#but i cannot make my thoughts coherent enough

[quuerbee]

Yeah yeah yeah everyone makes that post/analysis over how the burden of reviving Mount Hua coupled with the intense "survivors" guilt he carries shapes Chung Myung as a person and how he is so so so far away from the person he used to be but man. I've got to take a second everytime I think about it and just ponder.

Imagine waking up after witnessing the brutal killing of almost everyone you have ever met, including yourself, and immediately having to come up with a plan to save your home again. Imagine finding out that it's "your fault" (in all actuality we all know that none of what happened is Chung Myung's fault, but you know how bad his guilt complex is) that your home burned down after you passed. That the little disciples that you left behind, with the goal of protecting from the war, had to fight a different kind of war to protect their home. This doesn't even tap into a LOT of the stuff Chung Myung blames himself for throughout the novel.

How do you live with that? It's been said that Chung Myung lives only for Mount Hua. He lived for Mount Hua, died for Mount Hua, and now has to live for Mount Hua again, knowing that his past sacrifice did nothing to protect his home when it mattered.

[whisperingrockers]

imgs that make me want to blow something up with my mind

[usermoreid]

.

[dreams-of-fate]

I think it's very easy for people who hate madame.yu to look at her and go 'you're abusive' and leave it there, especially people who aren't from cultures with certain upbringings.

But there's a lot more to that - there is the clear implication of generational trauma somewhere back for her and because her sect has a huge focus on whips - she was also likely Raised by The Whip as we see a couple times with w.wx her also doing. But we're also told he spends a lot of his time being placed to kneel in the ancestral hall, only to be taken out of there by j.fm - basically boy mostly gets a lot of shame timeouts when Acting Wild (same with J.C, her child is not devoid of punishment here). She tries to lean away from use of the whip to something that really only makes you think and hurts your knees. It becomes a problem when she feels the j.fm is undermining by taking w.wx out, so she falls back to what her upbringing was. Sadly.

And they do fight - in fact, they have probably had plenty of mother / son like arguments over the cause of those last 3, 4 years because of their natures and both conflicting and similar personality traits. We only see him hold back when j.fm is around. But he is comfortable enough to argue with her and have gotten points across to each other before in their own right.

But I think a huge problem is narratively - we only see the bad times. When there's huge stressors and everyone is kind in moods. But it's a whole decade she has been the primary caregiver of him after j.fm kind of dropped him into her lap, leaving her with now three children, and him only popping in for some of the times to deal with w.wx. Where she has to be there everyday, bringing him along with her to places alongside j.c and y.anli, treating him like an extension of the family, and because he isn't her blood - it's harder to express care outwardly especially.

It's a conflict because he is the child of the person her husband was once in love with and she knows j.fm puts more care and effort into h i m opposed to her own children - and he's a reminder that j.fm never loved her enough to care about them. But he's also a child who has been under foot, watching her with big eyes, probably the only kid who loves the spicy recipes from her home as much as she does if not more. He is a person who she claims as her person, as someone part of the sect, as someone who sits at the family table. She acknowledges his importance even if she gets passive aggressive about things sometimes.

Behind all the anger that comes out sometimes, there is deep fondness that is quieter and not easily expressible, and w.wx himself also holds fondness of his own for her. He claims j.fm and madame.yu as his parents who raised him for a decade, in the stead of his biological ones, that day in the ancestral hall. Did have hopes they saw each other before they died because he'd bE SAD at any other thought.

Also never forget, the watermelon scene is basically a "you're not you when you're hungry" snickers commercial. Thanks, Y.anli.

[fabulouslygaybean]

god, fucking.. the fact that so few people acknowledge the intense brain fog you feel when you're in immense pain is a crime i think

[freethefable]

having a bad time :thumbsup:

[lis-likes-fics]

Perfection

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of murder, dead body, crime scene, descriptions of gore, typical Criminals Minds stuff, character with ADHD, mentions of medication... A/N: This is a little more self-indulgent than I meant for it to be, but I do want to point out that this is some of my experience with ADHD, so I'm not just writing random stuff. It is slightly exaggerated, but I also say that about everything I do and it is pointed out that this is based off an off day.

The long alleyway makes for a nice crime scene, specifically because, despite the busy streets of this city, it's secluded and easy to overlook. It's not too small that the police team cannot fit, but it's small enough that you couldn't cram a really small building into the space. You don’t know how that’s relevant, but somehow it is.

The scene is relatively fresh, the latest of three that brought the BAU to the case. The police handling the scene had it cleared off for you, Spencer, and Derek to examine, via Hotch’s orders.

Spencer's watching you because he loves watching you, and because you're a little off today. There's something about the way you shuffle on your feet or the way you chew on the dead skin of your lip that he finds peculiar. To be fair, you're like this a lot, but today your symptoms are more obvious than usual.

Your eyes scan over the scene with a million different thoughts rushing through your head, less than fifty percent of them actually coherent and fit for conversation.

The three of you spitball ideas back and forth as you look at the man laying cold on the concrete. He's white, lean with light hair and a relatively thin frame. He's nothing like the other two victims, who's physical profiles were all over the place. The only thing they have in common with one another is a single occupation—male prostitution. While this and the first worked on the streets, the second’s job actually took place within a gay strip club a few blocks away from here.

He's got a starting blow to the back of the head, like the other two, and a number of bad bruising and heavy brutality to the rest with overkill to the chest, hands, and genitals. The message feels clear, but there's something a little off.

“Judging by the position of the body,” you speak, your hands restless, “and the way the weapon is discarded, I think our unsub snuck up on our victim in a blitz attack, hit him with the lead pipe, and ran that way.”

You don't point in any particular direction. Spencer glances up from his spot crouched next to the body. Your eyes are stuck on the bloody pipe several feet away from the body toward the secluded area around the back of the building that leads to more secluded walkways through more alleyways.

There is a long pause where they wait for you to explain, but you never do. Spencer thinks you look far off as he examines your face. Derek looks at you, his brow furrowed as he glances around. “Which way?”

“What?” you hum, looking up at him.

Derek elaborates, “Which way did the unsub go?”

It’s your turn to furrow your brow, turning the thin ring on your middle finger. “Did I say something about the unsub?”

Spencer stands, moving over to your side without spending too much time looking at your face. He doesn't want you to feel dumb or awkward, because he loves you and you're just a little forgetful sometimes.

“Yes,” he says in no particular way. “You said the unsub blitzed the victim and ran. Which way did he run?”

He achieves his goal, because you seem to make an “Oh, duh!” face before pointing in the direction of the street. “That way.”

He follows your finger, his brows knitting together. “That way toward the street?” He looks at the pipe, sitting in the exact opposite direction, like they ran and dropped it. “The pipe looks like he'd run the other way to avoid the street. Why do you think he ran toward?” It's a genuine question.

“To throw us off,” you shrug. “It's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.”

He hums. You add on, speaking as quickly as Spencer usually does, “It also means he looks normal enough that he blends in with the crowd. Someone would see a strange figure coming out of a dark alley, no one would really notice a passerby turning a corner. And if this is a popular spot, it's too loud to hear anything going on all the way back here anyway, or no one thinks much of grunting noises when they do hear it.”

You trail off at the end, tight brows staring at the corpse. Derek shrugs, “But what was our victim doing all the way over here in the first pla–”

“There's something in his mouth,” you interrupt accidentally.

“What?”

You kneel down, taking the offered gloves from Spencer and putting them on. You open his mouth just a slight, spotting the white sticking out from under his tongue. Upon seeing it, both of the boys furrow their brows and tilt their heads. Spencer hands you some tweezers he'd borrowed from forensics for this reason.

Carefully, without disturbing the body as much as possible, you remove the strange object from under the tongue. It's a tiny slip of paper, folded up very small and still a little damp from saliva and any other bodily fluids it may have come in contact with. You unfold it.

“‘Unclean’,” Spencer reads from over your shoulder.

“That makes sense for the victimology mixed with the profile. He's a male prostitute,” Derek points out.

“Which explains the locale,” you say, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“What?”

“The locale,” you look up. “You asked why he was here. He must have been working, lured down here by the unsub, who waited for him to turn his back before he struck.”

Spencer agrees, taking a picture of the slip to send to Hotch. “He was killed at night. The streets are crowded, easy to slip into and not be seen. It's more risky to stray by yourself. What you said makes sense.”

You look up at him, standing to your full height again. “What did I say?” There you go again.

Morgan speaks up, “What you said about him runnin’ toward the street.”

Confusion passes your mind momentarily. “He ran toward the street.” You don't say it like a question, you say it like you're trying to back yourself up on it.

“That's what you said,” he insists.

You remember thinking that, but you don't remember saying that out loud.

Spencer swoops in like your hero, brushing his knuckles against the side of your arm. “Remember? You said,” he licks his lips, “ ‘it's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.’ ”

You nod, remembering his word-by-word recitation as you watch him. “Yeah. I did say that.” You flag down one of the forensics workers to bag the evidence. She does so, taking your contaminated gloves with her as she leaves. You squirt a hefty amount of hand sanitizer on your hands from its place on your belt loop. “This is the first victim who's been left behind with a note, right?”

“Yes, autopsy results found nothing like this on the other victims.”

“If the victim was working when he was attacked, it’s possible that, paired with the brutality of the assault and the note left behind, our unsub may be experiencing some kind of internalized homophobia.” You trail off at the end.

Derek shrugs, looking down at the body. “There’s no evidence of sexual assault. Not on the other victims, at least.”

“How old do you think this building is?”

Spencer looks at you, your eyes scanning the wall of one of the buildings you’re between. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, picking at the dead skin again. He thinks you’re cute.

“Focus, honeybun,” Derek reminds you, pulling your attention again.

“Sorry.”

“Judging by the faded color and uneven edges of the brick, and the decay in the mortar,” Spencer says, “I’d say this building is at least 50 years old. Well kept at one point and then let go not long after its production.”

You nod along slowly, taking in the information with a hum. “That’s cool…” Now that that’s out of your mind, you think for a moment. What were you saying again? Spencer watches your eyes light up. “Oh!” You turn to Derek. “He’s obviously confrontational, but he may still be very insecure in his ability and, thus, have to make up for his pent up energy with an excess of violence. Homophobia would explain the obliteration of the chest, hands, and especially the genitalia.”

Derek raises a brow. “What?”

“You asked about sexual assault,” you shrug. “If he continues to escalate above the note, we may see these words carved into the skin as a substitute for sexual violence, or even just blatant rape activity.”

Derek thinks about that, considering your analysis with a nodding head. He sighs and hums, “Alright, I’ll talk to Hotch.” He begins to turn away, grabbing his phone.

Spencer thinks you may have gotten distracted again because you ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Derek looks back at you, shaking his head and flashing you one of his charming smiles. “No, honeybun, you’re perfect.”

“Oh.”

He leaves to take that call. You start to walk after him and Spencer gently takes your hand. You turn to face him, confused at first but giving him a sweet smile only a second later. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his voice soft.

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

Spencer shrugs, taking your other hand just to rub his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re hyper today, a little more distracted.”

As if proving his point, you begin shifting back and forth on your feet, shrugging and then shaking your head at the same time. “I’m okay,” you assure him, squeezing his hands gently. “I haven’t taken my medication in a couple days.”

He furrows his brow, suddenly a little worried. “Why not?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Also, I forgot it.” That makes sense. Spencer makes a mental note to remind you to take them as soon as you get back home. “But I’m okay, prommy.”

He smiles. “Prommy?”

“Promise,” you clarify, letting both your hands down so you can swing his from side to side. He lets you.

“I know what you mean,” he says. Though he knows he should probably be more professional because you’re both in public and leaving a crime scene (and Hotch might reprimand the both of you for it if he saw) he raises a hand to cradle your cheek because he doesn’t care. He just wants you to feel safe and loved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod definitely. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” The way he says it is soft, as soft as a kiss to your forehead or a brush of his knuckles on your skin. “You know, I love you, right?”

You nod, smiling at him like he’s the world—because he is. “Yeah. I love you, too, honey.” You kiss his cheek quickly and pat it. You probably shouldn’t have done it right then, but you did, and you don’t regret it for even a moment.

Spencer’s just happy you know he loves you. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before Morgan leaves us.” He takes your hand as you both begin walking. He swings your joined hands, just as he knows you like it.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” you shake your head. “He likes me too much.”

Spencer chuckles. “Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.”

He looks at you, furrowing his brow. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. And then immediately after, “Why does the sun look yellow? Isn’t it supposed to be white or something? I heard that somewhere.”

Spencer is happy to answer your questions as he opens the car door for you. Derek is already sitting in the front, his hands on the wheel. The passenger’s seat is empty, but Spencer sits in the back with you. You both speak gently so you’re not disturbing Derek. “The Earth’s atmosphere scatters blue light more efficiently than red light, so the slight deficit in blue light means the eye perceives the color of the sun as yellow. But, yes, the sun is actually white.”

“That’s cool,” you mumble. “I think sharks would look cool as hell with piercings. Do you?”

“I do,” Spencer chuckles. In the front seat, Derek shakes his head and smiles to himself, amused by your conversation.

“Did you know that sharks don’t have bones, so when they die, the saltwater dissolves their bodies so the only thing that’s left is their teeth?” You begin ranting, absent-mindedly picking at dirty under your nails. “And also, their bodies are primarily made of cartilage and connective tissue. It’s lighter than bone and keeps them flamboyant. Also, their skin has a similar feel to sandpaper.”

When you ramble, you sound like Spencer. You spend so much time with him and endorse his info dumps so much that you take on his speech style when you go on info dumps of your own. Spencer loves this because he knows that people tend to mimic the people they love as a sign of affection, and you mimic him a lot more than you think.

He also knew about all your shark facts, but he’s happy to listen. He smiles, “Is that what you were doing up late last night?”

You smile a little, turning away from him. “I got distracted.”

“What’s your thought process behind getting from the sun to sharks?” he wonders. “I’m curious.”

You shrug. “Well, you said your thing and I said it was cool. And then I remembered a post I saw that sharks would be cool with piercings. Then I remembered my shark things.” You glance down at your fingers, bringing them to your lips as you notice a tiny part at the very edge of the nail where it would probably tear off. “I just think sharks are cool,” you mumble around your finger.

“They are cool,” he says. He doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself so he adds on, “Will you hold my hand? It’s a little cold.”

You look down at them, “Yeah.” With a nod, you take his hand between both of yours and let them warm his back up. They’re a bit chilly but they don’t feel that cold to you. You hold them anyway, because you love holding his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his and then cover what’s left.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “Did you eat today?”

You nod, still watching his hand as you turn it to look at his palm. You gently trace the lines of it, forgetting for the moment that he’d wanted you to warm his hand up for him. But, as usual, he doesn’t mind. “I had a cereal bar this morning. One of those Coco Puff ones. They’re like Rice Krispy Treats.” He doesn’t think that’s sustainable. “And, before you ask, I did have water.”

He smiles. “I know. I told you to drink some before we left. You hungry?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“You want a snack?” he compromises, hoping—and knowing—you’ll say yes.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll grab one on the way back.” Derek nods gently, remembering to do just that. It will only take a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, his voice lowering to a whisper. He knows Derek can still hear him, but he always just wants to whisper to you.

You look up at him, “For what?”

“Being so perfect.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately smiling at the warmth in your chest. “You’re so cheesy, Spencer Reid.”

He’ll gladly be cheesy for you.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 Tag yourself here...

[wellwells]

Dumber and Dumber

The ad from Obeycorps already burrowed it's way into your head. "You need to become dumber, slut!" was what it said. It's hold on you was temporary, but you want to change that. The ad was obviously right, right?

You know you only have a couple of hours until it wears off and you'll regain your normal, well-adjusted worldview again. You quickly make your way to the hypnotists office.

"I want to become dumber. Like, really really dumb. So dumb that men will Take advantage of me."

"You really want that? To be taken advantage of?"

"Yes. I want to be too stupid to be independent. I want to be used and abused by men who like me solely because i am really dumb."

"Well then, if that's what you want. Look into my eyes."

You can immediately feel it. Your concentration becomes harder to hold, heavy like it's a hundred tons. You drop it, which feels better.

"Excellent. You are getting dumber and dumber. Soon, you will be the perfect plaything for every man who wants you. They will use you and discard you, and you will be too stupid to care."

You moan softly as your mind crumbles

"Yes... Amy dumb... dumb Amy..."

Then it stops. Like a cold shower, your recurring intelligence makes you shiver. The effect of the ad ceases, and a little voice inside you wants you to be smarter again. But it is too late. It just feels so good to be dumb.

"I wanna become, like, even dumber. If i am as dumb as possible, i want to be even dumber than that."

"Of course you do. You want to be the dumbest girl in the world. So dumb that you can't even remember your own name. So dumb that you can't even form coherent thoughts."

"Yes..."

There is no turning back as you permanently lose thought after thought. There is nothing in your pretty little head anymore. You don't have family or friends, memories or a personality. All those words lose their meaning, drooling out of your mouth.

"Good girl. You are becoming the perfect plaything. So stupid that you can't even remember how to speak in full sentences. So stupid that you can't even remember your own name."

"Dumb... I'm so... dumb..."

"What is your name, my little plaything?"

Dumb slut... You are a dumb, dumb slut.

"I don't... know... slut?"

"That's right."

You smile at being correct, even though you already forgot your answer.

The hypnotist reaches out to your cleavage.

"Dumber... please... dumber..."

You can still think about wanting to become dumber, which is still way, way too much.

The hypnotist says words you cannot understand. The concept of language spills out of you like the boobs out of your top. You can No longer ask to become dumber, you lack the capability to do that. It's fine, though, the hypnotist seems to know what you want.

He slaps you and squeezes your face.

You smile, not really getting what is going on. Your body seems to get touched, which is enough to send a smile to your face. You don't know what a smile means. You don't know what touch means. You don't know what anything means.

You simply don't know. You drool.

He shoves his cock in your mouth. After a few thrusts, he pulls it out completely again, holding it in front of your face.

Your mouth tries to communicate to him about those jumbled sensations squirming about, somewhere behind your crossed eyes.

"mmmmm"

Truly the most eloquent piece of dialogue you could muster up. A masterwork of literacy. You are so proud for a second, before you completely lose grasp of what little ego you had left.

"You're still way to smart, i guess. Sorry about that. Become dumber, bitch."

That was it. All thoughts gone. You are an object. No internal voice anymore. You don't exist. He fucks your mouth.

[adverbally]

It’s Gonna Take You Over

Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt “soft and slow” | wc: 874 | rated: E | cw: none | tags: dom Steve, sub Eddie, cockwarming, riding, hickeys, teasing, orgasm control, begging | title from “New Sensation” by INXS

———

Eddie thinks there are probably very few situations where he would object to having Steve Harrington in his lap. (Even fewer if their dicks are out, and even fewer than that if he’s actually inside Steve in some capacity.) But if there’s one thing Eddie has learned over the past year, it’s that some events simply cannot be planned for.

Take, for instance, his current predicament, which involves Steve sitting on Eddie’s cock for several minutes and not. moving.

“Baby, please,” he whimpers as Steve begins to suck another— fourth? fifth? Eddie can’t keep track— hickey into the thin skin beneath Eddie’s ear. The upholstered headboard propping him upright also cushions the blow when Eddie throws his head back with a dull thud.

“Shhh,” Steve hushes him, pulling back to look at Eddie. “Nice and slow, remember?” He holds Eddie’s face between his palms with an affection that almost seems out of place compared to the devious glint in Steve’s eye. “Just like you asked for.”

Eddie’s breath leaves him in a strangled groan when Steve clenches around him. His hands squeeze reflexively at Steve’s waist as his hips try to thrust deeper into the tight heat surrounding him, despite Steve’s weight holding him down. Through it all, Steve keeps Eddie’s face cradled in his hands, watching his brow crease and his mouth drop open.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie moans.

Steve sticks his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Come on, you’ve been so good for me. Just a little longer.”

“Don’t know if I— Jesus Christ!” He wasn’t expecting one of Steve’s hands to slide just enough to press hard into one of the love bites littering Eddie’s neck. It hurts enough that it circles back around to feeling good, making him shudder from head to toe. He wonders if Steve can feel his cock throbbing insistently inside him.

Steve puts on his best innocent face, looking at Eddie through his lashes. “Too much?”

“Please, you’re killing me,” Eddie gasps dramatically, “actually, literally killing me.” He wants Steve so badly that he can hardly form a thought, let alone force it out of his mouth as coherent speech.

“Okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Steve dips his head to kiss Eddie, to reassure him that he’ll be taken care of. He sets a slow rhythm with his tongue, licking the words right out of Eddie’s mouth before he can beg for more.

It’s good, like kissing Steve always is, hot and wet and overwhelming. Eddie gets so lost in the sensation that it catches him off guard when Steve’s hips start to move at the same pace.

This isn’t how Steve usually rides him. Instead of rising and falling, he‘s keeping Eddie’s dick buried to the hilt and grinding back and forth on him. Eddie can tell from his hitching breaths that each deliberate roll of Steve’s hips drags the head of Eddie’s cock across his prostate just right. He can’t see Steve’s face as long as he’s kissing him, but Eddie can imagine how he would look if he pulled away— eyes wide, almost shocked by how good it feels.

“Steve, oh my God,” Eddie mumbles into his mouth.

He’s already getting close. After so long being tormented by Steve‘s stillness, even the minimal friction of each soft movement is enough to drive Eddie toward his peak. Each time Steve rocks in that same slow cadence, lips moving languidly against Eddie’s, it’s almost like a wave building, ebbing and flowing with a predictability that only heightens Eddie’s pleasure every time it crashes into him.

“C’mon,” Steve encourages him, never changing his speed, “want you to come for me.”

”Yeah,” he agrees mindlessly. “Yeah, please, you too.” Steve can’t be far behind, not with how he’s grabbing for the headboard on either side of Eddie, his cock leaking all over their bellies as he runs up against Eddie, inside and out. It makes Eddie’s fingers itch to touch, so he does.

Steve tenses up as soon as Eddie takes his cock in his hand, writhing into Eddie’s touch like he can’t decide where to go. His hips stutter into stillness, pressed as close to Eddie as he can get, and he comes in spurts between them.

Eddie is close behind. He doesn’t know whether it’s the sight or the sound or the way Steve‘s hole flutters around him, but he doesn’t have the capacity to analyze the cause; he comes so hard it feels like someone just flipped the ‘off’ switch on his brain.

“Fuck, Ed,” Steve pants, pressing their foreheads together while they try to catch their breath.

“You’re an evil mastermind,” Eddie babbles. He’s a boneless heap, kept upright only by the pressure of Steve leaning against him and the headboard at his back. He can’t even keep his eyes open. “Thank god you choose to use your powers for good, we’d be doomed otherwise.”

“Shh.” Steve silences him with a kiss. His hands are back on Eddie’s face like he can’t stop touching him. Even with his eyes shut, Eddie’s sure that Steve is staring at him, cataloging every wrinkle and freckle and stray hair.

He feels the love without looking, and he sends it back with a smile.

[bestlilithian]

Home is the first grave.

[ Moon-Pluto, Pluto in 4th house culture ]

tw for various mentions of abuse and death as well as mental problems, sh and su!cide, also needles (dont ask)

- may have experienced a lot of death in thr family or in the close neighborhood

- feel more connected to your dead relatives than your alive ones

- there mightve been a death in your family before you were born

- feeling peacful in graveyards

- may have fantasized about death/su!cide, might percieve death as something that brings peace (hence the fantasies, because really all you ever wanted was peace)

- wanting peace but knowing you cannot have it because of your nature; feeling like theres just something in your blood in your soul that is uncontrollable and overwhelming

- your household was always a house , never a home

- being raised by very old people, enjoying the presence of much older wiser people (like, literal elders not hot teachers 💀)

- enduring literal psychological warfare in your home (usual your mother waged war on you as soon as you were old enough to form a coherent critical thought)

- "I hate you, dont leave me" (might be the attitude of your mother towards you, or yours towards others you love)

- Your mother always knew when you were lying or hiding something. Especially if she had a scorpio moon or moon/pluto aspects herself. You grew up extremely fearful of her.

- moon pluto culture is hearing your mother talk lovingly about her own fucked up mother, she never accepted the severity of her own abuse, until of course she needs to use it in an argument against you "Im a great mother, my mother was so much worse"(basically Im good because I abuse you differently than I was abused 😍 same shit different package)

- not liking motherly women or women who try to be mother figures to you, feeling uncomofortable around them; youre uncomfortable with how much you crave motherly love and people who can provide you that become threats because of the power they could have over you if you opened up

- being betrayed by the women in your life, especially those who were much older and supposed to take care of you (teachers, tutors, family members, therapists, babysitters..)

- toxic female friends 😁🔫 bonus : really close but toxic female friendships in youth that feel like death when you end them even though you know it was necessary

- feeling pain so deeply you think you will drop dead or have a heart attack. (When I was little and depressed I wrote in a diary of mine "My body will kill me before I get to")

more on this : when you start crying because of immense emotional pain and suddenly your heart is burning and beating too fast and youre getting light headed and throwing up , and suddenly youre not crying because of the pain, youre crying because youre afraid youre about to have a heart attack and die

- fearing that your mother will k word herself or you if you try to leave her (harsh aspects mostly)

- learning what emotional violence is very early, how to wield it and defend against it

- turning your emotions off completely for a while and then having a nervous breakdown when it all rushes back

- reading up on psychology, psychiatry and works of psychotherapists so you can heal and never become your mother

- wanting to put a bullet in your head when you notice yourself thinking or behaving like your mother

- going home after you spent time somewhere where you felt good and safe is extremely dreadful

- your mother doesnt see you as a human being (harsh aspects especially), and may take you a while to figure this out

- extremely controlling behavior from your mother or other caretakers (for example my mother threatened to send people to stalk me when I moved to a diff city, to 'make sure Im not doing something bad')

- deeply grieving the loss of your childhood and your inner child

- almost choking while crying or passing out

- feeling like youre a horrible person and dont deserve your family [because youre in deep denial and are seeing the flaws of your family as your own and denying your own trauma]

- learning about sex early on, perhaps early sexual obsession but not like promiscuity more like craving for deep intimacy (also you were probably deeply ashamed of it)

- not telling your family (esp mother) anything because they will ruin it for you

- being accused of being a psychopath, uncaring, selfish for "not loving your family enough"

- not knowing how to feel about the members of your family that played a more passive role in your life because they didnt do anything wrong but they didnt do anything right either; surely they knew , why didnt they stop it? why didnt they save you? (Im talking about adults obviously)

- your parents mightve been much older when you were born, you might have siblings much older than you

- doing anything to avoid your intense emotions and then when you break down and feel everything you realize how freeing it is and how comfortable you actually are with the intensity

- gutteral reactions to songs you deeply relate to (I hear 10 seconds of 'Slipping through my fingers' and I am dead on the floor)

- being afraid of your mother or just of your family in general

- you could probably kill someone with your bare hands if you were angry and hurt enough

- scary as fuck when you actually show your anger

- if you cry in the midst of a fight (verbal or physical) ... someone tell that person to make peace w God . cause thats you crying because of what youre about to do, because thats you loosing the last crumb of humanity you had for them and that can only end one way.

- you would probably kill for your loved ones

- your friends feel like you would help them hide a body (and you probably would)

- recognizing people by footsteps and breathing patterns (especially family members)

- deep deep eyes, people can see war and death them, and they feel like you see their pain too (because you do)

- reading people easily

- enjoying? cruelty (to yourself or others), like getting impulses to do something that would cause you or someone else that ugly feeling of facing cruelty

- finding comfort in the cold and the dark

- insane nightmares since youth, growing to be used to them

- its very hard to shock you

- you know when someones lying

- you might dread certain types of pain yet feel pleasure from them (personally I hate having my blood taken for a test but then I end up immensely enjoying the feeling of a needle pricking my skin and going deep into my vein)

- feeling the need to "kill" some your habits; most likely to drop things cold turkey and be extremely strict in breaking bad habits

- might enjoy really dark, emotionally and morally complex media

- immediately recognizing other moon pluto people and trauma bonding

- extremely good pain endurance. not necessarily tolerance , but endurance. you feel the pain and do it anyway.

- might not react to physical pain at all from a young age

- fantasies about drowning or slipping away peacfully

- either loving deep waters or hating them

- randomly breaking down in the middle of the day because of some pain you buried 5 years ago

- might self harm a lot because of your complex relationship w pain, it genuinely helps sometimes

- home feels like literal prison

- seeing the value in suffering, you might reject the idea that suffering is bad and should be avoided and prevented at all costs

- you might become religious as you mature (but usually in your own way, not necessarily according to tradition)

- forced to eat or denied food in your home, this mightve fucked up your relationship with food

And lastly, I need you to engrave this in yourself :

Wrong love is not love.

[ready-to-obeyme]

look my way

Sometimes, Lucifer wishes you weren't so popular as you are. You would think it's the other way around.

Lucifer x Reader, gender-neutral, pre-relationship, fluff

Word Count: <1k

-

Diavolo would be rather pleased to know you are making friends outside of the seven demon brothers. His vision of peace among the three realms seems more of a reality when a human can play among common angels and lesser demons without fear of retribution or danger. Lucifer would commend you as well, for Diavolo's goals are his own and you are technically under his care-- but he finds you a tad too trusting for your own good, even if it is one of the redeeming qualities that make you popular in the Devildom.

And you are-- popular, despite your modest denials and deflections of "you're much more popular, Lucifer."

Lucifer sees you the way others do. Your friendliness is what makes you well-liked, your indiscriminatory manner of treating others endearing. But it is that soul of yours and a heart that does not falter that makes you popular. Desireable-- though he doubts any demon would dare present themselves in that way to you, not with how closely you stay next to him.

Lucifer can't say he isn't pleased with this, both with your evident affection for him and the wide berth other demons give you when they see him approach. He has no qualms in fighting to get what he wants, but it feeds on his pride that no one would dare challenge him.

But still... it is only a testament on how much he has grown attached to you that he sees you-- eyes fond, smile wide in the direction of others-- and feels a hot flare of jealousy despite himself. Though, if he were truly being honest with himself, he had never been one to share, even when he was an angel.

"You're quite the popular one," Lucifer tells you as he walks you home, and he wants to bite his cheek for voicing his feelings outloud to you, the only source of his bittersweet uncertainty.

.

"There's no one else," you say, and you turn your head quickly away, eyes determinedly forward even though you spot Lucifer look at you curiously.

"Pardon?" He asks, amusement in his tone.

"You're the popular one between the two of us," you blurt out. "I haven't been with anyone for the past few years or so, some years from choice but others... it just hadn't worked out."

You look down at your feet, wondering if there exists a plane below even the Devildom to swallow you whole. But still, it seemed important now to tell Lucifer in the moment, so you speak; it does well for you most of the time. "So you're the only one. The only one that matters."

Lucifer scoffs. "You are popular." You hear his tone soften, and it makes the tendrils of your heart curl in pleasure. "They'd be a fool not to notice how sweetly you treat others."

"I guess when you compare me to a demon, of course," you tease. "And even then, it isn't romantic."

And then you begin to wonder: how many lovers must Lucifer have taken? For how long? Any history of yours would pale in comparison, but especially so, because it is Lucifer. You are certain that even pride and arrogance cannot be strong enough of a deterrent for others to pursue someone as beautiful and talented as Lucifer.

"I see," Lucifer says, and you look at him, confused. You see the tell-tale smirk on his face before you hear his teasing comment. "So you wish to be fawned over as a romantic interest? Coveted as a lover by many?" He takes your hand into his, and before you can instinctively pull away, Lucifer presses a kiss onto your hand.

Your face prickles with how quickly it warms.

"Well," you mumble, looking away, "maybe just by one demon." You let your hand be manipulated until his palm is flat against yours. His fingers are much longer than yours-- his entire hand is, really-- that they envelope yours in its entirety. It's the only coherent thought at the moment; you can only think about how Lucifer is the one holding your hand.

"Good," he tells you, and his smile is pleased, a little smug if you know him well enough. "No other demon could compare, so there is no use in trying."

You let out a laugh, the comment so representative of the Avatar of Pride. It should be off-putting, his arrogance, but you can only admire it, and even at the worst of times, agree with it. And at the best of times, you adore it, especially when you know how little pride matters when it comes to his brothers.

"You're right," you say before Lucifer thinks your laughter means you believe otherwise. "Even if there was, you're still the only one that matters to me, Lucifer."

"Naturally," he says, but you see his ears pink at your words. He grips your hand tighter when you pass by a triad of demons, pulling you subtly closer to him. You hear a titter of laughter trailing after the two of you, and you wonder if they are talking about the two of you-- demon of pride and human-- walking hand in hand. You wonder if Lucifer is proud to have you at his side.

(Perhaps one day he will tell you himself.)

[toms-cherry-trees]

"Look After You" || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Time and distance cannot break certain promises

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: Mentions of war, mental asylums, unjust imprisonment, mentions of controversial mental health treatments, cross dressing (?), implications of violence against women, illness, no betareading we go in raw

Author's note: You might have seen this post where I mention the life of Dorothy Lawrence. Well this is very loosely based on her life mixed with Tommy's story. Left it very open to a part 2 if people like the premise.

(Yes my people watch me put together moodboards instead of choosing gifs)

Requested tag (hope not to disappoint) @brummiereader @emotionalcadaver

The asylum stood tall and imponent before Tommy’s gaze, its towering central dome and flanking turrets framed by the bright sun rays of a cheerful spring afternoon. The radiant gardens contrasted dramatically with the derelict state of the building itself; rusty and broken drainpipes hanging from the roof, rotten wood frames and shattered window panes, missing chunks of brick on the walls, revealing the inner framing and plaster. Nothing about that place inspired trust to those who crossed its threshold, let alone hopes of betterment. The lamentable exterior stood like the perfect match of the decadence within.  

The smell of rot assaulted him the second he entered. The paint had started to peel off, and moisture stains crawled across walls and ceiling. Most windows in the main hall were shuttered, and the incandescent light bulbs did little to cut through the darkness, casting a sickly shadow over the room. The orderly that welcomed him in the entrance had an embittered face, and he questioned Tommy on his name, whom he was visiting and his reasons to. He patted him down and overturned his pockets, making him leave behind anything that could be used to harm or be harmed. Cap, cigar case, lighter, sleeve garters and shoelaces stayed behind while another orderly led him through long hallways and endless locked doors towards the morning hall where he’d meet the purpose of his visit.

Finally, they stopped before a wide set of oaken double doors with panels of rubbed glass, which allowed him a faint peek of what happened on the other side. The orderly barely opened the door enough to enter himself and told Tommy to wait outside, as if he feared something may escape from within given the chance. After a few minutes he returned, leaving the gap open for Tommy to pass through.

 “Sister Janice will take you to her. Don’t look at other patients. Don’t talk to other patients. If they come to you, ignore them. Don’t take anything they give you”

Perplexed, curious and mostly annoyed by all the delays, Tommy ducked under the orderly’s arm while he held the door open. As soon as he stepped inside the orderly let go, and the door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The sudden brightness hurt his eyes after the unceasing darkness, and Tommy had to squint briefly as his pupils grew accustomed to his surroundings. An ample hall stretched before him, arch windows spanning from floor to ceiling lining the west and north walls. Moth eaten draperies of blue velvet had been drawn back to allow sunlight in, in hopes of insufflating some life into the gelid heart of the asylum.

The room had surely once been a magnificent ballroom, but had now been reduced to the sad, dirty, abandoned alcove where the non-aggressive patients spent most of their waking hours, some engaged in the very few activities offered to them, others dragging their feet and mumbling to themselves like lost souls, their gazes absent and their appearance unkempt. Not one person appeared to have a coherent thought there, and Tommy wondered if it was due to their own ailments, or due to the medicines the nurses forced down their throats to keep them tame and peaceful, albeit stupid. 

As Tommy walked past, he couldn't help but notice the way his presence drew attention from them. The patients stopped in their tracks to stare at him as if he were the most marvellous wonder they had ever seen. They pointed at him, uttering incoherences and laughing at jokes no one else heard. Some tried to get close but were forced back with a sharp gesture by the nun accompanying him, whom only now Tommy noticed, carried a mean looking leather strap, hanging side by side with a rosary from her cord belt.

At long last, she came into view. Slouched on a rocking chair facing the windows, a ragged purple cardigan thrown over a white, floor length dress, resembling more a nightgown than any sort of decent clothing. A white linen cap covered her hair, and Tommy noticed that the ties had been removed, as had been from the rest of her garments. She looked thinner, thinner even than she did in France. She gave no indication that she had noticed their presence, her dulled eyes fixated on the gardens outside.

 “I have it from here, sister” Tommy dismissed the nun with a wave of his hand, dragging a nearby stool to sit next to the woman.

 “I’m sorry Mr. Shelby, but I cannot allow you to be unsupervised with a patient. She seems tame now, but who knows what atrocities a woman of sin like her might commit”

Tommy wanted to snort. She barely looked strong enough to hold herself in the chair, how could she harm anyone?

“She won’t attack me sister” Tommy insisted “Now step back, and I will make sure the asylum is handsomely rewarded for your troubles.”

The nun opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then chose against it. The asylum could do with some extra coin, after all. She straightened up and smoothed her habit, perhaps a way to reinstate her authority that Tommy had so brazenly challenged. 

“You have half an hour” She stated at last before walking away towards a group of patients who were seemingly arguing over a doll.

Tommy’s gaze returned to the woman in front of him, who continued to be absent from the world around her, and who gave no sign of life other than the steady rising and falling of her shoulders with each breath. Thomas allowed the pause to linger between them a few seconds longer, but he didn’t want to waste his allotted time. He wouldn’t put it past these people to drag him out like that; the laws of men did not apply in these sorts of places.

He called her name softly, in a nearly soothing whisper. Once, twice, thrice, yet it did not do to her more than the drafts howling through the broken panes or the maniac laughs of the patients around them. He didn’t want to touch her and risk startling her, but he didn’t want to spend his visit staring at her left cheek. He took his last chance, using this time a different name, a name he had not pronounced since 1915.

“Private Anders”

The name stirred something in her mind. Her back straightened a bit and her features quivered in recognition. Slowly, stiffly, she turned towards Tommy, her eyebrows first furrowing in confusion then rising in surprise.

“Sergeant Major?” Her shock could not be disguised, and she readied to rise and salute, but Tommy motioned for her to remain seated.

“At ease, private” 

~

Tommy recalled perfectly the first day he saw her. They were stationed near Albert, digging up a new front line as they tried to gain terrain from the Germans. The troops from the British Expeditionary Force and the 179th tunnelling company consisted mostly of coal miners, all turned sappers whose task was to ready up the land for battle. The clay rich soil basically melted between their fingers when it rained, making the digging of trenches and shelters a never-ending battle. The dampness crept up their legs and seeped into their bones, and Tommy had seen one too many soldiers whose feet rotted inside their boots. Even the strongest men, used to work from sun to sun in the depths of the coal mines breathing dust and methane, would sometimes succumb to the elements. 

Tommy worked paired with Tom Dunn, a man as thick of back as he was of skull. He could easily lift an adult man and throw him across the field like a sack of potatoes, and legend has it he pulled the coal carts in the mine when the horses couldn’t. If left to it, he could probably dig out the trench with only his hands and his helmet.

He had been the one to introduce Tommy to her. Dunn had hidden that little lunatic in an abandoned cottage, not too far from where the troops were stationed. Somehow, she had obtained a uniform, which she had padded with cotton wool to flatten her curves and broaden her shoulders. Her hair had been cut in a military style, scrapes on her cheeks simulated a shaving rash, and potassium permanganate attempted to sharpen her jaw and cheekbones with dark shadows. 

She slept in a damp mattress, with little more than a threadbare blanket to keep her warm; she had no means of acquiring something better, nor could she light a fire in the dusty hearth for fear of being discovered. Dunn had been feeding her with whatever he could spare from his own rations or snatch from others, which meant she had been eating the minimum for survival, since the woods offered nothing but naked branches at that time of year. 

Tommy had been left thunderstruck, far too much to react properly. A million questions came to his lips, and a million died there as his mind couldn’t exactly put into words what he wanted to know. His gaze flickered between them both, who looked at him pleadingly like a couple of children asking their parents to stay up late. His first instinct was to call up their superior and hand her over to them, for her own safety, but then he thought about it better. The things that could happen to her if he handed her over to the war office…and that’s it, if they handed her over in the first place, or chose to make justice themselves.

No, for the sake of her safety and his conscience, he would play along with them for now.

“What is your name?” He inquired, a simple question to cut through the gelid silence that had befallen them.

For an answer, she handed Tommy papers and a matching dog tag. Forgeries, most likely, and very good ones, which meant she spent money on those. Paying from her own pocket to go to war

They held each other's gaze for endless seconds. At long last, Tommy offered a handshake.

“Welcome to the 179th tunnelling company, Private John Anders. I’ll look after you” 

~ 

Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the meeting. The person who sat before him, hunched and dirty and completely lost to the world, bore no resemblance to the fiery, and perhaps a little unhinged, woman that had gone through every length to infiltrate herself in the front line. Years of memory seemed to have been erased from her mind, but she recalled vividly everything she went through in her time in France. She did not know the day and year she lived in but could easily recite the names of every man she met from the 179th, as well as every technique they implemented to dig out the clay.

Tommy was sure that, if he were to put a shovel in her hands, she would unconsciously start digging. 

He had partly placated his worries by placing a nurse in the asylum, one handpicked by Polly and paid out of his own pocket, to look after her. But that solution felt like not enough. Not by a mile. What that place did to her, what they were turning her into…Killing her bit by bit, stripping away her sanity to erase from her any memory she held of those weeks in the front. He still recalled the tunnel collapse, when the rain-soaked clay began to crumble over them like cold tar, obscuring their vision and sticking their feet to the ground. How the men dragged out each other, coated from head to toe in the reddish paste. She had tripped, her foot had gotten stuck, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that she had been left behind, and he had re-entered the tunnel for her. Feeling his way through the darkness, keeping an eye on the entrance, calling her name out; her fake name, for even in the face of danger he had the mental fortitude to remember the importance of her cover up. How she dropped her own facade, her fearful voice calling him as she stretched her arm towards him.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy

“Tommy!” Billowed an angered female voice, dragging his thoughts back to the present time. 

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to dissipate the fogs of the past that laid over them. Because he was not in the tunnels, nor in the Western front. He was sitting in his office, behind his desk, nursing a whiskey in his hands and with Polly sitting across him, equally angered and perplexed at her nephew’s inattention.

“You know I don’t appreciate my words being wasted”. It sounded like a threat, but half of the things Polly said usually did “If you had no interest in this briefing, you could have rescheduled our meeting”.

“You hate your time being wasted” Tommy pointed out.

“Which is exactly what you’re doing now” She remarked.

Silence lingered in the office while Polly lit a new cigarette and Tommy downed his drink, which had already begun to warm in his hands. He stood to pour another, which he finished almost immediately.

“So” Polly began, exhaling the smoke in an elegant blow “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” As usual, Polly could see through him as easily as one would do through a clean glass. It unnerved him sometimes, to be laid open so vulnerably under her watchful gaze.

“It’s nothing” Tommy sat before the fire; hands laced behind his head in an attempt to seem relaxed.

“There’s been many things on your mind, Tommy, and nothing has never been one of them”. Polly’s slender fingers ran across the glass bottles on the bar cart before settling on gin, pouring herself a more than generous serving.

“You’re thinking of her”.

Tommy immediately thought of denying it, but what was the point? When Polly knew, no one could tell her otherwise. And as much as he hated others meddling in his business, the words came tumbling before he could hold them back.

“I’m just worried. She’s not the same she used to be. I don’t know what they do to her in that place, but she’s changed. Those medicines they give her, and who knows what else they’ve done. You know the treatments” He shook his head, as if to dismiss everything he said “Just worried” 

“It’s been many years since you last saw her. Everyone changed after the war. God knows you did”.

“This is not the same. They’re killing her there” Tommy stared up at the ceiling, as if hoping to find a solution to his problems in the plaster. Polly only watched him, pondering over her next words carefully. She only hoped she would not regret whatever her nephew chose to do next.

“If her wellbeing worries you so, you have to do the right thing”

He frowned, turning to look at her with confusion clear in his eyes. Polly sipped the gin, swirling it around her mouth as she gave it a last thought. This was one of the far and few times in which Tommy proved he had a heart, and that softened her as well.

“If you are worried, you act. If they’re killing her in there, you get her out”

~

The sun had finally shone upon the soldiers after nearly a week of bad weather, when rain and fog had turned the living conditions in the trenches into nearly inhumane. The soldiers were happy, for they would no longer shiver until their bones ached, and they would at last be able to put their clothes and themselves to dry. The tunnellers were less than pleased, for the sun had dried the clay into a solid wall, forcing them to exhaust their muscles to dig out chunks the size of their heads while the sweat ran down their temples and backs. Their comrades kept them supplied with water, but it felt like pouring water on a bottomless bucket. 

Tommy worked side by side with her. Him. Her. Her identity still got tied in his mind, and he had to think through every word addressed in her direction for fear of blowing her cover. He watched her out of the corner of the eye as she swung the pickaxe with a strength and determination he never expected to see in a woman. Despite her resilience, Tommy worried about her, and kept a watchful gaze for any sign of exhaustion. She could not afford to be taken ill or injured, for a trip to the medical tent would be enough to unravel all her carefully crafted lies. He had to take care of her.

They both worked in the very end of the trench, and the sounds around them would conceal any hushed conversation. Tommy’s curiosity was stronger than his willpower

“Why?”

She didn’t react at first, and Tommy thought she either didn’t listen to him, or chose to ignore him, both of which were valid. But before he could ask again, she whispered back, keeping her manly tone

“Why what?”

“Why come here? What sane person would come here, on her own free will, to be forced into coldness and starvation? Risk your life, and for what purpose? Couldn’t find good places to dig back in England?”

She snorted, the sound quite lighter than any man’s laugh, so she concealed it by clearing her throat

“I wanted to serve my country, same as you. Is there any sin on that?”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep?”

She stopped digging for a moment, leaving the pickaxe embedded in the clay. She sat in the upturned bucket they used as stool, wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She couldn’t work shirtless, and their uniforms had been made to shield from the cold only. Tommy offered her water; she drank a sip and poured the rest on her head. He noticed her hair had grown again, and curled behind her ears. He made a mental note to give her a trim after nightfall.

“I just wanted to see what it was like. What it really was. They don’t tell us the truth back home. The newspapers make it sound as if the front is almost peaceful and the men are just laying back eating turkey while the Germans fall a hundred a day. I wanted the truth, and I want to write about it. Make a book of all the lies they fed us home.”

Her reasoning didn’t sit well with him. All that effort, that trouble, that risk, just to figure out if war was as bad as she thought? Mad, mad in the head this one.

“And what does your family think you’re doing away from home?”

She scratched her chin, in the same way Tommy did when he got a shaving rash from his blunt razors. She had picked up male mannerisms quite fast, particularly his own

“Not much family left to care what I do or stop doing. I said I’d come to France to volunteer as a nurse, but they most likely think I came as a camp follower. If they knew what I’m up to, they would have me committed to the closest madhouse”

“The madhouse is where you belong” Tommy replied, albeit jokingly, as he stopped his work to pull out a cigarette from his pocket. But he was interrupted by a ball of clay being tossed at his face with masterful precision, dampened for maximum effect.

“Shut up, Sergeant Major”

 ~

Blue skies and a pleasant breeze welcomed them at the gates of Arrow House. Tommy chose to drive this time, taking the advice from the doctor who would oversee her care, who suggested she be exposed to the least amount of people possible during the first days as she adjusted to life outside. Only Tommy, Frances and the nurse who would be her primary caretaker.

She stared at the world around her with such wonder, like a blind whose sight had been restored. Every tree, every bird, the very landscape that surrounded his manor brought such wonder onto her face, like a child with a Christmas tree. Her happiness almost managed to convince him that this was, in fact, a good idea. 

When Polly told him to get her out, he knew she meant to put her in a home of her own, with a caretaker, and allow her to have a life of her own. And Tommy considered the idea, for a while. To place her in a nice neighbourhood, in a house with a garden and a balcony where she could enjoy the sun, with a nurse and maids and a car. But it didn’t sit right with him. She had been alone ever since they took her. Imprisoned until the war ended, and then released only to be taken to the madhouse at first chance. Not one familiar face around her for nearly a decade. No, Tommy wouldn’t take her out of a cage just to put her back in a smaller, prettier one. She needed someone to protect her. And for better or worse, that one could only be Tommy. 

When the car came to a halt, she was the first one out, gaping at the imponent state which Tommy owned. 

“Is this where you live, Sergeant Major?” The wonder was palpable in her voice. But the only thing Tommy noticed was that after everything she still couldn’t find it in her to call him by his name.

“2000 acres of land, of which 12 are just garden, and 750 acres of farming land”

She cocked an eyebrow, and in the amused twinkle of her eyes Tommy saw a glimpse of the one she used to be.

“Are you a farmer now, sir?” She disguised her laugh behind the handkerchief she insisted on carrying, looking down like a bashful schoolgirl.

Tommy pulled out a cigarette; he felt the corner of his lips pulled into the shadow of a smile, pleased to see her spirits lifted.

“My business is more focused on progress and modernity, but I wouldn’t reject the idea. Perhaps one day it’ll come in hand to have crops and cows”

“That would be the bloody day” She didn’t even try to hide her laughter this time “Our mighty Sergeant Major, dressed in overalls and with mud up to his knees shovelling cow shit”

“I find myself more interested in horse shit these days. Come on, I’ll show you around” 

Tommy gave her a complete tour of the house and adjacent grounds, both to show her everything that would be at her complete disposal, and also as a way to show off how far he had come since they were both in the trenches, hunched over a meagre fire lit inside an empty can and sharing a homemade cigarette made from tobacco leftovers. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her fingers running over tapestries, leathers and carved wood with childlike wonder

He saved her room for last. A wide bedroom at the very back of the house, situated in a corner with plenty of windows. It had a view of the back of the state, so she could enjoy the gardens, the horses and the surrounding woods. In the corner with the most sunlight Tommy had placed a writing desk, supplied with paper, pens, ink and a brand new typewriter. Amidst everything sat a bunch of old and worn pages, all of different sizes and materials, kept together nicely with leather cord. She picked it up gingerly, running her thumb over the first page. Even though the paper was stained and dusty, the words could be read as easily as the first day she wrote them.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she hugged the improvised diary to her chest like it was a most prized possession. And perhaps it was. She turned towards Tommy, a mixture of bewilderment and eternal gratitude plastered on her features

“Where did you get it? I thought they would have had it destroyed when they locked me up”

Tommy only smirked, pulling out a cigarette from the golden case he carried “Remember what I told you? Always make sure someone owes you something”

That gesture, so small yet so meaningful, shifted something inside her. Her eyes brimmed with tears she attempted to fight, but they won in the end. She practically jumped into Tommy’s arms, hugging him with the eagerness of a person who has been denied a caring touch for far too long.

“How will I ever be able to thank you enough, Sergeant Major?”

His free arm circled her frame, returning the gesture

“You can start by calling me Tommy”

~

Worry crept up Tommy’s spine as the higher ups did their rounds to inspect the work on the freshly dug trenches. It had been three days since she last showed up, and he would soon run out of lies to cover up for “Private Anders’” absence. 

As much as she tried to deny it, finally the harsh conditions had caught up to her. Her health had gone down a slippery slope with the arrival of winter. First it had been just a fretless dry cough, easily softened with pine tea. But then came the bone pains, the headaches, the constant fatigue. The dampness of her safe haven had seeped into her bones and caused some sort of rheumatism. Tommy noticed the swelling of her hands as they struggled to grip the pickaxe. Her hair began to fall out in clumps.

The shivers and the fever had finally knocked her off her feet. She had been unable to leave her cottage, which in turn worsened her condition even further. Tommy had tried to bring her something more substantial to eat, but she seemed unable to eat more than a few bites of stale bread dipped in some coffee the Americans had given them. Dry, suffocating coughs racked her body until she had to gasp for air, her teeth and lips speckled with blood.

“This is the end line” She had mumbled weakly during the third night, while Tommy tried to desperately convince her to light a fire to warm and dry the place

“No. You are not going to die. I won’t allow it. I told you I’d take care of you” He stated firmly, sitting on the floor by her side with her hand in his, his other one cupping her feverish cheek. He had been in a similar spot, not too long ago. Watching life fade away from a young woman’s eyes. He refused to let her die, not like that, not there where he would have to dump her body in the river.   

“I am not going to die” She stated with a conviction her current condition didn’t match “But to survive, I have to turn myself in”

The idea of handing her over to the war office filled Tommy with panic

“No, no you cannot do that. Do you have any idea what they could do to you? Your best prospect would be to be thrown in jail, to be given 10 years for impersonating a soldier. And that’s if the higher ups are feeling compassionate” He shuddered at thinking what those wolves would do to her “Listen, I get leave tomorrow night. I’ll go to the nearest town, get some medicine, maybe I can pawn some things and get you a new blanket. You-”

“No” With great effort, she propped herself up in one elbow. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the strands of hair left in the pillow “I’ve implicated you long enough. The excuses and lies you have made for me are enough to have you dishonourably discharged and tried. You have done everything you could for me, and for that I am  forever indebted to you, Sergeant Major. This next chapter in my life, I have to write it alone”

She sounded dejected and disappointed, as if she had failed some unwritten expectation of her adventure. But Tommy thought quite the opposite. He only felt admiration for the things she had put herself through in order to tell her story. He still thought she was mad in the head, but in a completely different way

“Will you mention my name when you write your book?” He asked jokingly, helping her lay back down slowly, pulling the ragged blanket up to her chin

“Only if you want to be jailed next to me for helping an intruder” She laughed, but the sound was cut short by another fit of coughing “I’ll dedicate it to you, Sergeant Major. Everything I write and do will be because of you”

~

Tommy awoke with a startle. His eyes were wide open, darting around the room as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. Everything seemed to be calm in his room. And then it happened again. A dry thud in the wall, followed by a muffled scream.

In a heartbeat he was out of bed, gun in hand. He followed the noises, which seemed to grow louder the closer he got to her bedroom. The door was ajar, allowing a sliver of moonlight to project in the floor, in which Tommy could see two shadows moving.

He stormed inside, gun ready to fire. But he didn’t find an intruder, no. Just her, on her knees, banging her fists against the wall as she screamed. Her nurse stood by her side, amidst a disaster of clothes and books and other objects, unsuccessfully trying to coax her back to bed

“Miss, please. The hour is quite late. You need sleep”

“No, no. The walls are coming down. We have to get out, the roof’s collapsing!” She yelled desperately, clawing at the wall trying to dig herself out of some dark place that only existed in her head. He saw her nails tear the wallpaper with ferocity. And then he noticed the nurse unlocking a cabinet and pulling out a syringe

“No” He said almost immediately as he put a firm hand on the nurse’s arm “Go to bed. I have this”

“But Mr. Shelby!”

“I said go. Leave me with her”

The nurse doubted, holding his gaze, but chose to exit the room, closing the door behind her.

Tommy walked towards her slowly, afraid he would startle her. He gingerly touched her arm, but his presence went as unnoticed as a speck of dust. He called out her name, again and again, without success. The mud had seeped deep in her brain, as it had done his, and blocked her senses from the outside world. In order to get through, Tommy had to get into the mud with her

He stood tall, in martial position, hands behind his back

“Private Anders!”

Quick like a lightning bolt, she stood up and saluted in a firm position. Tears streaked her face and her entire body quivered like an autumn leaf

“Sergeant Major sir!”

“At ease, private. You are relieved of your duties. Time to go back home”

Like the lifting of a spell, her eyes glossed over as she blinked slowly, looking around her from the bed, to the things she had thrown around in haste, and finally towards Tommy. Her lower lip quivered

“What is happening to me?”

Her knees faltered. Tommy lunged forward before she could hit herself, coming down to the floor with her held in his arms. She burrowed herself in his chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt as she wept, her body racked by sobs. Tommy shushed her quietly, his fingers carding through her hair

“Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you”

[austinsastrology8991]

> Mercury Aspects <

and why you sound like a Dumb Fuck

Mercury Aspecting Sun - Your voice is authoritative and you love to flex on people with your loud appeal. However, your voice being the centre of attention (usually) can create an atmosphere where you're very controlling of the conversation. This is not so bad because others do like to listen to you, but the problem is others may not always feel heard. You are gifted at speaking, and gaining recognition from that, but a good conversation isn't formed from a fkn monologue, or outwitting the other, its about conversing - not speaking AT someone. But you speak clearly and its easy for others to call you smart Mercury Aspecting Moon - Nervous speakers who's tone is so dependent on how they are feeling, you literally have to give them a pat on the back to get a coherent answer out of them. These people are very thoughtful, but since they have been thinking about what they want to say for so long, they find themselves stuttering, and word vomiting; because they want to be careful with what they say hence the overthinking tendencies. They speak softly and it can make others relax around them. But people like to ask them to speak up a lot, so not so relaxing for them I guess Mercury Aspecting Venus - Pretty voices, and they always say the right thing. People love to talk to them cause they have a very receptive ear, but also a willingness to share their own ideas, and this duality makes it so others cannot help but be completely enamoured by their talking. They can sell water to a well, a fire to a lighter, a Samsung to a Apple store; they really can convince you anything just because you got lost in their language.

Mercury Aspecting Mars - Harsher voices that love to get aggressive on da mic. They love to swear but more than that, they love to talk shit, and well they are good at it because they don't really put so much thought into what they are saying, they just say it. And others have to remind these natives that they said some fucked up shit, and that they should calm down lol. But they perform very well in arguments, and its because they thrive in da art of da comeback Mercury Aspecting Jupiter - Naturally bold in what they say, and always have something interesting to talk about, and they are interesting, but they are always in the mood to teach you something and its kinda exhausting. Jim carry has this conjunct and well he is interesting... But he is also always trying to teach you something, but unfortunately for him we don't really care we just want him to make us laugh. And I guess thats why this combo can be a little unfortunate, because most people feel educated enough and don't want to be further educated. They so badly want to teach others, but unfortunately for them its a hard thing to teach in tongues > people learn from experience more, and they'd rather be the master of their own destiny (not owe it to yoi) > ik ur trying to help but you have to understand we are a stubborn species Mercury Aspecting Saturn - They speak with so much nonchalance, and its a great way to make others listen to them; because they acting like the answer is simple. But it's actually because they >think< they figured out all the possible answers; since they have studied/researched a lot just so they feel some semblance of control on the topic. And if they don't speak on a subject, its because they don't know the answer, and this decisiveness in when and when not to speak makes others respect their opinion more often than not.

Mercury Aspecting Uranus - You guys jump from subject to subject with such little foresight of what the fuck was happening in the conversation, I frankly get a headache talking to you. You are def interesting to talk to, but your lack of direction in communication, can get on my nerves and I hate your lack of care about it. You talk about anything under the sun, and this makes you someone almost perfect to speak to. Until the other person realizes the conversation as a whole was utterly meaningless. But these guys lowkey geniuses and their voices are 'unique' Mercury Aspecting Neptune - These people are um. hard to say. they really go all over the place. I've seen these natives go from speaking like a retard > to a professor > to barking like a dog > then speaking like the president; and its just a normal conversation for them. I think its because they pick up on the energy of what the conversation needs most and they shapeshift into whatever that need is; so you really don't know what your gonna get. You really can never can tell what they are going to say next, and they are a master at confusing yo brain. Also high-key the best person to talk about life with; very sensitive and genuine when need to be. Mercury Aspecting Pluto - These guys love to get deep n emotionally invest in any conversation they can. They have extremely piercing minds, and cannot be bothered talking about a 'nothing', so they always probe your brain, and swerve the conversation into something deeply uncomfortable for the both of you. Hey its more interesting than a boring conversation, and well if they never brought it up, lets be honest; you never would have thought about it in the unique perspective that they gave you. Also they are so blunt and forceful, you literally have to stop everything because of the audacity of what the fuck came out they mouth. They speak intensely and put all focus onto you/subject at hand, its low key uncomfortable; but always interesting

[partycatty]

kenshi > read my mind

sitting across the table from your boyfriend at sun do's royal dinner, filling his mind with terrible images...

warnings: ur a horndog, exhibitionism ig, SWITCH KENSHI NATION RISE UP!

notes: this was inspired by @crimsonbubble 's post about kenshi's telepathy... absolute genius... also please pretend he's got sento here or something idfk just bear with me please i'm in heat LMAO. funny side note i had to rewrite this after finishing it to tweak some details, namely that i forgot kenshi CANNOT FUCKING SEE.

[ masterlist ]

• there was a mutual agreement between you and kenshi, no funny business in outworld lest the entirety of earthrealm be damned to your reputation. this was a doable task, you and kenshi were disciplined and well-mannered, like two cute little peas in a very stoic pod.

• however, when you're sat at the long table, syzoth on your left and johnny on your right as you tear apart a roasted bird, you find yourself salivating at the sight of kenshi swirl a glass of red wine with interest. how is it that everything he does is so effortlessly sexy? your chewing slows and you swallow thickly.

• kenshi must have felt your burning gaze, considering his familiarity with it, and his head flicks up to meet yours.

• you look really hot tonight, you try to think as coherently as you can but your mind wanders faster than you can control, and you're envisioning kenshi throwing that roasted bird and glassware to the floor as he fucks you stupid there and then, using your hole as his personal stress relief as he pins you hard to the table. kenshi chokes on his wine, fists clenching as his head tilts downward to avoid staring at you and spiraling his own mind any further.

• the illuminated figures of his friends surrounding kenshi don't seem to pick up on his flushed state, too entranced in their meals to properly notice anything off.

• what's the matter? you toy with him innocently, leaning over the table to tear the leg from the bird and let your breasts spill out and settle atop the table. how he wishes he could see the flush of your skin, the way your outfit compliments your figure so well. don't get too heated, someone will notice.

• you stick your finger in your mouth, sucking away the flavor of the food as you look directly at him with low lids. you had to commit to this, whatever your goal was it surely couldn't have ended well for you.

• there was so much room under the table, a dark part of you snickers as you envision crawling under the table and freeing his surely solid cock, swirling your tongue around his tip and digging your nails into his thigh, reminding him to keep quiet.

• "stop," kenshi mouths at you, shoulders tense as the spirits probe your mind and fill him with evil thoughts. you reach your foot underneath the tablecloth and confirm what you suspected when your sole pressed into his bulge, making him gasp before covering his mouth.

• seems like you don't want me to, you coo into his mind, applying just enough pressure to make him jump. you're all hard and needy for me, aren't you? wish you could just fuck my pretty pussy until i'm nothing more than a drooling mess?

• syzoth is startled by kenshi's thighs bumping the table, brows knitting as he eyes down kenshi's shivery state. "are you alright?" he inquires, tilting his head.

• "no need to worry, syzoth," you insist, while simultaneously conjuring up images of kenshi stuffing his inked fingers so deep in your cunt you cream over them. "kenshi is just a little under the weather as of late."

• your strained grin seems to convince him well enough to drop the subject, turning back to his plate of bugs. your head turns, now grinning at your extremely flustered boyfriend.

• "stop it," he mouths again, squeezing your foot between his thighs. that does nothing, of course, as he immediately is flooded once again with your thoughts of settling between his thighs, squishing your cheek on one while pumping his length with a hand. his throat clears, maybe a bit louder than intended.

• i want you so bad, your lashes flutter, your food a forgotten part of the process. you make me so wet, kenshi, it's so hard to focus when i just want you to use me.

• you giggle to yourself. kenshi's cock is so strained against his dress pants he wondered if he might just pass out or break his zipper. the thoughts of him splitting you open make your own thighs clench, rubbing together to release any tension you'd built. your panties undoubtedly damp, clit throbbing and needy, all of which you project into his head with a sly grin.

• fuck me open on this table, you halfheartedly propose. split me and make everyone know what a whore i am for that dick, pretty boy. i'll ride you so fucking good you won't even remember your own name, is that what you want? you want my thighs around your head when you eat me out? you make me cum so hard, kenshi, you and only you gets me so horny like this, i can barely contain it.

• simultaneously dirty talking through your minds and creating images and scenes that no doubt will send you to hell was far too much for kenshi, especially in public. he stands harshly, his chair screeching against the floor which thankfully draws enough attention away from him to allow him to adjust himself quickly in his pants, tugging his top down further in hopes that somehow, someway his massive cock could be hidden enough.

• "please excuse me," kenshi mutters, bowing deeply. "i believe i am unwell."

• "could we offer you anything?" kitana stands with him, eyes wide with concern. "tea, perhaps—?"

• kenshi bows his head, shaking it slightly. "that won't be necessary princess, though i appreciate it."

• after everyone finishes exchanging funny looks, nobody seems to really notice the sly glint in your eye as your head follows his movements. he walks around the table, having to pass you in the process. his hands sweep behind your hair and cup the back of your neck gently as he leans down to mumble something in your ear. nobody thinks to question the gesture, as it is common knowledge you two were together. what he says though, is so heinous you hope outworld abilities don't include superhearing.

• "you're fucking done for," he mutters, nails digging into the sides of your neck ever so slightly. "you're paying for making me this hard later."

• he pulls away before you could even consider replying, walking off as the click of his dress shoes lessen in volume. the dinner resumes, though johnny leans into your other ear.

• "what's his problem?" johnny asks obliviously, watching kenshi exit. "he's always got a stick up his ass... no offense."

• "none taken," you reply sweetly, turning to face him. "i believe he's just feeling a little sickly."

• "outworld germs?" johnny chuckles, leaning back in his chair. you shrug, looking at the bird again.

• "maybe it was the food."

[hannigramislife]

Saw your thoughts on dazai ships and wanted to hear about your take on akutagawa ships.

Entrapta voice: You're asking me about my theories?? I've waited years for someone to ask me about my theories!

Hello friend! Thanks for the ask! I love talking about Akutagawa, he is my heart and soul, so this will be fun! I will take the chance to also thank you about your interaction with my posts, it makes my day ^^

Now, let's get into it!

Shin Soukoku (Akutagawa/Atsushi) - This is everything to me. Absolutely everything. They're in love. They're soulmates. They were created by the same ring of laughter. An angel lost its wings and they both fell in Yokohama, waiting to be reunited. Sskk is the definition of "whatever souls are made of, his and mine were the same." I cannot accurately describe how happy they make me. I can't even give a coherent and objective reasoning as to why they're the best ship ever, they just are. "Just the two of us? / Do we need any more?" WHY ARE YOU RECITING YOUR WEDDING VOWS NOW, GOD–! Anyways. 1 billion/10.

Chuuaku (Chuuya/Akutagawa) - Similarly to my other post, I don't get people who have a problem with this ship. It's cute, it's beautiful, it makes me happy. I talked to my friend about this issue once; like, why is multishipping not a thing in this fandom?? Maybe I want to jump around dynamics??? Can skk give me friends to lovers?? No?? Great, Kunizai it is. Like, why can't we let people ship other shit than skk and sskk?? Anyways, Chuuya and Akutagawa care for each other, there is mutual respect, they would be a great comfort to one another. I say valid, 10/10 ship.

AkuHigu (Akutagawa/Higuchi) - I love, love, love this ship. Love them. They're so cute?? Like, I'm a die-hard sskk fan until I die, but I would LOVE to see more of this ship. The scene where Higuchi goes to save him?? Where Akutagawa gains consciousness and the first thing he does, before he can properly gather his senses, is apologize to Higuchi?? Also, the whole episode where she's stalking Gin because she thinks she's dating Akutagawa?? Their interactions in Wan?? I actually fucking love them. Every time the focus is on them, I feel like I'm watching a shoujo anime. Higuchi makes me think that Akutagawa would be a romantic. I need more of theeeeeem. Literally they're born to shoujo and forced to shounen. 10/10.

Dazaku (Dazai/Akutagawa) - Since I expressed my frustration with the fandom regarding this in the Dazai ships post, I will focus on my opinions about this ship. Honestly, it makes me feel kinda awkward? When I think of them in a romantic manner? Feels just a little bit like missing a step. However, it's an interpretation I would be open to if I could be convinced that Dazai actually, you know, likes Akutagawa? Like, you know that one scene in Lady Bird that's like "I wish you liked me / You know I love you / But do you like me?" That's how I feel the dynamic is between these two. Yes, Dazai is hoping Atsushi will be good for Akutagawa, and yes, he is happy Akutagawa stopped killing, and God knows what his plans are for the future – but do you like me? Valid ship context wise, neutral territory, I just need a little more from Dazai before I can make a final ruling.

TaniAku (Tanizaki/Akutagawa) - LISTEN GUYS. LISTEN. I BLAME BEAST FOR THIS, BUT THESE TWO ARE SO, SO, SO IMPORTANT TO MEEEE. I unironically love them. I don't care that Beast is the only canon I have to work with for this ship; it's so good. Like, the way Beast Tanizaki understood Akutagawa?? The way he supported his revenge mission from the get go?? The way he stormed the Mafia HQs and fucking held an assassin hostage just so he could help Akutagawa?? Ride or die. That bitch. I would actually die if I saw them interact in canon. Like, that's your bestie in another life. 100/10. I need them. It is a need.

TachiAku (Tachihara/Akutagawa) - I have no serious thoughts about this, to be honest. I think it would be lowkey hilarious. I haven't had nearly enough interactions between them for me to get attached to this ship in any way. Plus, now that we know more about Tachihara's...real self, I would love to see more of these two! I am going to allow this ship, and hope to see these two at least fight by each other's side in the future!

I think that's it for the most popular ones, please let me know if I forgot any ships!

[threesnakesinatrench-coat]

Please vote.

Like I so so bad wish that voting a third party would do something but it won’t. Please. Vote for Biden. He is really probably gon die in office. But please. Vote for him. He’s old. He can’t make his thoughts into coherent sentences. But you really want someone to be president who will actually become a dictator? And like turn America into hell?

One option ignored a question about climate change to talk about money and the other one supports climate action.

One is guilty on 34 counts and one supports roe v wade. Like guys. We have two options here. Don’t try to be fucking moral and vote third party cuz u align urself more w them. A vote for a third party in a magical world where America isn’t the way it is could be good. But here, you have to. Please. Vote. And vote for someone who has a chance at winning. Trumpers arent going to vote third party, they’re going to vote for trump. Full on Biden lovers are far and few between. PLEASE VOTE FOR A BIG PARTY. I don’t care about ur moral dillema. Vote for Biden. We can all overthrow the government later, once we’re sure that project 2025 isn’t happening. Vote for someone who might actually tax the rich so it’s easier for us to eat them later (because we will be able to afford to live)

Vote for Biden because a vote for anyone else is a vote for trump. A third party cannot win this year. There are too many center leaning people. We need to collectively decide as a country that the two party system isn’t working. But don’t listen to me. Vote third party if you want, I can’t stop you. Maybe there will be enough third party voters to show the country that a third party could actually win. But if you care about your life if you’re queer, a woman, a person of color, disabled, or otherwise marginalized, DO NOT vote for trump. You can’t. Please don’t vote third party cuz you want to take the higher ground. I wish we could, with all of my heart I wish we could bring cornel west up in here and fix everything. But we can’t. So do the next best thing. Turn your vote into something useful. Keep participating in democracy.

THE VOTERS HAVE POWER. Use your power im begging you on my hands and knees use your power and save our country from this insane fuck who will ruin actually everything.

If you haven’t looked into project 2025 you really should. Share it. Talk about it with everyone.

Tell everyone who can vote to vote. Please. Register to vote if you haven’t registered. Pre register if you’re 16/17.

V O T E