#really wishing we didn't live in a society where getting a job a was requirement to actually get anything you want/need

[kaibutsushidousha]

What are your thoughts on orihime?

Ichigo's little group of friends exist to be basis of Bleach's arcs. The Soul Society arc is envisioned as Rukia's arc, which is a no-brainer because Rukia is a Shinigami. The Lost Agent is envisioned as Chad's arc, and even if it fails that role, the choice is understandable due to Chad being a Fullbringer. The Blood War is envisioned as Uryuu's arc, obvious again because Uryuu is a Quincy. But Orihime is a Fullbringer, so realizing what makes her fit at the center of the Arrancar arc requires a little more thought.

Well, I'd say the answer can be found about as early as possible. Orihime simply isn't like any other character in the good side. A whole lot of characters in Bleach have tragic pasts, but only Orihime is shown having a tragic present. The other Karakura people have comfortable houses with providing families. The Seireitei is a high class place directly contrasted with the poor Rukongai. The Visored and Xcution are united communities. Unclear about the Quincies in Silbern because we never the status quo there before the times of war.

Meanwhile, Orihime lives alone thanks to cutting ties with her parents at age 4 and losing her brother at age 12. She survives out of part-time jobs and financial support from distant relatives who determine how much money she gets based on her grades. The status quo of Bleach is pretty rough on her, and if I'm not forgetting anyone, her alone. She's doing what she can to survive under a constant threat of hunger, which is something Bleach otherwise only portrays as the lifestyle of a Hollow. I'll get back to this later.

The point here is that Orihime's life sucks. But that's not a thing that ever shows. Orihime in public is just a silly airhead constantly presented as the most cheerful person around. Her screentime in normal school situations is marked by her filtering her unpleasant reality with outlandish imagination. Her antics make her look really stupid, but we're shown that she isn't as she has 3rd best grades in their school. Intentional as her silliness is, she can't afford to be a bad student because that affects how much bread she gets to every month, as mentioned above.

And Bleach wastes no time explaining why she's like that. Still in volume 1, it's already established that Orihime spent her whole life being protected by others. First Sora, then Tatsuki, and now Ichigo. And because she grew up like this, her greatest wish is to not be a problem.

She let Sora bite her because life going on without him was being a problem to him and having to protect her was being a problem to Ichigo. She puts on a smile at school and keeps her conditions a secret to avoid being a problem to anyone who could care about her living situation. She let Ulquiorra take her because she didn't want to be a problem to anyone willing to fight Aizen for her sake. Her experience in Soul Society should have told her that this last one would backfire tremendously, but in her moment of weakness, she couldn't fight against her ingrained habit of avoiding being a burden.

Another key point of her early characterization is obviously her relationship with Ichigo. He was just a cool funny guy at first, until Sora's incident made him interesting, so she asked Tatsuki about him, and only really started caring after hearing about Masaki's death. This happens in a volume where she takes the cover and her opening poem is "If I were the rain [...] could I tie hearts together?". The rain is the symbol of Ichigo's grief, and Orihime falls for Ichigo by associating the lost of his mother with the loss of her brother. She connects best by relating to suffering, which shows later in the many, many, many times she's shown healing Arrancars after years practically living like a Hollow when in the world of the living.

This is kinda of a sudden change of topic, but things are sorta moving in chronological order here and the next big checkpoint is Orihime's first fight, so I'll conclude the talk about her position there and now talk about her powers.

Orihime gets Shun Shun Rikka, a Fullbring centered around rejection of events. Like Bleach abilities tend to do, this power goes incredibly well with Orihime's established characterization. Reality sucks for her but she keeps things by rejecting it through her filter of imagination. She can attack with this power, but it's best suited as a shield (preventing causing problems for others) or healing (making people forget their problems).

She then proceeds to not do much in Soul Society, then early into the Arrancar arc, she loses to Yammy and gets to negatively compare herself to Rukia, who did well in her first on-screen fight ever. Her feelings of uselessness pile up and compound into the 5 lives scenes, which as I already told you before, I consider the emotionally powerful dialogue Kubo has ever written. Not much to comment on it, the moment speaks for itself.

For Orihime, the bulk of the Arrancar arc is spent interacting with Ulquiorra. It's a really challenging experience for her because Ulquiorra has zero emotional depth. He was an ancient Hollow with no eyes, ears, nose, or mouth, being unable to perceive the outside world until Aizen broke his mask. Starrk, Barragan, and Grimmjow's backstories establish that Arrancars inherit experiences from their Hollow selves. Breaking their masks didn't change who they are. But Ulquiorra has no experiences because his Hollow life was spent entirely in the nothingness of himself.

Orihime has always been engaging with people through a smile-shaped web of lies, social conventions, and bravado, but Ulquiorra still haven't experienced humanity enough for that to work on him. He responds only to cold truths, so Orihime's typical conversation strategies are proven useless. It forces her to change her ways. She can only teach him about the heart by being honest and direct. Arrancars are about literal broken masks, but Orihime makes herself part of their story by having her metaphorical mask broken.

After that, we have the Lost Agent arc, which doesn't really take Orihime further (and doesn't really need to since Arrancar was her main focus arc) but does an amazing show of progress for post-Ulquiorra Orihime by introducing Riruka, a tsundere who hangs with Orihime a lot. While Riruka is as full of walls and bravado as Orihime originally was, this Orihime gets to be effortlessly vulnerable, recapping her horrible backstory to her new friend, being called creepy for her apparently fake smile, and clarifying that she actually can smile for real because she was already saved from her past.

The final arc doesn't do much with her aside from putting her in the final boss battle, so I guess I'll use this space to talk about how her progression in combat participation feels really well-paced. She goes from being squarely away from major action in Soul Society to not interfering with the fight but making a point to stay near the battle vs Grimmjow to start tactically throwing shields vs Ulquiorra to getting Ichigo actively ask for her help vs Ywhach.

Ok, that last is probably more about Ichigo himself having learned to ask for help 10 minutes ago after cringing at Uryuu's inability to rely on his friends and taking him as an antithesis model (pun intended).

But still, I love this kind of step-by-step character growth model, it reminds me of how Yugi and Atem's dynamic grew from Yugi unaware to Yugi aware to them starting to talk to them working together vs Pegasus to Yugi dueling alone to Yugi defeating Atem. Always great to see an author commit to a flowchart of development like that.

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 78

They've forged a path with the meals they've eaten and touched hearts with the meals they've shared.

Seems like no one hanging around the underground graveyard expects to deal with combat seeing as how no one seems to have a weapon they can use. It's probably a general policy that you bring a weapon only if you intend to explore the dungeon.

The Canaries seem to be following that policy to the letter. Everyone in Mithrun's team either doesn't have a weapon (Mithrun, Lycion, Otta), can summon a weapon (Pattadol), or uses an unconventional skill that doesn't require a normal weapon (Fleki, Cithis).

To add to how disfunctional Shuro's makeshift team was, he didn't have his weapon when he fell down the pit. That sword he's using looks like the kind Flamela summons so he probably had to borrow it from her.

The more I see how Flamela operates, the more I don't like her. Pattadol is an uptight by-the-books follow-the-rules bureaucratic type but that means she's not going to arbitrarily decide she has license to do whatever she deems is necessary to get the job done.

It's that scumbag gold peeler! Kick him into the pit!

I'm charmed by these three.

They have unclipped ears so they're nobles who joined the Canaries as a civic duty. The rightmost one was one of the people staring curiously at Tade so they might not have much experience about the world.

This is probably their first assignment ever and they're realizing that they've ended up in a situation just like the nightmare scenario that was Utaya.

They're not even thinking of fleeing. They just want to say their goodbyes before they go to die in the line of duty.

I REALLY don't like how Flamela operates.

I wish we got a proper account of what happened in Utaya, but at this point we probably never will. Since everyone's comparing this situation to it, I'm going to guess that the Utaya dungeon also got a new lord who wished for something that necessitated the dungeon expanding into the world.

Kabru recounted in chapter 45 that the dead turned into monsters that attacked the living. Maybe the Utaya lord was what the Canaries think Laios is - a monster obsessed nutcase who wanted to turn everyone into monsters.

This is the one accusation about Laios as a dungeon lord I'm going to have to agree with. He definitely would try making new monsters for fun.

This elf has a fairy familiar so she is a guard.

As if I didn't need more reason to not like Flamela. She should have just let him die.

Our heroes everyone.

At this point, this plot thread has overtaken where we left off with Laios's party.

Back in MMT4, Laios said humans and orcs have different numbers of fingers and toes. Their hands clearly had the same number of fingers but there were never any good foot shots to confirm how many toes they have.

Well now I can confirm what Laios said. They have pig-like feet.

We're beginning to see Kabru's statement come to life. In chapter 32, he said "When all those separate actions are meshed together, it becomes a historic event involving lots and lots of people."

In chapter 3, Laios's party saved Doni and Fionil from a basilisk and cured Doni's poison. They could have just given him an antitoxin herb and been on their way, but they instead sat down to share a meal with the two and give them advice on how to improve themselves. This left such a strong impression that Doni was willing to stand up in Laios's defense when the only others willing to do that was the orcs.

If Doni hadn't spoken up, no one else might have. And the Canaries could just use the orcs' support for Laios as additional proof that he needs to be killed; they could argue he despises human society to the point that he would associate with orcs.

But now the Tansu and Shuro parties have decided to throw their hat in with Laios. Whoever conquers the dungeon inherits the Golden Kingdom. And everyone is deciding they'll make sure Laios is the one who does it.

I want to draw special attention to Fionil. During all this, she never said a word. All she did was stand by Doni and lower her hood. But that action said everything she needed to say.

She is showing the elves that she is a half-elf. She is saying "Look at me. I am a half-elf. I am someone who you look down upon as inferior. I am someone you think wishes was like you. I oppose you and your desires."

Behold the Joestar family's secret technique!!

back

[nimona-antifa]

Alrighty time for another communism post. So I was thinking about how capitalists LOOOOOVE to bring up "someone will have to do it, are you expecting some kind of paradise where everyone just lazes around? That's unrealistic!" In their minds, us communists are just stupid idiots who don't understand how the world works because OBVIOUSLY there has to be SOMEONE to work, and we CLEARLY didn't consider that, stupid commies that we are. And you know what? I'm pulling uno reverse. I think that the reason why capitalists are so uncomfortable with communism is because they don't actually want to acknowledge the work that has to be done to make a functional society because that would require them to realize that the burger flippers are quite literally an essential part of it that is severely mistreated and underpaid. They know that SOMEONE has to work the grill, chop the veggies, stir the soup, wash the dishes, because not everyone can. But that's the key word. SOMEONE. As long as it's not them they don't have to think about it. And they don't want to. They'd rather be worked to death and not have to think about it than be forced to confront the possibility that they might ever have to do something they don't want to, like flip burgers or help wash a mountain of dishes. Their problem with communism is that they expect it to play out like capitalism. That's why they project all of capitalism's inadequacies onto communism. It's safe to hate. Hating capitalism is risky. And I get it, I really do. Sometimes I wish I could just swallow that little blue pill. But the problem is, I can't. The moment I started to actually interact with the real world was when I saw the cracks. Capitalism is held together with spit and prayers to a God that doesn't really exist: money. What even is money, when you think about it? Nothing more than a gatekeeper. It has no real practical reason to exist, either we can sustain our current population and nothing needs to change, or we can't and changes need to be made. I'm not suggesting genocide, don't misunderstand me. I'm saying that the Republicans love to claim that there's no population problem with their insistence on pushing straight marriage to make more babies and forced birth to make more babies and don't punish rapists so we can make more babies. If that were true, why do we need money? If there's truly enough resources to support an ever growing population like they claim, why do we need money to gatekeep who can and can't eat? And if there aren't enough resources, why the hell are we pushing for commodities like NFTs that waste an obscene amount of real life resources? If there isn't enough food, why are we advocating for structures that keep food out of people's hands until it's half rotten? If there isn't enough food, why do restaurants get away with wasting tons, LITERAL TONS AS IN THOUSANDS OF POUNDS, of food? If there isn't enough food, why does FORTY PERCENT OF IT GO TO WASTE?!? We need to do better. I don't care what name it goes by but until everyone, regardless of race, gender, disability, religion or lack thereof, sexuality, age, mental health, or any other factors, is able to live well without fear of starving, losing their house, losing the job they wish to do, and fear of being unable to escape an abusive situation AT LEAST, we have a lot of work to do.

[kyywtii]

Tears Of Themis boys as ||𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽||

𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚐

This close to become a criminal instead

Is so done with whatever bs is going on

" Officer Wing, we require your assistance in the north east side of the town, apperenly, an old woman reported her dog went missing 2 days ago and claims someone might have kidnapped him"

"?????"

Poor man was in disbelief

Ended up going to check though

I mean, was forced to go and check-

Spoiler: there was no old lady.

"Wait, wing, if she's not here, maybe she lives around-"

"Around WHERE ?"

"I mean, she called from around here so-"

"She didn't call from around here, she SENT US here."

"The last time she saw her dog was here, wing !"

"He was with her when she went home !"

....

"...Boss is calling"

Second spoiler : the dog didn't get kidnapped, he was just left at a pet hotel as the lady went to visit her daughter but couldn't take him with her.

"..........."

"Well... Atleast there's no dog traffic happening-"

"I want a raise."

Paperwork man

But also car chase man

Likes the fact he can't get arrested for driving this fast

(And dangerously)

"Car speed go UP-"

𝙻𝚞𝚔𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚎

Best policeman to ever exist

Takes his job SO SERIOUSLY

Even helping elders cross roads is an exciting experience for him

Him ? Complain ? N E V E R

Want him to put in extra hours ? Unpaid ? No problem

Last minute transfer ? It's alright

Night shifts for a whole month ? Your wish is my command

"Officers, we need a man for-"

"Sir ! Can I go, Sir!"

"A burglary has been reported 2 streets from here !"

"Sir ! I'm currently available and trained !"

"Can someone please water the plants outside ? They're dying drying"

"On it ! Immediately !"

He just really enjoys his job, it's his passion

Him and Artem are the only ones who truly deserve to be called Policemen in all honesty-

He cried the day he got his badge actually

Please never ask him for strings pulling, cuz he won't help

Won't even consider it

"We live in a society ! And that is not how society works !!"

"Your hardwork is what you should rely on, not me or anyone else !"

"Make a name for yourself with your own hands !!"

And such, and such...

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜 𝚅𝚘𝚗 𝙷𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗

Honestly, no one knows if he's "with" the law or against it.

Lowkey has his own traffic code.

Stops almost everybody, no specific type of people. No one is safe.

"Why hello, may I ask for your papers ?"

"Uhm, sure sure, here... Did I do anything wrong sir ?"

"We'll get there... Oh, I see here you're a doctor ?"

"I am, I am"

"Oh my, good thing I stopped you, I so happen to need a doctor's advice for a personal matter. Mind sharing a contact ?"

"I don't mind giving you my number, sir..."

"We'll then, perfect. Have a nice day."

"Is that it ? Can I go ?"

"Yes, yes."

He also needed a butcher's advice for personal matters

And a taxi driver's too, apperently.

The man sometimes stops people and asks them to drive him to a certain place.

"Oh hello, I see you're going north, perfect, cuz i'm too ! Mind dropping me at the mall ?"

He knows his colleagues would notice him if he uses his own car

(Not like it ever happened before or anything)

Modern problems require modern solutions

𝚅𝚢𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛

I wonder how he didn't lose his job yet

Actually

I don't even know how he ended up doing this job in the first place

The only man to recieve threats to get fired from his superiors on a daily basis

He's so salty for no reason-

"Richter, we need you around the main avenue. "

"The main avenue? That's not my area."

"I know. But there's a festival preparing and we need more men."

"Hmm, why not send someone more fond of this kind of work"

"Richter, are you questionning my choice of man for this ?"

"I indeed am-"

"OFFICER VYN RICHTER."

Literally does not learn.

Literally does not stop.

"Richter, you and Felkin will patrol together the south area."

"Patroling the south area is kind of useless"

"Are you doubting the thinking behind my order, Richter ?"

"I'm not certain there was any thinking in the first place, but sure"

"........"

He always intends on doing what he's told to do from the beginning (not like he has any choice)

He just wants to piss his superiors off (what a silly goofy man)

The only thing he'll never do is come before 11 though.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Abominable Part 1

Pairing: mage!Peter Parker x mage!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, murders, possible gore in the future chapters, pretty dark story overall.

Words: 1543

Summary: An investigator of the Mage's Association, you are sent to discover the mystery behind a series of murders before more sinister events take place.

P.S. This was inspired by The Garden of Sinners particularly. I loved it dearly when I was a teenager.

To avoid any confusion, the reader is neither good nor bad due to the nature of her profession. Peter is an adult.

____________

Stepping on a platform with a vintage Samsonite briefcase in your hand, you looked at the people standing aside, most of them waiting for other passengers to leave the train. Although you knew the face of a magus who was supposed to meet you, it was hard to recognize him in the crowd, and you stared at all those people in front of you, clenching the briefcase’s handle. You hated waiting.

Of course, Lord Pierce wasn’t too happy with your arrival: the old fool thought he was untouchable even after a series of murders and an unnatural magic activity in Tombra that got the Mage's Association alarmed. You remembered the revulsion in Mr. Stark’s voice when he talked of Alexander. The old aristocracy, Lord Pierce was an outstanding magus who had long abandoned practicing any decent magic and instead preferred to exploit the strength of his numerous successors. While he still had some friends in the Association, Stark hated him greatly and was happy to remind him who was in control.

Naturally, Pierce knew why you came to Tombra, and the conversation between you two didn’t go well. You didn’t hide your intentions: you were the Investigator of the Clock Tower, and your job was to figure out what was happening in that megalopolis where Lord Pierce resided proudly. It meant you were going to be a great disturbance and a possible danger to many aristocratic families under Alexander’s protection. 

It wasn’t surprising he chose the most useless assistant to help you find out the truth. His name was Peter Parker, and he was class D+ magus who attended neither Clock Tower nor Atlas Academy. His role was to slow you down, you thought and sighed. 

Suddenly, you saw a familiar face when a young man hurried to you, his cheeks red, sweat running down his face: apparently, he was late. You snickered, looking at his formal attire - his black tie was so long as if he stole it from his father.

Once he was close enough, the young man stood tall, at attention, waiting for you to say something as he stared at you with awe and horror.

“Lady Ragna of the Clock Tower,” you named your rank coldly, and your companion nervously bit his lower lip, acting exactly how you expected of him.

“Peter of Tombra! Pleased to make your acquaintance!” He sounded too excited, and his hands were trembling a little, although he tried hiding it.

Gods, what was he good for in a situation like this, unless he possessed some extraordinary powers not stated in his file? Well, now was the time to discover that, you thought as you narrowed your eyes at the young man.

"Your primary magecraft?"

"B-bounded fields and healing!"

Nothing spectacular there, but bounded fields could be of use to you if you would ever be attacked while performing magic.

"Elements?"

"Water and wind!"

This was better: magi controlling more than one element were still rare, and the boy could make a nice apprentice if he were to be send to the Clock Tower. Besides, with Tombra surrounded by a river, a liquid manipulation skill Peter definitely possessed could be valuable, too.

"Magic circuit composition?"

"N-normal?"

"Any familiars?"

"None."

He was clearly feeling like a mouse in front of a snake, his face getting even more red with every second, and you found the situation rather funny.

"Your motto?" You stared him dead in the eye.

For a second Peter looked horrified, his mouth slightly open as if he were to say something, but you heard no sound coming from him. Then, as if struck by lightning, he gibbered with fear, "Live p-proudly?"

Oh boy. He really thought you were being serious when you talked rubbish with a stony face. If anybody was to talk about a personal motto, even the most pretentious magi of the Clock Tower would burst out laughing.

Rolling your eyes skyward, a gleam of deviltry in them, you smirked, "It was a joke. Don't ever use a motto, it's a terrible idea."

"Thank goodness! I thought it's something high magi of Clock Tower have." The next second Peter made a sigh of relief, and then the both of you laughed loudly, making other people on the platform throw glances at you.

Although you realized the young man had much less experience than you, you still felt he would be fun to have around. If he could make your life a little easier, you would accept his help.

Moving away from the platform and soon passing through the station's hall, you went straight to the city streets instead of catching a taxi. Peter hurried after you, still perplexed at your refusal to let him carry your bag - you guessed he expected you to boss him around, and it made you chuckle. What Pierce was doing with young magi here if Peter had such an impression about higher-ups?

"Lady Ragna, I was informed that the cottage where you chose to stay is in the suburbs. Did you decide to change it?" He asked, seeing you walking to a completely different place.

"No, it's the same cottage. If you wonder why we aren't driving there right now, I'd prefer to patrol the streets tonight to get to know the city. We can discuss the details of the job in the meantime."

You walked away fast, not looking at your companion anymore and watching the night city instead: you had never been to Tombra before, but many magi from the Clock Tower were born there, and their talk about the city always made you a little jealous. Born in a small town to a simple human woman who knew nothing of magic, you always wished to know what it was like to grow up in a true magic society like the one in Tombra, a home to many noble families, albeit smaller and less significant than those living in the capital. 

The city looked exactly like you imagined it: giant grey buildings stood besides the streets, and while they didn't look particularly pretty, you loved those countless neon signages and bright posters that were shining even in the darkness of the night. The streets were busy with tourists admiring the city, couples walking out of the fancy restaurants and cinemas, and young people, recklessly snooping around some nightclubs and bars, trying to get in despite the security glaring at them and requiring them to show their ID cards while the kids pretended they forgot them. There was also a small marketplace with colorful food trucks and booths, offering both local and international cuisine, and you blended into the crowd immediately, taking some crepes and then buying takoyaki - Peter, following you like a puppy, looked shocked.

"I can't do my job on an empty stomach," you smirked and handed him some takoyaki.

Funny enough, he accepted the second you showed the plastic plate into his hands, eating so hungrily as if he had been starving the whole day.

"Well, now since I feel a bit better, let's talk business," you motioned the young man to follow you, and turned to a narrow alley, leaving the noisy market that was going to be full of people for at least a couple of hours more. "Do you have any idea why I have been sent by the Association?"

Licking his fingers, Peter looked somewhat shyly at you, probably afraid he would say something silly, "From what I understand, the reason is some unnatural magic activity the Association couldn't trace, and the involvement of its user in several murders."

"Correct." Crossing the alley, you scratched the chipped paint from an old building in front of you and looked at your fingers, furrowing your brows. "To be precise, the reason why the Association didn't leave these murders to a human police is the method how these murders were carried on. Whoever did it pretty much sucked the soul out of victims' bodies."

Peter frowned, staying still while you kept examining the concrete wall in front of you, drawing strange symbols that started glowing immediately as you finished them.

"It may sounds funny, but the ritual necessary to prevent the soul of a dead person to come back to Akasha is known only to a couple of magi, and each of them is considered a great danger to the society by the Association. This alone is a threat, but Mr. Stark's other concern is the indefinite nature of magic practiced in Tombra. It is likely that the magus responsible for the deaths is planning something much more sinister, and we can't allow this to happen."

Finding what you were looking for, you nodded to yourself and moved further, Peter walking right beside you with a concerned expression on his face. He was probably surprised you didn't need his guidance, but you spent the last three days memorizing Tombra's map.

"Do you mean that the souls of victims can be combined to become a power source for some... dark ritual or something?" He asked nervously, licking his lips.

You smirked, turning to him and pointing to the wall of the next building that started to glow subtly as you got close, "Exactly, Peter."

__________

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[eurofox]

I'm currently a SAHM, so technically living the "tradwife" "dream" but my plan is once my kid is a little older, and does not require as much constant care as he does now (he's under 1 year old) I plan on working part time, and doing online classes. I'm 34 and never went to college, just never had the money and never figured out what it was I even wanted to do anyway. I have a better idea now of what would be useful. I'm hyper aware that something could go wrong- my husband is an amazing person, and very supportive but as you've said- he could get ill, injured, etc. And since he works a factory job this isn't like... A super unlikely thing to occur at the workplace. We have an amazing support system around us, we're not an isolated nuclear family thankfully but I've already been 4 years out of the workforce (2 years because of immigration, the other 2 years being difficulty finding jobs and Covid and now a baby). This is something I think about often. :/

Yeah it's good you have a plan and the support system. I feel you 😩 I hope you find timento enjoy being with him though, despite the worry. I'm just baffled by how many people don't seem to think about this stuff until shit gets real. Or that any concern over finances is just shallowness or an attempt to demonise housewives or force everyone to be wage slaves.

My own parents had the sahm/working dad model and it's only in the past few years they opened up about how hard it really was. My dad's business one year just lost money hand over fist and we were down to savings that were disappearing fast. My mum had been a housewife for several years at this point and was panicking about having to go into the workforce with a degree that although was good, wasn't recognised in this country. My dad has been honest about how much pressure he was under, we all depended on him. Also he missed out on a lot because he had to work so much, pretty much all the time as he's self employed.

They both emphasise on us having our own money, and my dad warned my brother that being a sole breadwinner is no joke.

Luck was on our side though and things picked up. But I think about the families who weren't that lucky 😬 I know a lad whose father was badly injured at work, not completely disabled but it made things very difficult and his marriage is straining, at least their kids are grown up and educated already. His mother had been a sahm, kids just left and she's now caring for the husband,on top of having new financial trouble

I just wish society could come up with a way where we didn't have to choose between loads of toil for everyone or having an extra dependent on someone else's toil. People would feel more comfortable having kids. But this housewife trend shite these days is not the answer.

[coffeeismyblo0d]

By The Society's Needs

TW // Minor Misgendering

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound rang through Aspen's already tired ears, reminding them of what was to be expected, and what was not to be expected. They turned,  looking at their annoyingly loud phone which displayed the time: 7:05.

Aspen slammed their hand down on the phone, sighing softly as it shut off the alarm,  which felt glorious to them this early the morning. They heard the loud yelling of their neighbors,  who were just on the other side of the thin walls.  They also heard a rather loud thumping noise, of which they desperately hoped was a exercise  machine upstairs, despite knowing the truth behind it.

Aspen launched themselves up, stretching their arms and back out. This had been part of their routine for a while, the only exceptions coming during sick days, which were few in numbers, fortunately. Aspen looked around their room for a moment,  trying to find what they were looking for amongst the littered sketches of outfits to be.

"Ah yes,  there you are." They held their rediscovered binder up in triumph,  despite being alone at the moment. Their binder was special to them of course.  After all, it sealed a lot of insecurities about their body away with what little changes it made.

Aspen hopped on one foot as they tried pull both the binder and a sock on at the same time. Of course, this was a major struggle for them, as the binder was a binder, and a sock is on your foot. Both were on opposite points of the body.

Aspen turned toward the full length mirror in their room, despite one sock halfway off of their foot. They hummed, tilting their head at themselves.

"What should we go for today bud..?" They looked at their succulent.  "Of course,  you're throwing a fit.  I'm sorry but too much water might kill you." They giggled softly, clipping the binder back enough so it fully reduced everything.  "There. I think that will look great."

"And we'll go...." Aspen looked at the closet full of outfits,  outfits that fit many different moods and aesthetics. They grabbed an outfit that included items sewn by them themselves, such as overalls, an 'ugly' sweater, and others that went along with them. Aspen chose a pair of short boots as an addition to the outfit, smiling. "I think I'm going to look great today. "

They turned towards the clock on their bedside table,  which had been handpainted by a local artist. The clock read 7:15. Aspen smiled.  "Right on track, I am."

Once done getting dressed, Aspen grabbed their bag and walked out the door,  rubbing their eyes.  How they were still tired, was a question that would likely be left unanswered.

"Let's hope you start..." Aspen muttered, turning their key in the car. They let out a sigh of relief as it turned on without stalling as they attempted to turn music on.  "Thank you..."

They started their drive to work,  groaning as their music refused to load. "At least the car started, that's all I could ask for.." They muttered, eyeing their bag of fabric and other assorted sewing items. A bag that hadn't been touched in a long time.

"Someday buddy, someday." Aspen patted the bag, waiting in traffic. Their eyes drifted over for just a moment,  seeing the scammer like looking teen on the sidewalk. Every place had scams,  even if you lived somewhere remote. And the bustling city was no exception to this rule, especially downtown.

As soon as they were able, Aspen continued driving. They loved yet hated the activity.  They loved it because it gave them inspiration,and they hated it because it was terrifying.

Another reason to hate driving was where it took Aspen. The job yet to enlighten them was kept only because of Aspen's license. A license that Aspen wishes would have been nonexistent,  and would allow them to live a life. A life where their own business was possible.

The job may have felt constricting,  but Aspen didn't want to get into a deeper hole than the one they were already in financially. The job supported them. There was no way-if they were sane- that they would quit.

"Astroplanes." Aspen muttered as they pulled up to the big building. "The bane of my existence."

The building itself wasn't decked out in anything too special.  The logo was in neon lights, but that was otherwise it for the dread filled building.  Remove the logo, and it would likely be unrecognizable next to it's store counterpart.

The inside of each building was different in it's own way, aside from the store being the store,  and the building being where everything was designed.  The employees at the store seemed much more interactive and alive, even if on their last strain of life. Where as in here, they seemed dead, with few of the employees cheerful.

"Morning." Aspen's coworker waved,  sipping her coffee as she walked past them. "The big lady is here today." She sighed. "Just warnin' ya kid."

"Well that's great. " Aspen smiled,  sounding cheerful to their fellow worker. Inside,  they were screaming in rage,  because corporate officials were always unpleasant.

Aspen sat down at their workspace, pulling out the sketchbook they saved for work. It was filled with ideas they wanted to fulfill,  but couldn't,  and ones they didn't quite enjoy, but knew were required to produce into a true product.

In Aspen's eyes, fashion was fluid,  and had no limits.  There was no feminine or masculine in what they saw, because they wanted their demographic to wear what they saw as validating. There was no limit to how 'crazy' a look could be in Aspen's head. Everyone should have their size that fits and look great,  was something along the lines of Aspen's thinking.

Astroplanes differed very much from one of their many overworked employees,  as one expensive company does. They marketed everything towards women, and made everything feminine.  There was nothing super crazy,and looks lacked simple,  yet amplifying touches,  such as a single patch.  The sizes for what was sold the most didn't expand far, and many things marketed as plus size were not considered as fashion as the mainstream products.

Aspen had nothing against the clothes themselves,  because an outfit looks great to someone no matter what the outfit is made of.  It was the way that Astroplanes went about their products,  and how employees and customers alike were treated that didn't sit right with Aspen.

They couldn't help but wonder what went through someone's head to not acknowledge the truth about companies like Astroplanes. Then again,  they knew it'd be pointless to point out flaws, as they'd just get squished like the tiniest ant outside of it's hill.

Aspen sighed as they stared at the blank page, tapping the eraser of their pencil on the woodtop desk. They started sketching,  looking at the figure they had drawn.  They continued to sketch, drawing whatever they pleased, ignoring the tall slim woman in the background.

The result was spectacular,  in short. It displayed a colorful suit,  of which did not particularly define the model's identity.

"What is this?"

"I-" Aspen turned,  met with the bright red face of the company's owner, who was clearly angry. "It's my own design ma'am. "

"We can not have this." The woman scoffed. "This is far beyond the goals of my company!"

"I apologi-"

"You absolute digust of a woman!" She spat, her eyes narrowed.  "I never want something like that ever again,  especially from you."

Aspen resisted the urge to reach up and punch the company's owner. They were beyond angry at getting yelled at for a design, and offended by the incorrect use of pronouns,  when they had a very visible pin on their jacket reading 'THEY/THEM'.

"Yes ma'am. " Aspen responded,  trying to sound as kind as possible after the last moment.

They watched the woman walk away. They let out a sigh of relief and rolled their eyes.  They flipped to a different page in their sketchbook, starting on a completely different design from the supposedly troublesome one.

The rest of the day would go along fairly smooth for Aspen,  with nothing other than the usual annoyances bothering them, sucha as a lazy coworker complaining that no one would get fabric for them.

Aspen sat alone while on their lunch break, listening to music as usually did. Nothing else had changed from doing it's normal way of doing things. Unless you counted Aspen constantly thinking about the event that had happened earlier, at the beginning of the day, then that counts.

"Still sucks here." Aspen muttered, looking at the building as they left, long after their last free breath of air while on lunch. "Things never change,  do they?"

They turned on a random Spotify playlist once they got in their car,  tossing their work bag into the passenger seat of the car. They sighed, turning the key to their car a few times to get it to start.

"At least I have my car, right?" Aspen muttered to themselves,  backing out of the parking spot before having to halt to a stop, with their coworker Tammy trying to get out of the parking lot.  They heard indistinct yelling,  a car horn,  and then screeching tires.

'They never fail to amaze me.' Aspen thought,  their green eyes staring at the road. 'I wonder what goes on in the small mind they possess. '

They left the parking lot,  just letting their thoughts whizz by as they pleased,  in fear they would focus on the bad of the day. The music helped,  serving as a good distraction that didn't distract Aspen from driving.

Thankfully,  the drive home was not too bad for Aspen after all. They didn't die.

They fixed themselves a quick dinner once they had changed into more comfortable clothes after getting home. The dinner in question  as really just a hot pocket,  but Aspen could care less.

They checked their plants and made sure they were alright, watering the ones whose soil was dry.  They stretched their torso out, sighing as their shoulders became less tense and relaxed.

They then watched a bit of whatever they felt like watching. Aspen knew they didn't have particularly good taste, but could care less at that moment.

Aspen went to bed once they had finished watching their show, curling up in a ball on their side underneath the warm blanket. They managed to fall asleep after twenty minutes of empty thought,  knowing the next day would be the same.

[butterflyinthewell]

Parents often report that learning their child is autistic was the most traumatic thing that ever happened to them. Non-autistic people see autism as a great tragedy, and parents experience continuing disappointment and grief at all stages of the child's and family's life cycle.

But this grief does not stem from the child's autism in itself. It is grief over the loss of the normal child the parents had hoped and expected to have. Parents' attitudes and expectations, and the discrepancies between what parents expect of children at a particular age and their own child's actual development, cause more stress and anguish than the practical complexities of life with an autistic person.

Some amount of grief is natural as parents adjust to the fact that an event and a relationship they've been looking forward to isn't going to materialize. But this grief over a fantasized normal child needs to be separated from the parents' perceptions of the child they do have: the autistic child who needs the support of adult caretakers and who can form very meaningful relationships with those caretakers if given the opportunity. Continuing focus on the child's autism as a source of grief is damaging for both the parents and the child, and precludes the development of an accepting and authentic relationship between them. For their own sake and for the sake of their children, I urge parents to make radical changes in their perceptions of what autism means.

I invite you to look at our autism, and look at your grief, from our perspective:

Autism is not an appendage

Autism isn't something a person has, or a "shell" that a person is trapped inside. There's no normal child hidden behind the autism. Autism is a way of being. It is pervasive; it colors every experience, every sensation, perception, thought, emotion, and encounter, every aspect of existence. It is not possible to separate the autism from the person--and if it were possible, the person you'd have left would not be the same person you started with.

This is important, so take a moment to consider it: Autism is a way of being. It is not possible to separate the person from the autism.

Therefore, when parents say,

I wish my child did not have autism,

what they're really saying is,

I wish the autistic child I have did not exist, and I had a different (non-autistic) child instead.

Read that again. This is what we hear when you mourn over our existence. This is what we hear when you pray for a cure. This is what we know, when you tell us of your fondest hopes and dreams for us: that your greatest wish is that one day we will cease to be, and strangers you can love will move in behind our faces.

Autism is not an impenetrable wall

You try to relate to your autistic child, and the child doesn't respond. He doesn't see you; you can't reach her; there's no getting through. That's the hardest thing to deal with, isn't it? The only thing is, it isn't true.

Look at it again: You try to relate as parent to child, using your own understanding of normal children, your own feelings about parenthood, your own experiences and intuitions about relationships. And the child doesn't respond in any way you can recognize as being part of that system.

That does not mean the child is incapable of relating at all. It only means you're assuming a shared system, a shared understanding of signals and meanings, that the child in fact does not share. It's as if you tried to have an intimate conversation with someone who has no comprehension of your language. Of course the person won't understand what you're talking about, won't respond in the way you expect, and may well find the whole interaction confusing and unpleasant.

It takes more work to communicate with someone whose native language isn't the same as yours. And autism goes deeper than language and culture; autistic people are "foreigners" in any society. You're going to have to give up your assumptions about shared meanings. You're going to have to learn to back up to levels more basic than you've probably thought about before, to translate, and to check to make sure your translations are understood. You're going to have to give up the certainty that comes of being on your own familiar territory, of knowing you're in charge, and let your child teach you a little of her language, guide you a little way into his world.

And the outcome, if you succeed, still will not be a normal parent-child relationship. Your autistic child may learn to talk, may attend regular classes in school, may go to college, drive a car, live independently, have a career--but will never relate to you as other children relate to their parents. Or your autistic child may never speak, may graduate from a self-contained special education classroom to a sheltered activity program or a residential facility, may need lifelong full-time care and supervision--but is not completely beyond your reach. The ways we relate are different. Push for the things your expectations tell you are normal, and you'll find frustration, disappointment, resentment, maybe even rage and hatred. Approach respectfully, without preconceptions, and with openness to learning new things, and you'll find a world you could never have imagined.

Yes, that takes more work than relating to a non-autistic person. But it can be done--unless non-autistic people are far more limited than we are in their capacity to relate. We spend our entire lives doing it. Each of us who does learn to talk to you, each of us who manages to function at all in your society, each of us who manages to reach out and make a connection with you, is operating in alien territory, making contact with alien beings. We spend our entire lives doing this. And then you tell us that we can't relate.

Autism is not death

Granted, autism isn't what most parents expect or look forward to when they anticipate the arrival of a child. What they expect is a child who will be like them, who will share their world and relate to them without requiring intensive on-the-job training in alien contact. Even if their child has some disability other than autism, parents expect to be able to relate to that child on the terms that seem normal to them; and in most cases, even allowing for the limitations of various disabilities, it is possible to form the kind of bond the parents had been looking forward to.

But not when the child is autistic. Much of the grieving parents do is over the non-occurrence of the expected relationship with an expected normal child. This grief is very real, and it needs to be expected and worked through so people can get on with their lives-- but it has nothing to do with autism.

What it comes down to is that you expected something that was tremendously important to you, and you looked forward to it with great joy and excitement, and maybe for a while you thought you actually had it--and then, perhaps gradually, perhaps abruptly, you had to recognize that the thing you looked forward to hasn't happened. It isn't going to happen. No matter how many other, normal children you have, nothing will change the fact that this time, the child you waited and hoped and planned and dreamed for didn't arrive.

This is the same thing that parents experience when a child is stillborn, or when they have their baby to hold for a short time, only to have it die in infancy. It isn't about autism, it's about shattered expectations. I suggest that the best place to address these issues is not in organizations devoted to autism, but in parental bereavement counseling and support groups. In those settings parents learn to come to terms with their loss--not to forget about it, but to let it be in the past, where the grief doesn't hit them in the face every waking moment of their lives. They learn to accept that their child is gone, forever, and won't be coming back. Most importantly, they learn not to take out their grief for the lost child on their surviving children. This is of critical importance when one of those surviving children arrived at t time the child being mourned for died.

You didn't lose a child to autism. You lost a child because the child you waited for never came into existence. That isn't the fault of the autistic child who does exist, and it shouldn't be our burden. We need and deserve families who can see us and value us for ourselves, not families whose vision of us is obscured by the ghosts of children who never lived. Grieve if you must, for your own lost dreams. But don't mourn for us. We are alive. We are real. And we're here waiting for you.

This is what I think autism societies should be about: not mourning for what never was, but exploration of what is. We need you. We need your help and your understanding. Your world is not very open to us, and we won't make it without your strong support. Yes, there is tragedy that comes with autism: not because of what we are, but because of the things that happen to us. Be sad about that, if you want to be sad about something. Better than being sad about it, though, get mad about it--and then do something about it. The tragedy is not that we're here, but that your world has no place for us to be. How can it be otherwise, as long as our own parents are still grieving over having brought us into the world?

Take a look at your autistic child sometime, and take a moment to tell yourself who that child is not. Think to yourself: "This is not my child that I expected and planned for. This is not the child I waited for through all those months of pregnancy and all those hours of labor. This is not the child I made all those plans to share all those experiences with. That child never came. This is not that child." Then go do whatever grieving you have to do--away from the autistic child--and start learning to let go.

After you've started that letting go, come back and look at your autistic child again, and say to yourself: "This is not my child that I expected and planned for. This is an alien child who landed in my life by accident. I don't know who this child is or what it will become. But I know it's a child, stranded in an alien world, without parents of its own kind to care for it. It needs someone to care for it, to teach it, to interpret and to advocate for it. And because this alien child happened to drop into my life, that job is mine if I want it."

If that prospect excites you, then come join us, in strength and determination, in hope and in joy. The adventure of a lifetime is ahead of you.

—Jim Sinclair (Website: Autreat)

#AutismSpeaks #LIUB #LightItUpBlue #AutismAwareness #REDInstead #ScrewBlue #BoycottAutismSpeaks #AutismAcceptance #AcceptanceNOTAwareness #AreYouAwareOfMeNow #LoveNotFear #AllAutistics #ActuallyAutistic April 2, 10pm

[imagineclaireandjamie]

What about a teenage modern au where Claire gets hired as a tutor for Jamie because we know from some of Jamie's stories that he didn't really like school when he was young.

This is a little bit of an abstract take on this prompt but since it’s 100 years in Britain since women achieved the right to vote (in some capacity) I thought I’d pen something with some baring on the strong actions of those women involved in the suffragette movement. Here’s to them, may we be ever grateful for their stance and politics  MBD

Deeds Not Words: Part 1 -

Introduction: 1905: The Past:

The coach rattled -the ancient cobbles beneath the Edinburgh streets shaking the wooden carriage as they forged ever onwards. Dim shafts of light penetrated through the curtains and the sides of the car, the beams throwing deep orange shadows across the paneled floor as Claire watched, her hands wound tightly together.

“I just have to pick up some papers, and then we’ll be onwards to Glasgow, my girl.” Lamb said kindly, his hand hovering over her tightly linked ones (her pale skin encased in the rough lace of the gloves her mother had worn at a similar age - in a completely different scenario) as if to offer some comfort. As much as he felt able to give.

Another move.

Another upheaval. But at least Claire felt like some weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Decisions had been made. Choices that she hadn’t been privy to because she was too young to effectively understand what was being asked of her -or offered *to* her, as she had been righteously told later.

But, as young as she was, she was still intelligent. Smart enough to tutor the lairds youngest surviving son when he was struggling to comprehend his own studies. But it wasn’t him she was promised to. No, he had just been her educational charge. Instead, Claire had been unwittingly betrothed to another.

But hearts don’t necessarily beat the way others require, and Claire had spent much of her young life nurturing the wrong Fraser brother…and subsequently falling for his natural charm - despite their five year age gap.

Neither had done anything. Though it was clear that, as Jamie grew older, their dual infatuation increased.

Their lessons became longer as Claire and Jamie talked long into the night, increasing their bond with one another, and deepening the worries of her uncle (though Brian Fraser exercised his patriarchal role with added humour, using every opportunity to chuckle at Lambs worried glances).

‘He’s just a lad, Claire…’

The words rang in her ears as the distinct bray of the horses in the stables nearby pierced the air, pulling Claire from her memories.

‘…we haven’t done anything wrong.’ She had begged when Lamb had announced their move, knowing from the sad glint in his eyes that he meant to take her away from temptation. ‘Why can’t we just stay…here?’

She should have married William, the elder of the boys. She should have learned faster what had been bequeathed to her and been smarter about concealing her true feelings. But she had a glass face and nothing she could and would say to uncle Lamb would stop him from uprooting their simple lives and moving them to a place where she couldn’t disappoint him with her poor life choices.

‘It simply isn’t done, Claire, I’m sorry,’ he had said softly, ‘it’s my choice, as your guardian, and I cannot allow it.’

“Yes, uncle.” She replied, answering both to their present conversation (and one buried in the past), finally, her voice low and calm though she felt far from it. “I’m sure wherever we’re going it will be ...suitable.”

– — –

1909 - 4 years later: The Present:

Sneaking across the top level of their apartments, Claire slid her fingers beneath the loose floorboard in order to pry the wood from its temporary holding.

Time had been good for her in some respects, she had grown more independent, the scent of the city fueling her ever increasing desire to be wild and free. Lamb had despaired of her, cutting the chord, metaphorically, as Claire proved too hard to pin down - matrimony and a quiet life as a wife and mother seemed beyond her and an ever increasing part of him understood that.

‘You’re a bachelor!’ She had often complained, her protestations growing less timid as she aged. ‘Why do you get to live as you want, yet I have to marry whomever you choose for me?’

Lamb couldn’t accurately answer her question. He simply shrugged his shoulders with a withering glance and repeated the oft spoken words - ‘…it is simply what is done, my dear.’

Only it wasn’t what Claire thought should be done, she mused as she pulled the dusty broadsheet from its hiding place beneath the boards of the attic.

The headline was clear, though small and not the title for the paper for which it had been penned. But it was there nonetheless. Women’s liberation movements had been increasing in popularity. Manchester in 1905, the year which she’d been coaxed from the only home she’d known and away to the city, had produced a society of women who were not in favour of the maniacal rule they’d been placed under by their superiors. The WSPU had spoken and Claire’s heart beat with intense pride as she re-read the words that had emboldened her and continued to do so.

No longer did she wish to languish beneath men. Emmeline Pankhurst had risen as a shining example to her and she would no longer hide away, arguing her point over and over as Lamb continued to placate her.

Using her position as a tutor to some of the more well off local children, Claire had met Geillis Duncan the year previous. Along with Gellie, Glenna Fitzgibbons and Laoghaire Mackenzie and a few other intelligent women in the area, Claire had begun to show her support for the Glasgow branch of the WSPU. Their meetings were mostly conducted quietly, the cloak and dagger operation instilled to protect their powerful and subversive opinions. Glenna and Geillis were married, both powerful men who agreed and helped to assist their wives in their views. Herself and Laoghaire were both still alone, their position in the local community making them eager talking points for the men who still thought it laughable that two pretty young things were still unwed and childless.

None of her companions knew about Jamie Fraser.

Unwrapping the newsprint, Claire pulled the sgian dubh from its tight concealment. Rubbing the fading font, she held it closely to her chest. The Fraser crest was still visible, the engraving carved deep into the ornate metal as the heat of her fingers warmed it up. It was the only thing she had left to remember him by and the joy of having it close to her with the words of Pankhurst keeping it safely hidden from view solidified her opinion that if she couldn’t have Jamie, she wouldn’t have anyone at all.

It was a childish notion, but one she was invested in nonetheless. 

The image of him was fuzzy now, the years tainting their friendship but she could still remember the sea-blue tint of his eyes as he watched her read aloud to him in Latin. They had never crossed the boundaries with one another, him being too young factoring in that decision - but their warmth towards one another was obvious to see. Had she only been a few years younger and there would have been no quibbling over their relationship, but she was too old to be hovering around a teenager; no matter how mature Jamie was for his age.

Sighing, Claire stashed the blade back where she found it and grabbed for a small satchel that she’d hidden a little lower down. It contained as many fliers as she could stuff in there, enough to coat many of the Glaswegian streets in the WSPU’s very vocal propaganda. Steeling herself, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and snuck downstairs.

Lamb was still sleeping, she could hear his light snores filtering underneath the door. Claire knew that he had an early coach to catch to the coast for his latest business trip to a small freeholding in Ireland. He wouldn’t be away long, but it was long enough that Claire didn’t need to worry about him checking on her before he left.

“Come on, Claire!” Geillis hissed as Claire slunk from the house and trudged the small distance from her residence to where Gellie was hiding.

Pulling her hat down lower over her ears, Claire tutted, rolling her eyes at her partner in crime. “Just give it a rest would you, Geillis. You know I’d never leave you here loitering in this alleyway like a reprobate. I just had to make sure I didn’t wake the whole house as I left, aye?”

Being English, the basic Scots variants that she had picked up over the years still sounded foreign on her tongue -though she had long since given in to trying to tamper them. Geillie, however, with her broad Glaswegian accent always tisked at Claire’s attempts at fitting in and her eyes shone with mirth at Claire’s use of the word ‘aye’ instead of a simple ‘yes’.

“The others will be waiting for us, lass,” she said instead, choosing to ignore the colloquial term and move on with their plans for the evening, “do ye have the posters?”

“Of course.” She muttered, flashing the pile that were stowed safely away in her large leather satchel. “That was my one job.”

Taking Claire by the hand, Geillie tugged them back out into the streets and they set off, quickly, in search of the rest of the party.

Rain had coated the cobbles and both women struggled not to lose their footing as they scrambled from one end of the city to the other. All candles had been extinguished in the windows and the streets were devoid of life. Most of the city was still asleep, not even the early risers had begun to wake yet. As quietly as they were able, Geillis and Claire slipped further into the heart of Glasgow, their excitement palpable as they got closer and closer to their intended destination.

“Did ye hear?” Laoghaire mumbled, her words shaky and light as she reached out and grabbed for Claire and Geillis as they approached the small group of gathered women that had congregated in Glenna’s living room.

“Heard what?” Geillis asked, looking from Claire to Laoghaire.

“Ye ken they’ve been making arrests now - they say we’re breaching the peace or some such nonsense.” Laoghaire griped obviously frustrated at the state of their current situation.

“Aye, I ken, get on wi’ it lass.” Geillie said, prodding her playfully in the side as Claire scratched her head thoughtfully.

“Weel, a lassie went on hunger strike the other day, the news is all over the place. They set her free! The police dinna want deid lassies on their hands, aye? So they set her free to recover. She was ailing quite badly they say but she refused to give in and eat.”

Claire’s heart beat double time in her chest as she listened, a hum of approval floating through their congregation. The small loophole in the law had allowed the woman, one Marion Wallace Dunlop, to be released on grounds of ill-health - meaning the county holding her wouldn’t be responsible for her death should she perish from her ordeal. As luck would have it, she was on the mend (so Glenna said, with a joyful spring in her step as she passed out the sashes to the gathered women) and had been talking about her successful ‘escape’ from incarceration to as many people as possible.

“Would ye do it, Claire?” Laoghaire asked excitedly as she pulled the painted ribbon over her petite head and allowed it to rest neatly on her shoulders. “If ye were arrested, would ye no’ eat to further the cause?”

“Of course!” Claire answered truthfully. “I haven’t come this far, Laoghaire to let them lock me up. I’d do whatever I had to. Truly.”

“Me too,” she returned, eager to show her own willing, “there’s no going back now.”

“No,” Claire whispered, collecting her small bag from the ground now it had been almost emptied of leaflets, “there definitely is not.”

It was a few more hours before the women picked up their leaflets and placards and went on their way. The sun had still to rise and the streets were only now just starting to fill with early risers on the way to the factories. It was that distinct bustle that rallied the troup, their eager hands tightening around the wooden spears that held their banners in place. The wood bit into Claire’s hands as she followed directly behind Gellie and out onto the busying cobbles.

With her head held high, Claire scowled meaningfully at a group of passing men who looked enraged by their clear message. Unwilling to stop, she narrowed her eyes, her fingers twitching as if she was restraining herself but the heat of the blood in her veins made the reasonable side of her cower and she stamped her feet with more vigor as she turned on her heel and marched through the growing crowd, back to the men who’d given her such a filthy look.

“What’s the matter?!” She spat, her cheeks red with anger as she squared up to the two broad men, her eyes alight with fire as she confronted them. “Do our views upset your civil liberties, gentlemen?” She continued, hissing the word ‘gentlemen’ at them like it was a dirty word.

“Come on…” she goaded when they refused to speak but maintained eye contact with her. “You are bold enough to scorn me with your impolite gaze, but you cannot speak for yourselves?”

“Claire!” Geillis whispered, suddenly appearing behind her friend as she took Claire by the arm and attempted to pull her away. “Come wi’ me now, lass. It isna worth it.”

“I’d listen to your friend…if I were you.” The taller of the two men spoke, finally, his blunt, pretentious English accent piercing the quiet morning air as he cockily quirked his brow at her - his dismissive attitude causing Claire to grit her teeth - her anger only rising by his arrogance.

“You…” she belted out, her voice echoing, the wisps of it hovering in the air long after she had begun her fatal statement.

“Claire no!” Geillis and Laoghaire chorused together - but too late.

“…utter arse.” Claire finishing, dropping her sign and slapping the man before she could even take stock of her actions.

Her palm throbbed as it connected with his cheek, the weight of her actions solidifying like lead in her belly the moment the fog cleared and clarity resumed. Claire’s mouth fell open in shock as she took one shaky step backwards as if she were about to make a run for it.

Geillie saw the decision in her movements and took hold of Laoghaire’s arm whilst still keeping hold of the arm that lay limp by Claire’s side.

But the second man, the one who had remained brash but silent, was upon Claire before she had chance to follow Geillis’s instructions. Gripping her wrist tightly, he pulled her to him - yanking her from Gellie’s grip as the other women loitered with fear in their eyes.

“You are going to regret that, madam,” he said, a strange aura of calm surrounding him as he flexed his fingers as if to perpetuate his worrying message.

“U-unhand me.” Claire balked, her tone belying her concern as she made one feeble attempt to pull herself from his grasp. With Lamb about to leave the country, Claire panicked. Any trouble that these men were likely to get her into would either derail his important business or render her isolated and alone at the mercy of the penal system. Cursing internally, she held her breath as her mind worked overload, trying to comprehend how much bother she might be in.

By the look on his face, a lot, she thought, swallowing around the massive lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

She wanted to be sick, but she wouldn’t show any weakness. Even now.

Chuckling under his breath, her captor allowed a careful smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. It was not a pleasant smile, nor was it a humorous laugh and Claire’s nervousness intensified.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he began with no hint of niceness in his tone. His words were ice cold and it sent shivers along Claire’s spine. “I am Captain Jonathan Randall. And you are under arrest.”

–

The steady sound of dripping water kept Claire lucid enough as she sat on the small cot. It was the only piece of furniture in the draughty cell keeping her from the damp, soiled floor. In only a few moments the local bobbies had appeared, the captain’s friend having signalled them from a few streets beyond. Geillis had tried to reason with the police men but to no avail. Claire had been cuffed and walked across the city to the jail where she had been stripped of her jacket, shoes and socks and placed in her current location.

The likelihood of Lamb still being close enough for them to contact was slim and Claire had to bite her lip to keep the tears at bay.

Without a guardian to sign her release, she would be left here to rot and there was no telling how long her uncle would be out of contact.

Randall hadn’t said another word to her but he had accompanied them all back to the station, encouraging his companion to make a full statement and ensuring Claire was treated appropriately. Her breach of the peace and ‘physical assault’ had already made the rounds in the streets and there was nothing that Glenna (once she had been caught up on the events) could do to override the decision. Captain Randall had too much sway.

“Miss,” the elderly desk clerk mumbled through the door after he’d finished banging to wake her up, “your uncle is no longer in residence in Glasgow. The captain said I should tell you to prepare yourself for a long stay.”

The feeling of hopelessness wrapped around her as she pulled her legs up to her chest. She had spent the whole day locked away. She had been fed, but the story Laoghaire had told them at dawn had struck a chord, though she hadn’t expected to be able to test the theory so soon after being made aware of its significance. With that in mind, Claire had let her small portion of stew go cold and her stomach rumbled audibly at the memory of it.

As the key clinked in the lock, Claire’s head snapped up as the door squealed on its hinges.

“It seems like you have a guardian angel, mistress Beauchamp,” the same elderly clerk muttered as if irked by the fact, “you are free to go.” He said, sweeping his hand in front of him in a sarcastic motion that would have frustrated Claire had she not been overwhelmed by her sudden freedom.

Back at the front of the station she was handed her belongings and given a small amount of time to put her shoes back on before being escorted out and onto the steps of the police station.

“A word of advice,” the police man who’d helped to sign her release papers said behind her, his stoic gaze causing her to bite her tongue as he continued, “dinna get on the wrong side of the Randall brothers, mistress.”

“Was the other man…?”

“The captains brother, oh aye, lass. A powerful man as well. Yer just lucky your gentleman friend,” he said, pointing to a small carriage that was waiting patiently close to the station, “had a smart enough argument to aid yer release.”

“Thank you.” She replied nodding once and walking down the few steps towards her transportation.

Opening the door with some trepidation, Claire’s heart almost lept into her mouth as she half expected uncle Lamb to appear, a disappointed look on his face as he tisked and helped her into the carriage. But instead a flash of auburn caught her eye, the lose curls making her breath catch in her throat as Jamie Fraser turned to meet her eye.

“Ye appear to have gotten yerself into a wee bit of a swivet have ye no’?” He asked sedately offering out his hand to help her into the compartment as his carriageman closed the door and readied himself to pull away from the curb.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, sitting still as the carriaged moved off, a slight waver in her voice.

“I came for ye,” he said honestly, “if ye’ll have me, mistress Beauchamp?”