#that works like a tree or a graph

[thingsifindonthegroundsometimes]

falling falling falling falling now i hit the window falling falling falling falling now i hit the ground, dying dying dying dying now i hit the window, dying dying dying dying now i hit the ground

alive alive alive alive (HOME SWEET HOME)

[badolmen]

UM??

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 18: Spanking

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7590

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, over the knee spanking (my favorite cmdmdmd), paddling with a hairbrush

A/N: I really hope this one isn't too messy, I haven't been feeling super great and I am posting this at *checks clock* 4:26 in the morning skdnfksnf so please be gentle with me! 🙈

⭐

The Duke of Meropide was a truly infuriating scoundrel! 

You’d been arguing with him in his office for almost an hour now and it felt like all you’d done is go around in endless circles. One moment he would in all seriousness shoot down a suggestion or a point you’ve made, and the next he would abruptly ask you about tea or cookies with equal sincerity. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and you were quickly reaching the end of your patience with him. Had the topic of reform and rehabilitation of ex inmates not been so very important to you, you’re sure you would have stormed out of his office a long time ago. 

“For the final time, my lord, I care for neither your white tea nor your black tea.” You intone as mildly as you can manage given the state of your nerves. “Please, just listen to me for a moment. That is all I ask.” 

Perfectly casual, Wriothesley reclines back into his tall chair and brings his hands together over the bend of a propped up knee. “I have been listening. Quite attentively too. However, I just don’t see how your proposal is going to work and I think you might be barking up the wrong tree, miss. My apologies for saying so.” 

“No offense taken.” You clench your jaw so tight it hurts. “But why do you think it isn’t going to work? Have I not explained the steps to successful rehabilitation enough for your liking?” 

“No, you’ve been perfectly thorough. Excessive, even.” 

Spine snapping straight at that, you pin him with a furious look you don’t even try to conceal but he just waves it off without missing a beat. 

“The problem is, I don’t think you understand how the Fortress of Meropide functions. It is you who hasn’t been listening to me, I’m afraid.” He continues on, as stony and impassive as ever. “As I already said, the inmates are free to leave once their sentences are served in full. It’s just that the vast majority of them do not wish to return to the surface world and choose to stay here of their own volition. There’s nothing I nor you can do to change that.” 

“But — but that’s because there weren’t any systems in place to help them!” You stammer, desperately rifling through your stacks of paperwork and statistics in search of the findings collected on job and housing placement welfare. Finally locating it with a triumphant puff of air, you jump to your feet and shove it at him over the desk even when he tries to once again wave it off. “The proof is right here, your grace. It should take only a moment of your time to read and understand the data presented in this report for someone as no doubt well informed as you are.” 

Stilling, Wriothesley steadily meets your look of challenge with a cool stare of his own. A beat passes and then, heaving a rather terse sigh, he reaches out to reluctantly accept the sheet from you. “I’ll look at it but I’m telling you, miss. These graphs and numbers don’t mean anything in the real world.” 

“We’ll see about that.” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, impertinently standing over him while he reads even when you know you’re really pushing your luck here. He was a duke, a by all accounts certificate wielding lord in the flesh and blood, and you, a lowly commoner, had no right to try and force his hand like this. Still, you hold your ground though, confident that you knew what you were talking about when you had the data to back it up. It was he who didn’t understand how the real world worked after spending so much time underneath the ocean in this rust bucket of bolts he called a fortress. 

His eyes steadily move over the page, taking in everything at an agreeable enough pace to placate you into silence, and Wriothesley eventually gives his head a curt nod when he reaches the bottom. “I see. It’s just as I thought.” 

You have but the blink of an eye to feel the first dawnings of hope start to crest over your heart and then, unceremonious as can be, he reaches over to neatly deposit the paper into the trash bin. 

“It’s garbage.” 

“Wh - wait just a minute - what do you mean it’s garbage?” You stammer, spit and sputter in white-hot affront so potent you start to feel your cheeks becoming warm. It takes every single ounce of self control you possess not to round on the desk and throttle the life right out of him! “If you didn’t understand the information all you had to do was ask, your grace and I would have gladly taken the time to - -“

“I understood it perfectly, miss, and I am once again telling you that it is your understanding of the situation that is inherently flawed, not mine. You simply can’t make the prisoners do something they don’t want. I trust that you do understand that much, at least?”  

“It is not a matter of making them!” You seethe, hands clenching into tight fists at your sides. “It’s giving them a viable option between spending the rest of their lives trapped under the sea or being able to rejoin their friends and family on the surface. I expected you to have at least a little bit of sympathy for the people under your care!” 

Heaving another soft sigh, Wriothesley unfolds his legs and sits forward to brace his elbows on the desk in the most impolite slouch you’ve ever seen from someone who was supposedly a part of the aristocracy. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I think I care about them a shade more than you do. We’re talking about people who have made a new place for themselves down here and it would be remiss of me to start kicking them out just so you can get your brownie points. This is their home.” 

You jerk as if he’d physically struck you. “Now you listen here - -“ 

“No. I have listened to you enough for one afternoon, miss.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip without either raising his voice nor sharpening his tone, but the low rumble in it is still enough to stop you in your tracks. 

Eyes widening slightly, you watch him stand from his chair and sedately step around the desk to come loom over you with his imposingly massive frame that leaves you pitifully craning your neck back when he stops in front of you. 

“It’s time for you to listen to me now. I’m sure you had good intentions in coming here with this little scheme you cooked up but I’m telling you it isn’t going to work. The inmates who choose to stay here like the simplicity of life in Meropide and the stability it provides them. So long as they work hard and stay out of trouble they’ll have no problems earning a living for themselves but can the same be said about the overworld? What’s going to happen when they get fired from the jobs you place them in after running late one too many times? Or what about when they fall asleep during their shift from exhaustion? Do you know what happens when either of those things occur down here? They simply don’t get their regular number of coupons for the day but they can always come back and do better the next. Will they have that same security up on the surface?” 

“T - that’s why rehabilitation is so important.” You rush to say. “We can teach them to reintegrate into society so that they won’t have to worry about things like that - -“ 

“Everyone worries about things like that, little miss. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Your eyes flash at him dangerously. “Do not call me that! In fact, I believe I’ve had quite enough of you at this point! I want to speak to someone else! Preferably a person with something more substantial than rocks for brains!” 

Wriothesley scowls at that, narrowing his own eyes back at you in warning. “You can want it all you like but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. I’m the only person you need to speak to right now … and I would suggest you reconsider how you’re speaking to me.” 

“Hah! Or what?” Riding high on adrenaline and jittery nerves, you impulsively reach out to jab a finger at the center of his big, beefy chest. “You can’t throw me into a cell just because you don’t like the tone of my voice! Is that the kind of operation you're running down here? Maybe when I get back up to the surface I should contact The Steambird about the tyrannical power trip his grace is on!” 

He snorts a brief laugh as if the very notion was a ludicrous one, though you couldn’t tell if it was your assertion or the thought that you might go to the papers that he found humorous. “That’s funny, but I don’t need to throw you in prison just to put you in your place, miss. I’m giving you one final warning to knock it off and calm down.” 

You take an aggressive step closer to him, head tilted all the way back now so you could see his face past the bulky mass across his pectorals. “Enlighten me then, my lord. What are you going to do to me if I don’t bend the knee?” 

“I think I might start by taking you over my knee first.” 

Giving a startled jerk, you go stock still and just stare at him for the span of a single heartbeat. The ice suddenly gripping your veins is instantly replaced by a hot, raging inferno that seems to make your blood boil and, seeing red, you viciously bring your heel down on the top of his boot, grinding it in for good measure. “I’d like to see you try it, you ba - -“ 

His hand shoots up and, much to your squawking surprise, he grabs around the meat of your upper arm to tug you into him, making you stumble and half fall against the bend of his elbow. Before you even have a chance to draw a full breath to berate him with his other hand cracks across the meat of your ass with a deafening whap! The sharp pain is immediate and splintering, rocking you against him with the abrupt impact as your mouth warbles open in equal parts hurt and shock. He gives your arm a tight yank to keep you pressed in against his side when you try to scuttle away, nudging you insistently until you realize you have no choice but to look up at him except … except you’re not sure if you do so with impotent rage darkening your face or if it’s a tearfully remorseful expression he sees looking back at him. 

Perhaps it was a frustrating combination of the two? 

Wriothesley regards you in contemplative silence for a long moment, his own facial expression not giving much of anything away while the blinding sting across your backside gradually settles into a constant burning throb, but you don’t know what else to do other than stand there and wait for him to say something. You couldn’t believe he’d struck you like that — like a child! You’d only just met the duke today so for him to be putting his hands on you like that was beyond ridiculous, and completely inappropriate. But for as mad as you were, even for as much as your body trembles with frantic, clawing anger, you didn’t quite trust yourself to speak just yet … he would hear about it soon enough. In great detail and at even greater length, once you’d recovered enough to not need to worry your voice would crack and waver over your words. Very soon indeed. 

“I told you what was going to happen,” He says at last, perfectly calm and even toned as ever considering he’d just hit you. “Didn’t I, little miss?” 

Glaring daggers at him, you give your body a furious wrench against his hold but he keeps you in place easily enough. His hand was just so big it seemed to nearly encompass the total width of your bicep, allotting him the perfect hold on you that would only cause pain and discomfort if you were to truly struggle which left you with very little in the way of options. Grudgingly, you go still again and petulantly turn your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him any longer. You needed to focus on calming yourself before anything else. Acting rash now was only going to get you hurt. 

“I don’t know who you think you are,” You finally manage to hiss. “But you've got a lot of nerve to put your hands on me like this.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” He volleys right back, not missing a beat, and you irritably twitch when you realize he’s thrown your own words back at you. He’d be in for a rude awakening soon enough, if you had any say in the matter. 

“Enjoy your fun while you can, your grace. I was only bluffing earlier but now I think I really will go to The Steambird and tell them everything that’s transpired here today! What do you think about that, hm?” Impulsively, you whip your head back around to pin him with a biting look of challenge, but he just lifts his brows up at you as if in surprise. 

“I think you are indeed a mouthy little brat in need of a good spanking to correct that attitude of yours. What are you going to do at The Steambird then? Take your pants down to show them your red bottom and let them take pictures for the morning paper?” Clicking his tongue, Wriothesley shakes his head as if in disappointment. “You’re not thinking this through all the way, but I suspect that’s a problem you regularly struggle with. Come, let’s get you sorted out.” 

You suck in a horrified, raking breath when he shifts as if to move back towards his chair and quickly dig your heels into the ground to stop it. “W - wait! You can’t do this!” You wail, and a foolish pitter patter of hope skips across your chest when he actually pauses to look at you again. Maybe you could still talk your way out of this. It might cost you some of your pride, but that seemed a reasonable sacrifice given the situation. “Ah, what I meant to say is … I’m sorry?” 

A sudden, clipped bark of laughter bursts out of him. “No you’re not.” 

“I am, really! I’m very sorry for, um, stepping on your boot like that. I’ll have it cleaned and polished if you’d like. Just please let me go. Please?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

Wriothesley starts to pull you into motion again and you reel back against his hold even when it makes his thick, blocky fingers sink into the meat of your arm. “Wait! I promise I’m sorry, I really, really am! I didn’t mean it! I swear!”  

Breathing out a patient sigh through his nose, he gently (surprisingly so) tugs you around to stand in front of him even when you stumble and drag your feet in a blithe attempt to avoid compliance. “You’re only sorry right now because you’re in trouble. I’m going to give you something to think about and a chance to reflect on your actions, and then you’ll really be sorry. Is that clear enough for you, miss?” 

“You can’t do this …” 

“Oh, but I can. Take a look around you and tell me where you’re standing. This is my fortress which means I get to make the rules here. If I decide bratty girls who like to run their mouths even after being told to calm down — repeatedly, might I add — need a spanking to get them in order then that is exactly what’s going to happen. And do let me remind you that I gave you plenty of chances to heed my warnings but you didn’t. You can thank your own attitude for getting you into this predicament.” 

You try very hard to keep your expression in check but you’re pretty sure you fail rather miserably at it, and a flash of that vulnerable fear still manages to creep into your face. “I am not a child!” You insist, shuddering violently. “You can’t treat me like one! That’s not fair!” 

“Oh, I’d say what’s not fair is barging in here like you own the place and not listening to a word I say. You’ve certainly acted like a child so I think I’m perfectly in my right to treat you like one now.” 

Not giving you a chance to think of something else to say and further stall, Wriothesley suddenly swoops down and curls his arm around your thighs so he can yank you right up off your feet. You choke in surprise as much as at the sudden rush of movement, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he straightens up with you clutched across his front. Stinging hot tears flood your eyes all at once and you seethe, kicking and flailing, as he effortlessly carries you back around to the desk. It’s like you barely weigh anything in his arms which neither shudder or strain to hold you no matter how wildly you try to fight him. Even when he takes his seat again he still manages to much too easily manhandle you into place across his lap like you weren’t even struggling with every single ounce of strength you possessed. 

In shockingly quick order you find yourself spread across his legs, on your tummy, but still you hiss and twist until his hand abruptly strikes across your upturned ass again. You jump so hard you nearly collapse right then and there but the thick, burly arm now curled over your trembling body keeps you firmly in place when you lurch. Wheezing frantically, you try to push yourself upright but it’s no use, and his palm swats you over your pants again, rapidly draining you of the energy to keep up the effort any longer when it hurt so bad it seemed to rob you of the ability to even think straight. Mewling at the deep hurt, you jerk forward at the next strike and let out a pitiful, broken little sob. 

“I warned you to stop.” He reminds you again, falling into an easy steady rhythm. Whap, whap, whap, whap. One cheek and then the next, each hit somehow worse than the last as the burning sting grows and spreads across your defenseless backside. Even your desperate squirming was not enough to dissuade him from finding his mark as he peppers your sit spots in quick, agonizing succession. “I gave you so many chances too, but you just wouldn’t listen. Why is that, huh? Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?” 

“Please stop — oww! T - that hurts, you damn brute — oww!” 

“Keep it up and I’m just going to keep adding more. When you can’t sit right for the next week you’ll think back on this, I promise you that.” 

Clenching your teeth, you fiercely try to keep the tears at bay so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry but the intense, constant crack of his hand on your ass soon wins out and they start to track wet lines down your burning face. You sniffle sadly and weakly kick your legs out behind you, making an attempt to curl them up and shield your already sore behind, but he just roughly tugs you further across his lap. Abruptly finding yourself slipping forward to half dangle over the side of the chair, you gasp and mindlessly stiffen up across his lap to stop your balance from tipping. That quickly proves to be a mistake though when the tense way you’re now holding your body just seems to make it hurt even worse, and you plaintively shake your head with a wordless shriek. 

“Please stop it, your — ah! Your grace! I’m begging, I can’t — oww!” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you kept acting up.”

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

“Ow, ow, owowow, ow! You’re … you’re doing it too hard! Stop it!” 

Wriothesley chuckles somewhere far above you, the low timber of his voice blanketing over your muddied senses to make you shiver. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going hard enough yet. Not for the way you were behaving. Not to worry though, all in due time. This is just the warm up, after all.” 

You go stock still across his legs, your heart skipping a long, harrowing beat. A warm up - -

“Yeow! Sto - ah - ahhhp! Please!” 

Whap, whap, whap, whap 

Hanging your head low, you openly sob and kick at the air now, clutching his thick boot with one hand while the other hangs onto the chair leg in a death grip to somewhat steady yourself. The sharp stabs of pain seem to chip away at your consciousness bit by bit, each slap of his massive hand taking with it a little piece of you each time it recedes. You’re so dazed by the constant onslaught that you almost don’t notice when he abruptly pauses and grabs under your arms. 

Then you’re suddenly being hauled up and forced to stand on legs that immediately threaten to give out under you but Wriothesley just guides you around to stand between his legs. Furiously trying to wipe the evidence of tears from your face with a sleeve, you blearily watch as he brings his hands up to unbutton the front of your pants which he unceremoniously tugs down your legs to leave them bunched around your ankles. You can’t help but gasp, your cheeks burning even hotter at having your panties suddenly exposed to him, but you don’t get the chance to so much as suck in a shuddering breath let alone actually voice your protests. 

Just like that, he’s dragging you back down over his lap and you twist against his hold with renewed fervor, clawing viciously at any part of him you can reach. His palm mercilessly swatting you across the back of your underwear freezes you in place though, and you let out a high pitched, keening sound at this new level of hell he’s introduced you to. It’s so much worse without your slacks in the way and just the thin layer of cotton to protect you from the full brunt of his punishing slaps. You’re so caught up in trying to process the extent of it when he shifts over top of you that you don’t even think to shriek at him to stop — but then his unoccupied hand fists the material of your panties and yanks them up to pull firm against your screaming backside. You outright squawk and choke at the sensation only to realize what he’s doing a split second later when he swats your ass again and the hurt suddenly feels like it’s skin to skin. 

Howling in distress, you jerk and writhe against his legs but Wriothesley’s hold on your underwear effectively stops you from crawling away. You simply can’t escape it and the space between your ears is soon once again filled with the sharp swat! of his hand lighting you up. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever experienced, even putting aside the inherent humiliation of being spanked over his knee with your pants around your ankles. 

“Waaa - aahhaaaaaa! Your grace, I - I’m sorry … owwww!” 

“Are you now?” He murmurs, punctuating the soft tone of his voice with two blistering slaps, one to each cheek to leave you withering in his hold. “And what are you sorry for, little miss? Come on, speak up.” 

That was incredibly difficult to do when he wasn’t letting up on your ass for even a moment but, hoping against hope that placating him might make this end quicker, you suck in a haggard, gasping breath to steady yourself. “I’m sorry for - eek! I’m sorry for all the rude things I said to you earlier! Oww! I - I shouldn’t have come in here and - ahh! Ahh! I shouldn’t have disrespected you in your fortress, your grace! I promise I’m sorry!” 

“And what else?” 

What else? What else even was there! 

You desperately try to think, to figure it out, but your head is swimming so fast you start to think you might pass out. Loosing a broken moan, you agonizingly kick back and try to find purchase on the floor, only succeeding in half sliding off his knee. He easily readjusts his hold and rather meanly pulls harder on your panties though, making you squeal when they dig into your cunt and it essentially forces you to straighten your legs instead of slouching away from the continuous barrage of his hand. You choke on some kind of mindless animal sound and try to shove yourself forward in your desperation but he just spanks you even harder for the trouble. 

“Well? I’m waiting.” 

“I don’t know!” You cry out, dancing on the tips of your toes as if that would somehow alleviate some of the deep, throbbing ache encompassing your rear end. “I don’t know your grace, I don’t know but I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

You just barely manage to catch the sound of him clicking his tongue over your wailing. “How can you be sorry for something if you don’t even know what it is? You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?”

“I am!” 

He stops so abruptly you lurch, gasping, as if he’d followed through on delivering the next blow. Shuddering uncontrollably, you warily twist to look over your shoulder with big, wet eyes to watch him fold your panties down over your ass to join your slacks around your ankles. Realizing what he’s doing your fight or flight instincts seem to kick in like never before, and you hysterically wrench against his hold. To your stumbling surprise you actually manage to slip free for a split second, for the span of but a single heartbeat, and then he’s reaching up before you can get your trembling legs to cooperate and he roughly tucks you down across his thigh again. This time with that heavy, corded steel arm locked around your waist. 

“Wait, wait, wait - -“ 

Smack! 

Your ass promptly erupts in splinters, every single nerve ending in your behind vibrating numbly at the impact. It punches the air right out of your lungs, leaves you gasping for even a sliver of air, but he doesn’t give you a chance to fully process the hurt. Smack, smack, smack, smack! The crack of his hand across your bare skin sounds deafening now and you shake uncontrollably as you cry out in unrestrained agony. Back and forth between each burning red, swollen cheek, he pays equal attention to both sides until it feels like the tingling flesh is quite literally on fire. You writhe against the blinding hurt and sob so hard the shudders wrack through you from head to toe even as you weakly try to push up and squeeze through his arm. It’s no use though. Wriothesley’s hold is as good as iron and all you can do is wrench at each blistering crack without any way to escape it. 

“Well?” He expectantly prompts, but you’re a little too far gone in the swimming daze to properly respond now, just noising a series of incomprehensible whines and mewls with every strike. Quickly picking up that you were slipping under now, he breathes out a stilted sigh. “If there is but one thing you take away from this,” He intones, still bringing his palm down again and again, and again. “Let it be to pick your opponents more wisely in the future. You don’t just get to walk in here and start calling the shots, do you understand me?” 

You croak out something that might be a yes, incomprehensibly slurred between all the tears and snot running down your face, and the sad little hiccups making your throat constrict. That seems to be good enough for him though, and he just presses on. 

“I was nice enough to invite you to come to Meropide,” smack, smack, smack, smack “Even though I could have turned you down right from the start. I already knew your little pet project wasn’t going to pan out,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I figured I’d at least hear you out first and this is how you decided to repay me? Despite what you probably think, I don’t like having to punish people,” smack, smack, smack, smack “But I’m not about to let some upstart little brat come in here and try to tell me what my inmates need. You don’t know the first thing about this place no matter what all your worthless charts tell you.” 

Smack, smack, smack! Smack! 

You flinch, weakly rocking forward when the next slap never comes. Groaning thickly, you squirm and dance on your feet, trying to shake off some of the discomfort even though it’s useless, but still he just sits there. You’re distantly aware of him breathing a bit heavier than before, either worked up from the act itself or the physical exertion of delivering a sound spanking, and you just whine low in your throat at the resounding throb throughout your body. It seems to claw through you and set every single nerve to trembling vibration, leaving you quaking violently in his hold. 

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, Wriothesley draws a steadying inhale. “Have you learned your lesson?” 

“Y - yes …” You croak out with no shortage of effort, but his blocky fingers just dig into your hip to give you a brief jostle

“Wanna’ try that again?” 

Your already strained heartbeat somehow manages to become even more wild at the panic that rushes in to smother over you. What did he want? Would he spank you again if you didn’t figure out the answer? 

“Yes, sir?” 

“That’s better.” He relents, giving your shuddering thigh an amicable pat. Silence descends over the office for a drawn out beat and then he suddenly leans forward, half dragging you with him while he opens one of the drawers on the desk to rummage around. “I don’t think you’re really sorry, not yet. But you will be soon. I know I have that damn hairbrush Sigewinne gave me somewhere.” 

A hairbrush? 

Your blood turns to ice at the implication, and the fresh wave of fear that abruptly grips you in a chokehold seems to clear some of the fog from your head. You could think just a little bit clearer now and you did not like where your thoughts were going, not one bit. Surely he wouldn’t actually take it that far after already abusing your ass so much with his hand. 

“Your g - grace?”  

Ignoring or just not hearing the weak little mouse squeak, Wriothesley settles back into his chair again, grabbing a pinching handful of your inner thigh to drag it over his knee once more. He doesn’t quite force your body across his lap but he does make sure you’re stretched out in a rather inelegant sprawl that leaves your legs embarrassingly spread and you start to shake in earnest now. You hadn’t thought it was possible for the human body to vibrate at such a high frequency but that's exactly what seems to be happening as the crushing reality of the situation gradually settles over you like a shroud. 

And then, the press of something solid and flat touches your burning ass, and you practically jolt right up off his legs altogether. 

Your skin crawls with it making you feel truly sick and nauseous even as you frantically try to twist your neck around to see. He’s got you at such an awkward angle though that you can’t make out much of anything and your panic rapidly starts to ratchet up into damn near a full on attack until he gently taps the object against your behind to pull your attention back into the moment. 

“I’m going to give you twenty spanks with this brush, little miss. I want you to count them, and don’t forget to show me some respect while you do it.” 

“I - I - I can’t, sir, I can’t, I can’t take anymore, p - please, it’s too much - -“

“Hush. I’ve got you,” He coos, unexpectedly gentle and soft, but it doesn’t do much to ease your heaving gasps or the erratic pounding of your heart. Still, you find yourself grudgingly getting pulled into that tender croon and you make a conscious effort to calm down even as you sway unsteadily over his thigh. “You’re alright. You’ll just get yourself all worked up over nothing acting like that. Deep breaths. That’s it. Now take another for me. Good girl. See? You can listen when you want to. It’s not so bad, is it?” 

He offers the pudge around your hip a reassuring, possibly even approving squeeze when your breathing starts to slow to a normal, wheezing pant rather than the thin lungfulls you’d been sucking in just moments ago. You decidedly disliked him a great deal, perhaps more so than you’d ever disliked any one single person in all your life, but you were at least glad he was able to keep you grounded. Never mind the fact he was the cause of it to begin with, you were just thankful it didn’t feel like you were going throw up and pass out anymore. 

And still the throbbing burn across your ass keeps pulling tiny little whimpers from your dry throat. It really was too much. 

“Is it necessary?” You finally manage to rattle out. 

“The brush? In my eyes it is, yes. This will show me whether or not you’ve been paying attention this whole time, if you can be respectful towards me throughout this last leg even though you’ll probably want to curse me to high heaven and back. If you can tell me you’re really sorry when we’re done then it will be over. Does that sound agreeable to you?” 

Groaning in defeat, you hang your head low and just take a moment to think. Your options were regretfully limited but … you wanted to trust him at his word and, more importantly, you just wanted to have it done and over with already. The pain crawling across your backside was immeasurable, gradually receding to a dull, distant, but no less teeth clattering ache that reminded you it was there with every thrumming pulse, and he was right to say you wanted to curse him for it. You would have given anything to do just that but Wriothesley had made it clear what he expected of you. Obedience, compliance, respect. 

Perhaps you should have expected no less from the reclusive Duke of Meropide but you certainly would not be making this mistake again. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper into the stillness at last, a sort of numb surprise curling over you at the lack of bite in your own voice. You’d expected to hear bitter tears, anger, defensive pride, not … such a soft, almost shaky little note of submission. 

The very idea that his unjust treatment of you had somehow accomplished exactly what it was meant to chills you almost as much as it brings you a strange sense of comfort which he only further enforces by warmly caressing his unoccupied palm over the curve of your bare waist. 

“Good. Then let’s get started.” 

An expectant pause and then — whap! 

You violently lurch, dizzy and disoriented from the sudden intensity of the impact. It was so different from his hand, so hard and unforgiving that it made your stomach feel like it was about to burst right up out of your throat. Reeling and weakly gasping in the aftermath, you futilely arch against the sting, kicking your legs out, but there’s no escaping it or shaking it off. The pain seems to engulf you all at once, making you choke on a haggard, gutted little sound. Like you couldn’t even scream around it and only whimper in breathless, mind numbing agony. 

“O - one, sir.” You finally manage to rattle out to his humming satisfaction. 

Whap! On the other sore cheek. 

“Oh! Oh, oh, oooohhhh, n - nnghhnhn!! Two, sir …” 

Whap! Back to the first. Whap! The second again. 

You can’t quite formulate the words now, just laying there spread out on Wriothesley’s lap while your legs uncontrollably shake and you suck in quick, faltering thin gasps of air in an attempt to reorient yourself. It was like the sharp, oppressively heavy stroke of the wooden brush was knocking your brain around and making it hard just to remember how to breathe. Sniffling back a rush of fresh tears, however, you force your mind to stay focused in the here and now rather than drifting off to some faraway place where you currently weren’t getting your ass beat. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Why he was making you count like this, to keep you firmly planted and present to ensure your attention didn’t start to slip at the first chance and you remained attentive for this final part of your trial. The sadistic bastard. 

“Four, sir …” 

Whap! Whap! 

“O - oooh, gods … s - six, sir.” 

Whap! Whap! 

You have to take a moment to collect yourself, to breathe through the sickening pain that encompasses your backside, and he waits patiently until you eventually lift your head again. “Eight, sir.” 

Whap! 

“Eeekk! Ahh, ah … nine — ahhn, sir!” 

Dazed and more than just a little lost in the hazy delirium swimming around your head, you slowly start to find and grasp at a tiny fraction of your inner strength. Your voice comes quicker, albeit thinner, as you hold your breath tightly over the course of the next few swats of the brush, finally seeing an end in sight just over the horizon. A few more and then you would be done. You could leave this place and never see the duke again for as long as you lived. 

“Fifteen, sir!” You hear yourself blurt out, nearly sobbing in relief only to choke on it when the next swing cracks down on the opposite cheek a second later. Seething viciously, you shake for a moment before gritting out the next number. And the next. 

You’re practically hysterical when you finally get to nineteen, all but blubbering across his lap, but you take the last strike like a champ, squealing a cursory, “Twenty, sir!” And then immediately giving in to the urge to dance on your toes, trying in vain to chase away some of the skin crawling ache by moving around. He leans back into the chair, just giving you a moment to process it on your own terms, before eventually loosening his arm around your middle so he can help you up. You move gingerly and wheeze through the process of getting your jelly filled legs underneath you but, at last, you find yourself standing between the wide spread of his knees and you cautiously reach back to rub your sore bottom. 

You regret it immediately, hissing at the intense heat coming off the abused skin as much as the stabs of pain just brushing your fingertips against the tender area causes. But before you can truly process the full brunt of it, he takes your wrist in hand and tugs it away from your behind so he can hold it between the two of you instead. 

“You’re welcome to try but it isn’t going to do much to take away any of the pain. You’ll have that reminder in the back of your mind for the next few days, any time you sit or your clothes rub against it.” A pause while he studies you with that frustratingly impassive expression, taking in your wet face, the clumps of your eyelashes where they’re sticking together, the distant look in your eyes. He takes it all in and then offers you a small, brief smile. “Are you sorry now?” 

You almost choose petulant silence but, not wanting to tempt fate any further, you slowly nod your head. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry for how I acted towards you today, and for not listening when you told me to stop. I won’t do it again.” 

“Good girl.” Giving your fingers a quick squeeze, he reaches down to take hold of your hips in both of his massive hands and carefully guide you back a step so he can rise to his feet as well. “Alright, go stand in the corner. Face the wall and keep your cute bottom uncovered.”

Immediately planting your feet into the floor when he tries to nudge you in the general direction of the wall, you send him a flustered look of warning. “You said that would be the end of it.” 

“It was, and you did so well for someone whom I suspect hasn’t been spanked nearly enough in her lifetime. But,” Wriothesley quickly holds up a hand to stop you when you draw a sharp, scathing breath to snap at him with. “It’s usually customary to give you a chance to further reflect on your punishment while the sting settles the rest of the way in. Besides, I need to run down to the infirmary to get a cream for your butt and you can’t very well sit down right now, can you?”

“You are infuriating!” You practically spit at him, fists clenching with the urge to reach out and punch him square in the solar plexus. “What exactly do you think this is, your grace? A fun little afternoon we’ve shared together over tea and gossip? I don’t want your stupid cream! I want to leave this place and never be forced to look upon you ever again, do you hear me?” 

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear.” Wriothesley murmurs with an accompanying quirk of his brow to go along with it. “Gotta’ say though, I wasn’t expecting you to bounce right back to your earlier attitude so fast. Usually brats like you need a bit more time to recoup some of their charge after getting it all out of their system like that.”

You reel back in abject shock. “Brats like me? You have some nerve acting like I’m the problem when you just - -“ 

He reaches up quicker than you can react and abruptly pulls you into the front of him, one hand lifting to cradle your head against the firm, muscular wall of his body while the other curls around your back so you can’t escape. Your skin positively crawls at the contact, lips pulling back in a vicious snarl, but then … he just gently rocks you back and forth, softly petting your hair while he does it, and you go stock still in your surprise. You didn’t understand it. What he was doing or why he was doing it, and you understood even less why it almost made you feel a bit — funny inside. Tingly, almost. 

“There, there,” Wriothesley murmurs, just holding you tightly enough to prevent escape but still soft enough not to smother. “Is this what you need instead? I didn’t take you for the sort but I have no problem giving it to you as long as it gets rid of that grumpy frown for a little while. You’re way cuter when you don’t look so damn mad …” 

You stand there for a long beat unsure of how to react. Knowing you should kick up a fit, fight him tooth and nail, drag his name through the mud for how he’s treated you here today and yet — somehow the heat of his body, the heady scent of his muted cologne seems to drain the fight from your body. It leaves you feeling empty and hollow, and a sudden rush of emotions quickly floods in to replace it all. You don’t really understand it, nor are you entirely sure you want to, but you were a little too tired to keep up the pretense any longer. Not while there was a veritable storm whipping up inside your chest.

Eyes watering with a new, inexplicable sheen of tears, you slowly bring your hands up to clutch at his waistcoat. Maybe it would be okay if you entertained this for just another moment longer … maybe you could attack him when his guard was down after you’d finished fighting back the sobs suddenly threatening to wrack through your body. He’d chipped away at you, wiped the slate clean, so to speak, and now he was filling you back up with a comforting warmth you wouldn’t have expected from him given his icy demeanor. 

You still weren’t particularly fond of his methods but at least there was some amount of peace to be found in his embrace, and you may or may not have liked it just a teeny tiny bit. Not that you’d ever admit that to Wriothesley, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. You could certainly keep the secret.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[lorewritesstuff]

(let's say that batfam are aware of the fact that Tim will never age past 17 in canon for this)

Bruce has noticed quite a few of his kids have been showing slight... supervillain tendencies so to say. His solution to the problem is to make it that all his children have to be at least 18 to be able to participate in supervillain activities.

Tim is aware this is directed at him and immediately starts plotting to work around the issue with arguments like his emancipation or how unfair it is to target him specifically with that rule.

Jason thinks it's hilarious until Bruce reminds him that Jason Todd is still legally dead and never really reached that requirement either so he should really reconsider his mob boss side business. He now either has to bring his legal identity back to life or join Tim in plotting to work around that rule.

Damian appears to accept this new rule with grace while saying how at least one of Bruce's sons can follow his instructions properly. He does however spend the afternoon taking to his pets about how unfair it is that he will still be the last to be able to outgrow that rule because he knows his brothers to well by now to think they won't outsmart Bruce eventually.

Cass finds it all very amusing but isn't really interested into evil schemes as much as her brothers seem to be. Her 'evil deed' of the week is helping Ivy plant some trees around the city.

Dick comes back from Blud a week after Bruce introduces the rule and finds the house in a state of chaos with what seems to be Tim showing Bruce a presentation with strange graphs and numbers on the screen and saying something about time not moving not being his fault. He doesn't even get a moment to ask before Jason rushes into the room waving a stack of papers in his hand and yelling how he's met the requirement and how Bruce can't stop him from being a supervillain now.

He looks at Alfred with confusion who only shakes his head and walks away mumbling something about how Bruce should have known better than to think such a plan would work for long.

[skade32]

Inspired by ABBA’s “Slipping through my fingers” lyrics:

I read a fic on AO3 with these lyrics and I WISH I REMEMBERED THE NAME SO I COULD RECOMEND IT

I was inspired to like encapsulate some ‘childhood memories’ of the Fushiguro siblings that I like to imagine Gojo has reminders of in the form of drawings and objects and letters and photos in his office.

In my found family fantasies, Gojo would relate to these lyrics regarding Tsumiki (don’t come after me I know this is mostly copium idc) and her sudden disappearance from his life. Also a little bit for Megumi who is not so suddenly, but nonetheless moving farther away from him as he both becomes an adult and no longer needs Gojo as much as he once did.

This was not really planned to be a whole thing. I initially just drew the bottom panel for fun bc I’m extremely not normal about teenage-single-parent-gojo (again I’m aware of the copium please don’t burn me at the stake) and idk I just couldn’t tear myself away from working on it and the next thing I knew it built itself up to the whole page and I hope other people can enjoy it as much as I have.

Description:

A graph paper notebook page covered entirely with a graphite sketch of a quickly thrown together comic scene. Two panels are featured atop the background which appears to be a cluttered desk in the foreground with numerous kinds of papers strewn about from mission reports to a letter addressed to Tsumiki. Amongst the papers in the top right corner, just adjacent to the first featured panel, a traditional jar of ink supports a dark pen, gently resting at an angle against the ink well. The pen seems to have been carelessly put aside as ink still drips down into the well below. The small portion of the scene not taken up by the desk has the walls, covered entirely by nondescript talismans, loosely sketched so not to drive too much attention from the subjects of the piece.

Wax drips from long-neglected candles, leaving almost no remnants of the once smooth and unblemished form it must have held just hours earlier that day. The residues of the wax leave bulbous trails, stopping just before the edge of the candle-holder sitting just to the left of the first feature panel.

Within the first panel is a scene of a little girl, squatting down so her shorts sit just above the heels of her little rubber rain boots. She seems distracted, lost in thought, as the rain pelts her and the sidewalk beside her becomes more reminiscent of a canal rather than a pedestrian pathway. The overgrown garden of the small cottage she loiters by fades into the misty sky, dark leafy bushels obscured by the soft glow of a lamplight to her left shoulder which complains achingly to the deafened thoughts of Tsumiki’s mind, still lost pondering the butterfly that rests gently upon her outstretched fingers, lovingly sheltered from the oppression of each raindrop which could rip its fragile scales in an instant. Such danger seems to not affect Tsumiki as she endures the assault from the heavens to endure the butterfly gets not a drop on his fragile wings. Her left hand holds the umbrella at such an angle that tree butterfly’s safety is assured, her own soggy hair a small price to pay for preserving such a beautiful creature.

Connecting the edge of this panel’s bottom edge to the background, a small square with a slanted cursive script writes “Slipping through my fingers all the time…”

The second panel, shifted slightly to the right of the former, occupying the focus of the bottom half of the page, displays a simpler image. The bright smile of a certain white haired idiot grows brighter as black spikes hair brushes against his chin. His dimple’s grow deeper when he notices the camera flashing at him and his disgruntled child relenting finally to sleep against his collarbone— leaving no doubt to any onlooker that the smile reached his eyes, true glee racking the young man’s expression as he jokingly flaps a limp hand about in a greeting gesture towards the camera. Whether or not Megumi’s participation in this memory was unwitting or not, that was up for debate. Regardless, the boy was clearly exhausted. Likely from some kind of jujutsu training after a mission that day if his athletic shorts and Gojo’s uniform were any indication.

A text box yet again connects to the bottom left corner of this panel reading: “…I try to capture every minute…”

[chubphoe-linkclick]

Link Click Superpower Mechanics: Time Travel and How to Change the Past

and why neither Cheng Xiaoshi nor Lu Guang can do it alone

Tl;dr: the past CAN be changed, but you have to know the secret cheat codes to do so because the cause-effect relationship of events is mad complicated and conditional on borderline random factors. Only Lu Guang's supernatural observer powers can see these 'cheat codes' to safely direct Cheng Xiaoshi's actions to end up at the correct state. Moreover, Cheng Xiaoshi's autonomy when diving allows new possibilities to occur in the past that would otherwise have been impossible.

In Season 2 Episode 2, we see Lu Guang use his powers on all the camera feeds in the hospital and it gives a node-link graph visual in the background as his powers activate along with the more concrete visual of the hospital, CXS and QL's locations (presumably), and the person they're tracking. This graph representation in the background could actually be a hint on how Lu Guang's powers work, and it could explain why he talks about death as 'unchangeable nodes.' It's not an unusual way to think about things, but maybe there is a reason he uses the word "node" specifically.

Maybe the way Lu Guang experiences his powers is like an insanely complicated graph with multiple paths and outcomes that then also move in a bizarre chronological way, rather than seeing specific events unfold on a simple and neat line or a tree of possible events and outcomes. [Based on the visual below, the graph that Lu Guang sees is cyclic i.e. not a tree, so you can go around in circles without changing the outcome if you're not careful even if the actual events change: the meaningful causality is missing.]

If timelines are actually graphs, this affects how we can interpret how timelines work because it essentially bundles actions together in nodes, which is much more limited than allowing a near-infinite combination of any actions and outcomes. It also means that moving from Point A to Point B via Action X could be conditional on factors unforeseeable in real time (or unrealistic to account for in real time) because they've been bundled together in these nodes.

This fits with what we've seen of the missions so far and fits with Season 2's themeing of unchangeable fate while explaining why Cheng Xiaoshi couldn't change events when he dived by himself. Lu Guang to direct Cheng Xiaoshi to choose the correct series of action-bundles for a specific outcome, since which actions are bundled together isn't clear in real time as the actual timeline changes.

Okay, but couldn't we know this while using the regular framing of time as a line?

Maybe (?), but-

Thinking of time as a timeweb rather than a timeline explains more about Lu Guang's experience as well as why he does what he does and keeps Cheng Xiaoshi on such a short leash without explanation: it's just an insane amount of information that's hard to comprehend let alone explain to fucking Cheng Xiaoshi.

It tells us about Lu Guang's predictive abilities when looking at the 12 hour time frame of a photo, since he can see branches of possible actions and outcomes that are quite different from what actually happened (something that'd be impossible if he's just seeing the raw events of a photograph).

This explanation also explains why they're able to change the past without rewriting the present: because the critical path from Point A to Point B wasn't changed.

This also tells us that Cheng Xiaoshi's powers opens up new possibilities that Lu Guang could not see on his own (cough cough end of S2). Consider when Lu Guang couldn't tell what would happen if Cheng Xiaoshi won the basketball game: because it was a section of the graph that was never supposed to exist. Lu Guang can (likely) only see nodes that were realistically possible to occur in the original timeline. So Cheng Xiaoshi's influence can completely disrupt his ability to read events because it forcibly creates a series of nodes/action-bundles that were not supposed to exist thus forcing Lu Guang to re-use his ability from scratch, re-expend the energy to read a photo's timeweb, and completely recalibrate his planning to make sure Cheng Xiaoshi stays safely on course (which also takes time).

There are likely future implications that we're unaware of and need to be considered. For example, the fact that CXS, QL and Xiao Ma are all represented as nodes in his view could be used to work backwards on the limitations of his powers and the knowledge he's able to glean from them.

Suddenly Lu Guang's controlling attitude when they're diving makes a lot more sense, and I know I'd be pissy with Cheng Xiaoshi too if I were him.

[fictionadventurer]

Obsidian.md is a great tool as well for note/writing

It's open source and uses markdown format:

*italics*

**bold**

You have a vault or folder where you have all of your docs and you can link them via tags so:

#hockey

And if I tag #hockey in a different dic it would link them via the graph view which shows all your tags for the vault in a link tree

Then there is the canvas where you can create connecting things like outlines/timelines that sort of thing

I have looked into obsidian before, though I can't quite remember why I decided against it. I do remember liking that it shared a lot of the features I had liked on Evernote.

I already made an Ellipsus account (super easy, they ask for nothing but your email address), and in the three minutes I've had it, it looks like it'll be good for what I want it for. It works on my computer and phone, has better formatting than Evernote, and has pretty good organizational features. (I'm very excited by the feature that lets you make multiple drafts of the same document--if it works like I imagine, it would be great for my haphazard brainstorming style).

[rikanescence]

mdni (3.7k) [heavily feminised reader] sweet summer air was for lovers, the love they made, and the sweat it produced. rolling down your back as you rolled forward, looking down at a foreign face. you liked the way he smiled and the birds chirping outside, maybe the whistling of the trees, made it all feel cinematic. a still frame of you in your prime, messy hair, head thrown back, mouth open (stuck in a smile), doing what you were best at, being a whore! for charity, of course and totally. you made the world a better place, left every man satisfied. the crime rate probably went down, too. your pussy had magical powers! you'd make a graph if you could understand one, maybe you'd ask leon to do it. maybe you'd catch your step-brother in a good mood.

step-asshole, his little ‘manly man’ cosplay with a compact tee and sweatpants as if it stopped him from being a total lame. who was he trying to impress with his stupid room? it looked like he single-handedly funded the military with all those damn guns he got from his dad, just being there for the short minute it took you to call him for dinner had you antsy. it felt like one wrong step could turn you into swiss cheese. leon was such a damn try-hard, you heard him through the thin bedroom walls and he was panting heavy from his workouts. he smelled like sweat, gunpowder, and strong tones of egoist. this summer, hot with life and opportunities, could not be ruined by your step-brother. you'd do everything in your power to avoid that, to avoid him. 

you were in a hurry to be outside all summer in nothing but miniskirts and cropped tops, anything else would have you sweating to death. anything else would be a disservice to yourself and your world, hiding way too much of the temple that is your angel-crafted body. today, this awesome afternoon was for a date. he'd pick you up, take you at the mall, carry all your bags, and then you’d let him it in his cool car! totally awesome! you wondered if that was what would help your step-brother and his temper, too, if you just gave him your magical pussy you could totally save him!

your bouncy hair swayed with your hips, stepping towards the front door. there was no one to call out to when you left, your step-parents were enjoying their summer holidays just like you. and your step-brother, well, that—

“fuck are you going?” didn't involve him anyways. you whipped your head back, scrunching your face up and looking to the side. the houseplants were so pretty.

“out,” you kept your answer as vague as possible, your hands behind your back, hoping for leon to believe you despite… everything. the way your bottom lip was jutted out and quivering, how the ends of your mouth were curled down, you couldn't even look at the guy and you hoped he wouldn't be suspicious. as if. leon was leaned against the wall by the stairs, brawny arms crossed below his broad chest. how long had he been there? you bet he was staring at your ass the whole time, that creep. sure he had looks, but with that personality there was no way one self-respecting woman on earth liked him.

“like that? hell no.” your step-brother marched towards you, his footsteps loud as hell. did he do that on purpose? he didn't give you time to react before grabbing your forearm, hold tight so you couldn't tug it out.

“no one ever teach you how a woman is supposed to dress?” you didn't answer, and he took that as a no.

“that's okay, because i'm here now. i'll tell you straight up: modest.” you scoffed and leon tightened his hold. 

“you think you can do whatever you want when mom and dad aren't home?* too bad, cus that's not how it works. i'm a man, you'll listen to me.” your eyes twitched, you held back a smile, leon was going to make you giggle.

“uhm, like hell i will,” you refused, leon didn't laugh. when you tried again to get your arm out of his grasp, he jerked you away from the door and towards the couch. your back hit the wooden framing inside and it hurt like hell.

“ouch.”

“you're so lucky i didn't slap you. fucking bitch,” he spat, hovering over you as you used your hands to push yourself off the couch. you looked good from his view, spread legs hindering your skirt from covering much, he could just about make out your lacy thong, pink and being swallowed between your pussy lips. leon would be lying if he said he wasn’t close to cross-eyed trying to tear his eyes off the exhibition.

“you'll listen to me, yeah? i don't wanna make you cry, so be good for me and answer the damn question.”

you would fight with the devil in your head telling you to provoke him with a stupid response, but the pain in your spine dissolved that argument before it could begin.

“date,” you pushed yourself to answer, “i have a date, leon.” 

he clenched his teeth, clicking his tongue. he was pissed. like usual. you were a fucking whore, but never with him. never with the one guy who actually deserves you. honestly, you were perfect for him, so damn pretty. god, why'd you have to be a damn slut? leon was about to chastise you before he heard the doorbell ring, his features portraying a shock he tried to mute. 

“what, is that your date? the dumbass is picking you up?” you nod your head to your step-brothers discontent and he continues, “that's weird, don't you usually go meet your ‘dates’ at some random place like a hooker?”

how rude! that leon, oh how he was lacking in the manners department.

“what do you mean, stupid? i'm obviously not a hooker! now, are you gonna let me open the door for my date? he's waiting for me out there!”

you looked at him like he was stupid and leon's face tightened, his fists clenched around nothing and he remembered he wasn't touching you. your cheek was reminded, too, when his hand came to greet it.

“easy. i said i don't wanna hurt you,’ he insisted in an admittedly docile voice, “don't make that hard for me.” you looked into his eyes, saw the shaky teal pupils and the wrinkled eyebrows.

“don't you get it? i'm so fucking good to you, more than most men should be. you know how fucking embarrassing it is to have the town slut for a step-sister?” his pupils weren't shaky, it was that he kept looking between your face and your body. you were slow to comprehend that.

“so quiet now, huh?” leon observed with ridicule, your pouty lips were separated, but no words left from them.

“i'm a better teacher than i thought,” he laughed, “got the brattiest bitch i know to learn how to speak when spoken to and only in a couple of minutes.”

leon all but beat your head when he petted it, conceited grin on his face as he did. it wasn’t even going to take him half a summer to train you, by the looks of it.

“all this,” he started, sight limited to your underclothed body and the tight fabric hugging them. a day during which leon could see your nipples through your shirt was a lucky day. today, leon planned to get lucky. “this is a cry for attention, isn't it? it's what girls like you who aren't all there—” he pokes your temple with his middle finger. “—do when you want a man to pay attention to you, but you're too shy to ask for it. i'm sorry i didn't get that till now.” you couldn't believe your ears, leon didn't understand your cause at all! once he made that graph, then he'd see your one cause was to make the whole world smile!

“i get you now. all this time, ever since you moved in, you've been screaming–” he mocked your voice with a higher pitch,”-’pay attention to me already, leon!’” he laughed and patted your head again. your hair was due for a wash. 

“if all you wanted was me, you should have learned how to use those cock-sucking lips of yours to communicate, dumbass. not usually, but for you, i'm open to save a hoe. you don't have to go looking for men you can pretend are me while they give you some mediocre dick anymore. you can just be a real sweetheart and help get your big brother off, yeah?”

his hand spread on your head to force it up and down, emulating a nod.

“there we go,” he praised, “i knew i could get you to come around.” he tugged at your hand.

“now stand. get the door for that stupid date you're oh-so desperate to go on. come on, i'll walk you there.”

leon pulled you to stand on the ground, feet guided by him as you made your way to the door. you checked yourself in the doorknob, reflective from its clean shine, twisting it open after confirming you still looked good. behind you, your step-brother made a blurred sound between a scoff and a cough.

the man on the other side seemed…. surprised, to see leon standing behind you with such a daunting face. seemed shaken to the core. his name slipped your mind, but you were sure it started with a ‘c’. plus, you could ask him later during your date.

“you dragged out a cheerful, ‘hi’ as you waved at your date with a welcoming smile, your tone-deaf and carefree nature bringing for a laugh from C despite himself. 

“hey, you look fantastic.” 

“fantastic?” leon butted in, portraying disbelief “that's all you can say?”

you watched the man before you shrink as the one behind you condemned him.

“jesus.” leon took a step forward, turning your face to his. he did not look impressed.

“these are the guys you let fuck you?”

two out of three people looked uncomfortable, with leon being the outlier.

“well, aren't you gonna let him in?” leon parodied your cattier cadence from earlier. invite him in? that wasn't on the plan for your totally awesome date, but you figured leon would be a meanie again if you didn't listen.

“you wanna come inside?” you reached your fingers out to hold your date's hand, allowing him to follow you inside like a dog on a leash. leon frowned at the sight. losers like the one you held by the hand would do anything to get their dick wet. a heavy cloud of tense awkwardness floated down on you all, brought in by your step-brother's presence, and you felt its weight when you could hear your date breathing close behind you. his breath tickled your skin and— that's probably it. it's not a cloud, it's his continuous breathing on your neck that's making you feel all weird. you roll one glossy lip beneath the other.

“um—”

“you wanna continue what we were doing earlier?” leon put his hand on your bare shoulder. close to the base of your neck. you wondered if those rough fingers were there to protect you from the cloud or take  you from it. 

“on the couch, you know? i was actually getting kinda into it.” leon wasn't looking at you as he spoke, but behind you with a strained smile one would give a friend. playing innocent. if he were to open his eyes, they would look down at C with disinterest as though he was beneath leon in every aspect. they didn't know each other, did they? you never mentioned even having a step-brother to begin with. aw no, C must be so confused!

“leon, what are you talking about?”

you felt leon's fingernails dig into your skin, making it sting like a wasp would. not that it's lethal, but that he was on the lookout for reasons to put his hands on you. when everything and anything you did could be seen as provocation, the reasons were too many to count.

“sorry, my step-sister here never really had anyone teach her to speak when spoken to,” he laughed, “she's kind of annoying. fuck that, she's an irritating little whore. man-to-man, what do you even like about her?” 

ouchies. both leon's words and his fingers on your neck were totally ouchies, but he still smiled like he was chatting about something trivial. did he really want to know that?

“you shouldn't—”

“is it her ass?” always with the interruption, speaking over people was his specialty. he waited for an answer, ignoring the weird mood he set in the room.

“i won't judge you, c'mon.”

“no, man. she's a sweet girl,” C insisted. his voice was weak, he sounded intimidated. 

“a sweet girl,” leon scoffed, “a sweet girl? don't sugarcoat it.” his strong hand on your weak shoulder turned you to face your date, showing you off like a one big, shiny trophy.

“be real. i already said, man-to-man. what's your favourite thing about her? is it her cute little face?” leon pinched and pulled at your cheek.

“her tits?” his hand enveloped your breast through your thin top with a firm squeeze.

“ass?” you braced for the impact, but a yelp was forced out once leon smacked your ass instead of letting you off with more groping. when you opened your eyes again, the face before you was contorted with… disgust? oh my god, he probably thought you were totes weird! you had to let him know this wasn't a normal occurrence at all, your step-brother hated you! he'd never even touched you until now! well…

“pussy?” leon's hand crept down your midriff and the eyes before you shot wide.

“fuck, no. dude,  stop touching her.”

leon found that an amusing reaction. the faces a man made when jealous were quick to make him laugh. how could someone be jealous of what they didn't own? your step-brother had his hands on his property, that was all. not a crime in the slightest, unless C could stand straight and say it. but he wouldn't. leon wasn't an easy man to confront, he knew that well, but a sight like this really stroked his ego. made his dick real hard. leon's fingers prodded past the elastic of your panties to move them to the side and he was met with no objection because who could challenge him? now you looked down at the floor in shame, feeling how fat your tongue had become in your sealed mouth. bloated with the burden of silence. shame and disappointment fixed your gaze to the ground. you thought maybe C would speak up for you, but maybe he knew it too. knew this needed to happen, for leon's sake! it made your palms all sweaty and your tongue all fat and the room all weird, but at its core you were happy for an opportunity to turn your step-brother's frown upside down!

“you gonna get on the couch for me now?” leon spun you towards him, peeved by the shaking of your lowered head. 

“nuh uh,” you dismissed, “that… really hurt my back.” it was true, you still felt it.

“aww, really?” leon ruffled your hair, not moved at all by your complaint. 

“princess used to getting her pussy stuffed on a silk mattress? too bad,” he grinned, “you’ve been getting treated good, but you haven't been getting it good. let me fuck you how you deserve.” leon kicks at your ankle. “on the floor.”

you stumble onto it. first your knees, then your back. your hair cushioned your head from the impact. but now you'd need to comb it to be neat again.

“ouchies, leon,” you grumbled, scratching the back of your head as your eyes adjusted to your new position. it wasn’t long before your pupils were honing in on a blurry face, made clear by its brash expression. leon wasted no time getting into you while you were dazed and confused. your miniskirt, panties pushed to the side underneath it, all mouths shut, no objections. your step-brother couldn't be asked to take his pants off, only to yank his dick out from the border and stuff it inside his favourite thing about you. the curse, ‘fuck', left your lips in tandem with his. yours a squeak, his a husky groan. you didn't like it when you weren't eased into it, getting dick forced inside your cunnie kinda hurt! it made your eyes all watery, too. leon above you had a grin that rivalled the joker's. yay, your magic was working already, he was so happy! you were happy, too, for the most part. those weren't sadness tears and the sweat collecting on your skin was a byproduct of the action. nothing to do with the burning sensation of being watched, two sets of eyes trained on you. it wasn’t a rare occurrence, being the center of attention, but it had never happened in this kind of scenario. it was new and new was exciting. like a phone, or a hairstyle, or a boyfriend. new pumped your blood with stimulation and made you stupid with light-headedness, a smile growing on your face as your clingy hands reached out to clutch your step-brother's shoulders. that smile of yours broke, face twitching each time the drawstrings of the sweats he refused to discard, hanging low off his hips, connected with your ass cheeks. leon kept the stained trousers on, wasn't that stupid? his brain was emptied and taken over by the dumbifying drug of something new, but what had also been his for a while, the first time trying you out.  your walls clenched around his dick, that fucked-out face you were giving him, how you so wholly embraced him now when you were so standoffish a few minutes ago. it didn't take time at all for him to break you. leon lowered his face, his mouth touching your ear as he spoke between grunts. 

“that good, huh? nothing to say to me?”

your nails scratched leon's back as he bruised you with careless thrusts.

“thank you, leon,” you whimpered, the wetness of your eyes boldening the wisps of your eyelashes. leon felt his balls tighten. a thank you? he'd cum right there if you had offered an apology alongside it.

“feels good, huh? it's cus you were made for me. this is how it's supposed to be.” when you looked at him with such doting eyes, the eager sucking in of his dick by your lovesick cunt, he was sure he could get through to you. 

"yeah, that's it. a misguided woman like you… shit,” he panted in a whiny pitch, “you needed a man like me to break you in. remind you of— shit!– your fucking place.” his blushing face grimaced between words, trying to downplay how your pussy affected him.

“huh, leon?” was that dirty talk? you couldn't focus on his words, deafened by your own moans. you'd cry out every time leon reached a spot you'd somehow never felt before. your vision was blurred by ever-bubbling tears and leon could only thank god you weren't a snotty bitch.

“you. born to be under me,” leon huffed, simplifying his language to an extent that mocked your intellect. though it was also possible he couldn't go on spiels with all the sounds you were bringing out of him. sure he hadn't got some in a while, but had it ever been this good? to skip the formalities, to have you cling on to him like he was life itself, how stupid he'd made you to the point you hadn’t glanced at your little date even once. it was too good. with your brain functions paused, leon’s eyes glazed over as he thought of all he could make you do. no more alarms, he'd get you to ride him till he woke. any time he sat on a chair, he'd have you on your knees licking and sucking. his heart was racing. he could hold a gun to your head as he did it. if they were careless earlier, now his movements had dissolved to erratic, messy assaults. you cried out his name a multitude of times, pleading for him to slow down whilst your pussy drooled around his stingy dick. you didn't really want that.

“take it. c'mon, take it for me like i know you can. didn't i…” your hands had fell to his heaving chest now in hopes a slight push might slow him down. it couldn't. you were atleast glad he was enjoying himself, he could testify for your cause after this since he has first-hand experience now.

“didn't i tell you? you were born to be beneath me, so do what you're fucking best at and take it,” he demanded, slapping your thighs to bring a whine and nod from you, then using that same hand to swipe the tears off your face. they were starting to ruin his view if not bother him.

“stop crying before i shove it up your ass,” leon menaced, making you clench around him harder. you weren't sure it would be any fun with such a brute-force kind of guy, but it would be new.

“okay, i'm sorry,” you squeaked, and that mousey apology just about did it. it took less than a day. it only took some good dick could get you to listen to him. leon was too fucking good to you, this only reaffirmed that, a fact that had his dick twitching deep inside you. comforting, familiar warmth flooded you as leon emptied himself into your snug and magical cunt, he couldn't resist the urge to give your would-be date a boastful winner's simper as he finished. guys with no backbone get cucked. what, they don't teach that in school anymore? who was he kidding? you were made for step-brother to have, you just got confused. he came in his property, big deal to him. though, that would make a real mess of things for you. who'd still want a girl after knowing she gets it from step-bro and takes it with a twinkle in her ecstatic eyes? too bad for you, those endeavours would be forced to a halt.

leon understood now, as he watched your form twitching beneath him, his load staining your inner-thighs as it trickled down, your face frozen with such an obnoxious smile. the joy of ravaging a woman. the satisfaction of fucking the slut out of his step-sister. you’d obey him now. leon pushed back his blond, sweat-soaked hair. he'd really been missing out. 

thank you for reading, i really appreciate it ♡

[tacogrande]

any tips for drawing backgrounds?? specially backgrounds w people ;-;

OOOG.. MAN im sort of not the best person to ask cause backgrounds to me are such an after thoughT MFIOSMFISH

but i found that you dont need to be super good at bgs to do em! you dont need do bring out the graphs or anything either, at least i dont cause i find that to really kill the joy in drawinG.

but for me it usually goes like tihs.. ill draw a guY

n then its like.., OH lets put them in a TRAIN!

and then for people, its actually prtty simple you can really just make blobs and only choose certain bits where you want an actual figure to show. its all about the suggestion !!

UHH then sometimes if u wana bring things in a bit tighter or have a stronger comp u can use color for that!

JSAIOSH AN D THERE U GO.. KINDA... like i said i always make backgrounds around characters! often times i dont really have an idea of a bg until the figure is in there! i find that to be a much more fun way to work too! :-)

i hope this sort of heLPS

if not here's some fun little drawings that inspired how i do bgs

artist: mitchel hooks (comps liek these taught me that bgs dont have to fill the entire background, that you can just hav them bloom around people, and leave the negative space to do the rest of the work!)

artist: andrey platanov (similar situation where you can tell a background built around a character drawn!)

artist: vania zouravliov (sometimes your background can just be nonsense, it doesnt have to be super neat or anything, i find that the more you just pack in there the more it looks like your character is in a place, which is what matters right!)

all these can work wit hdrawing bgs with people in em too. if you have to stretch and pull and squish bg people to help the drawing, do it! they are as much of the bg as a tree or grass// a least that's how i sees iT

[yesterdays-xkcd]

Trivia: Elaine is actually her middle name.

1337: Part 2 [Explained]

Transcript

[Cueball standing and looking down at his Cueball-like friend, who is sitting on the floor near an armchair holding a cloth to his face.]

Friend: So the greatest hacker of our era is a cookie-baking mom? Cueball: Second-greatest. Friend: Oh?

[Young Elaine with a ponytail on the floor typing at a keyboard while looking at a screen connected to a computer behind it with lots of wires and open case. The computer appears to have been pieced together and there is a screwdriver lying next to her and an open box lies behind her. Little Bobby Tables is painting with a broad brush at an easel to the left. There is a clear drawing with two parts going up and one down, but it's not easy to see what it should look like. He is holding his other hand up in the air, like he is enjoying the painting.] Cueball (narrating): Mrs. Roberts had two children. Her son, Bobby, was never much for computers, but her daughter Elaine took to them like a ring in a bell.

[The front of a car is in frame with side mirror and steering wheel visible. Mrs. Roberts is waving goodbye to her daughter who is wearing a backpack and is holding a walking stick. She is about to begin climbing a staircase built into a rocky mountain side. The first 11 step are visible. Behind the two and the stair are two distant mountain peaks, and above them two clouds.] Cueball (narrating): When Elaine turned 11, her mother sent her to train under Donald Knuth in his mountain hideaway.

[Donald Knuth is standing with a pointing stick at a chalk board with graph traversal patterns on it and two blocks of unreadable text the top may be a matrix.] Cueball (narrating): For four years she studied algorithms. Donald Knuth: Child—

[Donald Knuth whips around from the board slashing the stick like a sword. Elaine jumps, making a somersault and lands on the stick balancing with her arms out.] Donald Knuth: Why is A* search wrong in this situation? Stick: swish Elaine: Memory usage! Donald Knuth: What would you use? Elaine: Dijkstra's algorithm!

[Donald Knuth and Elaine are outside, seen from behind while they are both writing on a chalkboard with a thick line down the middle to separate their work. On both sides their writing can be seen but it is unreadable. Where there is only text visible on Donald Knuth's side there is also what appears to be a drawing or matrix at the top of Elaine's. But a similar thing could be behind Donald Knuth's head. Elaine is no longer wearing her hair in a ponytail but have long straight white hair like her mom, Mrs. Roberts. To the left there is a stump from a tree, some grass and maybe a puddle of water. Further back there is a small jagged hill and a flat horizon. To the right there are four mountain peaks and a flat high plateau towards the horizon. The frame of the panel does not include the top-left and bottom-right corners, but cuts round a rectangular section of both places.] Cueball (narrating): Until one day she bested her master Donald Knuth: So our lower bound here is O(n log n) Elaine: Nope. Got it in O(n log (log n)) Cueball (narrating): And left.

[coupleofdays]

According to the Tron Wiki, the character "Radia" is possibly named after the computer programmer Radia Perlman, whose contributions to network design (that are far too complicated for me as a layperson to understand) has earned her the nickname "Mother of the Internet".

She did once write a short poem about her work, a parody of Joyce Kilmer´s (in)famous poem "Trees":

Algorhyme

I think that I shall never see

A graph more lovely than a tree.

A tree whose crucial property

Is loop-free connectivity.

A tree which must be sure to span

So packets can reach every LAN.

First the root must be selected.

By ID it is elected.

Least cost paths from root are traced.

In the tree these paths are placed.

A mesh is made by folks like me

Then bridges find a spanning tree.

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Old Gods Explained

As I was working on the next installment related to Julie, I realized that I may have skipped a giant step.

The concept I had in mind, which I may not have really explained, is the idea that we know religion is involved in WH, and while there have been hints at Christianity being involved, the idea of old gods is really interesting.  The concept is: Wally/Home have assembled old, neglected gods to renew themselves through the belief to be found in a tv audience. If you have read it, Long, Dark Teatime of the Soul, by Douglas Adams uses this idea (in relationship to Norse gods).  The internet says that lots of people have used this idea based on Terry Pratchett’s work.  I love Pratchett but didn’t really have a good time with Small Gods.  I think the beginning is difficult for me.  Here, their story is one about old gods not being gone, just forgotten.  These gods are fueled by belief in a lot of ways, so they are immortals, but not really immortals with god-like powers, if they aren’t sufficiently fed by belief. 

I was imagining the neighborhood as this kind of set up.  Wally is our main/head god (or Home, as I personally think Wally is an avatar for Home, in the mythological sense (“the material appearance or incarnation of a powerful deity, or spirit on Earth”)).  Note to self:  consider a god clone for Home.  Many of the characters do not remember where they originated or have vague memories of their start.  (For example, Poppy lived in a tree in the woods, and Odin was “born” from a tree.)  What if Home has pulled together forgotten deities and put them in this neighborhood, in order to pull belief from the kids, powering them up?  I want to say that Long, Dark or Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has an instance of a god that has transitioned from godhood to tv/film stardom.  Time to re-read.  Maybe even American Gods?  American Gods might focus on this heavily. 

Anyway, Wally/Home has pulled these old gods to a new location in order to build a celestial allstars team, gaining the attention and belief of people to push them to renewed vigor.  Because of this idea, I do think that it is highly possible that the gods are from different religious traditions.  I am not sure what the reasoning of the choices would be, but perhaps considering the options, a theme will emerge.  I have an early theory that Eddie is not a god; he is the only human in this setting, chosen so that he can make deliveries to the realm in which the TV show exists.  We haven’t gotten into Ronald Dorelaine too much as of yet, but this theory would make him a powerful being (and Home/Wally his avatar? Jim Henson appears to have thought of Rowlf as his stand-in/avatar, though most of us would choose Kermit).  But Wally does have the cross on his cufflink, so maybe it is the Christian god that he represents?  Religiosity would have been falling at the time this premiered. 

In general, it seems that religion began to fall off in the US in the 1900’s.  I don’t trust all the graphs that I briefly researched, because it serves some group’s needs to overstate rates of Christianity in the US, but these generally vibe with what I’ve read.

In this graph, we can see Protestantism taking a dive around the second World War.  Catholicisms has seen an increase, around the same time, slight increase in other, but there is a sharp increase in no religion starting around 1950 (from my studies, this is a reflection partially of a reaction to WWII, which really tested people’s concept of religion and the goodness of humans in general). 

This one is similar, but shows a bit further in the timeline, and none is continuing to outpace religion’s growth by far.

It does make sense in the timing that if gods were powered by belief, that right around this time is when they might start to worry. 

Now, we could probably write a book (and the podcasters for "Straight, White American Jesus" probably did, or at least will have some good episodes on it) on the rise of televangelism and its relationship to flagging religious belief in America. There is a history to the rise of televangelism in the US and it shows that televangelism really started taking off in the 60's and 70's (related to the big tent evangelist revivals of the previous few decades.)

Early depictions of Wally do tend to have an evangelist feel.

big hair, neckerchief, brown slacks

I couldn't find any good examples quickly, but see The Righteous Gemstones for examples, or maybe Jim Jones. The neckline is on point, but he'd be more in line with those other preachers in a blazer.

Fashion I pulled for another post, but this is of the time period.

Next time: More on televangelism in the 70's, finding out what elements of Wally we might find in these men.

OR

If I finish Frank's godhood, maybe that first.

[cyberstudious]

what's it like studying CS?? im pretty confused if i should choose CS as my major xx

hi there!

first, two "misconceptions" or maybe somewhat surprising things that I think are worth mentioning:

there really isn't that much "math" in the calculus/arithmetic sense*. I mostly remember doing lots of proofs. don't let not being a math wiz stop you from majoring in CS if you like CS

you can get by with surprisingly little programming - yeah you'll have programming assignments, but a degree program will teach you the theory and concepts for the most part (this is where universities will differ on the scale of theory vs. practice, but you'll always get a mix of both and it's important to learn both!)

*: there are some sub-fields where you actually do a Lot of math - machine learning and graphics programming will have you doing a lot of linear algebra, and I'm sure that there are plenty more that I don't remember at the moment. the point is that 1) if you're a bit afraid of math that's fine, you can still thrive in a CS degree but 2) if you love math or are willing to be brave there are a lot of cool things you can do!

I think the best way to get a good sense of what a major is like is to check out a sample degree plan from a university you're considering! here are some of the basic kinds of classes you'd be taking:

basic programming courses: you'll knock these out in your first year - once you know how to code and you have an in-depth understanding of the concepts, you now have a mental framework for the rest of your degree. and also once you learn one programming language, it's pretty easy to pick up another one, and you'll probably work in a handful of different languages throughout your degree.

discrete math/math for computer science courses: more courses that you'll take early on - this is mostly logic and learning to write proofs, and towards the end it just kind of becomes a bunch of semi-related math concepts that are useful in computing & problem solving. oh also I had to take a stats for CS course & a linear algebra course. oh and also calculus but that was mostly a university core requirement thing, I literally never really used it in my CS classes lol

data structures & algorithms: these are the big boys. stacks, queues, linked lists, trees, graphs, sorting algorithms, more complicated algorithms… if you're interviewing for a programming job, they will ask you data structures & algorithms questions. also this is where you learn to write smart, efficient code and solve problems. also this is where you learn which problems are proven to be unsolvable (or at least unsolvable in a reasonable amount of time) so you don't waste your time lol

courses on specific topics: operating systems, Linux/UNIX, circuits, databases, compilers, software engineering/design patterns, automata theory… some of these will be required, and then you'll get to pick some depending on what your interests are! I took cybersecurity-related courses but there really are so many different options!

In general I think CS is a really cool major that you can do a lot with. I realize this was pretty vague, so if you have any more questions feel free to send them my way! also I'm happy to talk more about specific classes/topics or if you just want an answer to "wtf is automata theory" lol

[deramin2]

Are you looking for an escape from The Horrors that also engages with the the root problems of society like capitalism and environmental destruction while giving you a chance to make your own better society? Do you like adorable animals in a solarpunk or cyberpunk dystopia society? Then you should try Timberborn!

It's a survival/resource management city builder set in a future where humans have wiped ourselves out in a climate catastrophe and intelligent beavers are spreading out to build new cities. Help them grow and prosper while surviving cycles of drought and toxic Bad Water.

It uses increasingly advanced water physics to let you build dams, manage irrigation, and safety divert the Bad Water. It uses a 3-dimentional block grid map and allows many building to be stacked on top of each other to manage space.

Mechanically it's one of the best city builders I've ever played. Lots of stats if you really want to dig into things (although no graphs yet), but mostly you can operate on basic numbers and vibes. It's easy to learn and hard to master, but any need to master anything really only applies to late game. (Lots of influence from Banished, but not nearly as hard to survive, especially in the beginning.) The crops/tree growing planting areas are so flexible and feel more organic.

The tutorial does a descent job of getting you going and setting up a stable colony, through I felt a tad lot at first figuring out the production chain for advanced buildings (mostly because I was overthinking it). But it also gives you all that information very clearly from the build menu if you actually read it.

Don't let it being an early access game deter you. The regular release branch is very stable, the new mechanics are being carefully expanded, and Experimental Release branch players are testing out all those new features (even those releases have relatively few bugs). It has more of the feeling of Stardew Valley where the work is never finished, but each iteration is also very solid.

Behold my Tower of Babel apartment and warehouse tower spanning two different districts. And my giant Bad Water diversion channel precariously traveling over my crop lands and full of hydroelectric waterwheels, windmills, and gravity batteries. It's not visible from here, but that dam is also partially suspended over my crops and directly threatening my main city if anything fails. I love videogame hubris.

[cyle]

are there plans to add some way to get to the reblogged-from post? (not the last one that added text, but the direct previous post)

it doesn't have to be the old way, even just a button in the meatball menu would be enough. right now, it is completely impossible to get to a previous reblog, which causes issues for a lot of how tumblr interactions work

yes / no / maybe / i don't know.

there's a team working on a lot of fixes and tweaks and redesigns of how reblogs are displayed right now, and there are bigger, broader changes being planned. a lot of them are things people who use tumblr every day have been asking for forever, so i'm excited about that. these are important changes, and they'll take time to figure out and finesse. i hope we get a chance to preview them publicly.

with that in mind, i trust that we'll make some affordance to move "along the reblog chain" like you could before, if we find that it's truly a needed element of the design.

my entire time working at tumblr, i've wanted a way to make Reblog Graphs work more intuitively as a part of the reblog interface on the dashboard, so you can move "up" and "down" and "back" and "forward" along the reblog tree. i've seen a couple of proposed designs, but they never felt right. maybe we'll get there and you'll have an even better method of "going back to the previous reblog" than we did before.

[sororalice]

On The Blessedness Of Healthy Growth

A homily for the Full Moon on July 21, 2024.

Dearly beloved,

Happy Full Moon! In the “Farmer’s Almanac”, this month’s Full Moon is traditionally called the “Full Buck Moon”, named such because this is the time of year when the antlers of the young bucks have fully come in. Given this, I am moved to speak about growth and development.

Growth is usually seen as a good thing in our culture. The endless push of capitalism is for constant and eternal expansion and growth, and stock exchanges throughout the world always want to see the lines on their graphs go higher, the bars grow taller, and their “parts of the pie” get bigger. Growth is the name of the game in the world we live in…growth at all costs.

But is growth at all costs really a good thing?

As pagans, we believe in a naturalized theology. Our ideas about the Divine and the spiritual world are extensions of our ideas about the natural world and we look to the features and processes of the natural world to inform us about the features and processes of the supernatural world. So what does nature teach us about growth?

Growth is often a beautiful but bittersweet process. As we grow up, we exult in our new powers, while simultaneously our bodies ache from growing pains, and our minds and hearts wrestle with our new responsibilities. I don’t know of anyone who thinks of their teen years, a time of dramatic growth and development, as “easy”. Even those of us who were happy during our teens suffered the pangs of physical, mental, and emotional growth. Growth is difficult, and often leaves a trail of painful memories behind us.

Unlimited growth is also dangerous, as any of our siblings who have suffered with cancer can tell you. Our bodies, minds, and hearts simply can’t deal with the constant strain of growth, with cells, thoughts, and feelings multiplying out of control. Things that should be small grow too large, while things that should be large and robust wither and sicken as their resources are stolen. It is clear that growth of the wrong sort, growth in the wrong directions, is to be avoided when possible.

But these detriments aside, growth is almost always a good thing. One of the most important goals of the Great Work, the life of mystical exploration and growth pursued by many of our siblings (including myself!), is to purposely keep growing, keep changing, over the course of our lives, like a tree reaching towards the Sun. We wish to grow in our spiritual lives, in our relationship with ourselves, and our relationship with the Divine, and to do so we must remember that true growth takes place within and without, above and below, and in both the light and the dark. Spirit, that fifth element which guides, reconciles, and unifies the other four, is also that within us which aspires to rise to the Divine and that within us which pulls us down into the underworld to walk in the darkness and be reborn.

So as we look up at the beautiful light of the Full Moon tonight, as we greet Her in all Her glory, let us remember the joy and pain of reaching up towards the Sun with our branches and down into the darkness with our roots. Let us remember the joy and pain of expanding our horizons, testing ourselves in new and unexplored territories, and reaching out to new people and ideas. Let us remember to change for the best and avoid changes for the worst. And let us always remember to grow.

Happy Full Moon.

In love,

Soror Alice

Art: Raden Saleh, “Young Stag”, (~1844)