#kids in a circle...clockwise.

[shiningjustforreid]

stains

glimpses through fem!reader and Spencer’s relationship, through four instances of spills.

word count: 3.5k ish

a/n: i love the idea that for some of us, our personalities are made up all the things we like about the people we know and see. the idea that we’re all little bits and pieces of the things we love, and our experiences. this sort of explores that. (also this was mildly self indulgent because much like reader i’m a klutz!) <3

warnings/tags: 18+ for implied intimacy and canon typical violence for cm, pet names up the wazoo, reader is lowkey clumsy, Derek Morgan being himself, reader gets injured but she’s fine, who’s Maeve?, anxious love confession, Spencer adores reader so so much, S1 and S6 (ish) Spencer, Spencer in and post prison, love letters, marriage, kids, and briefly mentioned pregnancy, girl dad!Spencer Reid my beloved

- ✩ -

coffee - the first stain

To be honest, at first, he’s appalled.

The mug you set down on his desk isn’t his, so God knows whose mouth was on it last. You - somewhat carelessly - plopped it down on the file he’s working on, grinning that thousand watt smile he’s secretly become fond of. You’re wearing a sweater he noticed that brings out your eyes - a berry colored wool garment that he wishes you’d wear more.

“Hey! Morgan said you were exhausted. Thought I’d make you coffee.”

You pick it up, and set it down again, for emphasis, and a few drops make their way down the side and onto his case file, surely creating a cinnamon toned half circle that Hotch will not love. You don’t notice, watching his face.

“I made it with a bunch of sugar. Just how you like it, right?”

Suddenly, he realizes he’s been staring up at you, and then his mouth is moving faster than his brain.

“Yeah, I uh, I am pretty tired, now that you say it. Didn’t sleep well, long night, you know?”

You nod, sipping your own coffee, fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“I get that. Goes with the job, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, yeah, I- wait, Morgan said that? Did he— what else did he tell you?”

You grin, coffee mug to lips again.

Stop staring, Reid.

“Nothing, really. Just said you needed a boost. Thought I’d provide.”

Titling your head a tad, you look down, a mild panic crossing your face when you see you’ve stained his file.

“Oh my God - Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

He’s quick to shake his head, hands coming up to reassure, his eyes wide.

“No no no, it’s okay, truly, I-I made a mistake on that one anyways. I’ll need to have a new copy printed, honest.”

Frowning, you look him over, searching for a tell, something to let you know whether he’s lying or not.

“Are you sure? I can do it, I’m not that behind on mine, I could—“

Before he thinks - you’d assume, with all his brains, he would - his hand grabs your arm, that gorgeous sweater under his finger tips, his eyes locked with yours. He says your name, once, his tone more serious than he’d like.

“It’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

You blink, and then a slow grin takes over your face.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need more.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the heat of his hand burning through the wool on your arm, until he lets go like you’re the one scorching his skin, like he’s just realized that he’s touching you. You laugh a little, awkwardly, and he grins with the same level of unpracticed nerves, and you head back to your desk.

He picks up the mug, and sips slowly, closing his eyes for a moment - it does have a mountain of sweetness, the saccharine liquid coating his mouth but soothing his senses. When he sets it down again, it’s on a part of his workspace not occupied by case work. Just as predicted, the file that once housed the beverage now bears a semi circle of dried java. His pointer finger traces the stain, clockwise and then counter, for a moment, before he glances up in horror to see Morgan, of all people, signature smirk in place.

“‘Thanks for the coffee’. I don’t what’s sweeter, that coffee you just got or-“

“Shut up.”

He mumbles, face flushed, small smile on his face despite the teasing. He traces the coffee stain one last time before he hastily tucks the soiled paper away in a drawer.

blood - the second stain

“What do you mean you aren’t getting a response from her on comms?”

He’s so scared, he can’t even stop to think just how breathless and afraid he sounds, as he turns to Hotch, who fixes him with a look that clearly says, Calm down, Reid.

“It could just be non-functional, or got knocked off, or caught.”

Hotch says calmly, almost maddeningly so. Spencer swallows back the protests, the arguments that swell up in his throat like bile.

They’d created, and given the profile, and once Penelope had narrowed down the couple possible properties their potential unsub owned, you, Morgan, and Prentiss had headed into an abandoned storage facility, silent and careful.

Perhaps not careful enough.

The voice in his head reminds him, almost sadly, and he grits his teeth inside tightly drawn and chapped lips. Shaky hands smooth over his slacks, again and again, as his eyes stay fixed on Hotch.

“Ask-ask Morgan again. If she’ll respond.”

He’s given a frown, dark brows pulling together in a very typical Hotch-like manner.

“Is there a specific reason you’re asking about her, Reid?”

Is there? God, he doesn’t know. You bring him coffee nearly every morning, but perhaps that’s just kindness. Then there’s the chocolate sprinkled donuts that start his work day from time to time - maybe you just enjoy pastry treats, and think of him, when you buy one. Oh, and heaven forbid he forget the way you’ll come by his desk, and ask for clarification on a piece of paperwork or a procedure - that you probably could’ve asked Hotch or Prentiss about. You listen, active listening too, eye contact, body still - when his explanations turn into rambles about statistics about this type of criminal, your eyes watching his face, your own voice quiet.

Is he deluding himself? Seeing phantom romance where there’s maybe merely nothing but platonic affection? Blinking, once, he shakes his head in response to his Unit Chief’s question.

“No Hotch. I’m just worried, she-well, she hasn’t responded, and Morgan has, and Prentiss has, and I—“

Speak of the devil, Morgan’s voice comes through, demanding and tense.

“I need a medic. Prentiss and I secured the unsub, but, not before—“

Oh God. Not before that bastard got to you with a baseball bat, to the back of the head, you unaware before your face met the concrete below. Spencer’s not even asking for permission, snatching the keys to an SUV off the desk nearby and flooring the gas pedal.

You can’t die. Not before I—

Driving there is like hell - his lungs burn like there’s smoke and ash polluting them, and fear feels like too tame a word to describe the overwhelming panic that seizes his heart the more he drives.

I’m a fool, he thinks wildly, as his knuckles grip the steering wheel like a vice. A damn fool if I don’t tell her-

He’s barely got the thing in park before he’s scrambling out the driver’s side door, Converse immediately coated from the dusty ground outside the facility.

When he finds Morgan, and you, head lolled to the side, eyes closed, face pale as his must be, he falls to his knees with little regard for his own pain or discomfort. Morgan watches, careful, his voice gentle when he speaks, trying to calm his terrified friend.

“She’s still out, Reid. Just a nasty whack to the back of her head, okay? Easy.”

Trembling thumbs trace and hold your face, like it’s made of paper, as he swallows hard to keep the ache behind his eyes from becoming tear tracks down his face. He spots the gash, trickling crimson down your ashy skin, onto his shaking hand, but doesn’t move from holding your face. A deep contusion, furious and violet-toned, on the back of your head, makes the air leave his chest like he’s been choked.

Beautiful girl, I couldn’t stop this.

He could sob, and he nearly does, until you make some sort of confused noise and force open your eyes. Light rushes through his heart, rekindled warmth as he meets your eyes, and yet, he finds himself almost frozen.

“Spencer? What, I thought-“

“Listen to me.”

He forces himself to speak - he has too. What if he doesn’t get the chance, and all he ever gets to associate you with is caffeine, sprinkles, and a listening ear? No, that won’t do. Not in the slightest.

You meet his eyes, hazy, but listening. Morgan’s brows furrow, as he protests,

“God, man, she just woke up, let her-“

Ignored, as Spencer often finds himself doing when there’s more pressing matters than banter, than propriety.

“You need to know. That I-care about you.”

Blinking, you swallow, and suddenly, the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is slightly dimmed.

“That I can’t let another sunrise or sunset go by where you don’t know that I’d give you the stars if you’d let me. Where I can’t touch you, where I can’t make sure you understand that I’ll protect the light you have inside you until I’m burnt from it. You absolute angel, I-“

He shudders, almost afraid of his own earnest, and says your name like it’s a prayer.

“I love you. Even if you don’t return it, my heart is yours.”

Morgan’s grin is wide, and he shakes his head, almost in amazement. Your own face is flushed, as you hear sirens and medics, your voice crackly and rough from pain, but still, that smile he’s grown to associate with his heart fluttering graces your face.

“My heart is yours, Spencer. Glad you’re finally realizing how absolutely in love I am with you, you goose, even if it took all this.”

He laughs a little, almost deliriously, and smooths his trembling hand over your face.

“Guess the doughnuts weren’t enough, huh?”

You manage, and he shakes his head, quick to push back.

“They were. You’re always enough for me, no matter what you do.”

Could he sound any more smitten?

Procedure says he can’t go in the ambulance with you - there’s no need, you’re just getting stitches and some ice and he can visit you at the hospital, okay? But as he heads back to the - oh dear, still running, he really was in a hurry, wasn’t he? - car, Morgan glances sideways at him, signature smirk in place.

“Pretty boy, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Spencer stares down at his hands in his lap. They’re stained, and a grimace floods his face when he realizes it’s not dirt, but your blood, coating his fingertips. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he bites back a nastier retort than his friend deserves.

“I guess I did. I can’t believe it took-“

Morgan sighs, stopping Spencer’s inevitable incoming guilt filled rambles.

“Hush. You told her. That’s what matters.”

Glancing down at Spencer’s fidgeting hands in his lap, he presses on the gas.

“Let’s get there, so you can get that off you. I’m shocked you got all dirty, with your germ thing.”

Spencer shrugs, looking out the window.

“For her? I’d-I think I’d do anything. No matter what it stained.”

Soap finds his hands at the hospital, but he finds you soon after, unable to stop the gentle press of his lips to your forehead, or the soft murmurs that follow as he tries to remind himself that much more of your blood didn’t spill.

ink - the third stain

Emily has to physically hold you back in the court room, when they take him out, his eyes fixed on you, and the team, almost hopeless.

“Then your client is a flight risk.”

You’re quite literally fighting her, suddenly terrified in a whole new way for your boyfriend, tears staining your face.

“Bail is denied.”

She’s got both arms wrapped around you, her soft, ‘I know’s, and ‘I’m sorry’s barely heard over your own pleas for her to let you go.

“Defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

You hear someone sobbing - angry, fear-filled wailing - and until Emily has you turned around, your face in her shoulder, comes the realization that it’s you.

“He’s-Emily, what are we going to do, he’s not going to be okay, I-I can’t—“

The days that follow are dark. Going to the BAU without Spencer, let alone waking up without him beside you, is enough to send you into a spiral. You try to remind yourself that he’s worse off, that whatever hell he’s experiencing is ten times worse than your quiet fear and loneliness. So, to try to combat the weight that squashes your heart, you write him letters. Daily letters.

Spencer -

We have a case in Florida. Emily says it’ll be quick, but the Florida ones never are. We’d solve it ten times faster with you, you know? Geographical profiles are much harder alone, that’s for sure. The plane ride is quieter without you, and no one’s saying anything - you’d be saying something if you were here. Maybe that’s why we’re quiet. ♡

Every day. You don’t relent. If you can’t mail them in whatever town you get stuck in for work, you mail them in one big envelope when you get back home.

Spencer -

That case was rough. I cried twice - once when I spent over two hours staring at the map at the precinct and couldn’t find anything new, and once when Rossi accidentally snapped at me. He said he was sorry, that he’s ‘on edge’ right now - but aren’t we all? Emily’s working really hard to try to get you home. I wish I could come see you. I hope you’re safe. I love you. ♡

When you learn that he didn’t put you on the list of people who can visit him in that concrete hell, you almost lose what’s left your nerve, breaking down in Emily’s office, shaking. You don’t know whether you’re furious, in despair, or numb to it all.

“Emily, why? Why doesn’t he want me to come see him? If it was me, I’d want to see him every day, I wouldn’t want him to leave!”

She sighs, her face tight. Twisting your hands in your lap, you search her face for answers. Nausea claws at your throat.

“Honestly, my guess is it’s just that. He knows that if you come, he won’t want you to leave. It’ll hurt too much.”

“But Tara, and you, and his mother, and-

Spencer -

I think I understand. Sort of. I feel like there’s this pressure in my chest, and I can’t ever fully breathe. Not since you’ve been away. The weight on my heart never goes away. Missing you more every hour. ♡

Despite the slew of handwritten letters that reach him, you only get one back, after you and the team search his apartment - you keep it in your purse pocket, folded safe, and read it whenever your throat feels tight and your eyes burn. His untidy scrawl is enough to make you feel like a part of him is actually inside this letter - like he’s reading it himself to you, interwoven in the fibers of the paper.

Angel -

I wanted you to know I’m in solitary now - I made sure of it. I know you want me safe, almost more than I do. I love you beyond what I can say, my beautiful girl.

Yours, Spencer.

One night, you’re curled up in Spencer’s apartment, writing him a letter, as is your nightly routine. The ink stains the side of your hand now - an ever-present reminder of the fact that your heart constantly feels ripped out of your body. After addressing the letter to him, your phone buzzes - Emily.

Oh God.

“Hey. We figured out that- oh, you don’t care about all that. He’s coming home.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice. Paper and ink pen tumble to the floor as you shove your feet in shoes and snatch your jacket off the coat tree. Tension is coiled in your body the entire way there. Ink still stains the side of your hand, a permanent reminder that every time you needed to just tell him something - you had to pick up pen and paper.

Heart in your throat, you push open the door with shaking hand. There he stands, your Spencer. He’s still him, you think, although his face is tight, and sleep clearly hasn’t been something he’s seen much of.

Three months.

You walk in slowly, body trembling. One hand reaches up, runs through the curls that have grown so long.

“Your hair.”

You breathe out, voice barely audible. He nods, his face almost impassive. Tentative fingers trail down his cheek, make a path to hold his face. He nods, and then, you notice his eyes are misty.

“My angel.” He murmurs, almost in awe, and takes you in his arms with a fervor. Crushed against him, face buried in the cool fabric of his shirt, you bite back a sob, arms threaded around him.

“No. Cry, my darling girl, I’m— I’m tired of doing it alone.”

How could you refuse him? Just hearing his voice, let alone the relief you feel at being touched by him again, is enough to satisfy you for days, you think. For a bit, all that’s heard is uneven breaths, until he speaks, his voice rough and shaky.

“I need to see your face.”

He pulls back, face shining with tears, and you swallow back the lump that just won’t leave your throat.

Calloused hands - less soft than you remember - take yours, and then he frowns.

“Your hand.”

Your right hand is held up, inspected, like the blue on the inner side of it is red instead. You smile, laughing a little, still breathless.

“Ink, baby. Just ink. I was writing you a letter.”

He shakes his head, rubbing at the navy stain with his thumb, as if that will remove it.

“I would’ve kept writing. Never given up. You’d be sick of letters from me.”

“Never, sweet girl. There is no part of me who could ever find himself sick of you.”

After you’ve come home, he wastes no time in pressing less than tender kisses to your mouth and jawline and the column of your throat. It’s not until he’s reacquainted himself with your contours and the dip of your hipbones and the soft way you gasp out his name when he does that, that has you next to him, so he can see your face.

He needs to see your face.

Hand in his, still faintly stained from ink, he examines it, and then, softly, hesitantly, he meets your eyes.

“You know ink poisoning is actually rare? Pens we use are designed with non-toxic ink, to decrease any chances of fatal ingestion.”

You never mind his information sharing, but your eyebrows furrow tiredly at his timing.

“Spence, I’m not saying I don’t care, but we just— you just—”

“Please. Let me look at the woman I love and pretend for a few moments that my damn eidetic memory won’t play back the last three months of my life like some wretched tape.”

You let him, as he holds your cobalt-colored hand and your eyes droop, his soft voice telling you that rubbing alcohol will probably get that stain out. It almost feels normal.

Almost.

paint - the final stain

“Spence! Can you get paint water out of carpet with any amount of ease?���

You call your husband, turning back to your mildly sheepish five year old, whose water color adventure on the coffee table has quickly gone south.

In walks Spencer, not even noticing the overturned hard plastic cup or purpley-blue spill, eyes going straight to his daughter’s nearly finished picture.

“Beautiful, Penny. Looks incredible.”

He murmurs, bending to be eye level with a beaming Penelope, hand on her arm, before turning to you, mild tension and stress lining your face. His smile is gentle. It’ll wash out.

“Rubbling alcohol, angel.”

You nod, tension easing from your shoulders.

“We’ll go get it - we always clean our messes up, right lovely?”

He asks your daughter, lifting her with practiced care. She giggles, nodding, as they head from the room, letting you take a breath and set up the paints and picture in a new location - the kitchen table, with some newspaper tucked underneath because she’s five, and you of all people know spills happen.

Once she’s set up again - she really is so quiet when she’s engrossed in something - you find yourself curled up with Spencer on the couch, head on his shoulder, watching her paint and sing-song to herself.

“Think she’s lonely?”

Spencer asks, turning to you, his grin wide.

Troublemaker.

“Hmm. I think you just like me pregnant.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Maybe. Maybe I don’t want Penny to be sad, ever.”

Silence, then, for a bit.

“She’s so much like you.”

Spencer muses, his fingers drawing patterns on the side of your sweater. You smile, fondly.

“You say that because I’m clumsy. She was dancing around with that paintbrush, that cup of paint water stood no chance.”

“No, I say that because she shines like you. No matter what tries to dim her.”

That night, when you peek in your daughter’s door to see Spencer reading her A Little Princess, she’s propped up against him, hazel eyes barely open. Affection swells in your chest as his voice carries on, even though she’s clearly almost in dreamland. In you walk, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then Spencer’s. He smiles gentle up at you - this is his favorite time of the day - and keeps reading.

“Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words, and everything in the world understands it.”

Once you’re back in the living room, you check on the earlier spill from today. All that’s left is a barely visible blue spot, no bigger than a quarter.

“No one will see it but you.”

Steadying, warm arms wrap around your ribs, and soft lips press against the side of your neck, washing away any insecurity about the state of your carpet.

“Besides, stains aren’t bad, sweet girl. They’re little reminders that things happened, good things, or bad things that brought us together. Memories, attached to splotches, attached to wounds, to paper, to skin. How convenient, to carry our most impactful moments like heaven-sent tattoos.”

[digi-lov]

Digimon Card Template->

Hey guys, I finally finished the templates! A few words to read before using, and more words under the cut if you will. I'd love to see any and all cards you create, so feel free to leave me an ask or DM! Also if you feel like supporting me a little, feel free to stop by my ko-fi->

First off, all fonts you need for the template are in the "Card Template Fonts" rar file. Remember to install them first before opening the files. Second, I recommend working with the PSD file in Photoshop, if you can. It has more and easier customization. If you use CSP, do use the CSP files. The PSD Text layers don't work in CSP, as well as certain other settings. I did my best to adapt the file to CSP, and it should work fine!

The Files have "HELP" layers in certain folders, I recommend reading them! Some of the Information I will repeat under the cut.

HAVE FUN! I wanna see lotta cards!

Okay, below the cut I'll leave some notes on how the Digimon cards are designed, as of the num <03> era at least.

Digimon cards have seven different colors. Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, Black, Purple, and White. White cards are rare and reserved for special Digimon/Tamers, and usually don't interact with other colors. For easier reading, Yellow and White cards have black text in their colors, instead of the usual white text. On multicolored cards, card including Yellow (or white) have white text with a black outline. (before <03> if Yellow was the first color, the text was black with white outline instead, but they unified it with the update) The color on the left is considered the first color. Since the design update, the Card color is displayed in a color wheel around the Play cost. The digivolution cost bubble also recieved a color wheel, as well as the buble being split into the differen colors. Imagining it like a clock, the top color is the first, and then circling clockwise. Digi-Egg, or Lv.2 Digimon are always single color.

[tricolored cards have been introduced just recently and super rare. use sparingly]

Now to the Effects. The main effect is in white color with a black outline (also outlines on the keywords), while the Inherited Effect doesn't have outlines (unless it's a Yellow double color). If the Digimon has no Inherited Effect, there will be a small dash in the box.

Only white cards have black text in their main effect.

The effect text will start in the lower bottom of the image, not all the way at the bottom, and go down from there. If the Effect is too long it will move up.

Besides the regular evolution requirements, Digimon may have special "Digivolve" rules in their effect. This can make an evolution from a specific digimon cheaper, allow X Antibody Digimon to evolve from their normal counterparts, serve to overlook color requirements, or to allow evolution from certain traits, etc.

Some Digimon may also have an extra "Rule" in the bottom corner.

Ace Digimon will always have [Hand][Counter]<Blast Digivolve> effects. Most of them have no inherited effects. They also have a significantly cheaper play cost than comparable Digimon, but in turn have the Overflow mechanic. EX6 introduced Blast DNA Digivolution, which specifies the required Digimon by name, and not just Level and color.

Lv.6 Digimon usually don't have inherited Effects, some might though, if they were made with Lv.7 evolution in mind. Furthermore Lv.6 Digimon pop out of their frame, even on the normal arts.

Now Tamers originally had neither traits, nor inheritence effects. But certain Tamers now do! Tamers with Mind Link effects, or the kids from Frontier for example, will have Inherited Effects.

Option cards have a grey backdrop for their effects, and the effect text is black. This black effect text carries over to full/alt arts, regardless of color. The have a (use) cost instead of a play cost. They can also have traits or rules, but it is rare.

[fishfooddude]

No Phone Policy 5.0

Trigger/Content Warning: DV themes to an extent, prayers, lots of anxiety mentions, abandonment?

I feel like I got a little too angsty with this one, but remember, y'all permitted it.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 4

Before the Policy (Technically the part I wrote before this part)

You were frozen. One of Carmy’s arms was draped around your waist as he slept peacefully. All you could do was stare at the wall and wait for Wolf to cry so you’d have an excuse to leave the room. But the cries didn’t come. The room was filled with the white noise of the overhead fan and Carmy’s soft snores. You swallowed and tried to focus on anything besides the twinge of pain Carmy had inflicted on your wrists. What were you going to do? Carmy had never done anything like this before. All the after-school specials and PSAs you’d seen as a kid said that domestic violence starts small. The abuser tests the waters - see what they can get away with. You were the perfect victim in some way.

A month postpartum, maybe $500 to your name, some family but not many friends… but Carmy wasn’t an abuser? Was he? You racked your brain for hours trying to compartmentalize the last five years of your life. Was Carmy the perfect friend? No. He wasn’t always the ideal boyfriend, fiance, or husband, as evident by how he’d been ignoring you the weeks prior to you giving birth, but he wasn’t that kind of man. He wasn’t the kind of man who had to hurt people to feel significant or noteworthy. He wasn’t the kind of man who had to manipulate or lie to people to get what he wanted. Hell, it took months of you asking before he dared to smack your ass in bed- he wasn’t the type to lay hands on you. As you lay in bed with him, your brain racked with any other times Carmy may have done something subtle, something you missed that could have been a predictor of what happened. You were brought out of your downward thought spiral when Wolf’s soft cries came over the baby monitor. Fear washed over you when you felt the weight of Carmy’s arm disappear. 

Carmy mumbled something before getting out of bed and slowly exiting the master bedroom. When he was gone, you rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. “1,3,5,7,11,13,17,19…” you counted under your breath as you watched the ceiling fan slowly turn in counter-clockwise circles, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference…” you whispered to yourself. As you took another deep breath, you heard footsteps approach the bedroom. You closed your eyes and rolled back to your previous position. 

As Carmy got back into bed, you felt your stomach twist, “She’s okay, baby. Just needed a diaper change…” he whispered as his arms snaked around your waist. You felt like you were going to throw up when he pulled you to meet him in the middle of the bed. 

~

“So all it took was havin’ a kid?” Cerico laughed as he read the email Carmy had sent the night prior. “Hey, it’s sweet. He’s growin’ up.” Natalie commented as she scrolled through the email on her laptop, “Also, I don’t know how he spelled ‘special’ wrong four times with spell check.” 

“Okay—updates for the menu… so we are doing a singular special every night. It’ll highlight whatever produce is fresh from the farmer’s market. We'll make weekly menus instead of changing the menu every night. We’re also switching food vendors, so if you want extra hours, we’ll need an additional couple of sets of hands to unload the orders.” Syd explained this to the wait staff during their daily meeting before the dinner service. The sense of relief in the room was palpable; Richie thanked Syd for explaining the changes before taking the lead for the rest of the meeting. 

Carmy was sitting in the office that night when Richie found his way inside. He immediately noticed a picture of Wolf pinned on the corkboard above the computer, surrounded by post-it notes and various unpaid bills. He grinned and pulled a chair to the desk, “What’s good cousin?” 

Carmy looked up from his notebook when he heard Richie’s question. He shrugged, “I’m off the next couple of days… tryin’ help Syd out with some special ideas.”

“How are things at home?” Richie probed. Carmy shrugged again, much to his annoyance. “Y/N still pissed at you?” 

“We’re good. Babys good. Everything is okay.” Carmy answered as he ripped the page from his notebook and stuck it to the corkboard before getting up from his chair. Richie’s brow creased at Carmy’s explanation. There was no way ‘everything is okay’; he missed the birth of his child. While he hadn’t known for that long, he knew there was no way you’d just let Carmy off the hook like that. 

Carmy walked through the front door and heard noises coming from the kitchen. He smiled to himself as he found his way into the kitchen. Your back was turned to him; Wolf sat in her pastel Bumbo seat on the counter, babbling. You laughed along with her babbling as he stood in the doorway watching you wash dishes and continue your ‘conversation’ with Wolf. Carmy came into the kitchen and hugged you from behind, startling you. He felt you swallow hard as your body tensed. He pushed the concern out of his head and greeted you with a kiss on the cheek. 

“How you doin’ baby?” he asked as he let his arms fall and turned his attention to Wolf. You clenched your fist behind your back, watching Carmy lift Wolf out of her seat and cuddle against him. You shrugged, “Goin’ great. She napped like a champ, and I got some work done from home.” 

Carmy smiled as he rubbed Wolf’s back softly, “That’s great, baby.” You nodded in agreement and returned to finishing what you’d been doing before Carmy had gotten home. It had been a few weeks since Carmy did what he did, and you still felt conflicted about the entire situation. He was trying to be present and involved with all things parenting, but you couldn’t shake the way he’d hurt you. He pretended like it never happened. 

~

“How’d her appointment go?” Carmy asked as he entered the bedroom with a towel around his hips.

You locked your Kindle before meeting his gaze. “She’s good. She got four shots and was super pissed at me for like an hour, but she’s good now.” 

Carmy chuckled, “Did Feyre and Rhysand finish rebuilding the night court yet?” he asked as he got a pair of underwear from his drawers. You rolled your eyes at the question, “Not yet. I got to a good part, though.”

“How’d work go?” you questioned as Carmy got into bed. He shrugged, “It wasn’t anythin’ special. Just missed my girls…” his voice had dropped an octave as he scooted closer to you in bed. You felt your body tense as he snaked his arms around your waist. You glanced at the baby monitor, praying for Wolf to start crying. The idea of being intimate with him made you feel cold and clammy.

“Carm…” you trailed off as you tried to wiggle out of his grip, “I-I-I” you stuttered as you felt him press a kiss into the exposed skin of your shoulder. You squeezed your eyes closed as Carmy moved to hover above your body. The hair on your arms stood when you felt Carmy’s thumb run across your jaw. “I miss you baby… I know I fucked up, and I’m gonna spend the rest of my life tryin’ to make up for it… let me make you feel good…” he cooed. 

Before you could answer his demand, his lips were on yours. Blood rushed to your ears as he feverishly kissed you. Carmy was desperate to alleviate the frustrations that had been building since you came home from the hospital. Watching you take care of his baby left him feeling feral. The desire to ravage you had met its breaking point this evening when you strolled into the living room in those silky pajama shorts with the lacy trim. The pastel green popped against your skin; the material was tight around the fat of your thighs and beckoned for him to take you there and then. He just had to wait for the baby to go down.

Your stomach twisted as Carmy’s lips made their way down your jawline and neck toward your collarbone. As he sunk his teeth into the sensitive skin, you felt as if you were going to throw up. “Carmy,” you sniveled as he pushed a hand under the band of said silk shorts, lacing his fingers in the band of your underwear. You went unheard as Carmy sucked a hickey into your collarbone, “Carmy!” you cried as you brought your palms to his chest to shove him aside. 

Carmy was perplexed but concerned when he realized you were hyperventilating. “Baby- baby, are you okay?” he asked as he reached for you. You pushed yourself off the bed, stumbling as you rushed into the bathroom, desperate to get as far away from Carmy as quickly as possible. Carmy’s brow tensed as he scrambled to get out of bed, pulling on a pair of gym shorts that had been discarded on the bedroom floor before he got into the shower. 

Carmy knocked on the door before trying the doorknob. The door was locked, and he could hear your heavy sobs from the other side of the door. “Baby- Y/N, baby, talk to me. Did I do somethin’ wrong?” 

“LEAVE ME ALONE, CARMEN!” you chastised him through the door as your body shook. You sought comfort in the corner of the bathroom by the bathtub. With shaky fingers, you tried to tap against your skin to ground yourself, but the coping skin proved unsuccessful. 

“Baby? Please open the door,” Carmy pleaded shakily. “Y/N? Let me help you, baby.” He rested his forehead against the door as he jingled the doorknob. You didn’t respond to his pleas. Carmy took a deep breath. “Baby, please. " He begged and bargained for you to open the door. 

“CARMY, JUST-JUST GO AWAY!” Your voice cracked as you yelled through the bathroom door. You didn’t care about waking Wolf; you just wanted him to leave. “Baby, let me in. Let me help you,” Carmy demanded as calmly as he could. You took a deep breath before pushing yourself up from the floor. If you did this, it had to be quick.

The door flung open to Carmy’s surprise. You pushed past him and ran out of the bedroom. “Baby?!” he called after you as he tried to catch up with you. “Baby?! What the fuck! Talk to me!” he yelled as you reached the top of the stairs. He reached out and managed to get a hold of your wrist. Your eyes were wide as your mind flashed back to the last time he’d grabbed you like this.

You yanked your wrist out of his grip and quickly blinked away the tears welling in your eyes. You had to get away from him. “Y/N!” Carmy yelled as you stumbled down the stairs, tripping on your way. You landed on your hip hard, as a hiss of pain came out of your mouth as Carmy joined you at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Baby? Are you okay?!” Carmy sputtered as he pushed your hair out of your face. You shook your head and tried to push him away from you as he helped you sit at the bottom of the stairs. “Fuck Y/N! Let me fuckin’ help you!” Carmy protested as you pushed yourself away from him and up from the ground in a swift movement. 

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE CARMEN! I FUCKIN’ HATE YOU, ASSHOLE!” you screamed at the top of your lungs as you grabbed your bag from the table by the door. Wolf’s cries echoed throughout the house as Carmy watched you storm out of the house. 

“What the fuck?” Carmy grunted as tears started rolling down his cheeks. He sat momentarily on the stairs to compose himself before getting up to go into the nursery. 

“I’m sorry, princess…” he cooed as he picked Wolf up from her crib. She wailed louder as Carmy brought her to his chest. As he bounced her in his arms, he couldn’t shake the thoughts of something bad happening to him. “Mommy’ll be okay… I got you right now…”

Part 6

[pedge-page]

Joel and Preggo Wife: Baby Talk with Sarah

- - - -

Joel's flexible schedule now owning his own company means he can spend way more time with Sarah. She's still so little, he can't stop taking pictures of her smiley face and fat body sat up in her high chair.

"How bout some lunch kiddo?"

She bounces up and down and slaps her fat wrists on the tabletop excitedly.

Joel scoops some spaghetti strands into her open mouth. He finds himself mimicking her little jaw chewing movements and parting his lips each new spoonful he puts in her mouth.

Sarah rubs her hand in circular motion under her chest.

"What you got sommthin on your chin?"

Joel wets a napkin with his tongue and dabs off the small specs of sauce from her cheeks and chin.

But she continues to rub her hand clockwise. "There's nothing there kid."

She does it again, pinching her fingers now and then rubbing a clockwise circle.

Joel drops the spoon and gets on his knee, patting her chest, cheeks, chin, any possible area that could have some invisible stain that's clearly bothering her.

"Where??" He asks curiously. He lightly grips her fat cheeks and tilts her head side to side, Inspecting closely for any food that might be lodged under all the rolls of fat in her neck.

She starts growling at him angrily, repeating the two motions.

"Don't you get attitudinal with me! There's nothing to wipe!"

You come inside to see Joel furiously wiping her face like there's a sharpie mark on a whiteboard.

Joel, why are you rubbing our baby's skin off."

"She keeps saying there's something here!" He aggressively smothers her whole face with the napkin, and her poor skin is starting to get a little braised from his constant rubbing.

They're both getting frustrated with one another, blown cheeks and scowling brows.

You look over to the half eaten bowl of spaghetti then back at Sarah. She desperately pinches her fingers together and then rubs circling motions again.

"WHERE!" Joel shouts, tossing the napkin down in frustration.

"No, oh my gosh," you laugh, taking the napkin off the floor. "She's signing for "more please"".

"She's--! She's what?"

You repeat the motion: your palm over your chest and draw it in a small clockwise circle "please" and then the pinching of your fingers to your thumbs pulling towards your center "more".

You give Sarah the spoon and plastic bowl and she takes it and feeds herself happily.

"She knows sign?" He asks, intrigued but alarmed. "Is she mute? Did we have a mute kid??"

"I mean she's still a baby so. Kind of now she's not capable of talking, honey. They teach sign at the day care--"

"We have a genius level intellect child!"

"No--it's just easier for kids to communicate through sign since they haven't developed speech--"

"Shh!" He holds his finger up to your lip dramatically as he fetches a pen and paper. "I'm writing down some math equations. I bet she can solve these..."

"Joel."

Sarah pushes her half eaten cold bowl away and starts shaking her head.

"Ooh what does that mean?"

"She's just shaking her head."

"Yeah and what's that mean in sign?"

"It just means no!"

-

A year later, she's piecing together words -- in her own way.

Joel has stopped trying to understand the babbling baby talk. "She doesn't really know anything yet. I thought she was gonna be smart."

"She IS smart. She's been talking this whole time!"

He shakes his head. "Its gibberish. The whole time she was saying nonsense."

You scold him but lean down to Sarah. "What did you and Daddy do today?"

She excitedly look up to you and says: "RaRa y Dada byebyes Spooooo go foe wok n haf babas. See peep peep peeps!  y Dada gif RaRa weedadas!!"

Joel chuckles as you nod and listen to each word she says. "There's no way you understood that--"

"Oh? Daddy took Sarah and Spoon in the car for a walk and got some water? And you saw chickens?? And daddy got you balloons???"

Sarah nods furiously, stomping her feet now that SOMEONE finally gets it.

His mouth is hanging open, visually buffering in his brain at how any of those words equated to the sentence you just strung together.

"Where MeeMee?" She asks curiously.

"You right here!" Joel exclaims (he's got the hang of this now).

"No. No RaRa, MeeMee!" She says, emphasizing the last phrase like its something obvious.

"Joel, MeeMee is Tommy," you clarify.

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THIS."

"OK listen:  RaRa is Sarah."

"But it's not."

"But it is because that's what she's decided. Peep: chicken. Spoooooo: Spoon. Babas: water."

"What is babas."

"Its water. You drink from a bubba mug so baba is water. Weedada: balloon."

"How does that make sense."

"I don't know. Took me a bit to figure out. No idea where she got that from. Byebyes: car. Wok: walk. And MeeMee is Tommy."

Joel stares at you with questionable concern, as you fix the little clips in her hair.

"Babe, I think you're spending too much time together."

You both look up at him together with puffy lips and go "nah uhhhh."

- - - -

Taglist

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[lokavisi]

I have a great story I completely forgot to share.

This past Sunday was my kindred's public blot to Odin. Our gothar asked if someone else would be willing to lead the ritual, as they had another event they wanted to go to in order to support a friend. Since I led the blot for Loki back in July, given their oath, it only seemed appropriate that I lead the blot for Odin, so I volunteered.

As we're waiting to folks to arrive, a couple comes with their 4-5 year-old daughter. Generally we don't see kids in attendance, but we're not going to turn them away, either. She recognized me from the CUUPS kids group, so she asked to sit next to me. I said yes, and she sat to my left. Her parents brought things so she could color and her mom raided the RE (religious education) cabinet the UU congregation has (we meet at the church) that's filled with fidget toys, so she was very much occupied.

So I give the opening spiel about blots to the newcomers, talk a bit about Odin (and explain that we have a little offering bowl for Loki per their oath of drink sharing), and we set sacred space. As everyone goes up to fill their drinks, the girl asks her mom what everyone's doing. Mom explained how we're getting drinks to toast Odin and that when we're done we're "going to share some of our drinks with Odin and Loki." This child, in the cutest and most earnest way, says: "I don't wanna share my drink with them." Something about them being absolutely rejected by a small child was so funny to me. 🤣

As the "leader" of the ritual, I gave the first toast. We go around the circle clockwise, so I asked this girl if she wanted to say, "Hail Odin," but she didn't so we moved right along to mom and dad. After a few more people, she started saying, "Hail!" when everyone else did after each toast. So when we made it all the way around the circle, before closing it out I asked her again if she wanted to say, "Hail Odin." This girl sits up, says, "Hi everybody," like she's about to give a speech, says a few things I couldn't understand because fast child speak, but then she said something about, "because he's an old man." Like the fact that Odin is an old man is why we're toasting him lol. Mom got her to say, "hail Odin," before she rambled too much, but her being so ready speak was so precious. Like she got into it the more she saw.

After we finished up she was walking around the room and talking to folks, and then she comes up to me and says, "Look what I found!" It was a small evil eye bead. She found an eye. At an Odin blot. 😆 And one for protection, at that. I think it was Odin saying he sees her and is looking out for her, that he appreciated her presence there.

It was such a delight to have this little ball of energy present. It made me think about writing a shorter kid-friendly liturgy for a blot. If enough folks wanted to bring their kids and it became too much to have them all there, I would love to take the kids to another space and do a kids sumbel. (Admittedly I'd kind of prefer we let everyone stay in the same space, but I still think writing a kids liturgy would be fun, regardless. Wouldn't hurt to have it in our back pocket!)

Anyway, it was just a joyful experience in Heathenry that I wanted to share.

Edit: I just learned from her mother that she leaves things for Odin on their altar at home. She talks to him all the time and calls him Uncle Odin. <3

[miz-chase]

Early relationship, Booth and Brennan have their first big fight. She storms off, flies off to god knows where to do fieldwork a world away from him. He knows it’s how she copes, he’s been through it before. He knows better than to assume it means the end. He just has to be patient. One more time.

One night, he comes home late after a long day trudging all over the city. Dead kids, he always hates when it’s dead kids. Solving the case is never satisfying when there’s no real justice in the world for people that horrible. He’s thinking in circles about it, but something catches him as soon as he opens the apartment door.

Something’s wrong.

Old Ranger habits never really go away, and he knows Sweets would use some string of capital letters to describe how his brain works. Booth tries not to think of it. It’s just that he’s… methodical. Trusts his instincts and follows old habits ground into him by years of practice.

The apartment is dark, the night, well, morning relatively quiet. He works methodically, one hand on his holster, creeping through the darkness. His feet knows where to step to keep silent as he works clockwise: Parker’s room, the closet, the little office, the kitchen, the bathroom, and lastly… ah.

It could have been a pile of laundry heaped on his bed, but the way the moonlight just catches at her spill of dark hair. Almost entirely hidden under the comforter, curled up on her side, he can just make out the rise and fall of her breathing.

He lets out a long breath in the dark, his hand slipping from its perch on his gun. She doesn’t stir. There’s only the rasp of cloth on skin as he strips down to an undershirt and boxers, and carefully slides into bed beside her.

She’s facing away from him, but he hears the softest noise, a questioning hum, her shoulders stirring from the shift of the bed. She rolls over to face him, hair swept over her face and just the faintest flutter of eyelashes. They inch inevitably closer, shoulders brushing though their noses stay a breath apart. In the dark, she holds his eyes for a long, breathless moment. All he can do is stare back at her, though his eyes are heavy with sleep.

At some unspoken cue, she turns back over, snuggling her back against his front. He lets her, just loosely wrapping his arms around her middle. She’s warm, she’s soft, her hair smells like sunshine and fall flowers.

It’s enough.

***

The next morning, he wakes up alone. He’s almost certain he dreamed the whole thing. Another methodical inspection of the apartment shows everything in its rightful place: the shoes by the door, Parker’s favorite action figures posed in an epic battle on his desk, a baseball precariously balanced between an old broken clock and a stack of unpaid bills.

Only, in the kitchen, the dishtowel by the sink isn’t hanging from the cabinet handle where it belongs. Someone had very precisely folded it, crisp as origami and still a little damp. An upturned water cup sat beside it on the drying rack, already dry-to-the-touch from a careful wipe down.

He hadn’t dreamed it.

She had been here.

He wouldn’t call her, not yet. He could be patient. He knew better than to push.

No matter how long it took, he could wait.

She was worth it.

[anamelessfool]

A Naming (part 3 of 5)

Rated Teen, Papa Emeritus II’s Son and Family

Tags: Halloween Hijinks, Eldest Kid Anxiety, Suburban Dad Secondo, Disabled Secondo, Post-Retirement Life, Magic Rituals, My AU with Seocondo being Papa from 2001-2008

CW: Underage Drinking, Strong Language

Paul does the ritual. It goes exactly as expected.

Dedicated to @kissingghouls thanks for cheering me on you’re my little Hell Pumpkin🎃 I’m on AO3 with all my other fics but Tumblr gets mad at me when I post links check out #anamelessfool halloween tag for the prev chapter, #anamelessfool halloween start to start the fic.

The car full of teens crunched along the gravel path behind the old church. Headlights illuminated the rickety silhouette of a swingset, beyond which the old churchyard loomed. The kids unfolded themselves from the car and mingled in the grass.

For most of the short ride here it was a joke. Get the weird gravedigger kid to do some magic or something, see some ghosts. But as they surveyed the headstones cast about like old crooked teeth juxtaposed beside the children’s covered picnic area they fell into a reverent silence. The big junior boy attempted to lighten the mood by dragging his body down the metal slide meant for preschoolers and he wasn’t even rewarded with the dumb grins he craved. Brian was still taking furtive nips from the flask in his jacket but Paul hadn’t been interested for two hours now. This didn’t seem like the place for it.

He wondered how he’d do it, whatever he’d decide to do. He knew he needed to create a circle and surround it with the right symbols. Something would need to be inside, maybe the candle; and he’d utter the syllables while tracing the circle once more with his tibia wand. He knew enough about magic to know that most of it was about just thinking about what you wanted and letting whatever happened after that run its course, but a good show was in order. He didn’t want to look stupid on top of failing to procure a decent paranormal event.

Dana smiled again at him, but she still held her friend Tiff’s hand. “What are you going to do for us?” she asked. In the low light emitted from the nearby streetlamp her eyes were wide, glittering. She was living her favorite quote, and all Paul needed to do was to let her soul take her where she wanted to be. Some sort of dark, mysterious place where demons and magic are fun. Paul left all that when he was too young to remember, but knew enough that gothic drama had a price.

“Maybe…” Paul analyzed the scene beyond the fence, where the ancient headstones were planted. “Spirit communication?”

“Ghosts? We’re going to talk to ghosts?” Tiff could barely contain her excitement.

“Yeah,” Paul replied quickly. “Let’s use the picnic area to set up.”

Under the awning studded with dead wasp nests was a smooth platform of sidewalk concrete. The kids gathered around and Paul felt the fear settle in. He was a natural performer as long as he was lodged in some hole with only his music to be perceived by. Now five older kids stared into him, getting more restless as he scrambled through his father's journal to find an enticingly arcane image to entertain them with.

He finally discovered a page drawn with a ring of syllables that he could reasonably pronounce. He got to work, drawing on the white concrete with the dark sidewalk chalk. He placed the candle in the center of the small circle along with the obsidian chunk and a sprinkling of the dried rose petals. The two girls were captivated while the boys half watched and half play wrestled with each other. Brian swayed a little and handed him a lighter for the candle, chuckling.

“Now I uh…call in the energies,” said Paul. He was supposed to start facing east and go clockwise, but in the dark there was no indication of true direction. He remembered observing a few of these gestures and repeated them here. Just recently at the equinox he had helped Secondo circumnabulate the property line of his home, restoring the energy buried along with all the nail-filled mason jars holding up the wards. He replicated the careful gesture of drawing a pentagram in the air with the wand, but refused to include the deep sonorous chant that went with it. He knew they would laugh.

At last he returned to the circle. “I…cast my will as a net,” he mumbled. “The Void will provide. Nevertheless I will endure.“

“Now what?” Muttered Brian.

“I circumambulate the circle.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Grunted the boy from the backseat that Paul thought was named Tyler.

“Walk around,” said Paul. “Say the words.” He held out the tibia, pointing at the syllables as he stepped toe to toe past them. The other hand held the book as he read out each symbol slowly, his voice cracking. “Ab-Che-halva-ach-aleph-namu…eke…ab-Che-halva…” In his circumambulation he kept passing Dana and Tiff, trying not to meet their eyes. He wasn’t certain whether they were fascinated or bored and he didn’t want to find out. The sounds were guttural, cruel, and unknown. He was not sure of when to stop.

And then the candle went out.

The boys stopped mugging. Paul cautiously brought the tibia back into his hoodie pocket, blinking. “Should we…go out and check?”

“Check for what?” Whispered Dana. He hadn’t realized how close she came to him, her eyes wide with excitement. The boys were already out on the grass, still pretending to be half-interested but silent and watchful all the same.

“I dunno…” Paul held out his hand and Dana took it, Tiff linking arms with her. The three of them stepped cautiously back onto the grass to scan the treeline.

There was the chainlink fence, the gravestones beyond it, solid as always. The candle went out, but nothing happened. Paul felt stupid, wondering with a growing sickness in his gut that all he did tonight was look like the weirdo gravedigger kid they thought he was.

“So does your dad talks like that to all the dead grandmas he works on or…” Tyler was already done with all this, and Dave laughed in response.

“I told you there’s no spirits there,” muttered Paul. “And he’s not the one that works on them ,okay?”

“Yeah. This is all a fucking joke. Honestly.”

Paul heard Dana’s voice and it warmed him, just for a small moment. “Listen, come on, it’s just all in good fun, ok?”

Paul felt something small bounce off his shoulder and fall into the grass. “Ouch, fuck!” snapped a kid nearby, clapping a hand over his own head. “What the hell is that?”

Paul ducked down to retrieve the items that fell by his feet. It was an ordinary quarter and two pennies. He heard someone else stir, disturbed by more items falling on their head. “Coins.”

“Coins? Oh! Yeah!” said Dana, holding one up. “Where are they coming from?”

Something fell behind Paul, bouncing off his back. A cigarette lighter phone charger. Nearby, a few crumpled receipts and empty paper soft drink cup dropped onto the grass, followed by more coins. “It's…stuff from the car…”

“Car’s fucking locked,” hissed Dave. He swore again and Paul heard another coin bounce off his head. He felt old crumbs collect in his hair, sprinkled by something inexplicable above them all.

Paul glanced over to the car.

Then something happened. It felt like his brain was broken; his eyes lied. He saw the air above the car, the negative space empty there for a moment, and then watched an object pop into existence. Something big, dark and heavy that then was dropped down on top of the car so forcefully the hood crumpled into a crush of metal.

It was a small headstone from the churchyard.

“Everybody under the awning,” Paul commanded hoarsely, running backwards while still staring fixedly at the car in front of them. Coins continued to drop seemingly from nowhere, the soft sound of them hitting the grass all around them.

Paul couldn't process what he just saw. The rock was not there, and then yet it was there. And absolutely totaled the car right before their eyes.

The night taunted them with its normalcy. There was nothing out of place. No stirring leaf, no swing disturbed. The single streetlight buzzed and threw stark highlights across the asphalt by the ruined car.

A small stone fell from the awning, skidding to Paul’s feet. But there was nothing there except those empty husks of paper wasps and cobwebs.

“The car, man!” Dave whined. He bit his lip and wrung his hands. “My fucking car…”

“Would you shut up about the car?!” the junior boy rasped. His hands were over his head. “How did that stone—”

Gravel dumped across his head and skittered to the floor. The boy yelled, hopping backwards into Dave, who nearly punched him in terror. The sliding hiss of gravel falling behind them made their heads whip around to see when more would drop.

“Just like that,” said Paul, pointing. He stared fixedly at a spot where another stone had dropped. He squinted, trying to steel his nerves. Name it, his father’s voice uttered. Name what?

Just as before, a new stream of gravel was there in the air as matter-of-factly as how they were not there moments before. The space became filled without even a blink of an eye. And more stones fell.

“I’m getting out of here,” shouted Tyler. He made a few steps towards the edge of the awning and another heavy grave marker dropped, barely missing his head and cracking the concrete. He scrambled back to the group just in time for Paul to read the date 1812 carved upon it.

“It doesn’t want us to leave!” shrieked Tiff. “What did you even do?!”

Another fall of small stones from the parking lot; this time a steady, almost luxurious stream of tiny pebbles appearing, falling, and pooling into an aggressive pile right before their eyes. The sliding, angry hiss rustled terror up Paul's spine as he bit the inside of his cheek and drew blood. Satisfied, the gravel stream ceased as if someone turned off an arcane spigot. Another rock dropped onto the Junior boy's head, and he screamed, prompting yet another small rock to be pelted at Tiff and Dana.

In the silence between the bursts of stones across their heads, one of the girls started sobbing. Paul stared down at the circle in front of him, tears blurring his own eyes. “Oh, fuck! Fuuuck!” shouted Dave and Paul whipped his head up to the sound of tires on the gravel. Another spurt of rocks fell to the ground, these much larger and thrown fast enough to bounce off the concrete.

Beside the wrecked car loomed a black hearse. The headlights dimmed as the door opened, a form gingerly rising to its feet and affixing a crutch. Tall, wide shoulders slung back. The face was obscured, but the Eye shone. The eye, a brilliant beam in the dark.

“Fuck, run!” Brian yelled, but his drinking got the best of him and he stumbled across a picnic table. The other kids were frozen on the spot, the spurts of rocks scattering around them forgotten as a storybook nightmare materialized in front of their eyes.

“No,” Paul said softly. “Don’t run.”

The hearse, the Eye, the shambling gait on the large proud form was an image out any slasher movie. But Paul knew this visage more than anyone. And more than anyone, he felt an intensity of fear only experienced by a son who had completely, utterly, and wholly fucked up.

if you like it, please reblog and share!

Next part in comments!

[komabaichirouu]

a lesson in composition ft. the okami ps2 box art

so i submitted this box art as my favorite in the gamescage discord and that's when i had my epiphany as to why it's so good.

fellow graphic design students, listen up bc if you are to design box art this is how you do it. and the rest of you nerds, listen up too because this is a neat aspect of art analysis you can apply to your own art or that of others!

ok enough rambling let's get started

this is a perfect example in how to use converging lines to ''lead" the eye into looking at whatever element you want them to look at first. you might think it's just a matter of what element is the biggest, and that Is a factor, but a lot of other things go into play.

the first thing one looks at on this box art is the logo, with the huge striking red sun and black ink title. the strong contrast in colors is a big part as to why this is the first thing you typically notice as well, but i want to focus on the 'lines' present in the rest of the artwork.

below the logo is amaterasu jumping into the sky, mouth open, probably ready to fight. and you could think it's just a random concept art they stuck onto the page, but that is not the case.

look at the fire coming off of her shield. it's surrounding the logo counter clockwise, even thinning out at the ends. it is leading you specifically towards the first letter of the title, quite literally telling you what to read.

if this description is confusing, here is a poorly made edit i made to point it out:

and that's not all! amaterasu herself is doing this as well. look at the line of action in this drawing, it's essentially the same effect done clockwise, with a smaller element (that being her tail) also pointing towards the logo in another direction:

(notice how amaterasu herself is looking up at the red sun..)

then there are her front paws and whatever those things on her shoulder are, where the lines point directly towards the logo instead of revolving around it:

then, a final but more subtle touch : look at the background. even the wind is circling around the rising sun.

of course this serves also to represent purity, the fact that you literally clean the environment with your powers over the sun...

... but this leads to what point i wish to make with this analysis. when it comes to box art and such, when you have a product to sell, it is very very important to consider the role of each and every element you include in your design. you don't want distractions, you don't want any ambiguity.

this box art is perfect example of that: nothing is out of place, everything is conceived with the goal of showing you what this game is called and what it's all about: an action game featuring a magic wolf in a setting inspired by traditional japanese art.

this doesn't just apply to marketing, but to art in general. if you wish to improve your gay little fanart, this is a good place to start! look at artists you like and how They place their subjects on the page. the thought put into it may surprise you.

aside from the artwork, all PS2 box art have some elements in common that are well placed & that i wished to mention. at the very top is a striking black stripe and white text telling you plainly what console this is on. the second biggest element is the age rating on the bottom left, then at the bottom right, a smaller logo of whoever is publishing this game.

this is good because it's a standard set across all ps2 games. customers don't have to go hunting for this information, they always know where to look. The size and contrast of these elements on the page are also used to create an order of importance for this information.

say somebody is looking to buy a game for their kid in, idk 2007 or something. they find this box art and think, "wow, this game looks neat. what console is it on?" and immediately see the obvious black stripe at the top and text telling them this.

then they wonder if their kid is even old enough to play this. well then, here is the age rating at the bottom left, smaller than the console text but big enough to be noticeable & easy to read.

then, if they're enough of a nerd themselves they'll look at the bottom right, see the capcom logo, and recall that their kid enjoyed those ace attorney games on the ds. those are capcom too, their child may just enjoy this game too!

and this kids is why the ps2 okami box art is goated. i tried to organize my thoughts properly and make this easy to follow, i hope it worked. if even one of you learned something, this was worth it.

stay cool and play okami. it's available in hd on pretty much all plateforms & i'm pretty sure it's on sale on steam right now.

peace 🐣

[broadway-heere-i-come]

“This opening night was a long time coming,” says Sky Lakota-Lynch, who stars as Johnny Cade in the new Broadway musical The Outsiders. “I’ve been with this show for six years, I began working on it in 2018, and it’s been such a long journey to get to this point—it’s unreal that it just finally happened!”

Six years isn’t such a long time, however, in the lifespan of the story. S.E. Hinton’s novel The Outsiders, about rival gangs of greasers (including Johnny) and rich kids in Tulsa, Oklahoma, was first published in 1967, and it was 16 years later that it was adapted to make a beloved film. Still, after years of working on the show, the cast was ready to share it with the world.

“It was a total celebration” Lakota-Lynch says of opening night. “There’s something blissful about seeing the show come to life and having audiences embrace it in such an amazing way. What more can you ask for?”

Here, Lakota-Lynch shares his opening night diary—with photos by Jenny Anderson—with T&C.

"I do have an opening night ritual: I meditate before every single show. For this character, I have to act with my energy, so it helps me to ground myself and not be worried about the outside world. Just having a moment of complete silence is so important for me."

"Shockingly, I'm not that nervous in The Outsiders. I was really nervous in Dear Evan Hansen because it was new to me and I was stepping into the role someone I was replacing. With The Outsiders, our director, Danya Taymor, builds such a comfort zone for people that cast feels like brothers and like we aren't necessarily acting every night. So, the nerves don't really come for me in The Outsiders. Honestly, I get more nervous after the show having to say hi to people than for the show itself."

"Before every show, we do circle up and one person makes a little speech, and then we all break to think about the theme of that speech, which could be freedom, peace, or love. Every single show we do this, no matter what."

"My friend and cast mate Tilly Evans-Krueger got this amazing thing called the Legacy Robe, which is a tradition in the theater. She puts it on and runs around us three times clockwise, and we all touch it for good luck, and then she visits our rooms in the robe and it blesses the show."

"I've known Brody [Grant, who plays Ponyboy] for five years. I knew Brody before he was even in the show because my understudy at Dear Evan Hansen was Brody's roommate in college. Lo and behold, here we are and Brody's one of my best friends. It's so rare that you get to work with people who you actually love, and there's not a singe person in my cast who I dread seeing."

"I got to be close with Angelina Jolie, who's our producer, because we went to Tulsa, Oklahoma together, and she asked to design my opening-night outfit. She and this amazing tattoo artist named Mark Mahoney designed the jacket and all the little patches. Next week I'm going to get a tattoo from Mark."

"This is our fight call, which lasts an hour every single day. Because the show is so physical, we have to make sure that no one gets hurt. So we get called an hour before curtain and we run through the physical numbers just to make sure that everything is set and that everyone's body is OK before we actually run it full speed during the show."

"Our stage door has been really crazy. People love The Outsiders, and the response has been wild. Every single night a crowd gathers and is screaming outside of our dressing room windows. This lady has been there every single night, and though I've been skipping the stage door because I've been so tired leading up to opening, I finally got her picture with me, which was awesome."

"Right before the curtain, before I got into my wig and makeup, Jenny was like, 'let me get one last picture of you before you go inside.' The Jacobs Theatre has this really cool indoor-outdoor alley and it connects to the Majestic and the Golden. It's historic, so we just took pictures there and it was awesome."

"After we did the show, we had an after party. There were a lot of cool people there: Queen Latifah, Alicia Keys, Jeremy O. Harris. It was very overwhelming, and I didn't stay too long. I had gotten a hotel room with my family and I was just like, you know what, I'm going to enjoy it for as long as I can and then I'm going to go home."

[ferronite]

Hiiiiii! i woke up a little while ago and I'm thinking about your little creatures,,,,,

I want you to use this ask to talk a little more about your 7 little creatures, please. I'm very curious to know more.

:0 thanks for asking! I'm more than happy to yap abt these creatures~ (also sorry for the delay I've been in lectures lol)

They're all stuck in a constant cycle of reincarnation as a result of their original story - a pretty typical fantasy thing really (guy (basil) takes over kingdom with a desire for world dominance (he got Corrupted) and someone (liv) has to obtain the powers of the Elements or whatever to defeat him. After Liv defeats her brother, she's given the chance to have a single wish granted, and wishes for the chance to reach a "perfect ending"... which is completely impossible to reach.

Anyway time to talk about them individually!

I'll repost the Circle for reference

so, going clockwise...

Jean (you decide how it's pronounced, nobody can agree on it!) Verrry much comes across as the snooty artist type. Like, arrogant and condescending type - plus the good old "nobody appreciates my talents", though it often sounds like they're trying to convince themselves of it instead of others. Very much similar across all iterations in terms of personality, though the original iteration was suffering from very mild Corrosion exposure and so was much more prone to sudden outbursts and was a lot more condescending. In Resto, they're actually in charge of designing containment units :) (they're also capable of unhinging their jaw like a snake)

Maria is like. Typical theatre kid. Has dreams of being a superstar actor, and ends up writing plays based off her daily life. Has five copies of the same outfit Just Because and wears incredibly high heeled boots because she likes to seem tall. She's a pretty upbeat person, and also really nosy about people's personal lives lmaoo. She does have the constant need to be the centre of attention, but isn't generally too forceful(?) about it - it is made significantly worse by exposure to Corruption in the original. She's just a basic employee at Resto, and took the job to fund her dreams. Hangs around Jean a lot (J sometimes helped in making stuff for her performances, though Maria actually sews her own outfits :D) She'd be great at poker but she doesn't have any real strategic knowledge for it she's just real good at bluffing.

Kaylen is a huge archaeology nerd. He has to be forcibly dragged out of any shop that sells fossils to stop him from wasting all his money on them. Incredibly energetic all of the time and generally unbothered about most issues. He makes his own music, too, to... varying degrees of success, though most of his stuff is pretty good. Can seem pretty annoying (especially towards Danny) but he's... kinda lonely, honestly. Worried abt people leaving him. Which, of course, gets fucked around with by Corruption. His Resto appearance has a scorpion tail, which he accidentally poisoned someone with as a kid lol.

Danny was part of a gang for like a year when he was 19 and kinda made it a good chunk of his personality. He tries to come off as serious and intimidating and it... generally succeeds? But also since most people know he won't actually hurt them it does tend to fall flat after a while. He isn't the only one with a drivers license but he is the only one anyone actually trusts to drive. He enjoys reading, and also has a hobby of baking that he tries to keep secret cuz he thinks it'd ruin his image hehe.

Sel! They're an interesting one. Generally seem pretty calm and serious, though they do have a habit of threatening people when they meet them. Most people are at least a little scared of them. They get significantly less calm and more... manic when fighting, which is how they almost killed London during training in Resto lol. Incredibly loyal to people they care about as well. Corruption fucked them the most in their initial appearance as they had the most exposure, which is what lead to their near indiscriminate murdering and corpse animating (normally they'd never have used corpses in their creations, as they view it as disrespectful.) Their weapons generally follow them across incarnations (but not always) and so they're one of the few who are allowed to keep outside weapons with them within the company during Resto. They have a chessboard for appearances sake but are incredibly shit at chess.

Basil~ his legal name in Resto is actually Wilhelm - his parents were fine with him transitioning as long as he had a name that fit the family "aesthetic" lmao. He just goes by basil tho. He's a pretty standard guy (if a bit judgemental and short tempered), but he does very much give off Rich Prick vibes. Cares deeply for his sister, but has a more nihilistic worldview than she does. He was the main antagonist during their first incarnations due to finding a Shard of Corruption, and the "leader" of the other five. It was barely "him" at that point due to all the Corruption tho..

Liv! The "hero" of the original story, tho she sure didn't feel like one, and the root cause of their cycle. Always the optimist and with a strong drive to help people, tho she's not always the best at it. She's trying her best tho! Has a very strong set of morals, especially in terms of "good" and "evil" which.... doesn't always work out in more nuanced situations. She works in Medical during Resto, with the hopes of being able to actually move into the field when she has more experience. Has less rich kid vibes than her brother, but still has that kinda sheltered naivety about her.

Aaand that's everyone! Ough the Wall. Anyway yeah due to the nature of the curse/wish they remain pretty much the same in terms of personality (and appearance) across all iterations, which isn't how it normally works.

[heyclickadee]

Random idiom that annoyed the hell out of me when I was a kid: “righty-tighty, lefty-loosey.” You know, for tightening or loosening bolts and screws. It drove me crazy because you’re turning it in a circle, meaning if you turn right long enough you start going left, and if you turn left long enough you start going right. And if you’re going from the top down it’s right to tighten and left to loosen, but if you’re thinking bottom up it’s the opposite, and no one ever specified if it was top down or bottom up. I got what it meant, of course, but as a young kid it seemed like the least clear way to explain it when words like “clockwise” and “counter-clockwise” exist.

[abubblingcandle]

For the WIP word game: Walk, Home or Run?

Walk - From A Treatment Room Doors Moment

"I wasn't good to mummy for a while. I was a downright fucker to Simon," Jamie muttered, his free hand migrating up for him to chew on his thumbnail. Roy gently squeezed Jamie's hand again. Awareness returned to Jamie's expression and his hand feel back down and bunched under his t-shirt. "So I'm doing everything I can to help them. I know I can't buy affection. I learnt that but they shouldn't have to worry about anything and mummy worries about her friends. Particularly those who have kids who went the wrong way," Jamie managed to finish his thought. They continues to walk in quiet for a moment. 

Run - From Dutch Courage

“I’m driving to Roy’s in the morning,” Jamie announced over tea. “Why?” Jan asked, gently placing his fork down on his plate. Roy’s place was likely safe for Jamie but it was still a risk. If they got papped at Roy’s then Jamie might be followed, it wasn’t as safe as Nelson Road or Jan’s place. “4am run,” Jamie shrugged, staring at his plate. His fork pushed the rice around in clockwise circles with only a couple of bites making it into his mouth.

[writingattemptsxx]

Uno War

Fellow and Gidel are at the Schoenheit house for a game night but aren't able to predict the winner.

—

Another little fanfic inspired by/made for Sympathy for a Villain. You don't need to read it to understand this, but it's a good read. All you need to know is Crewel and Eric are Vil’s parents and Fellow became a teacher.

Side note. I have finally gotten the bulk of Finn’s story done, so it should be out soon(-ish).

—

As of now, they were in a circle playing a card game. In a clockwise direction, after Eric was Divus, then Fellow, then Gidel, then finally Vil. Eric was originally happy to sit between his wonderful husband and child, but now he feels ostracized.

Divus was starting daggers at Fellow while targeting him with all his attacks, keeping their flames of rivalry alive. On the other hand, Vil was caught up in his own mind on planning how to win, and by his targeted speech, that was likely by fueling the fight.

The only two who didn't seem obsessive over the game or using it in some way were Gidel and Eric. Gidel seemed to be thinking of something else entirely and messing with his mallet when it wasn't his turn. Eric couldn't help but sigh at the mess his family had become. A wonderful mess, but still a mess.

“I can't wait to end this school year with a fox shawl. Maybe then Crowley would pick a qualified teacher.” Divus placed down his card, a green 8.

“Maybe then you would finally have some color beyond your usual monotone. Tell me, doesn't that ever feel… dull? Your want of this humble fox’s color says something.~” Fellow was almost singing as he lightly put down his card, a green 4.

Vil nudged Gidel who snapped back into reality placing down a yellow 4, changing the color. Perfect.

Vil put down his own card, a yellow 5. “Father says he looks best in minimal colors, Mr. Honest.” Vil said it so composed as he looked back down at his own cards that Eric was almost impressed. If he wasn't the kid’s father, he might have missed the small smile Vil gave.

“Ah, of course. Not everyone can pull off everything, also you don't need to call me sir, dea-”

Divus jumped closer to the fox, who in turn held his cards close to his chest. “I can absolutely pull off colors. Also, don't you dare use your honeyed tone in this house, much less on my pup. But you're right, he doesn't need to call you sir. He’s a Schoenheit.”

Eric coughed out a small ‘Divus’. His husband could be… eccentric… at times. He couldn't help but adore it, even if it could cause problems. His family was amazing, that's all.

Looking down at his hand, everything was playing out perfectly. Eric might not be as competitive as his son or husband, but that didn't mean he didn't have a plan. He placed down a yellow 3, leaving him only with a yellow 2 and a wild. Quickly, he changed his hold so they were stacked on top of each other, and to any outsider, they looked like one card.

When Vil first brought his creation he called ‘Uno’, Divus and Fellow would call each other out whenever they got low on cards, actually having an uno or not. As could be easily guessed, that got annoying quickly. In response, they made a house rule: If you call out someone who doesn't actually have an uno, you now have to draw four cards instead. Now that rule would work perfectly.

A yellow 6 by Divus and a yellow 4 by Fellow, leaving it back to Gidel, who again, wasn't paying attention. Vil looked up from his cards, but before he could nudge the cat, he saw his father. “You didn't call out uno!”

“I didn't? Well, I don't have an uno, so…” Eric revealed there was at least one more card hidden, barely holding back a smile. Hopefully, he disguised the fact that it was only two cards well enough, but only time will tell that. For now, Vil reaches for more cards, muttering a ‘cheater’ under his breath.

Vil got Gidel to play his card, a yellow skip, allowing Vil to seethe even more. Eric wanted to feel bad for his son, but of now it wasn't more than pity. Hopefully, this would be a lesson not to be too competitive over a trivial game, though for that lesson to work, Eric would have to teach that to his husband too.

He sighed as he set his yellow 2 down. All that's left is to act normal. He could get rid of any risk by saying uno, but while there is a strategic reason not to somewhere, what's more fun than a sudden win?

Divus gave Fellow two cards and skipped him with a yellow plus two. Gidel was nudged back to reality for him to play a red plus two, giving Vil more cards and skipping him again. Finally his turn. He dropped his wild down, and-

“I win.”

“What?!” Three voices in unison all yelling out. It was almost painful. Eric only held up his hands, showing they were free of cards.

“How could- I had the best possible plan.” Fellow looked between his own cards and the deck.

“Absolutely not! I had the best possible plan.” Divus held up a hand to his chest, looking and sounding the most offended the diva possibly could.

Vil was also back to existing in his head, muttering to himself something that Eric couldn't quite make out clearly, but it sounded like a run-through of his plan.

He gave a small sigh before walking over to Gidel. The bickering finally seemed to keep the cat from his thoughts. “Gidel, what do you say about seeing if we can get a snack?”

He gave a vigorous nod before standing up, grabbing his mallet, and quickly making his way to the kitchen.

“Hey, wait for a moment!” Eric gave a quick chase. Hopefully Divus, Fellow, and Vil wouldn't mind them leaving.

Comments, likes, reblogs, and suggestions are appreciated. 🩵

[thepomegranatewitch]

tu bshvat 5784

Welcome to the new tradition around here, sharing my family's tu bshvat table! Pictures imperfect because we needed to sit and eat!

Image description. Three photos of a table set with a meal, described below. One from overhead, the other two from just over tableheight at two different angles.

The whole table! This is a secondhand dropleaf table that I fixed up a bit with oilcloth, but I'd love to have one of those old country kitchen wooden tables that serve as prep table, dining table, and ad hoc operating table for La Résistance. The kids keep grabbing onto the edge and trying to swing off this, and you can imagine that will one day soon end very poorly.

Since I live an actually not aesthetically cottagecore life, we have nothing but the finest dollar store plain white dishware for us adults, and metal sets for the kids. I haven't finished making all the colour coded napkins, but eagle eyed individuals will notice each blue gingham napkin has a flower embroidered in the corner in each of our colour coding scheme, from top left clockwise that's red, yellow, green, orange. Each setting has a bowl on a plate, a fork and spoon on a blue napkin, and a haggadah with a pomegranate branch on blue circle. Adult settings also have a butter knife and a stemmed port glass, and the kid settings have two small square sticker sheets and a turkish teaglass.

The table has, from top left clockwise, an adult place setting, a fruit plate on glass, a child setting, a red plate with four servings of melanzane alla parmigiana, an adult place setting, a paper packet of parsley seeds, a small glass jar with cardamom pods, a glass bowl of wash water with three star anise floating in it, a gray towel with white stripes, and a child setting. Down the center of the table from left to right is a bowl of fruit and nut studded barley, a bottle of white and a bottle of red wine, a square container with mixed roasted vegetables, a half gallon mason jar with water, a pecan pie with circular pattern, and a plate of homemade thick matzah. Yes, I made matzah because I thought it would be easier than making bread. Yes, my oven hasn't been cleaned in a while and so started smoking. Yes, the smoke alarms went off multiple times. Yes, I did have to stand there facing the street while it rained pumping the side door while all the windows were open to get all the steam and smoke particles out of the air. Holiday adventures with Sahar!

Image description. Four close up shots of foods, described below. All are birds eye except the barley, which is at an angle to show the careful mounding.

the fruit plate! Our minhag is at least twelve tree fruits so we piled most of them on the tasting plate. From the ramekin going clockwise, that's a ramekin of pomegranate arils, a chunk of pomegranate, segmented tangerine slices, dried apricots, almonds, dried figs, golden raisins (the baby calls them 'ravens'), extra-dark chocolate chunks (cacao is a tree fruit, it's what the ancestors would want), a ramekin of pitted kalamata olives, and some dried medjool dates. Bonus: the kids ate the plate remnants as a serve-yourself breakfast the next morning. Always wonderful when a holiday yields some batch cooking and child autonomy.

a pecan pie. We use the King Arthur Flour Old-Fashioned Pecan Pie recipe because corn syrup tastes off to me. The changes we made this time are making a savory not sweet pie crust (my spouse makes it with iced water and vodka), cream instead of milk, toasting the filling nuts just shy of burnt, and cream instead of milk. It worked really well to reduce the sweetness from 'sickening' to 'very.' It's our traditional dessert and we eat it only once a year because it's so sweet. I like laying the pecans flat side up in rings on the top for full coverage and so it looks a little like tree rings.

The washwater bowl. It's just a glass mixing bowl with water, but I dropped in some orange blossom water and floated some star anise to make it pretty, and I liked it. Will have to repeat the anise for pesach, but skip the orange blossom water - the anise completely overpowered it.

The barley. We cooked it plain and then added walnuts, pine nuts, dried cherries, fresh pomegranate, and a lot of olive oil. We didn't salt it, which was fine, because we let the kids salt the eggplant before we roasted it, which was not fine. Together they taste great. For those keeping count, the barley dish rounds out the tree fruits to thirteen, and with the whole-wheat matzah that makes all seven species! Side note on the matzah, keep your eyes peeled around pesach for my recipe. Once I learned how to make it, I'm never going back to store matzah. Mine is delicious and oil rich, and we eat it as a pleasant flatbread, not just the bread of affliction.

Image description. Two photos of amanita mushrooms from overhead angles.

As a final bit, please enjoy these amanita mushrooms from the JCC. The groundskeeper is in a months-long battle with this patch that just keeps coming back. He keeps knocking over all but one so the preschoolers can safely enjoy looking only, and they keep popping up. I'm delighted - I thought these were mythical and didn't realize they grew where I live now!

If you'd like to support my work, you can buy a copy of my tu bshvat haggadah here, and the two tu bshvat stickers here and here.

[zazzander]

Wizarding Watches

Inspired by Dumbledore's Pocket Watch, among other things.

"It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge."

So I've been writing Marauders fics and it has me thinking about wizards & their interesting relationship between time and the stars. The Black family, ofc, names their kids after the stars. But there's a lot more too. So, even though JKR didn't care about worldbuilding, I do, so I really wanted to know how their clocks worked! Because obviously, based on the above description its very different from the ones we use!

So here's a post about how wizards tell time.

This is some official art of Dumbledore's pocket watch and it frankly looks unusable. And that's probably the point, but! As I said, I wanted to challenge myself to see if I could come up with something that would concievably tell time.

To begin, we know that young wizards and witches need to spend 5 years studying Astronomy. This is considered a core class, up there with history, potions, charms etc. That implies to me that its extremely relevant to the workings of magic. Not just the planets, but the moon, the stars etc.

We also know that watches are the traditional "coming of age" gift for young wizards and witches. I imagine this is all tied to the need for magic users to be aware of the celestial bodies and familiar with how they affect their magic. Carrying around a mini star chart, moon chart, and clock would be instrumental but also very expensive. Hence, why it became customary to give it as a gift for such an important milestone.

For this, I collected a bunch of inspo pics but these two are the most relevant (mostly because they looked the coolest):

These gave me the idea to include the position of the constellations on the watch + the moon phases. Even though they aren't mentioned in the description, they could help add to the crazy number of handles this watch has!

I also found out that you can tell the time based on the position of the stars, with some recalibration needed depending on the month. So that's how this watch tracks time.

It's the sort of convoluted option wizards would pick (lol).

So what did the watch look like in the early morning of Nov 2? (I think this is the day Dumbledore drops off Harry). Probably something a bit like this:

The grey hands show which planets are visible. All the planets are aligned on an axis, showing where they can be found relavant to the sun, in this case they are pretty close together.

The moon is a crescent. November has just begun. It's a Monday. And its about 6:45am. Directly above are several constellations including Draco, Auriga, Cygnus and Serpens.

(You may notice that one of the hands is too long for the watch, yes, it is resized with a charm inbedded in the metal. In March it is the size of the month circle itself!).

Bonus! The watch on Harry's Birthday:

(please note these positions aren't going to entirely accurate because I don't know anything about astronomy, the planets, certainly not the stars - this is just what I could come up with).

What do y'all think?

P.S. The clock is 24 hour time read backwards / anti-clockwise!! The top most prong is midnight.

[camp-counselor-life]

Image source (x)

As an autistic person who didn't grow up within the special education system or disability circles, accepting that my autism is a disability has been a journey. While sometimes I do feel disabled, other times I do not, not even touching some of my physical issues. But it has helped me immensely to know others who are autistic. Every time I see this graphic I think about sharing it.

Visibility is so crucial, with any minority, including disabled people. While I'm not super open about being autistic, mostly because I worry about stigma associated with it, I know it's important for the kids to see an autistic person in a professional role. It was important when I was a camp staff and it's important now.

When we think about camp and disability, barriers come to mind. I spoke with a colleague last month or maybe in April, about her daughter, who is in a wheelchair and wants to go to camp [redacted], a place with no pavement, full of hills and steep grades, and with lots of stairs. Heck, our office building isn't even wheelchair accessible. This is a problem now, and will be an even bigger problem when someone needs access.

Image ID: The Inaccessibility Cycle graphic, a light blue graphic with a blue circle and an inscribed wheelchair symbol. The text around it forms a circle with arrows and reads, from the top clockwise, "Inaccessibility/Disabled people unable to participate/Disabled people not visible in public/Disabled people seen as outlier or rarity/'so there's little or no need to consider them'" in multicolored text. The bottom is labeled "The Inaccessibility Cycle" and there is a watermark for Pacing Pixie in the center. End ID.