: Jack, doesn't that basket belong to Sally?

Jack Skellington: Ah, that's right. She filled that basket up with a few things and gave it to me.

Jack Skellington: Sally is smart and considerate… And just kind, overall.

Jack Skellington: There are times that I'll forget to eat when I get too into what I'm doing. The food she brought me today was as delicious as always.

Sebek: …Inferring from what you've said, it seems she brings you food often.

Sebek: If she doesn't have her basket, she won't be able to bring it to you next time. You should go and return it to Sally.

Sebek: While you're at it, what if you also let her know how you felt about her cooking?

Jack Skellington: Hmm, I guess…

Halloween Town Resident A: Heeey, Jack. I changed up the decorations based on what you said yesterday. Can you check how it looks?

Jack Skellington: Of course. …Yeah, this looks good! Please keep it up with the rest of the decorations!

Halloween Town Resident B: Hey, Jack! Taste this candy for me. I think it came out pretty good.

Jack Skellington: Let me see… Yeah, it's very delicious! If I were to say anything… Maybe it could use a bit more of a kick.

Halloween Town Resident C: Oh, there you are, Jack! There's something I want your help with…

Jack Skellington: Okay, I'll be right there. Just wait a moment.

Jack Skellington: I'd like to return the basket and give her my thanks, but as you can see, I've just far too busy.

Jack Skellington: And that's where you come in, Sebek-kun. If you could just return this to Sally and also let her know on my behalf…

Sebek: I REFUSE!!!

Sebek: …She is always thinking of you when she does this. So wouldn't it make more sense for you to go to her yourself to say your thanks?

Jack Skellington: That's true, you're right, but…

Azul: WELL, THEN!! You may leave the task of returning the basket to Sally-san to me, instead.

Jack Skellington: You're willing to do that, Azul-kun?

Azul: Of course. I couldn't possibly leave you in a quandary by yourself, Jack-san. I shall take this task on in the spirit of compassion.

Sebek: Wait! Jack asked me to do this. Don't just jump into the conversation like this… What are you scheming?

Azul: How could you possibly doubt me…? How rude to think that I could be scheming something. I only wish to be of help to those in need.

Azul: Specifically… to a hopelessly-in-love woman in need.

Azul: And thus, I have a proposal. I'd like for you to allow me to take on this task of delivering the basket. This would, of course, be considered compensation for helping you move things around earlier.

Sebek: .........

Sebek: Fine. I'd rather not stay in your debt, after all.

Sebek: However, I will go with you to go see Sally. I must keep a strict eye on you to make sure you are not planning anything nefarious.

Azul: Of course, I don't mind at all. Besides, you would come along even if I were to refuse, wouldn't you?

Jack Skellington: Uhh… So, the two of you are going to go together, then?

Azul/Sebek: Yes. / Correct.

Jack Skellington: You guys are a big help. Please give Sally a big thanks from me.

[Halloween Town – Dr. Finkelstein's Lab]

Azul: We've arrived. I wonder if Sally-san is currently home.

Sebek: Sally is helping make the dishes. I would assume she's in the kitchen…

Sebek: HEY, SALLY, ARE YOU HERE!?

Azul: P-Please don't shout like that all of a sudden!

Dr. Finkelstein: Seriously. I can hear you without you raising your voice like that.

Sebek: I don't remember calling for you, Finkelstein. Or… Is Sally not here?

Dr. Finkelstein: Hm, so you're here for Sally, is it? Well, you can't see her.

Sebek: We can't see her? What is the meaning of this?

Dr. Finkelstein: She keeps refusing to listen to me. I've locked her in her room until she comes to her senses.

Sebek: She's locked in her room…? I see, that's why Sally did that…

Sebek: HEY, SALLY! I'M LEAVING YOUR BASKET IN THE KITCHEN!

Sebek: I'm told my voice carries, so I'm sure she heard that. We're leaving, Azul-senpai.

Azul: We were not only entrusted to deliver the basket, but also Jack's sentiments.

Sebek: That can be resolved by him delivering the message himself!

Azul: My own credibility would take a hit if we were to leave a requested task half done.

Azul: However, it isn't as thought we would be able to force our way in… Seems as though we have no choice. We'll come again some other time.

Sebek: …......

[Halloween Town – Town Hall]

Sally: Good afternoon, everyone.

Sebek: Sally. Jack isn't here.

Sally: I see…

Sally: Oh, no, I mean. I didn't come here looking for him.

Sally: Umm… Oh, yes. I came to thank you for returning the basket, Sebek-kun.

Sebek: Hmph, ridiculous. I can't possibly be the reason you came here. But you know, if you keep it up with your roundabout ways, Jack won't…

Sally: Won't what?

Sebek: We should go somewhere else to talk. Follow me, Sally.

[Halloween Town – Alleyway]

Sebek: …I'm sure we'll be fine here.

Sally: What's wrong, Sebek-kun? Is this about something you don't want anyone else to hear?

Sebek: That's right. At least, you probably won't. …I'll be frank.

Sebek: If you keep acting in a roundabout way like earlier, you'll never be able to get your true feelings across to Jack.

Sally: Eh!? Y-You're wrong. I don't have any special feelings for Jack at all…

Sebek: YOU DON'T KNOW WHEN TO GIVE UP, HUH!!

Sebek: Have you forgotten what happened when Trey-senpai and I came to help you cook?

Sebek: You jumped out a window. At that time, you claimed that it was faster to do that than take the stairs…

Sebek: I realized that that the real reason was because you had been locked up in your room by Finkelstein. I heard him say so myself.

Sally: …......

Sebek: And while you were unable to move freely because you were locked in your room, you figured out a way to get out on your own.

Sebek: You did it just to see Jack, no matter how many times you crashed to the ground or your body fell apart…

Sebek: I haven't been here in Halloween Town long, and even then it's plain to see your feelings towards Jack.

Sebek: However, that man… Whenever he receives something from you, he just considers you a "kind person."

Sebek: I can't deny that you are, but… Do you truly think that you're treating him no differently than anyone else?

Sebek: Jack Skellington is too thick-headed. For guys like him, you need to tell it to him straight.

Sally: …Thank you, Sebek-kun. I know you're saying all this for my sake.

Sebek: No, I'm only doing this because it irritates me to no end to witness! Both your introversion and his thick skull are frustrating. And I hate how your effort has nothing to show for it.

Sally: Yes… I know it would be splendid to be recognized for my effort. But I can't tell him how I feel.

Sally: Jack is someone everyone admires. He is that Pumpkin King that everyone fears.

Sally: How could I ever stand beside him as his partner…? It's impossible. We're on two different levels.

Sebek: Ugh, just looking at you is making my blood boil. …Here, I'll tell you a story that may be of use.

Sebek: Back in my world, there is a classic story called "Omero and Lietju."

Sebek: With their families opposed to their marriage, two lovers plan to elope… But due to various complications, their plan ends in failure.

Sebek: They were separated and taken back to their respective homes, crying in the belief that they would never see their lover again… Is the gist of the story.

Sally: …That is a very sad story.

Sebek: Mm. However, this story is not simply a sad one. It also teaches an important lesson to those who read it.

Sally: An important lesson…? What is it?

Sebek: Those lovers gave up on trying to make their family understand their love. Instead, they decided to elope and leave everything else behind.

Sebek: I won't go into detail as to how their plan failed, but when it comes to the cause of their tragic end…

Sebek: It most likely happened because they themselves failed to communicate their thoughts and feelings to each other.

Sebek: If only they had shared with each other their plans… If only they had confirmed with their own ears the rumors being spread…

Sebek: It could have been possible for them to have a happy ending. The author of this story probably had specific morals in mind…

Sebek: I'm sure they wanted their readers to understand that it's "not worth giving up," and "communication is key."

Sebek: Maybe every reader out there would have their own opinion, but that is how I interpreted it, at least!

Sebek: Stories are born because we want to convey our thoughts and feelings to someone. And this author probably thought the same…

Sebek: Perhaps they once gave up on something and chose not to communicate it, which led them to some regret.

Sebek: I've read many more countless books, but…

Sebek: There are countless stories of similar tales in which a lack of communication lead to missed chances or conflict.

Sally: Heheh, I see you are a voracious reader, Sebek-kun.

Sally: If I don't give up… If I tell him properly… Would my hard work will pay off one day, as well?

[Halloween Town – Alleyway]

Sally: If I don't give up… If I tell him properly… Would my hard work will pay off one day, as well?

Sebek: How would I know!? All you can do is believe and keep at it.

Sally: Well, now… What a powerful statement. It seems you have a reason you're able to believe that strongly, Sebek-kun.

Sebek: My grandfather on my mother's side was opposed to my parents' marriage. My mother defied that opposition and married my father anyway.

Sebek: Ever since then, my mother has been earnestly putting forth the effort to gain my grandfather's approval.

Sebek: She'll send him letters with pictures of them, or the whole family whenever she is able…

Sebek: Or she'll bring us grandchildren to spend time with him during breaks, or invite him to dinner whenever there's a special occasion…

Sebek: I'm sure there are many more things she has been doing that I am not even aware of, as well.

Sebek: Still, to this day, my grandfather does not approve of their marriage… And yet my mother continues to believe.

Sebek: If she can just communicate to him that she's married the man she loves, raised a family, and is living happily…

Sebek: Perhaps one day, my grandfather will understand their love. That he'll give his utmost blessing to their union.

Sebek: Actually, I do think there has been some progress. Right after their marriage, whenever my father would try to visit him, he'd be turned away at the door immediately…

Sebek: But recently, there has been an increase in occasions in which my grandfather and father will be in the same room together. Although, even that only happens about once a year…

Sebek: And my grandfather refuses to make eye contact with my father and frowns the whole time.

Sebek: But that all came about because my mother would constantly tell my grandfather how happy she is. That is what I believe.

Sally: I see… So your mother is able to clearly state her feelings just as well as you can, hm.

Sally: But I…

Sebek: Do you still seek to hold yourself back!? But, well…

Sebek: I suppose I can't say I don't understand your worries and frustration.

Sally: Eh?

Sebek: I hold in high esteem Malleus-sama, who is the next in line to rule over my home country.

Sebek: Not only was he born nobility, but he is also a great mage who is world renowned…

Sebek: In addition, he is an amazing individual that I wholeheartedly respect.

Sebek: Every time I witness just how spectacular Malleus-sama is, I am strongly reminded of my own inadequacy.

Sebek: No matter how much I study, no matter how strenuously I train, I will never be worthy enough to stand by him, let alone alongside the other guard.

Sebek: There have been times that I've wondered if I am even fit to be of use to someone as magnificent as him.

Sally: Ah... I know that painful feeling well.

Sebek: However, even if you are inadequate or inexperienced, that is no reason to shy away from standing beside someone you admire.

Sally: …!

Sebek: I aspired to be of use to Malleus-sama.

Sebek: And he, in turn… Allowed me to stay by his side as his guard.

Sebek: Of course, I am still in training. I still lack the knowledge, skills, or experience to be an official bodyguard.

Sebek: However, if I hold myself back, or feel ashamed, then I won't make any progress.

Sebek: All I need to do is continue to put forth the effort while standing alongside the person I admire most so that I become someone that is worthy of serving him.

Sebek: Above anything else, I cannot stand cowardice and negligence!

Sebek: That's why, Sally, you need to put forth the effort. If you desire to stand beside the Pumpkin King, you need to show it with both your actions and words!

Sally: As long as I work hard, never give up, and communicate properly, my feelings may be recognized...

Sally: I think I get it. It might not be able to happen right away… But I will do my best to tell Jack how I feel.

???: Oh, is that Sally and Sebek-kun over there?

Sally: Jack!

Jack Skellington: What are you guys talking about? …All alone with just the two of you?

Sebek: Hmph, nothing that concerns you.

Jack Skellington: WHAT WAS THAT?

Sally: Calm down, Jack. Umm… I was just thanking him for delivering the basket.

Jack Skellington: Oh, it was just about that, huh! I was thinking I wanted to give you my thanks too.

[Jack and Sally chat]

Sebek: Heh, seems as though the day that Sally's hard work pays off is drawing closer.

[Halloween Town – Center]

Epel: Sebek-kun's being so loud again… And everything he's saying's so unneeded!

Sally: He just wants to make sure people fully understands his thoughts and feelings.

Sally: I bet that's why he's always using a loud voice, so that they can hear him properly.

Epel: Sally-san, don'tcha think you're treating him too nice!? I think it's just because Sebek-kun lacks any sort of delicacy, isn't it?

Sally: That's not it at all. Thanks to the courage I received from his words, I was able to take a huge leap forward.

Sally: I am so glad that Sebek-kun came to Halloween Town… And that Jack and I were able to meet him.

Requested by Anonymous.

[the-algebra-thing]

so again, I'm rereading howl's moving castle LMFAO and truly diana wynne jones' disdain for in depth sensory description is sooo cool. I think I've arrived at one of the most basic things that fascinates me about this book and that drew me in and it's something about how descriptive language and tone intersect. there's a lot of two-step visual description, but very little of the specific descriptive language I'm accustomed to. I can know that something looks lightweight because of the way that michael is carrying it, or that the slime is green and has a weird reaction when you dump ash on it, or that michael obviously wished he had not spoken, or that from the way howls feet are braced it's clear he is exerting great force, but it's almost rare that there's a plain description of what's going on. even if there is a proper one, there's always an opinion or extrapolation at the end of it: the wind tore at sophie's face so savagely that she thought she'd end up with half her face behind each ear. generally what I find is that instead of inferring how a character must feel based on how they are acting, you get to make up the specifics about a character's actions or experience based on how the narrator tells you they feel about it. the writing isn't broken down into small pieces for you to put together; it's made of big ones. a single description hits about three different ideas, and there's another similar one in the next paragraph, and you have to keep up. it drives the story along at a committed pace as well as makes the magic system feel very unique, and then that uniquely maintained system becomes scaffolding for the story's themes to grow off of

[artbyblastweave]

So, Wildbow pretty famously retconned Browbeat to death because he got sick of fan jokes about every new character secretly being Browbeat under a new identity. I've got mixed thoughts on that.

Unfortunately for all, my de facto reaction to that kind of meta-level contrarian stunt is "Power Move TBH," even if it was broadly comorbid with a proximity to the fandom that kind of blew out Ward's kneecaps with a .50 cal. Overlooking the fact that I think it was really sincerely funny, there's an argument to be made that it trims the fat; adding an additional heroic casualty for a grand total of seven out of twenty two named heroes operating in Brockton Bay at the time of arc 8. Browbeat is also specifically an independent hero who was headhunted for the Wards relatively soon after his debut- a distinct dynamic from the other wards who get pulverized, from the superheroic family business of New Wave, or the adult professional superheroes who bite it. This is a very Taylor shaped guy, the same kind of just-starting-out teenaged cape with an uncertain future. Him getting unceremoniously pulverized for the bad luck of having a front-line power therefore presents a bit of a "there but for the grace of god" moment for Skitter, if you choose to look at it like that. This is the kind of thing an editor would probably make him do anyway, if he wasn't cut entirely. But the thing is that I am kind of attached to the original outcome for Browbeat, which is that he dips. I think it actually adds some subtle verisimilitude to the story. The number of heroes we actually see is significantly lower than the alluded-to headcount in the early arcs; more indie heroes are alluded to then ever actually appear, and a combination of Leviathan casualties and departure during the ensuing civilian exodus is usually how I've seen that discrepancy squared. But it hits better if a named character cuts and runs. In the story as currently written, every hero who lives, remains in Brockton Bay to try and hold the line. I kind of liked the version of the story where that wasn't the case, where you can infer that at least one of these teenagers went, you know what, I'm not so completely committed to heroic altruism at the age of 16 that I'm gonna hang around to do it in a town without running water, I'm going to pursue a less horrible gig elsewhere. That's not really a thing that happens too often in Big-two comics, and if it were to happen it would likely be painted as a notable departure from expectations. But one of Worm's major themes is that unlike in the comics, there's a gigantic spread of motivations and personality types amongst the officially designated heroes, and it's a nice reminder that all those different personality types are going to have different thresholds for throwing in the towel and moving on to greener pastures. Or it was, until he just died instead

[river-in-the-woods]

Elemental Dice Oracle

Heavily inspired by Stephen Ball's Elemental Divination: A Dice Oracle, I've developed my own system of a quick and versatile dice oracle. All you need is a set of 3 six-sided dice.

The d6 numbers are associated with 6 elements as per Elemental Divination. In brief, they are:

1 - Air 2 - Fire 3 - Water 4 - Earth 5 - Sun 6 - Moon

If you enjoy this divination method, Elemental Divination is excellent supplementary reading, but you do not need to read the book as I will detail my method in full.

Note: Unlike Stephen's method, I read all three dice and infer the answer based on elemental interactions, and the elemental nature of my question. This means a "Greater X over Y" and "Lesser X over Y" oracle can exist in the same reading.

A great read on a similar concept using tarot can be found eloquently written by @windvexer in this post 😊

The elemental nature of the question:

Depending on your approach to the subject of divination, you can associate yourself and your efforts with one of these elements should they appear in the reading, or treat the question's element as a secret 4th dice.

Air: matters of the mind, learning, logic, memory, intellect, communication, travel, work relationships (acquaintances, colleagues, customers/clients), persuasion and public speaking, matters where rapid action and quick thinking is needed.

Fire: matters of desire, motivation, passion, sexuality, willpower, inspiration, and health (in terms of innate constitution and vitality), situations where might and zealousness is needed.

Water: matters of subjectivity, emotion, connection, personal/intimate relationships (partner(s), family, close friends), overseas travel, opinions and perception, dreaming, intuition, charisma.

Earth: matters of objectivity, physical health and circumstances, money and savings, long-term projects, practical skills, practical relationships (business partners, teachers, neighbours).

Sun: activity, growth, visibility, reputation, self-expression, expansion, public life - outcome is inclined to be positive and have an observable change.

Moon: passivity, stillness, self-reflection, retreating inwards, invisibility, private life - outcome is inclined to be negative or have no outward effect.

Method

Very simply, throw 3 dice and read the interactions between them, whether the interactions are auspicious, or inclined towards a certain behaviour.

The most positive outcome is a balance of elements that interact well with each other. For instance, Water, Earth and Sun is a very auspicious omen as these elements are optimal for growth and life.

Alternatively, if you have a strong desire for a certain outcome, then the appearance of an element associated with your goals may indicate how things will play out.

3 of any element strongly indicates an outcome that is based on the nature of that element. This can be positive or negative, but is usually undesirable. This is because there is nothing to balance out the activity of that element, so its activities can spin out of control.

Sometimes an element in Excess is a great omen and exactly what you want, other times it shows something is in overdrive. It all depends on the circumstances and the question asked.

Elements on a 1:1 basis are Moderate and have unique interactions with each other.

When 2 dice are the same element, this element is Greater.

When 3 dice are the same element, this element is in Excess.

An element that is Greater can match or overcome another element it is weak to, or completely diminish a weaker element.

It is up to you how you interpret elements that are Moderate, Greater or in Excess, as they can represent different omens depending on your situation.

Elemental attributes & relationships

This is a general overview of each element and how they can be interpreted in an oracle.

Air

Air is active, fast-moving, multi-directional and erratic.

Moderate Air (that is, Air in balance) allows movement and progression, it brings novel ideas and fresh experiences, it facilitates communication and understanding, enables learning and critical thinking.

Excess Air is pure thought and fantasy, plans not grounded in reality, communication that lacks empathy, empty promises and unconfirmed speculation.

Air feeds Fire, but can also drive it out of control. Hence, Air is weak to Fire, benefits Fire, but Greater Air can influence Fire.

Air balances Water, as aerated water supports life. In symbolic terms it is a balance between heart and mind. Greater Air can stir up Water, as thoughts stir up emotions, symbolising persuasive speech shaping perspectives. Whereas Greater Water indicates the strength of emotion overpowering logic and reason.

Air is weak to Earth and moves around Earth, as Earth directs Air the way a fan or musical instrument does. Air and Earth are a positive combination in the creation of music, song and speech. Greater Air can move Earth, as a tornado does, but the effects are disastrous and short-lived.

Fire

Fire is active, expansive, transformative and destructive, and is greatly influenced by the other elements.

Moderate Fire (that is, Fire in balance) brings the spark of creativity and inspiration, invigorates the will, and grants the energy and vitality to overcome challenges.

Excess Fire is inflammation, unmitigated destruction, conflict, anger without reason, passion unrequited, and burnout.

Fire depends on a balance of Air and Earth to thrive; without these, it is short-lived and diminishes over time. Just as one's motivations can be limited by external factors and one's ability to plan and strategise.

Fire feeds on Air, symbolising passion and zeal that is balanced by a clear mind. But Greater Fire becomes violent and unreasonable, lacking the rationality of Air. Contrarily, Greater Air can manipulate Fire, it can spur Fire in a different direction, but cannot mitigate Fire's destructive nature. Greater Air can also extinguish Fire, as wind blows out a candle, but this depends on the strength of Fire.

Fire feeds on Earth, indicating a goal that is achievable, but Greater Fire is unsustainable and depletes Earth's resources. Contrarily, Greater Earth smothers and extinguishes Fire.

Fire is weak to Water, but Greater Fire can influence Water, as heat turns water into steam, as passion and charisma stirs the heart's emotions.

Water

Water is passive, slow-moving, fluid, soft and mutable.

Moderate Water (that is, Water in balance) inspires connection, empathy, shared identity, culture and experiences. It cools, enables, cradles and nourishes. It softens the rough, and brings relief and growth.

Excess Water is a treacherous ocean of emotions and subjectivity, opinions and perspectives unchecked by reason, obsession and infatuation, a lack of boundaries, unhappy outcomes, and improbable goals.

Water and Air are a harmonious pair, as heart and mind are in balance. However, Greater Air can stir up Water into a storm, as persuasion and propaganda shapes one's perspective.

Water diminishes Fire and keeps it in check, but Greater Fire transforms and diminishes Water, for good or ill. Either way, they are always in conflict.

Water and Earth create life. Water nourishes Earth, and follows the paths laid out by Earth. Greater Earth restricts Water and keeps it contained. Contrarily, Greater Water erodes Earth, and turns Earth to mud, creating stagnation and difficulty.

Earth

Earth is passive, inactive, stable, unmoving and persistent.

Moderate Earth (that is, Earth in balance) indicates favourable circumstances, available resources, and long-lasting results. It defines boundaries, lends form and structure, and creates strong foundations upon which other things can be built.

Excess Earth becomes rigidity, authoritarianism, stubbornness, unnecessary sternness, and leads to stagnation, repeated errors, and fruitless results.

Earth and Air are a harmonious pair, embodying plans that are feasible and bear fruit in the real world. Greater Air can mean overthinking, or that one's ideas are hit-or-miss, with only moderate chances of success. Greater Earth indicates physical constraints, but success is still possible using clever strategy.

Earth and Water are very auspicious together, enabling growth and life. Greater Earth symbolises ground water, i.e. some effort is needed before the benefits of Water can be obtained. For instance, rules and boundaries need to be established before people can work together. Contrarily, Greater Water symbolises muddy earth which slows progress and creates stagnation.

Sun & Moon

The 4 elements of Air, Fire, Water and Earth do not affect the Sun and Moon. Rather, the 4 elements are impacted by the light of Sun or Moon.

Sun brings out the more positive, active, or extroverted qualities of the 4 elements.

Moon brings out the more negative, passive, or introverted qualities of each element. Moon can indicate a blind spot or unknown influence.

When appearing in a reading together, Sun and Moon can indicate a balance of their respective domains.

However, Moon is weak to Sun, and Greater Sun thoroughly defeats the influence of Moon.

Alternatively, Greater Moon can overcome Sun (an eclipse) and indicates inner qualities overcoming outer circumstances – this can be positive, as in the case of personal resilience overcoming external challenges. Or, it can be negative in terms of self-sabotage.

Excess Sun is where personal joy and self-expression turns into self-gratification and arrogance.

Excess Moon indicates unknown influence, delusion and deceit.

3 element oracles

We've covered 2:1 oracles and 3:0 where one element is Greater or in Excess. Here are some examples of interpretation where all three dice differ in the elements shown. As always, remember that every oracle can have multiple interpretations depending on how the question is phrased.

Water, Earth, Sun: As mentioned before, this is an excellent omen of fortune and growth. Success will come easily.

Water, Earth, Moon: Gestation. Growth is possible, but halted. Patience is advised. Wait until conditions ripen, it is a matter of time.

Air, Earth, Fire: Take action and pursue your goals ardently, you have all the resources you need for success.

Water, Earth, Fire: Success is possible, but be wary of possible conflict and difficulty.

Water, Air, Fire: Strong likelihood of conflict and disagreement. Create distance, or be prepared to be diplomatic and compromise.

Fire, Sun, Moon: You are going up against a stronger and more skilled opponent and have very low chances of success. Retreating is advised.

Fire, Sun, Air: Your opponent is stronger, but you can obtain some success if you re-think your plans and method of interaction. There is a good learning opportunity here.

Fire, Sun, Earth: Your opponent is strong, but conditions are favourable and you can hold out for now. However, plan for your current strategy to fail in the near future.

Sun, Moon, Earth: Neutral oracle, everything is as it seems. Patience is key, wait for the situation to unfold over time.

Air, Earth, Sun: Your plans are likely to bear fruit, so long as you stay focused and maintain your efforts.

Air, Earth, Moon: Your efforts and plans will have little effect, as the situation is not ripe for change. Turn inwards and work on yourself.

Air, Water, Moon: Expect a period of sadness and difficulty. Your perspective needs to adapt to the situation. More understanding and open-mindedness is needed.

Conclusion

I hope I have demonstrated just how versatile this oracle can be, and there are even more possibilities than what is written in this post. It has become my favourite method of divination, as the dice can be thrown and read quickly, while offering a precise and in-depth answer.

Please feel welcome to message me about the Elemental Dice Oracle for further discussion! Thanks for reading! 🌿

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Hello, talented human!!! I’m craving something angsty that makes my heart hurt with Emily and girlfriend reader <3

Hey, friend! I've been thinking about writing this for a while, and your request was the perfect excuse. Very angsty, much sadness. Not resolved per se, but if you know the basic timeline/plot line of Season 6, you should be able to infer a somewhat happy ending 😉 Hope you enjoy! 💖 –illdowhatiwantthanks

White Fang

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: established relationship, angst, general threats of Criminal Minds-style violence, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Something's going on with Emily, but her trying to break up with you is the last thing you expected. Takes place during the events before/surrounding 06.18.

“I think we should break up.”

Emily might as well have punched you in the stomach. You felt blood rushing in your ears, felt the love and trust you’d built with her over the last few years churn and unsettle themselves inside of you. Her words had taken you completely off guard. All you’d asked is why she seemed so on edge these days, if there was something you could do to help her.

“Emily…” you said, your voice floundering as you tried not to cry. You had arguments. You had points to make, but you couldn’t seem to get them out.

Emily folded her hands as she sat across from you at the kitchen table, both of your breakfasts sitting untouched in front of you. She shrugged.

“I just… I think our relationship has run its course.”

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss,” you spat, your face growing redder by the second. “We live together. I’m in your will. We’ve been together for four years. Four years! We have a cat together!” you yelled, gesturing wildly toward Sergio, who perched in the bay window.

She was silent, picking at the ends of her fingernails, glancing at you every few seconds. She was lying. She had to be lying. You were no profiler, but you knew Emily. You knew all her tells. You knew when she was stressed, when she was lying, when she was trying to do something brave and sacrificial to protect you.

“I want your stuff out by the end of the week,” she said quietly.

You felt like you’d been slapped in the face. In your head, you knew that there was something under the surface. Something had Emily so scared that she was trying to… And then a lightbulb went on in your head.

You sat back in your seat and smirked. “No.”

Emily raised her eyebrows, frustrated. “No?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “No. I think you’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.”

“I think you are. I think you’re trying to White Fang me.”

Now she just looked confused. “I’m trying to what?”

“White Fang me,” you repeated. “You know, like in the book, where he lets the wolf go because it’s better for him in the wild. You’re trying to get rid of me because you think I’ll be better off without you.”

“I’m trying to get rid of you because I don’t feel that way about you anymore,” Emily said, but her voice cracked a bit, and you knew then that you were right.

“No, you’re not!” you exclaimed, sighing in frustration. You moved to the chair closest to her and took her hands in yours, even as she tried to avoid your eyes.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” you asked quietly. “I promise I can handle it. I love you, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Your White Fang plan won’t work on me, so you might as well tell me about whatever it is that’s got you so scared.”

Emily’s jaw clenched, and you could see tears forming in her eyes.

You brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her face in your hands. “Please tell me, Em.”

She finally met your eyes, and the unadulterated fear written all over Emily’s face was the first part of this conversation that had truly scared you.

She sighed deeply and shook her head, her demeanor going cold as she watched you. “If I tell you what’s going on, you have to do exactly what I tell you to. Understood?”

You nodded apprehensively.

“I mean it,” she said, eyes drilling into you, voice harsher than usual. “This is not a game. The more information you have, the more danger you're in. This is life and death. I am sorry you’re a part of it…” Emily bit her lip and looked away. “I need to know that you'll follow my instructions exactly.”

“Okay,” you agreed, quiet, more scared now than you’d been when she’d tried to break up with you.

“You remember I told you that, before I joined the FBI, I worked at the CIA and at Interpol?”

You nodded. Emily tugged on the strands of hair closest to her ear–an anxious habit–and you took her hand in yours, running your thumb along the back of it.

“When I worked at Interpol,” she continued, “I was undercover as an arms dealer for almost three years. Our team was investigating a former IRA captain, Ian Doyle. I infiltrated his operation by… by pretending to be in a relationship with him. Doyle had a son and, after we finished the op, I faked the son’s death so he’d be safe if Doyle ever got out of prison.”

This was so much information, information that, frankly, you couldn’t believe you didn’t already have about Emily. You thought you’d known everything, everything about her. Apparently not. You latched to the only piece of information that felt even mildly normal.

“IRA like the bank accounts?”

Emily sighed again, somewhere between amusement and deep, deep sadness. “No, baby. The Irish Republican Army. The terrorist organization.”

“Okay,” you nodded, your voice shaky.

Emily took another deep breath. “Last month, Doyle escaped from prison in North Korea. As far as my contacts and I can tell, he’s in DC. He’s tracking down the members of my team and killing them, likely for information about his son.”

Emily watched the wheels turning in your head as you realized what she was saying, watched you grow more and more scared. And she hated herself then. She hated herself for not having the fortitude to follow through on breaking up with you. It would be so much safer for you, so much easier, if you didn’t know, if she could just let you go. But she couldn’t. Not when you were holding on so tightly.

“But…” You tried to reason yourself out of the terror that had taken over your body. “But you were undercover, right? He doesn’t even know who you really are. He wouldn’t even know… that you’re here. Right?”

When she didn’t answer, you prompted her again, your voice high and desperate. “Right, Em?”

“I’m pretty sure he knows who I am,” she whispered, holding tight to your shaking hands. “I think he knows who I am, where I am… I think he knows… who I care about.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, panic shooting icy-hot through your body. Emily smiled wryly at you when you finally met her eyes.

“Do you wish you’d just left?” she asked.

“N-no,” you replied, a tear streaking down your cheek. “I’m just–I’m scared, that’s all. But I’m still… I’m still not going anywhere.”

Emily grasped your head and pulled you toward her, wrapping her arms around you and holding you close as you hyperventilated. She was overwhelmed by you–your love, your loyalty, your bravery in the face of what most people would run from. She hated to drag you into this, hated to be the reason you were in danger, the reason you were scared. But she was also so selfishly glad to have you with her.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly as your breathing slowed.

You nodded, pulling back to wipe your face and look her in the eyes.

“What are we gonna do, Em?”

Emily steeled herself for this part of the conversation. “This is the part where you listen, and you do what I say. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’re gonna go to my grandfather’s cabin in the Alps.”

“To France?!” you blurted, alarmed. Emily squeezed your hand.

“You’re gonna go to the cabin and stay there until I come for you. It's far enough off the map that you should be safe there. You’ll travel under an alias. I have bank accounts and a passport set up for you under a new name. You'll use a new phone. You cannot under any circumstances log into any of your social media accounts on it. You cannot tell your family where you are. You can’t tell anyone where you are. There’s a stash of burner phones at the cabin, which you can use to call your family once a week to tell them you’re safe.”

“But…” you protested lightly, scared out of your mind at this point. “What’ll I tell them?”

“I don’t care. Lie. But do not tell anyone where you are. If you don’t hear from me in six months–”

“Six months!?” you exclaimed.

“Listen to me, baby, this is important,” Emily said forcefully, grabbing the sides of your face, then softening her touch. She took a shaky breath and looked at you for a long time, as if she were trying to memorize every line, every contour, every bit of your face. “If you don’t hear from me in six months, I am probably dead.”

“Em!” you squeaked out, somewhere between a terrified yelp and a sob.

“After the six months is up, you can go back to the States, but you should continue to use your other identity for at least a year.”

“What about you?” you asked, rocking a little, trying to calm yourself down.

“I’m gonna try to shake Doyle.”

You closed your eyes, your body’s tremors seemingly out of your control for now. You didn’t even know where to start. The fact that Emily was some sort of undercover spy? That she’d been in a fake relationship with a terrorist? Faked the death of his kid? That you were fleeing the country and, even worse, fleeing without Emily? Somehow the worst part was that you hadn’t known any of this. You felt like, somehow, you knew both more about her than anyone and nothing about her at all.

“Are you alright?” Emily asked gently, her eyes full of apology.

You started to shake your head, then nodded instead. Emily had enough on her plate. Your sanity didn’t need to be one more thing to worry her.

“When do I have to leave?”

“I can get you a ticket for tomorrow.”

You blinked, trying not to cry. Of the two of you, Emily had definitely gotten the shorter end of this stick. But, god, you were so scared you felt sick to your stomach. But you wouldn't fall apart in front of Emily. You wanted her to know that you were strong and capable, that you could do what she’d told you to, that you’d be waiting there safe and sound when she came to get you. When she came to get you, you told yourself. Not if.

“I’d better pack,” you muttered, wiping your nose as you stood abruptly and made your way to the bedroom.

Emily wanted to follow you. She wanted to hold you and never let you go. But she thought you might need some time alone to process. If you had come back into the kitchen, you would have seen her bent over the kitchen table, her head in her hands, crying quietly.

Neither of you could sleep that night, watching the minutes creep by, feeling your time together dwindling down. After a while, you gave up on sleeping and just held each other, quiet and close in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” Emily sobbed out in the early hours of the morning.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you told her, wrapping your body impossibly closer around hers.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Em,” you whispered, kissing away the tears from under her eyes. “I love you.”

But this only seemed to make her cry more.

“I love you,” you said again, holding her so close you could feel her tears against your chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Your goodbye was short, chaste, both of you trying very hard not to make the other cry. Emily on her way to work, you taking an Uber to the airport.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, kissing her one last time before you left. When you pulled away, her eyes looked sad, distant, full of doubt. You squeezed her hand. “I will see you soon.”

But you couldn’t shake the feeling, as you drove off, that it might be the last time you ever saw her, the last time you ever held her or kissed her or laughed with her. You shook your head, brushing away tears. There’d be plenty of time to cry in France. For now, it was time to become someone else.

[queers-gambit]

If Speaking is Silver, Then Listening is Gold

-> a Turkish proverb

prompt: ( requested ) you require a bit of reprieve after the week you had, and Tommy's a gentleman.

pairing: Tommy Shelby x hard of hearing female!reader

fandom masterlist: Peaky Blinders

word count: 4.4k+

note: you hit me in the chest with this request. as someone who is hard of hearing (HoH) and progressively losing what they have left, this got personal.

warnings: author projects, mild angst, hurt and comfort, specified frustration, working with customers SUCK, mild violence, Tommy's a little OC 'cause he doesn't know what to do with emotion!

"Excuse me! God, the service here is terrible! Aren't you listening to me, barmaid!?" The woman with polished finger nails slammed her manicured hand to the bartop aggressively, glaring at you as if you had backhanded her mother.

The sudden slap made you jump slightly, turning your head to acknowledge her before deflecting, "In a moment, ma'am, I'm trying to listen to this man's order."

"I've been trying to get your attention for 10 minutes now!" She argued, the noise of the bar dialed up as the night droned on and the patrons drank more.

"And I'm busy assisting other customers, I'll get to you when it's your turn," you reminded her, blinking at the man in front of you. "I'm so sorry, sir, I, uh, what were you saying?"

He sighed, "You don't remember? Or didn't hear me?"

"I couldn't hear you over the woman yelling at me," you snipped, perking your brows. "Would you like to order or should I move onto another customer?"

He scoffed, "Just get me a fucking bourbon."

"One fucking bourbon comin' at'cha," you rolled your eyes as you turned from the people to grab the bottles of liquor lined up behind you. You poured the man his drink, set it in front of him, and pocketed the bill he slapped in front of you - not offering change as you instantly looked to another customer. He grumbled with displeasure, but you were asking the next person, "What can I get you?"

"Uh, no, I'm next, I've been waiting long enough," the woman with polished fingernails insisted, literally pushing the customer out of her way.

You sighed, "Know what? All right, fine, what can I get you, ma'am?"

At that moment, the doors swung open and a new wave of drunkards stumbled in; the bar roaring to greet the newcomers as the woman ordered her posh drink that had no business being ordered in The Garrison.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" You asked, staring at her mouth in the hopes of reading her lips. She repeated her order, but her tacky lipstick made her lips stick - making it hard to read. "What? I'm sorry, ma'am, it's loud, you're gonna have to speak up."

"Are you fucking with me right now!?" She screeched, making your eyes widen. "You're the fucking deaf - you can't hear a simple order!?"

"I only asked you to repeat yourself," You defended.

"You asked me three times!" She raged.

"So tell me a fourth and shut the fuck up!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Harry stepped in, hand to your shoulder when the woman looked ready to launch over the bar, "I got this. I'll man the bar, you go on - there's some tables that need bussing."

You sighed and stepped back, nodding, "Sure, Harry."

You hated when he did this. Instead of defending you and your inability to hear - something you have no control over - he would always just push you aside and send you to do other chores. It wouldn't cost anything to tell the customers to calm down, it was loud in the pub and you had a hard time hearing as is - but nope! The customer was always right, or whatever bullshit he would remind you.

You were constantly accosted at work for your difficulty hearing clearly. It wasn't that you couldn't hear at all, it was just difficult! Sometimes, you could hear bits of their sentence and just inference whatever words you missed, but that wasn't an exact science. You mostly depended on reading people's lips, always hating asking anyone to repeat themselves; but at work, it wasn't always possible. The people you interacted with seemingly took personal offense that you had a hard time hearing, and each of them made their displeasure known. Again, a great time for Harry to defend you, but the older man didn't like rocking the boat.

You didn't necessarily blame him, knowing the Peaky Blinders kept a close eye on the pub and would probably reprimand (cut) Harry for discipling customers instead of firing you. So, you kept quiet about your displeasure over your treatment because you needed this job - you never wanted to give reason or thought that you were difficult. Maybe that was why Harry would send you off to do other chores, he didn't want you to lose your cool and this job. Though, some of these people deserved a good tongue lashing.

Picking up a spare pail, you went around to a few tables and cleared them of empty glasses before using a rag from your bucket to wipe them down for the next set of people.

Apparently, in that moment, someone decided to move past you, and to their credit, they did say, "Excuse me, luv, behind yah," but you didn't hear him. So, when you straightened up from cleaning the table, you took a natural step back and bumped into a body; gasping when something wet splashed over your neck, shoulders, and down your back and chest. "Oh, fuckin' hell, lass! Watch where yer fuckin' goin'!" The man raged, his empty glass shattered on the floor.

You blinked in shock.

"What? Didn't fuckin' hear me when I told yah I was there!?" The man continued to reprimand you. "Gotta fuckin' listen in a pub like this, lass, you'll cause worse fuckin' accidents!"

"I'm so sorry," you offered meekly, shaking the ale off your arms and glancing at your front to see it trickled in alcohol. You needed to take a deep, long breath before turning to head for the bar.

"What happened?" Harry asked when you arrived, looking mild concerned.

"Another spill," you spoke through a clenched jaw.

"Oi!" The man who dropped his drink all over you approached the bar, barking at Harry. "It's not our fault you hired some deaf bitch! That can't fuckin' hear 'round her! She didn't move from my way, I lost me pint 'cause of her stupidity!"

Stupid...? Did this drunk asshole just call you stupid because HE bumped into YOU and spilled HIS OWN drink? Maybe the money you made at the bar wasn't worth this...

Harry had no issue giving the drunkard another pint of ale as you tried in vain to dry off, but your dress, hair, and skin was completely plastered in sticky alcohol. You felt your eyes burn with stress, wanting to burst into tears and sob your frustrations out, but you didn't have the strength to break down right now. That's how tired and upset you were - you didn't even have the energy to cry.

You went about your evening, bussing tables and avoiding whatever customers you could; keeping your head on a swivel to avoid any other accidents. You felt a little better, but the stress still lingered around the bar; feeling as if the customers were glaring at you no matter what you did. When a natural lull came, Harry let you back behind the bar with the promise of staying near in case you needed him, but you were ready to drop.

Your final straw was about an hour after the usual Peaky Blinders and Shelby brothers had come in for the nightly round(s) of whiskey. You smiled at Arthur when he approached the bar, all too happy to greet you loudly - the lad never having an issue with speaking up when you couldn't hear. Arthur was always happy to accommodate you, having a soft spot for you since his brother, Tommy, had made his interest in you known that past year.

Speaking of, Tommy Shelby, notorious gangster of Small Heath and the head huncho of the Peaky Blinders, entered after his brothers and made an instant approach. "Harry," he greeted when he stepped around the bar.

"Mr. Shelby," Harry nodded.

"Love," he acknowledged you, pecking your cheek sweetly. "All right?"

"Hmm?"

"Doin' all right?" He asked clearly, being similar to his brother and not minding speaking louder, slower, clearer, whatever you needed to hear him better. In fact, Tommy wasn't know for being patient, but with you, he'd repeat himself as many times as it took - but only for you.

"Oh, yeah," you sniffled, trying to hide your frustrations.

"Why's your dress wet?" He worried, petting a sticky lock of your hair back, his concern mounting.

You shrugged, "Bit of an accident, 's not a big deal."

"Someone run into you, again?"

You nodded, "It's fine, though. He got a new pint and calmed down."

Tommy shook his head, gritting, "Who?"

"Tommy."

"Tell me who, love."

"No, Tommy, it's fine," you insisted, petting your hand down his chest in a show of affection; seeing another customer approach the bar. "I'm sorry, I'm working, love, can we talk later?"

He nodded, pecked your temple, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey and moved for the snug - where his brothers and Aunt Polly waited for him. You got back to work, and barely noticed the time ticking by... Until a new customer approached you with a sneer already marring his face.

"What can I get for you, sir?" You asked kindly, needing to raise your voice over the usual drunken yelling. So, you preemptively warned him, "Sorry, 's bit noisy tonight, you'll have to speak up."

The man ordered his drink clearly, but another few men in loosened slacks and disheveled button-ups stalked up to the bar; crowding around the other two men who stumbled over in obnoxious laughter. You felt your panic spike, already overwhelmed by them all trying to talk over one another.

You were bombarded with drink orders from them all, eyes flickering between them because you didn't know who to listen to first. You tried to get the drinks together at the same time, but in truth, it was overwhelming because the men changed their orders, but got mad at YOU when you didn't quite hear them clearly.

Their drunken words added to the bar's noise level sprinkled with you being hard-of-hearing just resulted in a cluster fuck. "This isn't what I fucking ordered!" The original man complained, glaring at you with distain. "It's really not that hard, girl, my God. If you can't get our drinks right, how you gonna make any man a decent wife? Gonna fuck up his dinners, too?"

"Jesus - I'm sorry, there's just a lot going on. Why don't you remind me your drink and I'll get it now," you offered as kindly as you could.

"I doubt you'll be able to get it right," he sneered, but you missed half his sentence.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!? Just fuckin' listen - it's not hard!" He snarled, literally chucking his glass just past your ear so it shattered into the liquor bottles behind you. "You can't even get a fucking drink right! Fuck you doin' workin' here, then!?"

This caused a huge commotion, obviously.

The Shelby's don't play games, you see, and the moment the glass shattered, they were moving out of the snug to investigate. When they realized someone had offered you disrespect, it was a shit show as the drunkards clashed with the men with razors stitched in their caps. Still in shock from the show of violence, you felt something in your heart snap you into motion.

So, you silently untied your apron, grabbed your coat and home keys, then literally walked out the backdoor - while the men all scuffled. The moment you stepped outside, you let your emotional dam give out - sobbing into the stinging cold air as you moved up the street.

You weren't sure what emotion you felt - be it anger, disappointment, shame, fear... Crippling insecurity. Once at the Irish pub, The Black Lion, you settled at the nearly empty bar and ordered your own drink, something you rarely did anymore. Something about working with alcohol all day made you less inclined to drink, but tonight was different than previous nights.

"All right, lass?" The bartender asked, pouring the whiskey in front of you. "Look a bit put out, huh?"

"Just a long week," you answered. He hummed, nodding and asking something. You felt tears in your eyes when you asked, "C-Could you repeat that?"

Louder, he repeated, "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Oh, no, thank you," you waved off. "Just... Customers being unruly."

He laughed, "Oh, don't I know it. What happened?"

You shrugged, "Nothing important."

"C'mon, lass, if it's made you come inta a place like this, searching for a drink, it's probably important enough."

You sighed, "Honestly, I think I appreciate the silence."

He smirked, "I can respect that. Here," he poured you a new glass, "this one's on the house. I deal with unruly customers, too, so, I know you'll need this second one."

You chuckled and grinned broadly when he went to walk away, did a double take, then left the whiskey bottle to your side with a smirk. He moved off to sit at a different table with some other older men, leaving you alone for the first time in what felt like a long time. It felt ironic for a moment that you sought solitude and silence, but you just wanted time to digest all that happened tonight and move on.

Why couldn't people understand that despite you being a public servant, you were still a human being? A human with human emotions, human disability, who makes human mistakes. Yet according to those entitled pricks that think YOU work for THEM, you were a second class citizen who was underserving of empathy. How dare you ask them to repeat themselves! How dare you misunderstand their order - and quickly replace it! How dare you have a disability past your control that affects your day-to-day life!

There was a heavy, looming feeling of being inadequate.

Being alive was hard enough as it is, more so when a bodily function most others take for granted malfunctioned within you. It made life harder; you had to work harder than everyone else just to operate on their same level. However, if you dare show exhaustion, frustration, any degree of weakness, you were quick to be labeled as "lazy" or "entitled" or your favorite, "dramatic!"

Those people can hear pins drop, they couldn't ever fathom what this felt like. It wasn't that you couldn't hear, you could. It just wasn't on the level other's could heard at, and for whatever reason, it seemed to frustrate everyone else more than you. You were the one dealing with the predicament, and yet, everyone else was seemingly the most inconvenienced! They thought it mortally offensive to be served by someone "like you", thinking your disability was unacceptable in their proximity.

Fucking assholes.

If only they knew the way your stomach knotted itself every time you asked someone to repeat what they said. Every time you said, "Huh?" or "What was that? What did you say?"

You were embarrassed because it made you feel as if you couldn't even be a human "correctly", and it's not like you chose for this to happen! It's not like anyone chooses to make the obligation called life ten times harder by putting you at a functional disadvantage. You felt like "damaged goods" because you felt constantly out of the loop; missing a lot of what's said if you're not paying explicit attention.

However, years ago, you had perfected the ability to read lips. Yet this was difficult when most people you couldn't hear were your customers, majority of who are slurring their words. You worked in The Garrison, meaning that on any given night, there was loud discussions that added to your frustration - but the tips were too good to quit. So you endured. You felt pathetic and borderline like a failure if you quit any job; feeling as if your disability had won by emotionally crippling you. So, while it didn't make a lot of sense to work in a noisy place when you're already hard-of-hearing, you remained at your place of employment simply out of spite.

It was difficult reminding yourself it wasn't your fault, that you were still doing a great job - no matter how many customers catch attitudes, get snippy, or throw full-on adult tantrums. You despised needing to be the "bigger person", but figured nobody else would be willing to accommodate you, so, if you wanted a semblance of peace, you had to be the one to create it.

You reached for the bottle of whiskey after downing your second glass. With a harsh sniffle, you glanced around the pub and realized how many people had arrived to fill in the place. You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, acutely aware that you were so deep in your emotional tarpit that you missed the noise rising.

So much for a quiet night.

You poured a new glass, praying to whatever God would listen that you're granted deliverance from this empty, helpless feeling that was pitting your stomach and chest.

After hearing the glass shatter, Tommy and his brothers were rocketing to their feet to investigate. They saw a man, red in the face, yelling hatefully at you behind the bar - liquor dripping off the shattered shelves from the man's bout of violence. There was no thinking for any of them. Tommy recognized you were in a predicament; striding forward first, and the chaos began.

It'd been a good bit since the lads had a good fist fight. No razors, no guns, no advantages - just bare fists and bar furniture.

It cleared the place out, and when the drunkard was hauled off by his companions, Tommy was wiping the blood from his knuckles. Harry frowned at the sight of blood splattered on the floor, shaking his head before calling your name - knowing you had some secret to getting blood out before it stained. However, there was no response. The Shelby boys all looked around expectantly, waiting for you to reappear, but it was evident by the way Harry searched for you that you weren't in the building.

Tommy placed a cigarette to his lips, just lighting it when Harry returned from the back room, informing, "Her belongin's are gone, she must've left early."

This made Tommy whip around sharply to use his own eyes and scan the room. "Nobody saw where she went? How was nobody watchin' her!?" Tommy asked demanded. There were several shakes of different heads, Tommy's anxiety flaring in his chest. He quickly rushed to grab his coat and flat cap, tugging them on in haste, hearing Arthur question where he was going. "Gotta find her," he explained through his panting-panic. "City's dangerous enough for people that can hear properly. God knows what can happen when she's alone at this time of night."

"We'll help," John offered, nudging Arthur, Finn, and their cousin, Michael Gray.

"I'll find her faster," Tommy answered, already out the door.

Michael shared a look around the room, wondering, "He acts like this all the time or just with that one pretty barmaid?"

Arthur smirked broadly, "That one pretty barmaid is Tommy's girl. Don't get caught lookin'."

"He's like this with just her," John chuckled, "always has been, always taking care of her the way she cares for him."

"What did Tommy mean? She can't hear?" Michael questioned innocently.

"Nah, girl's got some hearin', just not a whole lotta it," John explained as if common knowledge. "Never thought I'd see Tommy so patient, so fuckin' doting. He doesn't mind repeating himself if she asks, in fact, he does what he can to talk to her how she needs."

"What's that mean?"

"Like," John paused, sighing through his nose, "he'll face her directly, speak slower to let her read his lips. He speaks up, he's clearer, he wants her to feel like she's not a burden if she can't hear like us can so he does it all organically."

Michael smiled softly, vaguely impressed by Tommy's show of humanity. Speaking of, everyone's favorite gangster was prowling through Small Heath; stopping in each and every open business, searching for the familiar sight of you, and moving on when he was unsuccessful. You weren't at the Shelby home, nor your apartment, church, or anywhere along the Canal - places you frequent when overwhelmed.

Tommy was beginning to get cold, but he wouldn't say that. His determination would keep him warm, and even as the snow began to fall once more, Tommy hiked through the wind. Luck seemed to be on his side because when he entered the third pub, one he doesn't usually step foot in outside of evident emergencies, there you were; sat at the bar looking miserable.

"Thank God," Tommy breathed in relief, straightening his jacket and swiping his cap from his head. He approached your side and reached a hand out to the bartop in front of you, minimally startling you by announcing his presence without words. "Hey, love," he greeted you.

"What're you doing, Tommy? Blinders don't come 'round in here."

"We do when one of our own goes missing."

Your eyes rolled, "I'm not missing, I just needed a break."

"I know," he nodded, "but I'm here to make sure you get home safe."

"I don't need an escort."

"I don't think you do, but it's dangerous at night. You know I care about you and that includes your well-being."

"Oh, don't tell me, you're trying to play the gentleman card?" You scoffed, taking another swallow from your glass. "C'mon, sit down, I don't like drinking alone," you commented, "makes me sad, leaves me alone with my thoughts."

"We can drink at home, love."

"I don't want to go home yet."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'll have to explain why I got fired."

"You didn't."

"Huh!?" You yelped.

"You didn't lose your job," he assured softly.

"No?"

"No, not fired."

"Oh," you mulled over your thoughts, "that's good, then."

Tommy sighed and pulled his coat off to take the empty barstool beside you. "All right," he decided, going through the motions to stick a cigarette between his lips and light it. Smoke wafted from his mouth as he asked, "What happened tonight?"

"You already know, I'm sure."

"I want your truth."

"Doesn't matter," you refused, downing the last of the whiskey in your glass. You went to leave a few bills for your tab, but Tommy stopped you and covered it himself. Your eyes rolled and hand snatched the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey before heading for the exit.

Tommy followed not far behind.

"Love, c'mon, wait up," he grit, catching up to you and tossing his coat over your form, "you're gonna catch ill."

"I'm fine," your eyes rolled. Truthfully, the consumed whiskey in your system acted as an internal heating mechanism; warming your blood, wrapping you in a fuzzy grip.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

"I just - I'm frustrated, okay?"

"Sure, all right," he agreed, "but why?"

"You don't get it, Tommy," you felt emotional, rounding on him with tears in your eyes. "You don't know what it's like, you can hear just fine, you can still see, you don't know what it's like to progressively lose one of your senses! The way people get angry for something I cannot dictate - it's like they're the one being vastly inconvenienced!"

Tommy nodded, just listening.

"And they crucify me for it!" You sniffled, feeling defeated. "Like I'm some pariah that will infect them with my loss of hearing. They treat me as if - as if I've asked for this, as if I'm doing it on purpose!"

"What would help?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore, Tommy, but this town is seriously lacking in their ability to empathize. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do - I get so angry now. It happens more and more, people getting angry or frustrated at me 'cause I need them to repeat themselves. What am I supposed to do, huh?"

He smirked slightly, but the sight angered you.

"Oh, fuck off, Tommy!" You turned from him, moving back up the street. "I don't need to laugh at me like the rest of them - "

"I'm not!" Tommy insisted, reaching for your wrist to halt you, whip you around, face him again. Both his hands extended to hold the area above your elbow, speaking clearly, "Listen to me. I was going t'wait, but I think now's a good time."

"Good time for what, Tommy?" You growled, now just wanting to go to bed and hide from your emotions; hide from people; hide from reality.

"I have a new job for you, in the company," he smirked. "We're still getting things structured, but why don't you step away from the bar and come work for me now? Help us build what's left, and then transition into your company job?"

You paused, just staring at him in mild shock.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Why would I joke?"

"You're... Offering me, what? Some job as your receptionist?"

"No, I was thinkin' something a little more paramount."

"Like what?"

"Like Chief of Operations?"

"COO?" You laughed, "For what company, Tommy?"

"Come home with me, we'll talk all about it," he bargained, "but if you accept, you've gotta quit The Garrison, love. We'll need your head in the game, no other distractions."

You felt something in your heart crack, asking, "What if you lot can't stand working with me, too?"

"Because of your hearing?"

"Or, you know, lack there of."

"Love," he smirked, "there's nothing you can do - intentionally or unintentionally - that would make any of us distance ourselves. If we get frustrated, it's not because you can't hear - it's never your disability, love."

"So, if you get frustrated, it's just, what? My personality?"

"More than likely," He grinned, arm snug around your waist again to walk down the snowy lane together. He laughed when your hand rose to pinch his side; squeezing his rib tightly, causing him to flinch and grunt lightly. "Hey, hey, easy with that," he chuckled, seeing your happy smile. "You all right, love? I know tonight was a lot, but... You feelin' any better?"

"I think so," you sighed. "The whiskey helps," you joked, raising the bottle to your lips.

"Mhm," he mused, taking the bottle after you.

"But present company helps more," you complimented softly. "You know, I'm sorry for today..."

"You're sorry that you couldn't hear a bunch of drunks in a packed-out pub?"

"Maybe?"

Tommy smirked, "Don't apologize, sweetheart. It's not your fault; like you say, it's not something you can control. I'm the one who's sorry you had to endure all of that... The lads got that guy pretty good."

"Good."

"And now you've a new job, yes?"

"After I hear about it," your eyes rolled in humor, taking the bottle back. "What's this big idea for a company anyway? What's it even called?"

"The Shelby Company Limited, and we're gonna change the whole of England, love."

requesting rules and masterlist

Peaky Blinders masterlist

[warblogs17282]

The signs and clues that always pointed towards Stella being a shitty mother to Octavia.

A revamp of an old post that I really should've gotten to earlier but hey, I'm in the mood now to catalogue literally everything pointing to Stella being a shit and neglectful mother.

Evidence 1: S1 E2.

Pay attention to the fact that Stella is not concerned in the slightest about the fact that Octavia is very clearly upset and is actively calling for both her and Stolas, which is very obviously seen by the fact by she makes Stolas deal with Octavia, not even bothering to even move a muscle to help calm Octavia down, already showing us our first signs of Stella being a neglectful mother towards Octavia.

Plus, Octavia's nightmare was specifically about her not being able to find Stolas, Stella wasn't involved in the nightmare at all, which I believe was another very intentional writing decision to subtly point to how little Stella is involved in Octavia's life.

To add onto this, look at some of the drawings that Octavia drew as a child that we see in the same episode, pay close attention to the rightmost drawing, we see a drawing of both Stolas and Octavia, but what I find interesting is the fact that we don't see Stella in any of the drawings at all, in pictures like that drawn by young children you'd normally expect the whole family to be in the picture or there to be another drawing including Stella, but we don't see that happen at all, we only see a drawing of specifically Octavia and Stolas, also giving us another clue that Stella isn't involved in Octavia's life much.

This appears to be a pattern as well, in Sinsmas we see yet another drawing of specifically her and Stolas, with us still not having any drawings of Stella, only Stolas.

Which I believe shuts down the argument that I've heard before that goes something like 'there could be more drawings that we haven't seen yet', because the team is 100% making it a recurring pattern that Stella is suspiciously absent from Octavia's life for the most part, as we can infer from these drawings.

Evidence 2: Literal fucking child abuse.

I think we can all agree that this section of s1 e2 is just Stella blatantly committing domestic violence against violence against Stolas, not even bothering to give a single fuck that Octavia is awake and is actively witnessing the event go down, showing us even further how self-centered and neglectful Stella is,

and giving us airtight evidence of Stella committing child abuse, by actively abusing Stolas right in front of her.

Evidence 3: Stolas' assassination plot.

Other than the fact that Stella is completely willing to rob her own child out of a caring and loving father to fuel her own self-centered agenda without even a second thought, as is most obviously seen by this scene where Stella literally screams that she wants Stolas dead right in front of Octavia as well. (The fact she was wearing headphones is entirely irrelevant to the point I'm making, she still said all of that right in front of Octavia.)

Which very clearly shows us just how self-centered Stella is, and how little she actually cares about Octavia's feelings as well.

Which is something we see happen again in that conversation with Andrealphus in s2 e4, alongside not giving a single fuck about how Octavia might feel if her dad is killed, we also see that Stella literally did not even consider Octavia into her self-centered assassination plan before this point, so forget about Stella caring for Octavia emotionally, she never even really considered Octavia in a practical sense as well, because truth be told, I cannot attribute that moment in the show happening purely because Stella is just being stupid.

It very clearly shows that Stella is purely interested in what she wants, her own agenda.

Evidence 4: "You leave with Via on weekends."

We never see this get expanded on at all, it's literally just that and nothing else, we don't hear any specifics of what Stella does with Octavia while she has her for the weekends, which if we consider how Stella behaved during the whole of Sinsmas, it really points to the fact that Stella did not make any attempt to bond with Octavia at all while she had her over the weekends, instead just choosing to her own shit while leaving Octavia to her own devices all the time, showing even further how absent Stella is in Octavia's life.

Not to mention Stella literally sidetracks that line from Stolas with "I like tormenting you."

Evidence 5: "What? No! I'm not turning her against you--"

Let's be real here, we all know that Stella doesn't care for Octavia, not to mention that Stella was already screaming at Stolas over petty shit before this, so it's pretty obvious to me that Stella is not actually worried about Stolas turning Octavia against her, it just screams like she's using that as a weaponized statement of sorts against Stolas instead of actual concern.

Plus, that's very clearly also just Stella projecting like crazy, as we can see by the fact that Stella is literally just insulting Stolas right in front of Octavia as well, calling him a deadbeat in this scene.

Evidence 6: "I'm glad one egg fell out of me."

The fact that Stella called Octavia as "an egg" has always irked me, like, out of any possible way she could've phrased that statement she chooses the one way that refers to Octavia as "an egg", instead of saying something like her name or her daughter for instance, which even furthers points to me that Stella does not care for Octavia at all.

Plus, this is also a pattern, we see a very similar event play out in Sinsmas as well.

Instead of saying something like Octavia's name or our daughter for instance, she chooses to say "his daughter", Stolas' daughter, which really gives me the impression that Stella doesn't even consider Octavia to be her daughter, something that appears to be further backed up by the fact that Stella referred to Octavia as "an egg" in s2 e1.

You could argue against this point, but personally I really think it was an intentional decision to have Stella say "his daughter" for this exact reason.

Evidence 7: The portraits.

The main example here has to be the Loo Loo Land picture, and I say that because of the fact that you can see Stolas actually be happy in this picture, while if you look at Stella, that smile is barely there for her, like she's forcing herself to smile.

Plus, you can see the fact that she also has her arms crossed, which while I could be reading into this a bit too much, I believe further points to the fact that Stella is not happy to be at Loo Loo Land with Octavia at all, and is forcing herself to smile as a result.

Plus, in Sinsmas we also see quite a few new portraits involving Stolas, Stella and Octavia.

Let's look at the first one, we see something extremely similar to the Loo Loo Land picture, we see that smile from Stella that appears to be barely there while Stolas has the whole open mouth smile thing going on with him, and she's also crossing her arms in that portrait as well, further pointing me to the fact that Stella doesn't even want to be in those family portraits at all, which really points me to the conclusion that Stella doesn't care to be in Octavia's life at all unless necessary for whatever reason.

Plus, I want you to pay attention to the 2nd and 3rd portraits here, pay attention to the fact that while Stolas' smile fades significantly with each progressing picture, Stella's smile seems to grow and grow, which if we remember the line of "I like tormenting you.", very clearly shows us that Stella is taking joy in beating Stolas down, taking joy in tormenting Stolas on a daily basis, not because she actually cares for Octavia at all, she is smiling in those two portraits because she takes joy in tormenting Stolas and nothing else, further showing just how self-centered and cruel Stella really is.

Evidence 8: Parental Isolation.

Again, let's look at this scene early on into the Sinsmas episode, we see Stella completely snatch and confiscate Octavia's phone from her the moment Stolas tries to call her in order to make contact with her following the Mastermind episode, and we know that Stella has never given Octavia her phone back at all during the month that passes in this episode, considering that Stella says that Stolas has been trying to reach Octavia for a whole month, and the fact that when we see Octavia again later on in the episode, instead of having her phone, we see her holding some sort of music player that really looks like an iPod.

Which in turn, shows us that Stella is employing a parental isolation tactic by preventing Stolas from making contact with Octavia via phone calls and/or messages. It is also completely irrelevant to discuss the specific reasons as to why Stella did this as well, what actually matters is the fact that Stella confiscated Octavia's phone from her, which in turn, helps to prevent a method Stolas had to easily make contact with Octavia, which in turn makes me believe that this is a parental isolation tactic that Stella used here.

With parental isolation also being commonly referred to as a form of child abuse as well.

So in conclusion, I have pointed to a number of different ways throughout the show that shows just how much Stella was absent in Octavia's life, alongside her also being neglectful and abusive towards Octavia as well.

[eirianerisdar]

I've just been digging around motorsports dot com's take on Carlos and Charles "disagreeing" on whether they've cleared up the Sprint incident or not, and I might be dipping my toes into speculation here but I think this is a rare case where it showcases the differences in how Carlos and Charles approach conflict resolution and define "talking about it."

From what Nicholas Todt said (lol) we can infer they probably did talk after Sprint, but it probably wasn't more than a few words, given the short time between Sprint and Qualifying.

This is where the difference in interpretation comes in:

Charles knows Carlos has apologised and they have no problems, and he's always been level-headed post race, so he says "Yes, it is all done and all good, no problems." In short, we both are okay about it, so I don't see any problems.

Now, it's not as if Carlos is saying they didn't have a short conversation when he says "The reality is we didn't manage to talk". But they didn't have time after the sprint to have a full debrief and go into the damage he took from Fernando before the incident and the subsequent lack of grip he had from there on after. He did apologise for his part in the move in the corner, but they hadn't had time to fully analyse it. So, we are both okay about it, but we haven't talked about it.

So it's not like they're beefing. It's just that to Charles, "We have talked about it" = "We both feel good about it now", while to Carlos, "We have talked about it" = "We have discussed what happened and all its factors at length."

They're both good about it. It's just that Carlos has always been one to like to explain and discuss things in-depth, and Charles has always been the easygoing friend and teammate that is happy as long as both sides agree they have no problem with each other.