#learn-about-cbd

[dogcancerfoundation]

What's the Endocannabinoid System?

Consider the phrase “endocannabinoid.” The phrase “cannabinoid” is derived from the word “cannabis,” and “endo” refers to the fact that it is formed naturally within the body. As a result, “endocannabinoid” actually refers to cannabis-like compounds that exist naturally in our dogs (and our) bodies. Our dogs, us, our cats, and other mammals all have the same endocannabinoid system. The ECS itself…

[anonymous-dentist]

Um, It's Kind of a Lot…

Or: Lukey's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Or: Have you considered a supervillain au?

Read on AO3!!! (It's 5k words lol, you might be better off reading it there.)

The Pangolin's design is officially inspired by @imhyperfixatingrn's art!

-

When Lukey steps out of the coffee shop to take his break and he’s immediately met with a gun to the face, all he can do is sigh because, somehow, being held at gunpoint is not the worst thing that’s happened to him in recent memory.

He still has his apron on, and his cellphone is in his hand with his thumb hovering over Newt’s contact (he’s still working out how to actually call people, but at least he knows where the contact list is!) His fingertips are stained brown from coffee grounds, and flour is practically caked onto his right cheek after a mishap with the electric mixer earlier in his shift.

Lukey, these days, is a barista, and a shitty one at that. He’s better with the baking, but the kitchen’s electric oven still gives him problems even after four entire shifts trying to learn it. He does the math in his head when someone tries paying in cash, and he has to fight with the cash register to get their change out without having to put their order into it.

He is a barista. He is twenty-one years old, and he is a community college student, and he is a barista.

“Hands up,” his assailant barks, voice hardly muffled by the black bandana tied around the bottom half of their face, “scientist. And drop the phone.”

Slowly, Lukey lowers himself to the ground. He raises one hand, keeping eye contact with his attacker, and he uses the other to turn his phone off and place it gently on the pavement.

And then the bastard slams the heel of their combat boot right into the screen, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Lukey looks up at them in horror. “Ex-cuse me? Do you know how expensive those things are?”

He knows. He was there when Newt bought it for him, and his eyes just about fell out of his head when he saw the price tag.

The gun is pointed at the top of his head in response, cold steel digging into his scalp; he shivers and raises his other hand and shuts the fuck up.

“Don’t say a word,” his, what, kidnapper(?) snaps, “stand up, and follow me.”

Lukey nods shallowly.

They’re in the shady, smelly back alley between the coffee shop and the CBD store behind it, alone. Nobody would even hear if he screamed.

So he stands, hands firmly raised in the air.

Lukey, somehow, is a barista. He doesn’t know how to make anything fancier than a black coffee, but he can bake a mean croissant.

But he nods his head again in acknowledgement as his kidnapper orders, “Move, scientist. There’s a car that way.”

They put the gun against the small of Lukey’s back and push him to the left towards the mouth of the alley near the neighborhood drugstore.

And so Lukey walks, hands up and face flat. This isn’t his first kidnapping (he thinks), he knows the drill.

There’s a black van parked in front of the drugstore with someone leaning against the outside of it holding an honest-to-God whip in their hand; as Lukey approaches, the whip cracks and ends up tied around one of Lukey’s wrists.

“Scientist,” Whip lowly says. “Nice of you to join us.”

They yank their whip, pulling him a few stumbled steps closer.

He smiles as placidly as he can. “Of course! Anything for a fan.”

Whip laughs. Gun shows their amusement by slamming the butt of their pistol into the base of Lukey’s skull.

He falls forward right into Whip’s arms, and the world goes dark.

-

(Pangi orders a croissant and takes a seat with it while he waits for Ros and Aimsey. The guy behind the counter- almost as pale as the flour stuck to his face- steps out back to go on his break.

The croissant is good.

The guy who supposedly made it doesn’t come back from his break.

A black van speeds down the road outside.

Pangi's phone dings, and he checks it.

With a sigh, he grabs his backpack from the chair next to him and stands.)

-

Cold.

Once upon a time, Lukey used to like the cold. The cold meant snow, and snow meant snowball fights with Newt and hot cocoa from the nice old lady from the flower shop. He used to try and catch snowflakes and put them under his (stolen) microscope to spot the differences.

Now, though, Lukey’s wavering consciousness tells him that he’s somewhere cold, and he almost wishes he was actually fucking dead, actually, instead of awake and blindfolded and tied to what feels like the world’s most uncomfortable metal folding chair.

Even with his eyes closed from the blindfold, the world is spinning around him. His stomach is in knots, there’s bile in his throat, he’s sweating despite the cold- concussion, almost definitely, which is fine. He’s gotten over concussions before, nothing new there.

Lukey grimaces down a wave of nausea. The concussion might not be a new experience, but that doesn’t mean it’s a pleasant one.

Okay, he thinks, take stock.

Blindfolded, but he isn’t gagged. His hands are tied behind the chair’s back, but they haven’t been tied long enough to go numb; he wiggles his fingers one after another, and they all cooperate well enough. Each ankle is tied to one of the chair’s front legs. Restraints are rough against his wrists- rope?

Wherever he’s been taken is quiet save for his own breathing and a faint rumbling. It smells of metal and, comfortably enough, blood.

Scientist, his kidnappers had called him. Hah! He wishes!

His memory is foggier than it used to be, but he remembers being handcuffed the last time he was kidnapped. So, really, these guys are a downgrade.

But. It’s cold.

Lukey bites his lip and huffs a tense breath out of his nose. He is fine. He’s fine, and he’ll be back at work, and he won’t even get fired for disappearing before end of his shift; he’s only met his manager once, but Bad seemed nice enough, he would probably excuse a kidnapping and just schedule Lukey for an extra shift over the weekend, it’ll be fine.

-

It isn’t fine.

By the time the kidnappers stomp their way into the room, Lukey’s hands and feet are all numb and his brain feels like it’s melting out of his ears. His teeth are chattering. He’s one bad memory away from a panic attack, and the horrible cold feeling in his bones is not helping any.

Still, he tries to sit up straight as the heavier of the two pairs of footsteps approach him- Gun was bigger, it’s probably them.

And, indeed, it is, because they laugh lowly and say, “Well, well. Looks like the scientist is a little chilly.”

Whip adds, “Poor guy’s nose is blue!”

Lukey’s nose sure feels blue. It’s so numb that he can only imagine that it’s already fallen off him from frostbite.

“Heh,” says the wise gunman.

And then, suddenly, there is light as Lukey’s blindfold is ripped off.

He instinctively flinches back and cringes into himself, a near-perfect recreation of his performance a week prior. This time, however, he makes a point of keeping his eyes open, even if it makes his head pound and his stomach coil in upset.

The walls are metallic and covered in frost. Slabs of meat hang from the ceiling from hooks, and cardboard boxes labeled with various vegetables are scattered about. There’s one door, and Lukey is looking directly at it; between him and it, though, are his two kidnappers.

Whip has taken their makeshift mask off, revealing… an absolute nobody, the most white bread-looking person Lukey has ever seen. Their whip is on their belt, rolled up, and they themselves are leaned against the door casually with their arms crossed.

Gun is still masked up, and their gun is still drawn.

Lukey looks at the gun.

The gun levels itself neatly with Lukey’s jugular.

Gun tilts their head, eyes squinting in amusement. “Alright, scientist, don’t look so scared yet. You aren’t gonna die.”

“Yeah!” Whip agrees. “We need your help!”

Lukey blinks. “Excuse me?”

Whip beams. “That’s right, scientist. We’ve heard aaaalll about you.”

God, they say ‘scientist’ like it’s a slur.

Lukey blinks again; there are spots in his vision, and they’re dancing.

“Ahm,” he tactfully says. “What have you he-”

His voice cracks.

He coughs and tries again: “What have you heard, exactly?”

(Step one of the scientific method: posit a question.)

Whip’s smile flickers like a dying lightbulb, their shoulders tightening minutely.

Gun’s aim wavers slightly, their grip on their weapon going white-knuckle.

(Step two: search for background information. Research.)

“Turn him around,” Whip orders.

Gun does as they’re told and grabs the back of Lukey’s chair with their free hand, elbowing him in the nose as they roughly jerk the chair onto its back legs and spin it 180 degrees.

Lukey’s stomach churns from the sudden motion; it’s enough to make him swallow his own vomit, ough.

The feeling doesn’t subside as the chair goes level again and he finds himself just a few short feet away from a corpse laid out on a plastic folding table.

Gun’s hand moves from the chair’s back to Lukey’s shoulder; it squeezes tightly, nails digging in like dull knives.

“Oh,” Lukey says.

The corpse’s skin is as white as the frost gathered on its clothes. Its eyes are closed, and its hands are clasped across its chest like a prayer.

There’s a big hole blown in the side of its head, and Lukey knows fire damage when he sees it.

“The Red got him,” Gun quietly says.

Lukey swallows. “I’m sorry. But I can’t-”

The gun presses against his temple; somehow, it’s almost warm.

“Nah,” Gun interrupts, “you can, scientist. We’ve heard all about your dad’s little experiments.”

“The Corruption,” Whip elaborates. “Dr. Lucas Teevee learned how to harness its power and control it.”

The Corruption…? What in the���

Gun snatches Lukey’s head by the hair and turns it harshly to the right, where one singular cardboard box sits on the floor. Just one box, small and taped shut with just one tiny piece of masking tape across its middle seam.

The gun shakes against Lukey’s head.

Gun breathes out ragged, says, “We read your dad’s journals. In the library. They say the Corruption can bring the dead back to life.”

That’s when Lukey notices the faint purple stain to the box’s corners.

He jumps in his seat as the box suddenly rattles and skitters an inch or two across the floor towards him.

For whatever reason, he suddenly feels faint. Maybe it’s the concussion. Maybe it’s the lore dump- who do they think he is?

(Step three of the scientific method: construct a hypothesis.)

“If my…” Lukey licks his dry, chapped lips nervously, lets out a breath, “…father is the Corruption expert, just get him to help you. I’m not a scientist. I’m-”

He shuts up as the gun’s safety clicks off.

He swallows, nods.

“Your dad is M-I-A,” Whip explains. “But we have it on good authority that you’re just as good as he is. So here’s the deal, scientist. You use the Corruption in that box to bring our friend back to life, and you get to go free.”

“If you don’t,” Gun continues, “we’ll end the family bloodline right here.”

(Step four: experiment.)

Lukey’s dad died in a house fire in 1974.

The Corruption was called ‘Substance A-7-1’ when he last played with it. Epsilon called it ‘that fucking sludge’. Newt preferred never to speak of it at all.

Lukey is a community college student and a barista with a concussion and a gun to his head. He’s two seconds away from passing out, his hands are numb, he’s about to throw up all over himself and this stupid corpse in front of him, he’s twenty one, and he’s fucking cold.

So, naturally, he bites back a sob, tilts his head back, and offers his kidnappers a weak smile instead.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. “But I’ll need my hands freed.”

He thinks he has frostbite. He tries to do jazz hands, anyway.

“And some gloves and a scalpel,” he quickly adds. “If that’s not too much trouble?”

He tries to look scared and adorable, which is easy enough to do when he’s one wrong word away from a bullet to the brain. He even bats his eyelashes (it always works on Newt, so it’s worth a try.)

Gun narrows their eyes.

Lukey politely asks, “Please? I can’t get into the lungs without one.”

(He isn’t getting into the lungs to begin with, but they don’t need to know that.)

“Oh,” Whip huffs, “just get him what he wants. If it’ll get Jeff back, do it.”

Gun sighs, but they back off and lower their gun.

Soon enough, the ropes are falling from Lukey’s wrists, and the show can really begin.

-

Before he wanted to be a scientist, Lukey wanted to be an actor. He even did a community theater production of The Wizard of Oz as the dog when he was a kid because it was easier to wrangle a child on stage than an actual dog.

Lukey rolls his sleeves up and tries not to flinch at the sight of his own goosebumps. He is cool.

(And very, very cold.)

The corpse formerly known as Jeff has had its chest shaved via a very irritated Gun. There should hypothetically be easy access to what remains of the lungs, Lukey will just need to break a few ribs to get there first.

Lukey’s feet were not untied, so he stands next to the body with the chair’s seat digging uncomfortably into the backs of his knees in an almost sort of straddle type position. His hands are mostly back (he can move his fingers again, at least), and his blindfold has been adjusted to act as a makeshift mask over his nose and mouth.

Gun is directly behind him with his weapon poking obtrusively into the small of Lukey's back. Their partner is gone, Lukey having (politely) sent them to the closest pharmacy for some painkillers.

("When he wakes up..." Whip had hesitantly asked. "Will he be, like... still in pain?" Lukey looked at the enormous hole in Jeff's skull and the shriveled remnants of his brain. "Maybe," he replied. "But it's better to be safe than sorry, right?")

There’s a series of cooking knives laid out on the top of a tall box next to him, a meat tenderizer, a stapler, a pair of scissors, and a pair of yellow rubber dish gloves. (As it turns out, Jeff’s parents own a restaurant, and they’ve teamed up with Whip and Gun to preserve their son’s body in their kitchen’s walk-in freezer like absolute freaks. Someone needs to call the health inspectors on them, because just how many people have eaten food corrupted by both a literal dead body and the literal Corruption??)

The box of Corruption is next to the body’s head. It smells like wine, but he knows from experience that it doesn’t taste half as good.

Lukey isn’t an actor anymore (as if he ever actually got to be one), but they do call it an operating theater for a reason!

“Okay,” he says, “my father didn’t tell me too much of what he’d been experimenting with, but-”

Gun cuts him off with a clipped, “Get on with it."

Lukey raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't argue.

He pulls on the gloves and picks up the meat tenderizer. He bounces it in his hand, tries a twirl of it, fails, flushes, and shoots a nervous look at the box of Corruption.

Right. Surgery on a corpse. A reverse autopsy, almost, considering how he's supposed to be bringing poor dead Jeff back to life.

As Lukey raises his arm, he tries not to remember the last time he ran this kind of experiment.

He slams the tenderizer down onto the body's ribcage; he full-body cringes as he hears the first 'CRACK!'.

"Hey!" Gun shouts. "Be gentle with him!"

"Sorry!" Lukey exclaims, more so to Jeff than to the asshole pointing a gun at him. "I just can't get to the ribcage if-"

He snaps his mouth shut as the gun pokes at him.

He nods, offers a silent second apology to Jeff the Corpse, and raises the tenderizer again.

Back in his day, he wasn't able to get any human test subjects, alive or otherwise. He made do with the rats that liked to live in the lab's walls and the occasional stray cat that looked one sneeze away from death's door. It was messy, but it was necessary.

(Step five of the scientific method: collect data. Step five-point-five: attempt experiment again should data be unsatisfactory.)

For science, Lukey thinks as a portion of the ribcage collapses beneath his mallet. He can't do any more science if he's fucking dead.

...Doesn't mean he isn't sick, though. The second he's home, he's going to crawl in front of his toilet and stay there for however long he can get away with- ouagh, gross, a rib is coming out of the skin, ewwww.

Lukey isn't a doctor. Not in this way, the medical way. He's always liked the little things more than the macro-organisms Epsilon was always obsessed with.

There's a peal of laughter from the kitchen outside, music blasting from the restaurant proper; Lukey wrinkles his nose in disgust. How can Jeff's creepy parents keep the party going when their son is literally dead and in their freezer?

But Lukey isn't a doctor. Even as he swaps the meat tenderizer out for the sharpest of the knives he's been given, he doesn't know if the Corruption will actually bring Jeff back to life; none of his old experiments showed evidence of resurrection, where did those so-called journals get that information from?

(Then again, it has been 39 years.)

Still, what else can he do but go along with his kidnappers' assumptions? Refusing would mean death. (Technically, failure will also mean death, but maybe Lukey will have actually figured out a plan by then.)

He starts the incision without really knowing how far to cut. (He failed human anatomy! Twice! What! Is he doing!)

Sternum to abdomen seems right...

God, how did Newt say do it back then? One big cut, then smaller ones? Ugh, but Newt was a chemistry student, what was he doing trying to tell Lukey how to cut a patient open??

Luckily, Lukey doesn't get far enough to start experimenting with secondary incisions before the freezer's door is slamming open and he's jumping out of his own skin and dropping his knife to the floor in shock.

He swears and falls back down into his chair, but Gun doesn't try and force him back to his feet.

No, Gun is, instead, running towards the door and grabbing a gasping Whip and pulling them inside and slamming the door shut behind them.

Lukey scoots his chair around in a rough circle so he's facing them both. (Come on, if he's going to be a hostage, he at least needs something to keep his mind off of the surgery he's supposed to be doing!)

He gags and rips his gaze away and to the frosty metal floor immediately, though, because Whip is...

"Darla!" Gun cries. "Where did your fucking arm go!?"

Whip is bleeding. Missing an arm and bleeding. It's caked across their entire left side and still drip-drip-dripping onto the floor.

People are screaming outside, Lukey can hear them now that he isn't caught up in his own spiraling thoughts.

(God, it's cold...)

Whip groans and retches and audibly staggers into Gun's increasingly-distressed-sounding arms.

"Is that really what you're fucking asking right now?" they moan.

"Who did this?" Gun demands.

"We fucked up," Whip responds. "We fucked up, dude. We kidnapped the wrong guy."

Lukey can't help but snap his head up at that.

He meets Whip's eyes, and he can't help but smile just a little at how fucking terrified they look all of a sudden.

"I told you," he innocently says, "should've gone for my father."

Gun sneers at him. "You-"

But they don't get to finish their statement. Not before the freezer's door explodes, sending both Gun and Whip flying across the freezer and into the opposing wall.

Even Lukey's chair is tipped over; he falls with it to the side, just barely catching himself on his hands before his head has a chance to hit the floor and make his concussion actual brain damage. (He's already had enough of that, thanks!)

The world is silent save for a faint, annoying ringing sound coming from the inside of Lukey's poor battered skull.

Smoke pours in from the open doorway. Red emergency lights from the kitchen backlight the figure slowly picking their way through the rubble, but all Lukey can see from his position on the floor are a pair of bloodstained black combat boots and a pair of red-stained cargo pants.

People are shouting, Lukey thinks. But he can't tell, it's all so quiet. Quiet and cold like fresh snow.

Lukey blinks, and then he sees it: the box of Corruption has fallen from its spot on the table and is just inches away from his face.

The tape is gone.

Then, suddenly, the world erupts back into focus: Lukey bites back a cry as sound floods his ears again. Screams and sirens and the crackling of flames and crying- so much crying. And-

"No, please!" Gun is screaming. "We didn't know! Honest! We didn't know he was yours!"

Lukey grits his teeth and tries to push himself up, but the chair he's still attached to just weighs him down. All he can manage is a roll onto his stomach and some useless attempts to kick the damn chair off him.

He props himself up on his elbows, face scrunched in pain as he tries to sort of rotate himself into a position where he can actually try and get the ropes off...

Aha!

He sees the knife he dropped just a few feet away under the operating table.

Ignoring Gun's pointless platitudes, Lukey starts dragging himself towards the knife one painful inch at a time.

(He can practically hear Newt now: "Lucas! How was work today? ...What do you mean, you got kidnapped? You were blown up by a supervillain!? Oh, dear, we can't afford another relocation... you really need to be more careful!")

"Please!" Gun pleads. "Spare her! She's already-"

There!

Lukey reaches as far as he can and manages to grab the knife. He quickly pulls it towards himself and rolls back onto his side, pulling his feet towards his knees and the chair with them.

He's starting to saw at the first of his restraints as the supervillain (because, really, none of this exactly screams superhero) says their first words since their explosive entrance:

"Dude, shut up," they groan.

And then there's a single gunshot.

Lukey freezes mid-cut, eyes wide. He's never... not since the fire...

Gun's dead body falls to the floor with a heavy thud. Maybe it's a good thing that Lukey can't see them.

"Ugh, finally!" the villain groans. "I never thought they'd shut up."

The villain's voice is muffled- mask, probably, but there's a grainy quality to their words that just scream 'voice filter'.

Lukey's mind races as he gets back to trying to free himself: Maybe he hasn't been spotted yet. Who did Newt say he had to stay away from, again? Maybe they're waiting to kill him. Mr. X... the Red...

The box of Corruption is open.

Lukey is still tied to his chair.

He is in a room full of corpses.

And, still, he somehow manages to hold himself together as a heavy hand comes down onto his shoulder.

"Please," the villain says, causing Lukey to freeze, "allow me."

The knife is easily plucked from his hand.

Lukey can only watch as the villain kneels by his feet and pulls out a long serrated- holy shit, is that a machete?

The machete is, predictably, covered in blood; Lukey can only assume that it was what was used to cut Whip's arm off earlier.

The rest of the villain is just as messy as their boots made them out to be: long duster coat that was probably brown before today, dark hood pulled up over their head. A gas mask hiding their face with the lenses spattered with Gun's fresh blood.

Lukey has no idea who the hell this guy is, but he stays still as the villain cuts him free with a few easy movements.

He stays still even as the villain nods to themselves, stands, and tucks their machete away into a sheathe on their belt. They stand, crack their neck, and look down at Lukey the same way he used to look at Ego under his microscope.

"Well?" they ask. "You coming?"

They even extend a gloved hand down.

Lukey looks at it.

Lukey looks up at the villain's hidden face.

There's a fire in the restaurant. Lukey doesn't need to see it to know it's there, he knows fire.

He reaches his own hand up, and the villain takes it without a word.

-

Somehow, they end up on the roof of a bank four blocks away from the restaurant. The sun is starting to set, and the city below glows with the lights of rescue vehicles.

Lukey still has his work apron on. Criss-cross on the roof, he fiddles with his nametag.

'Hello!' it reads with a smiley face, 'My name is LUKEY!'

The villain is next to him typing away on what Newt had called a 'flip phone' in his lectures. The gas mask is still on, but the gloves have come off. Their hood has come down, too, revealing a head of slicked-back ginger hair.

They haven't really spoken since helping Lukey out of the restaurant. Just some quick orders- 'This alley' 'Watch out'- and questions- 'Do you ever stop talking?'

(So what if Lukey is a nervous talker? Sue him, he was blown up half an hour ago.)

"Thank you," Lukey says, not for the first time.

The villain hums in acknowledgement.

"I mean, really, I did not want to go through with that surgery," Lukey continues, this time for the first time. (Again, nervous talker.)

He's surprised into looking up from his nametag as the villain lets out a confused little sound.

"The surgery?" they ask. "What?"

Lukey nods and tries to look as confused as the villain probably feels.

"Mhmm. They wanted me to use some, uh, Corruption to bring their dead friend back to life." He shrugs. "No idea why. I'm just a guy."

The villain looks at him. Keeps looking at him.

Lukey clears his throat and decides to look back down at his nametag. "I'm a barista, yeah? I mean, technically, I am, but I'm still learning."

"They kidnapped a barista," the villain slowly says, "to do surgery."

"Uh, yeah! See? Crazy, isn't it?"

He laughs a little, scared and more than a little confused about how those guys had even known who he was. Newt had assured him that all his records were sealed years ago; the I.D. he'd used to get hired at the coffee shop was as fake as his own last name.

Silence falls again, and Lukey... doesn't know what to do, really. Is he? Allowed to leave?

But then, soon enough, the villain next to him perks up as a new villain literally rises from the air in front of the both of them. This one, however, Lukey recognizes from the news articles that Newt had showed him.

Mr. X is currently the city's most wanted villain. Known for the ability to create and control shadows, and infamous for his kind of insane death toll, a lot of people call him the Grim Reaper.

But tonight Mr. X shrugs off his little shadow jetpack and immediately kicks Lukey in the side.

"I'm glad to see you're okay!" he cheerfully says, ignoring the way Lukey is kind of sort of now horizontal on the rooftop groaning in pain.

"Hello?" Lukey wheezes.

Mr. X waves. "Hi!"

"Mr. X!" the other villain cheers, hopping to their feet. "Finally!"

"Pangolin!" Mr. X sounds just as happy as the other villain- Pangolin?- does as he wraps them up in a tight hug. "Thank you so much."

"Eh, it's no problem. Just a couple of weirdos, ammiright?"

They look down at Lukey for confirmation; Lukey manages a sort-of half-nod, and Pangolin gives him a thumbs-up in response as if comforting him.

"Hello?" Lukey repeats, slowly pushing himself back upright. "Am I being kidnapped again?"

He sure hopes not. Newt would be inconsolable if he had to go on another rescue mission.

Mr. X, with his entire body hidden behind one big person-shaped shadow, almost looks amused at the question.

"What?" he asks. "Of course not! Your boss noticed you were gone, and he called me for help."

He breaks the hug; Pangolin, strangely enough, almost seems to deflate at the sudden distance.

Pangolin clears their throat and looks determinedly right into Lukey's eyes. "And he called me."

Lukey frowns. "Well, thank you, but aren't you both..."

"Villains?" Mr. X supplies. "Well, some people say that. Can't imagine why."

He sighs.

Lukey remembers the way Whip looked in Gun's arms without their arm, the way Gun's body was positioned over Whip's as if trying to protect them as Pangolin led him out of the burning restaurant, the burning restaurant.

"Me neither," he ends up saying. Because, well. They did rescue him, after all, and just because Bad had asked. (But, really, that just begs the question of how the hell Bad was able to contact Mr. X in the first place.)

Pangolin gasps and gestures towards Lukey appreciatively. "Thank you! Finally, someone else gets it!"

"Haha, yeah," Lukey awkwardly says, "I know a bit about being judged based of appearances."

(Newt dresses in all black and has an entire room in his apartment filled with various forms of weaponry; he also knits and cries when watching romcoms.)

(Butterfly Knight is supposed to be the city's most treasured hero. She also pointed her Spear of Justice at Lukey's chest and told him to start talking or he would end up wishing he was back at Null Tower.)

Mr. X hums consideringly. He looks down at Lukey with a shadowy finger on his shadowy chin, foot tapping against the rooftop.

Pangolin looks at him, head tilted. "What's wrong?"

Mr. X shakes his head. "No, nothing. I'm just... Lukey, do you work afternoon shifts often?"

Lukey is slightly taken aback at the sudden topic change, but he rolls with it. "Uhh, I don't know? I come in when Bad needs me to. I haven't been working for him long enough to have a set schedule, I think."

"That's true," Mr. X says, for some reason. "Well, tell him you're working mornings from now on, because you're going to be working nights for me."

Pangolin's shock can be heard even through their mask and voice filter. "Excuse me?"

Lukey feels like he's just gotten another concussion. "Yeah, what?"

Mr. X, though, looks proud of himself as he claps his hands together and rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet. "It's a great idea! What do you think, Lukey? You help us to not get caught, and we'll make sure nobody kidnaps you again. It's a win-win!"

Lukey and Pangolin look right at each other.

They look back at Mr. X, who seems to be absolutely clueless to the sudden uncomfortable atmosphere.

"And," he adds, "if you don't say yes, I'll have to kill you for hearing about our connections with your boss. Sorry, them's the rules!"

Ah, there's a third concussion. Or maybe it's just fear. Bafflement. Terror. Confusion.

"So, Lukey," Mr. X says, "what'll it be?"

-

By the time Lukey makes it through the front door, night has already fallen, and there's a Newt pacing in the entryway nervously.

He perks up when he sees Lukey, though his expression falls as soon as he actually sees Lukey.

"Lucas!" he gasps, rushing forward and pulling him the rest of the way inside. "What happened?"

Just as he's always done, he goes for a hug before he actually checks for damage.

Lukey immediately hugs him back, burying his face in Newt's shoulder.

"I got stuck in the freezer at work," he lies. "And then I almost got my head stuck in the oven."

Newt sighs, and Lukey is glad that he can't see his face because he's always been so good at telling when Lukey is lying. (It's almost like they've known each other their whole lives.)

Lukey doesn't protest as Newt drags him to the bathroom to get cleaned up, and he doesn't argue as he's sat down on the edge of the bathtub, and he doesn't even roll his eyes as Newt gets the first aid kit out from the cupboard and gets to work with his antiseptic wipes and bandages.

Tonight is Lukey's last night off before he starts his new job, after all. He doesn't want to spend it in an argument.

____

AN: Thank you for reading!!! Leave a comment or a reblog or an ask telling me what you thought! I love to hear from you! And PLEASE let me know if you want more!!

[latenightdaydreams]

König x Disabled!Reader Head Canons

For the physically disabled lovelies 💗

Part 2

Completely gender neutral. All fluff🩷

Not all physical disabilities covered, if interested I can make a part 2.

At first König treats you like a delicate little flower

Slowly understanding that he needs to stand back and wait for you to ask for help

He goes out of his way to learn about your disability and ways to support you

If you have gastric issues

He will prep meals you can eat and buys snacks that are safe for you

Makes you home made broths instead of the box or cans

Only the best for his Schatz

In his free time, he sits down and organizes your pills for you so you don’t have to worry

Organizes your braces to be easily accessible for you

Sees a cool cane on Etsy, buys it for you

König drives you to every doctor appointment, no matter how minor

He will go in and sit with you

König is your biggest advocator

He will speak up for you when you feel you can’t

Makes sure you get the best care

THAT YOU DESERVE

Keeps an extra asthma inhaler with him at all times

If your condition requires physical therapy

He learns what stretches or exercises your PT requires for you

Always encourages you and tells you how well you’re doing

"mein Schatz, you put the soldiers I train to shame." *head kisses*

(Even though all you did were 2 sets of donkey kicks and some clams)

Chronic pain?

He learns pain maintenance at home

Königs large strong hands gently massaging sore points of your body

Win-win for him because he loves to see you better and loves to touch you

“Don’t push yourself Schatz, what can I do for you?”

Always has extra pain patches, cream, and even CBD gummies on hand for you

“Heat or ice?”

Bed is covered in pillows for any support you’ll need

Stairs your biggest enemy?

König can carry you

And your wheelchair/walker/rollator

All the uppies

Does routine maintenance on your wheelchair for you

You sit there worried you aren’t good enough for König

All the while

König sits there wondering how he got so lucky to deserve you

[charlietheepicwriter7]

V The Mysterious Wayne Family

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 2

“Why can’t I sit in the front seat?” Danny demanded to know, crossing his arms from the back of Dick’s car. 

Dick sighed, peering back at him with the rearview mirror. He’d been shaky as they escaped the apartment without getting attacked by the media. Did the idiot get sick? Was the media in this dimension such a big threat? 

Truthfully, Danny didn’t know a lot about this dimension, despite having lived in it for around a year. That year was spent almost entirely homeless, spending only the last few weeks with Dick. Otherwise, he was sleeping where he could, spending his days in libraries and conning people out of cash as a child medium. 

…Well, calling it “conning” was a bit of an overstatement. He did get people in contact with dead relatives and the like. He just… didn’t always quote them exactly, especially when it meant he could get enough money to eat for the day. 

“It’s unsafe, Danny, you know that.”

Danny glared at him from his booster seat, which put him perfectly at eye level so he could lock eyes with Dick with the rear-view mirror. He hated this whole situation: the booster seat, his age, needing to rely on an adult, the stupid media, the stupid police, the stupid Dick… Okay, he kinda liked the booster seat. It was based off of some hero—Superbman—who was an alien? But looked like a human?

That may be one of the biggest differences between this dimension and his hom–the dimension he was born in. Danny had been one of the only heroes back there, along with Valerie and Dani, if you could even call them heroes. In this dimension? There were hundreds. There were space aliens to normal people in costumes to other humans with powers, and while not all of them were heroes, a lot of them were. 

And Danny hated how easy they had it. 

Every day back in Amity Park was a fight for acceptance, a battle to convince people that yes, he was a ghost with good intentions, only for that trust to be lost the moment he wasn’t fast enough to stop a ghost from hurting someone, or got thrown through a wall trying to protect people. It was constantly one step forward and one step back, and nothing Sam or Tucker or Jazz said ever truly made him okay with it.

Despite everything, he hoped Amity Park was doing alright without him. He couldn’t go back—wouldn’t go back, even if he had an open portal and his powers, not after what happened—but hopefully they were doing okay. 

He hoped his rogues had listened and stayed away from the Fenton portal. For their own safety.

Like every time he thought of his pa–the Fentons, the scars across his chest flared up. They might have been long-healed, but the pain always lingered, a sharp lance that lingered in the thin skin of his wound. Fiddling around in his pocket, Danny found his juul and puffed. Exhaling, a bubble gum smoke filled the cabin as the CBD started to work its way into his blood. 

Dick coughed. “You know you won’t be able to do that in the manor, right?”

Danny grumbled, rolling down the window a crack. 

“I’m serious, Danny. I know you need it, but the rules are different at the manor. You’ll need to go outside to smoke.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll smoke outside. Wouldn’t want your gramps to get bent out of shape.”

He laughed. “I think Alfred would be alright, once we explain your medical issues. It’s Bruce we’ll have to worry about. He’s got this thing about drugs… once he learns what’s in your juul, he do whatever it takes to get you off it. He won’t even listen if we tell him about your chronic pain, he’ll just think you’re lying!” Dick threw his hand up in the air. “Honestly, it’s just lecture after lecture with him.”

“He can suck a cock then!”

Dick laughed, all traces of anger gone as his bright eyes glanced at him through the mirror. “Say that to his face, and you get ice cream for a week.”

“Done!”

The illusive Bruce Wayne. Danny had heard the name from the TV that morning, and apparently he was Dick’s dad. Not that Dick ever mentioned him in the months they knew each other. Not that this Bruce guy ever visited on the occasions Dick managed to convince him to stay the night, nor in the weeks after his foster placement was finalized. Danny didn’t even know Dick had a dad until this morning, so clearly something was going on here. 

If he focused on this case—the mystery behind the estrangement of Dick and Bruce—then he’d finally be able to get his mind off Mrs. Bennett’s case. The Shade had approached him early that morning, flickering in the moonlight, barely visible and just formed. Her case was so easy too; her killer was her son-in-law, she’d been awake when he killed her and he’d definitely left behind evidence too, but there was no telling if the other detectives at Bludhaven PD would find it. Or would care enough to find it. 

Corrupt bastards. 

Speaking of which—”Are we actually going to be able to consult on cases while we’re in Gotham, or was that just something you said to make me feel better?”

“I believe I said case, as in the singular one with Mrs. Bennett. But yes, I’ve already arranged it with the Commissioner.” 

“But she works for the Damir family! We can’t trust her.”

“We can’t trust her when it comes to cases related to the Damir family,” Dick corrected. “Other than that, she’s decent at her job.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“She’s better than the other officers in our department?” he tried again.

“Also not a compliment. I’ve met dead guys that are better cops.”

They bantered back and forth, but the closer they got to Gotham, the tenser Dick became. Dick wasn’t the type to get serious out of nowhere—the only times Danny could remember were when a case involved a gang or that one terrible time when some ugly-ass assassin with a stupid-ass name came to town—but whatever was waiting for them… must be bad. Right? 

Gotham, Danny noticed as they drove through town, looked better than Bludhaven, like how rats look better than turds. Danny had heard the rumors about Gotham, mostly about all the dangerous villains, but there was clearly some money going into infrastructure. Beautiful gothic buildings dripping with gargoyles towered overhead, and there weren’t nearly as many boarded up shops and potholes. 

It wouldn’t have been a bad place to set up shop if it weren’t for all the Shades around.

The ghost population of this dimension mostly comprised of Shades with the occasional Poltergeists and Wraiths. Ectoplasm wasn’t as accessible here; just traveling to this dimension had stripped Danny of almost all the ectoplasm in his body and he still hadn’t recovered, so his powers barely worked. But Shades were shadows of humans when they were alive, weak and incorporeal unless you were a ghost too, barely kept together with their obsession.

Bludhaven had a lot of Shades. That’s why Danny settled down there when he first arrived. He wanted to help people move on if he could, either by solving their murder or contacting their loved ones. 

If Bludhaven had a lot of Shades, Gotham had a colossal number. 

Shades clogged the walkways and the streets, dissipating when someone or something went through them and reforming in an instant. Some alleys were plugged with them and some alleys were empty. Danny watched with wide eyes. Ghosts were supposed to be rare. He’d thought ghosts were rare. But Gotham was plagued with violent crime… violent, unique, indescribable crime, worse in intensity from Bludhaven, but not quite there in frequency. There were women with their faces melted off, men ripped in half down the center, children blown to bits, creeping around the streets of Gotham. 

Danny sunk down in his booster seat. “I want to go home,” he admitted quietly. 

Dick sighed. “I know, kiddo. I want to go home too.”

He blinked away stubborn tears. Dick didn’t understand. This wasn’t Danny’s home, this dimension wasn’t Danny’s home, Dick wasn’t Danny’s home (as much as Danny appreciated Dick, he wanted his family, but they hated him, they attacked him, they—)

Dick continued talking. “But you know what? Everything’s going to be okay. Because my grandfather is going to love you. And Bruce— He’s a little rough around the edges and we might not get along right now, but he’s going to love you too.” Dick sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Danny. “Tim’s going to adore you; he’s told me that he’s always wanted a younger sibling and I can’t blame him; his house looks so lonely and his parents were always gone. He’s staying with Bruce now as a foster since his dad’s in a coma, but he’s been family long before that…”

He listened to Dick continue to ramble about his family. Bruce was rarely touched upon in his stories, but Alfred was spoken of with unmistakable love (Danny never knew his grandparents, Mom and Dad were disowned years before he was born, he could probably guess why), and he clearly adored Tim (He could understand that, Danny loved Jazz with his entire soul, but what would it have been like if he had a younger sibling? Would his relationship with Dani have turned into this if they could’ve spent time together?). Dick continued with stories about his best friend and ex-girlfriend, Barabra (Sam and Tuck, Tuck and Sam, his friends were dead and it's his fault—), and even a few including Tim’s ex-girlfriend too.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think. 

Before long, the car slowed to a stop. Ahead of them was a grand manor, the kind shown in those regency tv shows that Jazz loved watching, with obsessively maintained gardens and beautiful, clean exterior. A stone staircase led up to larger-than-life wooden doors; Danny couldn’t identify what kind of wood, but it was probably something expensive and old. Mahogany? That sounded like an expensive wood. 

Dick put the car in park before turning around in his seat to look at Danny. “Alright, buddy. Are you ready to meet our family?”

“Your family,” Danny corrected mulishly, unbuckling his seat belt. 

“Our family,” Dick said again, smiling. “They’re good people, and they’re going to be here for you.”

“Sure.” Sliding out of his seat and out of the car, Danny stayed slightly behind Dick as they walked up the steps and to the front door. Before Dick could knock or find the doorbell, the doors opened to reveal an old stereotypical butler. He even had a British accent! “Master Grayson,” he addressed Dick coolly, but when he looked at Danny, his expression softened. “And Young Master Daniel. It is good to finally meet you, and welcome to Wayne Manor. I am the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.”

Danny ducked away. “Danny’s fine,” came his muttered response. 

Alfred smiled. “Young Master Danny, then. Come along; Master Bruce is waiting for you both in the foyer.” 

Dick grimaced. Did that mean something bad? What was a foyer, a fancy word for office? Was Dick going to get scolded?

They followed Alfred into the house (although, calling it a house felt like an understatement). It was even fancier inside, with marble floors and a glistening chandelier overhead. Danny felt significantly out of place in his jeans and ratty coat he’d pulled out of the trash.

There was a man pacing in the room (was this the foyer?). He was dressed in a fancy suit and built like a brick house, but looked similar enough to Dick in a weird funhouse-mirror way. The moment he saw them, his face smoothed into a banal smile and Danny immediately didn’t like him. “Dick! You’re home.” Striding up to them, the man immediately hugged Dick, who stiffly returned it. “Welcome back, chum. And who’s this?”

Dick’s smile was strained. “This is my foster son, Danny. Danny, this is Bruce; I was his ward until I turned 18.” Ouch. Not even a foster son, but a ward? That sounded like a significant step down from fostering. Danny glared at Bruce, who seemed taken aback by his hostility. Dick laughed nervously. “Sorry about him, he’s shy.” Now Danny glared at Dick. 

Bruce’s smiled evened out as he crouched down, like that would hide his fucking massive body. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny,” he said. “I’m very happy you're here. Hopefully it’ll be a lot more peaceful now that you’re staying with us.”

Danny scowled. “Suck a cock, douchebag.”

Bruce’s smile dropped as Dick smothered a laugh. “Watch your mouth,” Dick scolded without any heat behind it. Danny smirked. 

“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce said, straightening up. “I’m sure Danny’s just shaken up from the sudden change. I’m feel the same, since you didn’t tell any of your friends or family that you were taking in a child.”

“Oh, so you can adopt a child without telling anyone, but when I do it—”

Alfred stepped in. “If you both could contain yourselves a minute longer, I can get the Young Masters settled in. I’ve already arranged a room for you in the family ward, Young Master Danny, if you’d like to rest? It is still rather early in the morning.”

“It might be better to give him a tour of the manor before anything else,” Dick said, eyeing Danny warrily. 

“I’m not going to get lost.”

“Mhmm.” Dick didn’t believe him. 

“I’m not!”

“Just like how you didn’t get lost at the precinct? Or at the morgue? Or at—”

“I never got lost on the streets!” Danny thought that was rather impressive. Besides, it’s not his fault the morgue was just empty hallways that all looked the same!

“The streets are labeled. Besides, you’ll never know where the in-house theater is without a tour.” Dick winked, like that was a big selling point. 

Bruce interrupted them. “Why don't you give him a tour after we talk, Dick? It’s been a long time since we last spoke and I was hoping to ask you about your… recent life change.”

Dick pinched the bridge of nose. “Of course you want to start the interrogation right away,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright, but I don’t want Danny to hear this. Alfie, could you– Tim!” Following Dick’s glance, Danny found a teenager in his fancy pajamas standing on the stairs leading to the second floor. The teen, who looked enough like Dick to be his brother and Bruce’s son, rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Tim can take you on the tour! Come on, Danny.” 

Dick ushered Danny up the stairs to Tim. “Will you be okay without me?” Danny asked, not wanting to leave Dick alone with Bruce.

He got a bright smile in return. Danny didn’t trust it. “Of course I will, kiddo. Don’t worry about me, just focus on having fun with Timmy.”

Tim looked blearily between them. “What is going on?”

“You’re taking Danny on a tour so he doesn’t hear me and Bruce fight,” Dick told him plainly. “Danny, this is my brother and Bruce’s foster son, Tim. Tim, this is my foster son, Danny. You two have fun!”

Ignoring Tim’s protests that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, Dick pushed them up the stairs and into the immediate hallway, closing the door behind him. They stared at each other for a moment before Danny pressed his ear against the crack in the door. “When did Dick get a kid?” Tim asked.

“Like, three weeks ago, keep up.” Tim tried to say something again, but Danny shushed him. After a moment, Tim joined him in eavesdropping by the door. 

Dick spoke. “I’ll start. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you both I was fostering a kid. I was planning to inform you after the two month mark and Danny had settled in a bit more, but obviously that plan is out the window.”

“I accept your apology, Master Dick,” Alfred said, and there was a sigh of relief. “However, I would still like to know how this happened in the first place.”

“I’m more interested in knowing how you managed to foster him without us being interviewed as character references.”

“...I may have used my boss’ influence to make sure that only my co-workers were interviewed?” Dick admitted.

“Master Richard.”

“I’m sorry, Alfie, but he’s a flight risk! Do you know how many times I managed to get him to come home with me only for him to disappear in the middle of the night!? Fourteen times! Danny’s admitted that he ran away from his previous home, he still hasn’t told me his real last name, and he’s paranoid enough to give Bruce a run for his money! I’ve just barely managed to gain his trust. I didn’t need Bruce being Bruce to ruin it for us—”

“If you had asked me to stay away, I would have—”

“No you wouldn’t, Bruce! You’d pick and prod and try to uncover his every little secret because you don’t trust me to figure it out myself! If Danny had suspected that someone was looking into his past, he would have bolted, B. And I would have lost him forever.”

Danny nodded. He would have. Not that Bruce would have found anything about his past–the perks of getting stuck in an alternate dimension–but some rich asshole poking his nose in his business? Danny would have snuck onto the next bus out of the city.

“You can barely take care of yourself, Dick!” Bruce insisted. “If it was such a dire situation, then you could have contacted me and I would have–”

“–Lost him immediately because he has a strange hatred for billionaires?” Dick scoffed. “He wouldn’t let you get within six feet of him if you tried to take custody.”

“I–”

“He bites too.”

“Dick–”

“Hard.”

“Richard–”

“And it’s pretty bold of you to say I can’t take care of myself. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Because the word hypocrite is written across your forehead in crayon.”

“But I’m not the one who struggles to make rent each month.” Danny flinched. He’d known that Dick didn’t get paid that much, but was it really that bad? Didn’t Dick get a pay increase when he was made detective? Or was Danny taking so much money that it negated the pay increase— “Nevertheless, I’m not trying to take custody away from you, Dick. I’m just… trying to figure out how we got to this point.”

“We got to this point by not trusting each other,” Dick said tiredly. “And I still don’t trust you, not after what you did.”

Dick, I–”

“No, Bruce. This is my life. Besides you were only a few years older than me when my parents died and you decided to raise me on your own. It’s hypocritical for you to complain that I’m doing the same. Look, I’ve known Danny for over a year–”

“You mean you’ve hid this from me for over a year?”

“Bruce–”

“I knew I should have been suspicious when you got that foster license. You’ve been planning this for months–”

“Bruce!” Dick snapped, and Danny had never heard Dick that mad before, not even the first time they met. “Obviously I’ve been planning this for months! I’ve been planning this since the first week I met Danny! The only reason I got that damn license was for him!” He felt… warm. Danny knew that foster licenses were hard to get, but Dick had really wanted him since the week they met. Danny had been so… feral back then, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting him, not even Jazz. Dick continued, voice barely audible through the door. “He’s a good kid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

A sigh. “I just… don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, that’s all.”

“Are you saying you regret adopting me?” The angry voice was back. “Adopting Jason?”

“That’s not what I meant—!”

Tim pulled him away from the door. “We shouldn’t be listening to this. Come on, let’s start that tour you need.”

Danny tried to pull away, but Tim was deceptively strong for his thin frame. Despite his struggles, he was halfway down the hall before he knew it. “Let me go, cocksleeve!”

“You don’t need to hear that,” Tim said. “Trust me, things always get… heated between them, when Jason is brought up. That’s not something you need to witness.”

Jason, huh? That must be the linchpin in this entire investigation. Dick had never mentioned a Jason before, but he was clearly important if the entire family got bent out of shape for him. Did Dick cut contact with Bruce because of this Jason? Did Jason force Dick to do it? Dick would never abandon his family like that, Danny knew this had to be true because of his determination in trying to take Danny home, but if he was forced to stay away… Maybe Jason is an associate of Bruce that Dick hates?

Danny finally managed to jerk his arm away. His entire hand ached. “You don’t have to drag me!”

Shock crossed Tim’s face, like he’d finally realized what he was doing, before it fell. “I’m sorry, Danny. I shouldn’t have pulled you. It’s just… Jason isn’t something you should hear about, at your age. I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring him up, especially around Bruce. Okay?”

Studying the boy, Danny agreed. Sounds like Jason’s some sort of criminal contact, so it was best to behave carefully. Danny kicked at the ground, scraping dirt off onto the carpet that ran in the center of the hall. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” He asked. “I don’t need a tour, I’m not a baby.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I just spent the night in the library, working on a case? If you want to lend a hand with that?”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “I thought you just woke up?”

“...Just because I was in the library doesn’t mean I was awake the entire time.”

Ah, a fellow insomniac. His eyes narrowed further. “I only like interesting cases. What kind are we talking about? Fraud? Robbery? Some dinky school kid project?”

“Multiple homicides. If that’s interesting enough for you?”

“...Carry on.”

A/N: Anyway, I’m using @/jedipirateking’s age chart for the ages of Batman characters. Since we’re right before Under the Red Hood, that makes Dick 24. Danny is roughly a year younger than Damian, but was originally 17 before he was deaged. 

Dick: Yes, this is my feral street child. Danny: *foaming at the mouth, swearing*

Tim, internally: Oh! Dick must have already informed Danny about our identities! They work on cases together too, maybe we can work on one to bond? Danny, internally: Wow, rich people have weird ass hobbies

Danny: *so close, yet so far from figuring out the Jason thing* Red Hood: Did someone just walk over my fucking grave again?

Yes, some things are being kept vague on purpose. That’s for a better reveal in the future.

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

[jadedbirch]

May is Ehlers Danlos Visibility Month!

And I am here to represent my fellow Zebras (i.e. people with EDS and HSD) and talk about some stuff that I wish people who don't have chronic illness would understand about connective tissue/collagen diseases.

1. Unless you're looking for tells, you probably won't know by looking at me that I'm ill. I don't use assistive devices (right now), but intermittently there are periods when I'm unable to walk or move in other ways. You won't see me out and about on those days.

2. Just because we look "fine," doesn't mean we're not in pain.

3. Pain is not always the worst part of EDS. I can say in my case the worst part has been the chronic fatigue, which is honestly debilitating, and is definitely not the same thing as a healthy person being "tired."

4. All Zebras have different symptoms. Even within my own family, there's a very wide range of how it manifest. Most Zebras have at least 2 or 3 comorbidities, which can include dysautonomia, bowel issues, heart problems, neurospiciness, and much more.

5. Even though it's a chronic illness, there are things that can help improve symptoms, especially over the long term. But different things do or do not work for different people, so just because acupuncture really helped your cousin Susan, doesn't mean it'll help me. Also EDS patients can't be treated transdermally because of science that I won't go into here (but I'm happy to in a separate post), so please stop telling us about the newest CBD cream.

6. I said this in a separate post, but it bears repeating. If you're looking for something to say to a chronically ill person to convey your sympathy and best wishes, your script should be along the lines of: "That sucks/I'm sorry. I hope you find something that helps." Don't offer unsolicited advice, and don't rose-colored lense us about how you're sure doctors will figure out how to cure us.

7. Which brings me to my last point. All of us have been repeatedly failed and/or traumatized by the medical community. To paraphrase Cortney Gensemer, not every patient has the spoons to advocate for themselves and not every doctor is willing to listen. Ask the Zebra in your life what you can do to support them, especially with going through medical appointments and constant treatments (most of which may not work). I know I needed a lot more support than I ever asked for, but at least I had the scientific knowledge to advocate for myself, especially in the early years pre and post diagnosis.

Thanks for reading and here's a link to the Ehlers Danlos Society if you'd like to learn more or donate.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Thinking about disabled AK!Jason tonite with a disabled s/o

Let's be fr this man could/should be an ambulatory wheelchair user but he won't because he doesn't know that's a thing and wouldn't think he deserved it. If you're an ambulatory wheelchair user maybe one day you manage to lovingly bully him into just TRYING it and it is life changing

He uses his ambulatory energy to do Red Hood shit nbd

if he doesn't use a wheelchair he's got at least 2 braces--shoulder and knee

Baby has chronic pain, arthritis, chronic migraines from being beaten

Missing some teeth too

take this boy to your neuro or your ortho!!!! he is totally unaware he does not need to live like this. better living through chemistry

let's get him some therapy too

you WILL have to go to his drs appointments with him. mans WILL freak the fuck out for ANY medical procedure, has very serious medical abuse trauma. if he can see how your drs help you he is much more likely to go if he can see that you are benefiting from your providers and that they haven't harmed you

if you're scared of drs he will FULLY stand behind you. probably not that healthy tbh but he gets it

having a special Migraine Protocol for each of you (it's basically just a snack and a drink, blue light filter glasses, a sleep mask with headphones for that special Migraine Playlist)

make your own pain scales and talk through frequency of pain bc when you have constant or near constant pain it fucks up your ability to quantify it so making your own pain scale is helpful (he probably uses shakespeare plays or authors. like a 5 for jason is twilight, because you can see some problems but it's fun and fluffy but when you start looking closer OH NO SO MANY PROBLEMS)

pain meters on a wall near the kitchen so you can know what you're working with

CBD patches

the AK suit is basically a giant brace/mobility aid so you help him figure out how to adapt it for his red hood persona, how to make it lighter and allow for greater ROM

will remind you to do physical therapy

resistance bands ALL OVER THE HOUSE

learning bodywork techniques

AT LEAST once a week using a special oil or lotion to work into some of his bigger scars to make the tissue more mobile

giving him a back/neck/scalp/face massage

after a while obvi that's a lot of trust he's putting in you

NOT deep tissue. don't hurt him more. you can have effective therapeutic massage without hurting a person

trager work involves basically shaking a limb and letting the weight of the muscle do all the work but it feels weird the first time and he'd just start laughing at you

specially if you do his glutes

but it feels really nice so he stops laughing and it does help his lower body pain

putting magnesium lotion on each other's neck and shoulders

start to ask each other "are you angry or in pain?"

hand massages

teaching him to stop pushing through the pain

one of his knees is basically bone on bone so you always know when the weather is changing

if u both have bad knees u just don't even when the weather is changing. take some pain meds, use your topical pain reliever of choice, prop those joints up and snuggle in bed. watch a youtube series or he can read to you

heated blankets as heating pads supremacy

occasionally he'll be in pain and the kind of pain where you feel like you're going insane, so as a distraction he will go online and buy a bunch of weird pain-relieving gadgets and you'll spend a week trying them out

(sometimes his pain fog shopping spree is blind boxes, or nail polish, or statement shirts)

all of his siblings know to come to your place if they get beat tf up because your medicine cabinet is UNreal

you're about to give cass or steph a Controlled Substance Pain Reliever and you pause "this is technically drug dealing, isn't it? dOn'T teLL rEd hOOD" jason is literally patching them up right next to you

soft blankets

reminding each other it's ok to take it slow

he's constantly tearing into the other rogues for not having ADA accessible lairs (except Ivy who successfully argued that the plants make it ADA accessible which will do. FOR NOW.)

[amurder-ofcrows]

for a solid 6 months i never saw chat gpt spelled out and only heard people say it out loud but i have auditory processing disorder and half of my ability to understand sentences is me putting together puzzle pieces of what i can kinda hear and what words i already know and spent those months thinking it was chat “cbd” since i have heard the term CBD before and like i knew i was wrong but didn’t know the actual letters and it lasted so long that now i have to actively force myself to say “gpt” instead of “cbd” when talking about it with my dad, a man who works in programming artificial intelligence learning models. he never corrected me btw.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: A Beginner's Guide To Embracing Your Sexuality

A high-level guide for women/vulva owners reclaiming their bodies from patriarchy and/or purity culture and any AMAB individuals who want to learn more about how to support/pleasure their AFAB partners. Hope this helps xx

Let go of any shame: Desiring sexual pleasure and gratification is a primal urge. It's part of human biology (for most of us, at least), so begin deconstructing this shame/validating your needs. Mental blocks are going to be the number one thing that stops you from enjoying yourself or "getting there" once you figure out the basics for your body

Get a mirror and learn about your own anatomy: A roadmap is always helpful for directions – for yourself or to help guide/instruct a partner

Give yourself alone time to explore and experiment: See what feels good, even better, and not so much. Be patient and realize you deserve this indulgence. It is a private, not a shameful, practice

Introduce toys and sensory enhancers, if desired: Vibrators, CBD, arousal gels, sensual music/films, etc.

Read and learn more about female sexuality: I highly recommend Come As You Are by Emily Nagoski and She Comes First by Ian Kerner (also give them to a partner if you have one currently or in the future to read, honestly). Jessica Valenti's books are also incredible to help understand the social constructions surrounding female sexuality and owning it as a woman in a patriarchal society. Indulge in spicy books and ethically-made porn for some more steamy ideas/fantasies to explore

Communicate openly with any (prospective) partners about sex and your sexual boundaries: Share about your comfortability, preferences, things you want to try, etc. Don't be shy to speak up or help redirect. Being kind doesn't mean having to be a doormat. Consider all partnered sexual experiences as an act of sharing and exchanging pleasure, not as a means of control or coercion

For my in-depth guide/tons of recommendations, check out How To Embrace Your Sexuality Playbook in the hyperlink (Post+).

[leveloneandup]

christenpress I made a commitment to travel to Africa to visit Grassroot soccer programs every 4 years because I hope that my presence and words can remind the coaches and participants that their work matters. And that people from across the globe are invested in the betterment of their lives, wellbeing, and health. And at the same time, these experiences give me a precious gift in the form of perspective: how the most important forces of life: joy, kindness, love are not bound by socio-economic status or achievement. They are your birth right, and often are felt while moving your body in sport or in dance, celebrating someone else, and in a sense of community belonging. Nobody understands that better than the beautiful people we got to spend the last 3 days with in Zambia.

Day 1- our first intervention was at a health facility in Lusaka. The program provides mental health resources for adolescents ages 10-18 living with HIV. Through play based learning and discussion, our coach helped us work through how to deal with increasing pressures to participate in risky behaviors.

christenpress Our second intervention was truly something special to witness. GRS is helping coaches get trained as Community Based Distributors that provide family planning services to their neighbors in need. With stigma around contraceptives and being sexually active, adolescents might be more comfortable going to someone they trust for these resources and tools. We saw a CBD open her home to young people from her community to provide them contraception. Not only does this increase use and ease of access, but also we witnessed how proud and impactful it can be to be a leader within the community working toward a better future.

christenpress For our last day and final intervention, ~40 GRS coaches from Lusaka came together to spend time with Tobin and me. We learned about the incredible work coaches are doing and participated in 4 different programs …and countless songs and dances. The GRS coaches are a big part of the magic of this organization. Change happens when you give young people (coaches are 18-24) from within these very communities the opportunity, resources and tools they need to uplift their communities themselves. They bring such joy, pride, and energy to each of the lessons- as they work toward a better future for themselves and their participants.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i asked my friend to stop talking about cigarettes and nicotine related things with me? (cw for lots of talk ab smoking and cancer)

i (18ftm) have a friend in my psychology class (18f) who smokes cigarettes frequently and has been talking about considering switching to vapes.

for some backstory, my father passed away around two years ago now from lung cancer and complications, brought on by smoking cigarettes. he was undergoing chemo and radiotherapy, also self-medicating with CBD tablets to help with the pain.

i’m only just registering this part of my life now and have not really gone to therapists or councillors as i didn’t need it until now, but i recently got an appointment for this along with a referral for potential OCD and health anxiety that may or may not have been caused because of my dad’s smoking and illness.

i go to a uk college in the countryside so there are naturally a lot of kids who smoke both weed and nicotine, and a lot who vape.the issue here is that ive found the smell of cigarettes sends me into an anxious state and makes me feel sick/nauseous. the smell of weed is fine usually for me.

i hate to say it but i do not like smokers. if you’ve been doing it for a while, there’s no point in asking ‘does it smell like i’ve gone for a smoke?’ the answer is always yes, it sticks even through deodorant and perfume and stains your teeth and nails, it smells to the people around you and don’t even get me started on second hand smoking.

the friend i’m talking about is in my psych class and smokes very frequently to the point i can smell it on her whenever we meet up. this wouldn’t be an issue in itself as i am trying my best to ignore it and learn to deal with the anxious shakes i get around her, but the issue is that she constantly brings cigarettes and smoking up.

i’ve asked her not to smoke around me if possible and if she needs one i will gladly leave or wait for her in another spot . however when she doesn’t have a smoke or can’t have one for whatever reason she’ll still talk about how she gets cigarettes, how her mum feels about them, how her brother smokes, how she wants one really bad. she’s now switched to talking about how she wants to switch to vapes, which again i still don’t appreciate because it’s still talking about nic to me.

she’s ignored this multiple times despite knowing about my father’s issues. or she’ll talk about it for a long time then go ‘oh sorry, about your dad, i should stop talking about this’. it’s not a big big thing as we only hang out from time to time (mostly on a walk to the bus stop every monday afternoon).

i feel like i’d then be being a dick for saying that i’d appreciate her stopping talking about it while i’ve already asked her to not smoke around me. wibta?

What are these acronyms?

[marvelhead17]

Angel with a shotgun

Summary: Alex Singer’s world changed when she encountered monsters for the first time during her senior year field trip, just before graduating at Lincoln High in Sioux Falls, and now, five years later, she’s part of the life that Bobby Singer never wanted for her. With a chip on her shoulder, she has to learn to overcome more than she ever could have anticipated, starting with goodbye.

Characters: Alexandria (Alex) Singer (OC), Bobby Singer, Karen Singer (Mentioned), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mysterious Man, Unnamed Demon.  Set: Season 3.  First published: 12 June 2025. Last updated: 9 July 2025. Status: Ongoing Chapters: 6/?  Word Count: 5.7k+ Total Word Count: 44.9k+  Read it on Ao3: Angel with a shotgun Read it on Tumblr: Angel with a shotgun Spotify playlist: Angel with a shotgun Previous chapter: Chapter 5 → Read on: Ao3 / Tumblr Warnings: absent father discussions, demonic possession, descriptions of graphic torture, use of CBD.

Chapter 6: Who made who

Alex was back at Singer Salvage early the next morning, and as she entered the house she scanned the space, searching for Bobby. She sighed, tapping a few buttons on her phone before placing it to her ear, “Hi, Bobby, what’s going on where are you?” “Alex hey, sorry meant to call. Got caught up with the boys, they needed their asses saved, as per usual,” he lets out a soft chuckle, then pauses, “Everythin’ okay?” “Yeah everything’s fine, Pops,” she smiled tightly, “Where are the boys?” “They’re on their way back to our place as we speak, I’m stickin’ round to tie off any loose ends here,” “You’re too good for them, y’know that?” she chuckled, then paused, “Listen, Pops, we need to talk when you get back, I think I found something on my dad that might be worth looking into,” “Really? Well… alright, I’ll try to make it quick on my end,” he agreed, “Love you, Pumpkin,” “Love you too, Pops,” she ended the call, and headed towards the porch to sit down and wait.

Less than an hour later she heard the familiar rumble of Baby pulling up before she even saw them, and she sat up a little, Dean parked close to the porch. The brothers climbed out of the car, both nodding at her in greeting and she returned it. “Hey,” Dean said as he walked up the porch steps, “Had a helluva field day out there, too bad you missed the show,” he smirked, patting her shoulder playfully. “Oh yeah? That why Bobby had to come over and save your sorry butts, again?” she grinned, crossing her arms, “Gotta say, for a couple guys both over six feet tall, you’d think you wouldn’t play damsels in distress all the time,” she stood from her seat, and Sam scoffed as he walked up the stairs. “Only damsel was Dean, and not for the first time either,” Sam grinned, making Dean squint briefly at him, but he left Sam outside as he walked in. Sam spoke a little quieter, “How about you? Bobby mentioned you took a little time out yesterday,” he leaned against the doorway, “Everything okay?” “Yeah, I’m good, for the first time in a long time,” she nodded, touching his arm gently, “Thanks Sam, for always checking in on me,” “Anytime,” he smiled softly, “You’re family, don’t forget that,” then turned to go inside, she followed.

A few minutes later Sam is reading a lore book on the couch, one leg curled under himself, Dean’s helping himself to whatever leftovers were in the fridge, while she sat behind Bobby’s desk idly braiding a section of her hair. Then there’s a clink, and familiar sizzle of air being released and Dean sits down at the dining room table, beer in hand. Sam shoots him a look from across the room, “What, I’m not allowed to relax?” he asked, throwing his hands up. “It’s ten in the morning, Dean,” Sam countered, stiffening from his seat on the couch, shaking his head, “You know, you’re unbelievable. You almost got yourself killed again—” “Guys seriously are we starting this again?” Alex sighed, lowering her soda she was about to drink from, and looking between them. “Yeah she’s right Sammy, there’s no point in discussing this.” “I think she’s just tired of us fighting,” he stood up, “And to be honest, so am I. I’ve been trying to get you out of this damn contract while you keep laying yourself down on the line like it’s your mission to kill yourself before it ends, and I’m sick of it!” “Nobody asked you to. In fact I told you not to, because you’re screwed if you do! Then what? I just gotta live without my baby brother?” “And I just have to live without my big brother, that’s it? I don’t get a choice in the matter?!” Sam’s nostrils flared as he yelled, eyes welling with tears. “No you don’t. ‘Cause it’s my job to protect you, has been since you were a baby, you understand?” Dean’s voice was stern as he walked closer to Sam, his jaw clenched. “Dean—”

“Enough!” Alex slammed her hands hard on Bobby’s desk, startling both men, and making them turn to her with wide eyes, she cleared her throat, looking down and shaking her head quickly. “Sorry, don’t know what came over me,” she ran a hand through her hair, and looked back up between them, “But Sam’s right… I am sick of the fighting,” she nodded, “You’re acting like the definition of insanity right now, rinse-repeating the same argument over, and over again, expecting a different outcome.” “Sam, you’re still going to be a stubborn ass and go behind Dean’s back regardless of what he tells you, and Dean, you’re still going to act like you don’t give a damn when the truth is you’re scared shitless,” she drew a deep breath, “Why don’t you two go outside, walk it off, and for the love of God walk in separate directions– give yourselves space?” she offered, “And this, stays here,” she walked over and took the beer from the table and placed it in the fridge, “And don’t come back until you’re ready to face each other again,” “Fine,” they both grumbled, staring at each other for a moment longer, neither wanting to move away first. Sam headed out the back door while Dean headed out front, making the tension in the house dissolve immediately. “Idiots,” Alex mumbled, pinching her temple. Once they were out she began to eye the room, it was different from the last time she visited.

A familiar set of footsteps walked up the porch, dragging her attention away and the door opened, she put down the empty soda and smiled as he walked inside. “Hi Pops,” she approached and then gave him a tight hug. “Hey–” Bobby returned the hug, albeit confused, “Everything alright? Saw the Impala out front, where are the boys?” “They were at each other’s throats about the demon contract. I told them to take a hike and walk it off,” she shrugged, “They’ll be back when they’re ready,” “Again?” he shook his head, “Those boys never learn,” he sighed and headed into the kitchen, opening the fridge, “Dean?” “Yeah,” she nodded, walking over and resting her hands behind a chair, “That’s what started the fight,” “That boy,” Bobby grumbled, and took two sodas out, handing one over to her which she took gratefully, “They’ll be alright, eventually.” He pauses then looks at her, both twisting their drinks open and taking a sip. She put it down, walking around the room with her hands folded behind her back, eyes raking over things with curiosity. “You alright, Alex?” “Me? I’m great,” she nods with a smile, “Never been better,” she takes a few more steps, slowly making her way back to him, “You know, I love what you’ve done with the place, it’s very decrepit, it’s giving… widower,” she gestured to the whole room and he frowned. “Oh it’s so good to be back,” she flashes him a wicked smile, and raises a hand and sends him flying into a wall, making him slump onto the floor with a groan. “Daddy’s home,” she backhands him and he is knocked unconscious.

Alex picked Bobby up from under his arms and dragged him across the floor, seating him in a chair in the living room, and then wrapping rope around his forearms so that he wouldn’t be able to move. She further tied his legs to the chair’s legs and then stood back silently admiring her work. As she waited for him to wake up she hummed to herself, rolling out the set of knives she had conveniently located where the memory served her. She suddenly paused, as if stopped by an invisible barrier, then picked up the carpet by the edge, and lifted it curiously. She found a painted devil’s trap beneath it. “Ah, you’ve been learning Robert, clever boy,” she stomped her foot down hard on the edge of the sigil and the floorboards cracked beneath her feet, breaking the sigil’s hold with a spark of red energy and allowing her to walk free once more. “Alex, I know you’re in there,” Bobby’s voice croaked as he stirred, she paused and looked at him over her shoulder, flashing the yellow-orange eyes and tilting her head to the side as she turned around. “Azazel… I thought you were dead,” “Oh Robert, I must not have made a good enough impression on you, you seem to have forgotten me,” she shook her head, “It’s been a long time, so I can forgive you, I suppose.”

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice called out from beyond the living room, his steps creaking on the floor followed by another set, likely Sam. He saw Bobby’s baseball cap on the floor and yelled, “Bobby!” and the footsteps grew urgent.

She watched as the Winchesters entered the room in a flurried panic, and raised a finger and wagged it disapprovingly with a tut. “Your father taught you poor manner’s boys,” she raised her now-flattened palm and sent them flying across the room. Sam and Dean struggled but couldn’t move, their heads pressed firmly against the wall. “Then again, he wasn’t the best of Daddy’s was he?” she grinned and turned her attention back to Bobby. “I was just getting reacquainted with my old friend here,” she approached him, crouching so that she was eye level with him as he wiggled against his restraints, “Oh, you’re not getting out of that anytime soon, you taught her well,” she patted him on the knee, slowing standing up, “And when we’re done here, I think I might keep her, she makes a fine little meat suit.” “Who the hell are you?” Bobby demanded. “Well that’s not the welcome-home attitude that I was expecting, then again you weren’t the best host two decades ago either,” she turned her back and looked curiously between the blades laid across the table, “Your wife, Karen, was it? Didn’t like me much either,” she picked one knife up and held it above her head, as if examining the edge of it against the light. “Then again, you were busy stabbing her to death,” she lowered the knife and looked at Bobby smugly.

His eyes widened, “You’re the demon that possessed my wife?” “Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” She raised her hands like a game-show host, “Took you long enough Robert,” she shook her head, “I must say– you look like hell, you really let yourself go after she died didn’t you?” “Why now?” “Well, I was going to take you next, right after your wife, but I needed time. And then you pissed on my parade by going into town with all those people, so I left to have playtime somewhere else,” she twisted the knife in her hands and then approached him again, “Another hunter got lucky and managed to exorcise me not long after, I’ve been trying to claw my way out of hell since then.” She crouched down and suddenly drew along the length of Bobby’s left arm, making him grit his teeth and hiss but he refused to yell, she mirrored her efforts on the other arm and stood up, admiring the blood slowly pooling to the surface.

“You really need to sharpen your blades, this one’s dull,” she picked up a different one and started playing with it in her hands nonchalantly, “And you, Dean Winchester, killed my little brother, really put Hell into chaos boy,” she glanced over at Dean, letting the fiery eyes stay present for a few seconds, “He should’ve known better than toy with you for too long, he never learned.” She tutted, “No, he was too busy playing battlefield to get the real work done, with his special children,” her eyes flicked to Sam, “But seems he underestimated just exactly what the Winchesters were capable of,” “Yeah? You wanna see capable? Let us go and fight us like a real demon,” Dean huffed, straining against the invisible force holding him down. “Dean, always quick with that sharp little tongue of yours,” she shook her head and he coughed, choking suddenly. “You boys weren’t supposed to be here, so shut up and I’ll leave you alone. You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn to finish what I started here so long ago,”

She walked over to Bobby, eyeing him as she twirled the smaller dagger in her fingers, “You know, I think I’m actually glad we had a little time apart, it’ll make this so much more enjoyable,” she pressed the blade against his grey shirt and twisted it slowly, looking at him as he clenched his jaw in an attempt to resist the pain, she pressed a little firmer and drew more blood out. “Couldn’t believe my luck you know, I was hijacking some runaway kid, when I found her alone at a motel,” she chuckled, “Guess it was fate. I’ll give her some credit, nearly gave me away earlier, not that these idiots even realised,” she looked over at them and they frowned, “Alex was the one who slammed the table, trying to take the wheel from me,” with eyes back on Bobby, she turned the blade to let his blood settle on the edge of the knife, “Nearly had me too. She’s strong, I like a strong woman,” she moved the blade away and eyed it, almost hungrily and then looked at him again. She kept her eyes locked with Bobby’s as she ran her tongue across his blood on the dagger and licked her lips, scrunching her nose in distaste, “Your blood isn’t as nice as your wife’s was, yours is… bitter, unsurprisingly. Hers was a much better vintage, I could’ve bottled the stuff,” she chuckled, “It’s a pity I haven’t been able to see her, she must’ve gone upstairs, but you and your friends here… Well obviously you’ll all be dining in Hell.” She cocked her head to the side.

“Is that so?” Bobby asked, flicking his gaze between the blade and her eyes. “Oh yes, first class, I’m certain,” she grinned wickedly, “I’m currently giving her a sneak peak, and I’ve got to say, she is not gonna enjoy it if she’s screaming like this now, and I’m not even showing her the best stuff,” “Why can’t you sons of bitches never just make the kill and leave?” Dean muttered, Sam shot him a look like he was crazy. “Now Dean, where’s the fun in that?” she tilted her head, eyes flickering to that unnatural fiery colour again, “Now shut up,” she mimicked her hand closing and his mouth shut, he tried to talk but it was as if he was gagged, “That pretty little mouth of yours talks too much sweetheart, it’s already gotten you in enough trouble, or have you forgotten your little contract?” She laughed, “I told you I only want Bobby.” She crouched down and suddenly plunged the dagger into Bobby’s right leg making him yell out. She rolled her head back and clapped her hands in delight, “There’s that energy I’ve been looking for!” she smacked his leg happily and stood up, grabbing another knife from the set, making her way back to him with a wicked grin.

“Now… What I’m curious about is why you’re keeping secrets from her,” she poked a finger at the new scar on his chest, making him wince slightly. “The hell are you talking about?” “Really? You don’t know? That’s cute, Robert,” she tutted, “You think it’s a coincidence that she stumbled into the town where it all started? Little blip on the map named Alexandria, where she got her namesake? Someone led her there, right into my path,” she crossed her arms, “Little-Miss-Never-Fit-In, why is that? Maybe it’s because you’re not her real Daddy,” “I raised her! You—” Bobby fought against his restraints. “Raised her into the hunter’s life, do you think sweet Missy would be happy about that?” she asked, standing up and pacing the room. “I was all the family she had,” Bobby spat back. “But you, you didn’t even consider finding her real Daddy, did you? Did you honestly believe she could handle this life? After what happened with her precious Jayden? She might’ve asked for this, but you pushed for it, didn’t you?” She paused. “Don’t act like you know Jack about the choices I’ve made you twisted bastard,” She smirked, “Ah, I see I’ve struck a nerve,” she chuckled and grabbed for a knife similar in size to the one she had left in his leg, “Think I need to strike another one…” she crouched down and examined his leg, as if determining it was the same position and quickly stabbed the knife into his leg, making him yell again and she watched as he writhed in pain against his restraints, “Right there, how nice,” “Now what was I saying? Oh yes. Daddy dearest,” she hummed, and admired the knives stuck in his lower thighs and tapped her chin thoughtfully, “The real one that is… You didn’t even wonder for a second why you never got to meet him, did you? Or even stop to wonder, if he was in fact, human?” “Of course he was human, don’t be smart with me,” “Was he though? He sure didn’t seem in a hurry to stick around, even deadbeats can stick around long enough for their kid’s birth,” she shook her head. “No, there’s something in her, something, dare I say… ancient? I’d wager it’s even older than me, and I’ve been here for a damn long time. Whatever it is, is dormant, but boy is it powerful,”

“You’re lying,” Sam interjected, “You’re just trying to rile Bobby up,” “Am I, and what would be the point of that? I’ve got him right where I want him…” she pointed at Bobby and then at Sam, “Sorry that the spotlight’s not on you anymore Sammy, let us have a chance yeah?” She shook her head and grabbed for another knife, facing Bobby with intrigue, “Now where do I put this?” She placed a hand on the back of the chair and leaned over Bobby, looking over him lazily. “Oh, and don’t worry… I’m making sure Alex is getting a front row seat, wouldn’t want her to miss this—” She froze abruptly, her eyes widening as she hovered over Bobby, Sam perked up and shouted, “Alex!” her head jerked as she looked at him uncertainly, and her eyes fell back to Bobby.  “When did I— Pops?!” she looked down at her hands and dropped the knife immediately. “It doesn’t matter! Just untie me and we’ll get that sonofabitch outta you,” Bobby said, she nodded, bending down to untie the knots. Sam nodded eagerly in agreement, Dean hummed and Sam looked at him confused, “You can’t talk—?”  Alex bolted upright with a scowl, “Ah, like I said, she’s strong, Robert,” she flashed her demon eyes as she rolled her shoulders round and clicked her neck on both sides irritably, “Won’t make that mistake again,” she quickly picked up the knife she had dropped, tightening her grip on it as she moved her hand towards Bobby with the blade aimed at his throat. “No!” Sam yelled and moved slightly from his pinned position on the wall, Dean also struggled but was much more muffled by comparison.

Just as the blade was about to prick the skin on his neck she paused, turning her eyes up to the ceiling, “It can’t be—” she spoke quietly, moving away swiftly and keeping her eyes up as if following something beyond their view.  Her eyes stopped at the doorway, she kept a firm grip on the blade and walked out of the living room, while Sam and Dean shared a look of confusion with each other. Alex stopped as she entered the kitchen, her eyes landing on a man with green-gold eyes and a mischievous smirk. “I’ve waited too long for this, you’re not taking this away from me!”

The man rolled his eyes, speaking quietly, “Oh please, you don’t know who you’re talking to,” his arms crossed as if he was just having a conversation, despite her approaching speedily with the sharp blade at the ready. She raised her arm and stabbed at him, only to find that she was hitting the air. As she turned, he held one arm pinned behind her and she gasped as his palm pressed firmly against her forehead. He chanted foreign words in a hushed whisper, while holding her up firmly with his other arm, her head tilted back as the demon smoke made its exit from her body, spewing out of her mouth, nose and eyes and dissipating into nothingness in between flashes of red light in her skull. With the demon out of her Alex coughed a little, finding herself staring at the man she had encountered at the bar just days earlier, “You again?” she asked. “Don’t you worry about that honey,” he moved her to her feet. ‘Alex!’ she heard the brothers yelling her name and she looked over in that direction. “You’re not even gonna remember this, I’m sorry,” he gave her a half smile, it didn’t reach his eyes though, she looked at him with fear and confusion as he pressed two fingers to her forehead.  She tried to grab his arm but before she could protest, her eyes closed and she fell unconscious, with the man catching her and gently laying her on the ground, before he disappeared in a whirl of air.

The Winchesters entered the kitchen and felt the small gust of wind, “Dean,” Sam smacked a hand against his brother’s arms and pointed to Alex, they made a silent agreement and picked her up under both arms, settling her carefully into a nearby chair. “Do you think she’s still possessed?” Dean asked, rubbing his face with hand and looking over at him. “Hard to tell,” Sam shook his head slightly, “Is she–?”  Dean pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, “Still breathing,” “Thank God,” they both sighed in relief. “What’s happening— would somebody get me out of this goddamn chair!?” Bobby yelled from the living room, Sam nodded to Dean before making their way over to the older hunter. “Sorry, Bobby,” Sam swallowed, “Alex is okay, she’s alive.” He squinted as he worked his way around untying the knots Alex had made. “Damn she ties a good knot,” Dean huffed as he tugged the one side with more force. “Damn right, who’d you think taught her? Where is she anyway?” “Kitchen,” Dean stated, walking over and helping Sam undo the rest of the knots, “She’s out cold,” “And the demon?” “From what I can tell, gone.” He shrugged, “I think someone, gave us a helping hand,”

“Bobby!” Alex ran into the room and they all tensed up, she raised her hands in defence, “She’s gone, I—I don’t know how to prove it, but she’s gone.” Bobby nodded, and then frowned at the knives still stuck in his thighs, “Dean get me the first aid kit, lots of gauze,” Dean nodded and left the room, Sam crouched and looked at the knives worriedly, while Alex approached slowly. “I’m so sorry, Pops,” she spoke quietly, sitting on her knees as she placed a hand tenderly on his arm, her eyes growing misty.  He placed a hand over hers and tried to give her a smile, “It’s not your fault.” “I saw it happening I should have—” “Should have, couldn’t. That bastard demon was Azazel’s brother or sister, or whatever the hell they call themselves, not just some low-life demon you could wrestle with, those are difficult enough,” she nodded, but still looked doubtful, moving her hand back into her lap. Sam gave her a small smile. Dean came back with the first aid kit and an extra roll of gauze in his other hand, he set it down and Sam opened the tin, while he unravelled some of the gauze.

“Let me do it,” she extended her hand out to Dean, swallowing slightly, “Please.” He handed it over and took a step back, watching with crossed arms as Sam gathered some alcohol and prepared some wipes. She quickly made two bundles that could be packed into the deep wounds and looked at him, “Peel or rip?” the brothers frowned between each other and shrugged, turning their attention back to Bobby. “Rip, obviously,” Bobby scoffed, wrapping his hands to grip around the arms of the chair better, embracing himself for the pain to come. She nodded, looking at Sam, “On three then,” she grabbed one of the bundles and leaned closer, taking her other hand and wrapping it around the handle of the blade, “Three!” She yanked the knife out and Bobby yelped, Sam was quick to clean up some of the dried and fresh blood that was pouring out from his wound and she deftly put the gauze into it, while Sam then wrapped it with a layer of bandages to secure its position. Bobby let out a chuckle that was tinged with a mix of anger and pride, “How long you been waiting to pull that one on me?” “Remember when I scuffed both knees after one of my games?” she questioned, readying the next bit of gauze, waiting for Sam to be ready. “I remember that. You were fourteen, playing tag with Andy and Jayden in the parking lot, like a couple of dumbasses until you fell, got both your knees scraped up real bad– since then?” “Yeah,” she twitched her mouth, “When I was healed up, you asked me if I wanted you to peel or rip that god awful bandage off, and I told you ‘peel’ because I was nervous, remember?” She got a grip on the next knife, Sam nodded and she looked at Bobby, “Then, you told me you’d count to three, so that I would be ready, but instead you just yelled— three!” she yanked the knife and he yelled a clear ‘ow!’, “Just like that,” Sam repeated his cleaning actions and Alex proceeded with the gauze, with Sam wrapping up the final bandage once more. “Ha! I suppose I deserved that,” he let out a shaky chuckle and rubbed his thighs carefully where the fresh bandages now covered his wounds, “Good work you two,” “Do you want some ice cream to make you feel better?” “You’ve made your point, Alex,” Bobby shot her a look with a hint of a smile, “What happened with the demon anyway?”

She paused at the question, frowning, “I don’t know exactly,” she shook her head, “I remember going into the kitchen, I think I saw someone,” “What did they look like?” Dean asked. “I, I don’t know,” she shook her head again, “If I think about it, I can’t really see a face,” “What did they sound like?” he pressed, she once again shook her head, “Nothing?” “I just remember entering the kitchen, then I remember hearing your voices, and being moved,” she stood up, shrugging her shoulders, “I woke up sitting in a chair, laying with my head on the table, then I came looking for Bobby,” “Dean?” Sam raised a brow to his brother. “I’m thinking,” “Doesn’t sound like anything I’ve heard of,” Bobby frowned, “You boys didn’t hear anything either?” they both shook their heads. There was a quiet tension beginning to settle, so Dean nudged his brother’s arm and they headed out the room, with Sam slowly getting up and walking after him. “Just wait a bit before you get up, alright Bobby?” Sam gave them a small smile before turning around once more. “Yeah,” Bobby nodded, and then looked at Alex. “How’re you doin’, Pumpkin?” “I’m fine, physically at least,” she swallowed, jaw clenching a little. “I could– I could see what I was doing to you, for some of it at least,” “Alex, it’s okay—” “No, it’s not, I nearly killed you, Pops,” she placed her hand over his and he moved the other one over it, squeezing it gently.  “But you didn’t, that’s what matters,” “Only because someone interrupted,” she moved her hand off and stepped away, her back facing him as she looked outside the window. A moment of silence filling the space, “Bobby, can I ask you something?” “You can ask me anything, you know that,” “Do you think the demon was telling the truth? That there’s something not-human, in me?” she turned to look at him, and his face fell. “That demon was toying with us—” “Answer the question.” “No, I don’t think it’s true. Don’t you think we’d have seen the signs by now?” his shoulders dropped, “Why are you listening to some demon anyhow?” “Because she was telling the truth,” “You can’t be sure of that,” “I could sense that she was telling the truth, I’m sure of it,” she shook her head, “And there’s something else,” “What?”

“Alright— I say we earned that beer now,” Dean’s voice cut in, Sam right behind him, he walked over and passed a beer to Bobby and looked between them with a raised brow, “Am I interrupting something?” “No,” Alex said as Bobby said yes, they looked at each other.  “Guess not,” Bobby raised a brow at her and she shrugged him off, he untwisted his beer and took a swig. “Maybe there’s something in the books we can find, there’s gotta be something about a monster or creature that can exorcise demons so easily, we can stay the night and start working through them.” Sam suggested, passing a soda to Alex and she smiled in thanks.

They did just that, combing through lore books, idly talking about anything that cropped up. Bobby took extensive notes with Sam, while Dean frowned heavily through a difficult book, meanwhile Alex decided to make some macaroni and cheese to line their stomachs with something. Half an hour later, Dean was practically floating into the kitchen drawn in by the smell of hot cheese, “What’s cooking good-looking?” he smirked, grabbing another beer from the fridge and resting his hip against the counter. “Just mac ‘n cheese,” she shrugged, eyeing him, “Can’t have you all just drinking beer for dinner,” “Sure you can, it might not be fun to deal with tomorrow though,” he chuckled, folding his arms, eyes soft as he looked at her, “You don’t have to put us first, you know that, right?” She stopped for a brief second, then sprinkled in some cayenne, and stirred the pot, “I know,” she nodded, then threw him a smile, “But who else is gonna bother feeding you? Or do you want to risk Bobby’s cooking?” she chuckled. “I heard that.” Bobby’s voice sounded from the main space and they both laughed. “Yeah you’re right,” Dean grinned, “I’ll grab the plates,” he started setting the table and added, “You spoil us, you know that,” before clearing his throat and carrying on. “Getting soft on me, Winchester?” “You wish,”

A few minutes later they’d all put their research down and gathered around the table to eat, all grateful that the events from the last few days were winding down, even if it was just for five minutes so they could enjoy a meal together. When they were done Alex insisted that Bobby take a couple of tylenols and rested, since he was going to feel the pain a lot worse the next day, and as much as he wanted to complain he allowed her to fuss as he would have done the same.

Later that evening Alex was standing on the porch, eyes focused on the stars twinkling above, enjoying the silence the night had to offer. She took a slow drag from the blunt resting in her fingers, closing her eyes momentarily as she let the relief wash over her. She barely noticed the footsteps creaking on the porch as Dean joined her, a half-finished beer in hand, he paused for a moment and she looked back at him. “That’s new,” he blinked, “You been holdin’ out on me? Should’ve hit that before the mac ‘n cheese,” he leaned against the railing, holding his hand out with a grin. “Not that kinda blunt,” she turned to face him, shaking her head at his hand. He frowned, withdrawing his hand and looked ahead of them, “What kind is it?” “Probably CBD,” Sam’s voice cut-in, joining on Alex’s other side, she nodded. “CB– what now?” he looked at his brother like he spoke a foreign language, they both chuckled. “It’s for anxiety,” she explained, while Sam smiled and nodded, “Helps take the edge off,” “I thought you only did Oregano that one time?” He raised a brow at Sam. “God you’re never gonna let that go are you?” He chuckled. “Nope,” Dean exaggerated with a pop and then grinned, finishing his beer with a swig. “You ever tried it, Cheech?” she asked with a cheeky smile, and taking another drag from the blunt. “The real stuff? Oh yeah, once.” He admitted, lowering his eyes to the ground, “I laughed for twenty minutes at a toothpaste commercial that wasn’t even funny, then zonked out on the floor, used the frickin’ carpet as a blanket,” he shook his head at the memory. “Don’t ever tell Bobby I told you that,” he looked at both of them and they had a silent agreement. “Where was I when this went down?” Sam asked, smiling. “University, Einstein, and I was bored,”

There’s a moment of silence that follows before Alex breaks it, “You think Bobby’s going to be alright?” “‘Course he is,” Dean nodded, nudging her side with his elbow, “You Singers are made of grit and steel,” he winked, before stretching, “Don’t mull on that too much alright? Demon’s gone, Bobby’s alive, we’re good.” He gave her a firm pat on the shoulder, before he went back inside. “And if you do mull on it, we’re always here,” Sam nodded slowly, brushing his hand on her upper arm, “Well me more so than Dean, but you know what I mean,” he let out a soft chuckle. “I know, thanks Sam,” she nodded and smiled, and he left her alone on the porch. She took another drag of the blunt, eyes cast towards the stars again. “It’s what I don’t know that scares me,”

Chapter 7 (coming soon) → Read on: Ao3 / Tumblr

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts-all-the-Time; just a wee silly interlude today]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) 14: eavesdropping (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

Greg Lestrade has tried only three times, in the several aggravating years of their acquaintance, to surprise his friend Sherlock Holmes. It has yet to work, even when Sherlock was off his tit. The bastard.

But Greg has a new plan. Time has passed; he'd like to think he's learned a thing or two. And he has a new ally: Rosie Watson. 

Sure, she's too small to be a super spy--yet--but she is a very excellent excuse to come round the flat. 

She's undoubtedly getting spoiled, this one, as if everyone involved is trying to miraculously compensate for a lost mum, even though they know it's futile. 

But also? Kids are fun when they're little. And Greg has no issue admitting he misses those days. Especially when he can hand the kid back when the nappy needs changing. It's brilliant.

And it's nearly John's birthday, so he figures he can kill two birds with one stone. Surprising Sherlock is just a bonus, a personal challenge he lays out for himself every once in a while. To keep his mind sharp. Like sudoku, but one where the sudoku insults you afterwards.

Today, he's prepared: He's bribed Mrs Hudson with some (completely legal, thanks) CBD sweeties. He's noted which stairs squeak. He's planned it for a time he reckons Rosie will be home and awake. He knows Sherlock isn't on any case for the Yard.

Yes, there's a chance John will be at his day job, or Sherlock will be on a private case, but those are chances he just has to take.

He holds the carefully wrapped package under his arm and starts up the stairs. He can hear music, immediately recognisable as Frozen II, but not much else.

One he gets to the landing, he considers the two doors in front of him. He listens again, harder, and thinks he can hear Sherlock and John conversing under the soundtrack, and thinks they're in the sitting room.

So he just goes for it. Opens the kitchen door slow as treacle, then peeks round.

He blinks, then pulls back. Has he just seen-- 

He peeks around again.

Yep. Yep, he has definitely seen Sherlock and John standing in front of the fireplace, in between their well-loved chairs, and kissing like the world is theirs to command: That feeling of a new relationship, which is a bit of luck considering how long those two blokes have known each other, but…

He rubs his eyes, then goes back for one more look.

Same picture, only this time-- Sherlock, eyes closed and expression intense as he holds John's face in one hand and explores his mouth without shame, uses the other hand to make two fingers in Greg's direction behind John's back.

Greg almost laughs out loud. Instead, he leaves the gift on the landing and heads back out. There's only so much a man wants to know about his mates.

He grins to himself. New new plan: Never try to surprise Sherlock Holmes again.

[ <3 ]

[kaiasky]

ok so here is my best understanding of weed from someone who has never smoked it, except for that one time i smoked it.

weed is apparently a flower not a leaf. the other bits have thc but people are wusses and don't smonk them. EXTREMELY silly since the cannabis leaf shape is so iconic. (the only parallel that even comes close is that the aminita muscaria is the icon of psychedelics despite not being a psyllocybin mushroom.)

i think like only one sex of plant has flowers that are worth smonking and it's a big thing to ensure all your seeds are female.

for some reason chewing it raw doesn't get you high you need to heat it up? (which i learned because i was worried that if i could smell unburnt weed in storage i was getting a contact high)

in general i feel that weed fans are maybe a bit of pussies like idk, simply smoke 3x the weed if it has 3x lower concentration, idgi? skissue.

People have strong opinions on how to get their weed but it seems like generally: in illegal places you talk to the most annoying person you know, and in legal places you go into an app store and place an order on an iPad and if you go to the front desk they say they can't help you, place an order on the ipad. or you order it online with various promises about how fast it'll get there and how little you need to interact with another human being.

there is an item known as a grinder which seems terribly designed and intended to spill as much cannabis on the ground as possible. why does this item look like a petri dish and not have an inbuilt funnel or something? i do not know.

the grinders job is to turn weed, which started life as loose ground up buds and was compacted into brussel sprouts of slightly more compressed ground up buds, into loose ground up buds, so it can be recompacted into slightly more compressed ground up buds in a weed cigarette bunt

the airflow of a joint is a mystery to me because my mental model of it is just you take the rolling paper and roll it up, lick it to seal it shut, and then twist the ends shut like a tootsie roll. which would block you from being able to suck the air in, no? my best guess is it's not entirely airtight and you just draw breath through the paper.

similarly, once you light it i don't understand what prevents the weed from spilling out the open end. if you blew on a joint would it spray everyone with smouldering weed?

i think most joints are unfiltered because idk. in general ig my perception is that cigarette users prize the aesthetics of a manufactured and standardized product while weed users prize the aesthetics of handrolling as a craft.

theres some substance called resin that makes it more thc-y. presumably it's just you blend up the rest of the plant and distill it?

blunts are either cigars with weed in them (do they still have a tobacco leaf as the wrap??) or just a big joint I'm not sure.

you can also, if you're normal, use a pipe or a bubbler or bong. this is very sensible and i understand how these work.

i don't understand why the weed pipe is that particular form and not like a tobacco pipe. or like why are the tobacco pipe, crack pipe, and weed pipe all different??

If you're a wuss, you can eat a gummy, either the thc kind that does something or the cbd kind that does nothing. you eat this and "nothing happens" and you have 4 more and then you explode, and apparently this happens to everybody. skissue.

the primary effect of weed is that you feel uncomfortable and want to eat food except ur mouth feels bad when it eats food. secondarily time goes slower (which, by the time-flies principle, implies you're not having fun?)

theres sativa which is if you want to have a fun joyous intriguing time, and indica which is boring. People make a lot of this difference and it's always like "there's two types of cowstuff, prime rib and literal cowpies"

if you smoke weed you get a tolerance and if you stop smoking you get less tolerance. so theres a ritual of taking a break to reset the tolerance. i find this oddly charming.

[laurenttheninth]

buck would smoke joints for sure, but never buys his own weed. has been a parties-only stoner since he was a teenager but doesn’t get high alone/casually because he gets too self-reflective and it makes him lonely.

eddie diaz took a few rips off a bong in high school and got a little freaked out at how good he felt and got scared, never smoked again. also weed made him horny as hell and he’s secretly convinced that was The Time that conceived christopher (shannon could smoke like a fucking champ and did until her dying day pour one out for the queen)

hen isn’t morally against smoking weed but hasn’t since finding out she was going to be raising denny; has complicated feelings about getting high/would only do edibles because it’s the medically safest consumption method (karen has tried pot brownies a few times and prefers getting drunk to getting high, has no interest in smoking weed)

Bobby Nash, Sober King, moving right along

chimney was baked at every night he and kevin worked at that karaoke bar, still has an ol’ one-hitter he’ll bust out for him and maddie on special occasions

maddie had a rebellious stoner phase for a few months in high school until one day she got a phone call on her pastel pink motorola razor from her little brother, he was at the er and could she come pick him up? but she was wayyyyy too high to drive and the guilt made her quit weed and also drinking for a long while unless evan pinky swore he’d stay home all night and didn’t do anything risky/stupid. never smoked through her marriage to doug but got big into cbd edibles after his death. gets bonkers stoned off two hits at karaoke date nights with chimney and gets sooooo cuddly/sappy romantic

athena’s a cop she’s never tried weed and never will but may grant has a weed pen on her at all times, never learned how to roll doesn’t own a grinder has only ever bought legal weed from a licensed supplier (the same is true of ravi)

tommy has The Hookup and his weed dealer is his ex bf from before he came out (no hard feelings); tommy only rolls blunts can do the actual rolling one-handed, holds it up for buck to kick the edge before sealing it off; always gets a crazy discount bc his dealer is still in love with him so he has a super skewed idea of how much weed costs the average man since he’s only ever paying 1/2 price

[springswallowtarot]

About This Blog

I want to start a little tarot blog. I actually have / had an IG for tarot a few years ago, but I don’t really use it anymore, partially because typing everything up on my phone was a pain.

Some brief information:

I’ve been fascinated with tarot for close to a decade now. I got my first deck 8 or 9 years ago—it was a Rider Waite and it was not gifted to me. I respect people’s ideas of tradition around gifting decks of course, but I don’t think we should feel bad or worry about what it means to get ourselves our own decks. I still have my first deck. Since then, I have obtained and given away several decks.

1. Rider Waite--This is the most well-known deck probably in existence--certainly in English speaking countries.

2. Smith Waite--this got damaged recently and is still usable but part of why I got two new decks recently. It’s also my smallest and most portable deck, though it really isn’t that small. This deck is named to pay homage to the original illustrator. It has the original color pallet.

I also had several learning decks at some point, that I have since given away to CS (I believe I gave her a version I added extra annotation to), DW, and AJK (received a slightly different, larger learning deck than the other two.)

3. I still own a learning deck I've annotated heavily. It has keywords for Upright and Reversed, a short meaning, an affirmation, the number, element, zodiac, time period / dates, chakra, yes/ no, and Hebrew character it is associated with for each card as well as a few key words for the card as relevant to the categories of Love, Career, and Finance. I've only barely begun to dive into numerology, element, and yes / no. I don't know a whole lot about how to utilize time period, zodiac + planet, chakra, Hebrew, with it. I definitely take these with a grain of salt because the manufacturer of this deck isn't clear, and even the information found on the deck differs on other annotated decks sometimes. I really do like this deck for the affirmations though

5. Modern Witch Tarot—This is a beautiful, female-first deck that provides modern (for example, the Chariot is a motorbike) and diverse imagery of women throughout the typical RW context. I encountered it first in a reading I received and later got my own, but didn't find it quite suited me so I ended up giving this away (CS). I would argue it's a queer deck--which is part of why it called to me.

6. Tarot of Opposition— I don’t use this deck much but it is very interesting. I think because there’s no clear orientation, just depictions of the positive and negative aspects, generally as if viewed across a looking glass. I’m not familiar enough with RW to remember when those correlate to Upright or Reversed which makes it harder to look up and interpret. This is a deck that requires more familiarity with the visual symbolism, numerology, and elements and lends itself to intuitive reading. It is all about duology and two perspectives, and does feel less binary than RW to me.

7. Tarot of the Divine—This was the first deck gifted to me by KR, a good friend of mine. It's entwined with many mythologies from across the world and each card correlated to a different myth or folk tale. For example, The Fool is the Little Mermaid. I find it sometimes hard to read because of how nuanced it is, with both the trappings of traditional tarot and the nuance of the story each card embodies. I think it’s best suited for 1-3 card holistic draws, but really probably mostly 1, at least for my current skillset.

8. CBD Tarot de Marseille. This is a French Italian deck from the 15th century I obtained recently. It’s unique because of how the majority of the Wands and Coins suit cards do not have clear orientations. Several of the Swords cards also lack this. The Cups are the only suit where orientation is clear throughout. On the whole, the deck is very different from RW but the Maor Arcana Sun card is why I chose it. The Sun in RW is the source of light, but in Marseille, the people are. Generally, the lack of orientation means that I approach this more thoughtfully and it also means that it’s less binary. On the whole Swords in Marseille is also less negative than in RW. I'm still learning quite a bit about this deck.

9. Trickster’s Journey by Jia Sung. This is a beautiful watercolor deck that draws from the Chinese classic Journey to the West among other things from Chinese mythology. I love the reinterpretation and recontextualization of tarot, since our own mythologies inform our experience with it. It's a beautiful deck and I feel drawn to it. Notably, the Fool has been renamed Trickster, and the Monkey (who references the Monkey King) is not gendered past the initial acknowledgement of the homage.

I'd like to dive into numerology at some point, as well as the journey of the minor and major arcana (there are high roads and low roads for each suit / story and iirc they correlate to cardinal virtues and sins). In particular swords fascinates me, as it's often described in RW as someone using their power and losing everything because of it, but other decks are more forgiving (like Marseille). Also, the Marseille deck was developed before RW whereas the others almost certainly draw from RW.

[newsatsix1986]

Ross McGrath, Tim Ahern and Dale Jennings, bravely battling the scene of Russell Street together.

.

.

The recreation of the Russell Street Bombing in A Step Closer To The Madness still remains the most impressive feat that The Newsreader has pulled off, in my eyes. The amount of effort and dedication that went into making the explosion and the scene look as accurate as possible is so evident to viewers, especially when you compare it to the real footage from the day. Truthfully, sometimes I cannot tell the images of the recreation to the real event apart.

Michael Lucas shared to the Sydney Morning Herald that “there’s a real obligation to do it justice.” Filmed on the 3rd February 2021, both Russell Street and MacKenzie Street in Melbourne’s CBD were filled with vintage cars, period accurate ambulances, fire engines and police cars, and a whole heap of extras dressed appropriately in 1980s gear. One of the firefighters in the scenes; Graham Duncan, had even been on the scene of real bombing back in 1986, and he rated the recreation pretty spot on, and also spoke about how the episode would help bring the story to younger generations so that they can learn about it.

The recreation and the turning of these two busy Melbourne streets into a film set was so notable that it ended up making the real news. The Sydney Morning Herald, Seven News and Nine News all covered the filming, providing lots of behind the scenes footage and images. The streets were closed to the general public, and Victoria Police issued out warnings to the public about closures in the Russell Street vicinity, as well as out in Carlton for the pub scenes.

The filming was also the cause of real legality concern, and there was thoughts that the ABC might have faced an injunction from two of the Russell Street perpetrators in relation to their upcoming trial for an unrelated cause, which could have postponed the airing of the episode. This didn’t eventuate, as the ABC reassured their legal teams that their names and the criminal trial to follow the bombing wouldn’t be included in our show. Thank goodness for that.

Images sourced from Seven, Nine, SMH, The Age and various Instagram pages 📸❤️📺🌟

Source Links:

https://fb.watch/wUkixBbIYk/?