#this is specific and no one else knows what i mean

[vinocean22]

20 Things Spanking Fetishists Have in Common

Sweet Tea

Spankos are soulmates. The fetish hardwires our hearts and minds in remarkably consistent ways that aren’t usually apparent to others, so it’s always a bit magical when we chat. “Holy shit, you get me.” I still find it shocking how much we have in common. Can you relate to this list?

1. We’ve been like this for a very long time.

“I’m a lifelong spanko.” This is common in our community and not all that surprising, as most fetishes are formed during childhood. The vast majority of spankos I’ve met have either been this way for as long as they can remember, or can pinpoint a specific age in childhood when they became preoccupied with thoughts of the act. I can’t personally remember any point in my life when spanking didn’t fascinate me and captivate my attention.

2. It’s not a choice.

For many people, spanking is a kink. They enjoy it and find it sexy, but don’t necessarily consider it a requirement for a good time. For those with the fetish, however, spanking is a need rather than an option. Some of us can appreciate and enjoy other BDSM-related activities like bondage or wax play or needles, but spanking is central to our sexuality. This thing lies at the core of our soul and we couldn’t get rid of it if we tried.

We looked up the word ‘spanking’ in the dictionary as kids, not once but multiple times. This also applied to related words like ‘paddle’, ‘switch’, ‘flog’, ‘discipline’, or ‘punish’. We knew their meanings, of course, but the act of reading the definitions was exciting—arousing, even—though we may have been too young to conceptualize the feeling as sexual. If we studied a foreign language, we sat in class and wondered in the back of our minds, “But what’s the word for ‘spanking’?”

(Is this common with other fetishes? Did foot fetishists look up the words ‘foot’, ‘high heel’, ‘stocking’, etc. at the library, bashfully looking around to make sure no one else would notice? I wonder…)

4. We have, uhhh, ‘issues’ with being around it.

Non-spankos can talk about spanking like it’s nothing, but that’s not the case for people with a fetish for it. We may turn bright red when the topic comes up in conversation or feel the need to leave the room when spankings happen in movies or TV shows. For some, this is because the idea triggers intense arousal, even more so than if straight-up intercourse were playing onscreen. For others, it’s simply too intimate and embarrassing to think about unless we’re by ourselves or discussing it in the context of a sexual encounter. When I was a kid and friends publicly proclaimed, “My mom spanked me yesterday!” I felt absolutely mortified. “How can anyone talk about THAT so casually?”

5. We think about it a looooooot.

Some researcher folks have claimed we all think about sex an average of 18-35 times a day. The fetishists I know think about spanking at least this often if not more, frequently daydreaming about the smacking of butts. A fetish is, by definition, a meticulous obsession. We live and breathe it, and never run out of things to say when chatting with other spankos. We want to meet people like us and TALK about it in detail, even if we never end up playing together. It’s our favorite means of connection.

6. Our fetish has caused us hardship.

“Do you feel like your fetish is a curse?” I’ve seen this asked quite a bit on spanko forums. Most of us had to navigate a number of challenges while growing up with this thing. We felt shame, embarrassment, and isolation after realizing how different we were, and may have worried we were crazy. Our relationships with non-spankos have likely been riddled with intimacy problems because we can’t relate to each other sexually. No matter how kinky or open-minded our partners are, they’re unlikely to understand us unless they have the fetish too. As a result, many spankos become pickier over time, ultimately refusing to date those outside of their orientation. “I’d rather be single than with someone I can’t share this with.” Until we find our people, it’s a lonely world.

7. Spanking takes priority over sex.

Every spanko I’ve ever met has put spanking at the forefront of the itinerary. It’s satisfying in its own right for a lot of folks, whether or not other sexy stuff occurs before or afterward. Some spankos identify as asexual, eschewing intercourse entirely because it doesn’t interest them in the same way discipline does. Others are extremely sexual people who focus on spanking as the main course or frequently indulge as an extended form of foreplay. This is an example of why we might experience difficulty finding balance with non-spanko partners. By the time they’re ready to move onto something else, we’re just getting in the zone.

8. It’s on our mind when we orgasm.

One of the first times I had sex with another spanko, I was blown away by the level of telepathy between us. I closed my eyes and fantasized as he licked my clit. He suddenly paused and smiled. “You’re thinking about having your pants pulled down, aren’t you?” I mean fuck, of course I was, but how did he know?! With a bit more experience in the community, I realized many if not all spankos think about it while they’re getting off. The moment thoughts of discipline enter my mind I’m aroused, but I cool off just as quickly if my focus is drawn elsewhere. If I didn’t think about spanking, I’m not sure I’d ever climax.

9. Most of us have tried switching at least once.

Some spankos like to give and receive in equal share, but many have a preference toward being spanker or spankee. I’ve noticed, though, that even the most stubborn of us who proclaim, “I don’t switch!” have tried a taste of the other side out of curiosity at some point. It makes sense to want to learn all angles of the equation. I’m in favor of the idea that everyone benefits from switching. Understanding what our partners experience makes us all better lovers.

10. We want spankings to feel as ‘real’ as possible.

Often, spankees want to cry. We want to be held down and ‘made’ to take it until our spanker is done, no matter what we say or do. This makes the experience feel more real, as if we’re truly being punished by an authority figure and have no choice in the matter. Once trust has been established, some spankees will afford their partners blanket consent and opt not to use safewords. (I don’t recommend this route with anyone you wouldn’t trust with your life. There are oodles of legitimately fucked up people out there masking their abusive tendencies as BDSM. Vet your spankers well, ladies and gents.) This all exists to enhance the pleasure of the fantasy, but isn’t an invitation to violate limits. We want our spankers to be perceptive, taking us just far enough to inspire tears and provide release, but not so far as to genuinely break or traumatize us. Finding this balance is an art form that requires empathy, intelligence, communication, and skill.

11. We all have our preferences.

What implements do you like? What are your favorite positions? What kinds of spankings are your favorite to give? Bruises or no bruises? How long do you like to go for? What kinds of behavior would earn a spanking from you? These are the sexy deets we discuss when we chat, and our answers say a lot about our personalities. It’s rare for a spanko not to have feelings about such things. More often than not, we have specific reasons for liking what we like.

12. We enjoy associated activities.

To state the obvious: spankos love butts. LOOOOOOOOVE them. Naturally, we tend to enjoy other ass-focused activities in conjunction with spanking, like anal play, doggy-style sex, enemas, thermometers, and between-the-cheeks ‘inspections’. Many of us also dig other punishment-related activities traditionally associated with spanking, like corner time or writing lines. “I will not behave like such a sassy little brat. I will not behave like such a sassy little brat…”

13. For us, spanking is its own category.

I’ve noticed a desire in the spanko community to distinguish what we like from the greater umbrella of BDSM. Clearly, spanking incorporates elements of discipline, D/s, and sadomasochism. However, what most of us mean when we mention our fetish is far more specific. We’re not talking whips, dungeons, or shibari. We’re talking traditional, domestic bare-bottom OTK punishment with hands, paddles, belts, wooden spoons, bath brushes, and other goodies found in the home. It’s a comforting, parental, for-your-own-good type of vibe wherein we call our partners Mommy, Daddy, or other titles that convey nurturing familiarity. Very different than, say, having a cold ‘master-slave’ dynamic in a relationship, which tends to be a bit too much for our taste.

14. We love every stage of the process.

A non-spanko might solely imagine the physical slapping of cheeks when we refer to our love of spanking, but that's not the long and short of the matter. Spankos adore the entire arc of the narrative. The misbehavior that led to the spanking. The threats and anticipation. Getting into position. The warm-up and removal of each layer of clothing, all the way until the spankee’s bottom is bared. The swats, first with hands, then a variety of implements. The communication surrounding lecturing and admonishment. The catharsis of tears. The slow tenderness and beauty of aftercare. The closeness the ritual inspires. The intimate drama of this entire process is deeply satisfying.

15. We distinguish between different kinds of spankings.

What is the purpose of the spanking being given? Punishment? Maintenance? Stress relief? Eroticism? This detail is important to us, for it influences the style in which the spanker spanks. Sexual spankings often involve caressing of nether-regions and start off somewhat softly, building in strength at a comfortable pace throughout a drawn-out warm-up period. Punishment spankings embody an entirely different space. They are meant to be intense, painful, and challenging to endure.

16. We watch a lot of the same porn.

My closest spanko friends and I send each other links to videos every so often. “Have you seen this one?” A lot of the time the answer is yes, for we’re drawn to the same spankers, spankees, and couples who create our favorite content. Spanking vids with a glitzier, more porny atmosphere tend to be lower on the ladder than amateur, traditionally domestic ones. Again, we want it all to feel as real as possible. The “we shot this at home while punishing actual misbehavior” setup provides more satisfaction.

17. We don’t usually watch our porn with non-spankos.

Back when I used to date vanilla and guys would ask, “What kind of porn do you watch?” I would lie and pretend porn wasn’t my thing. This is because I knew that what I watch would likely bore them. A clip with fifteen straight minutes of nothing but spanking, sans sex, would likely make a lot of people’s eyes roll back into their sockets. “So monotonous!” Once I started dating spankos, however, I found much joy in sharing, knowing we could relish each and every moment together.

18. We all want a house out in the boonies.

Ask a spanko about their goals for the future and many will answer, “I want to buy land.” This is because our activity of choice is LOUD and has the potential to disturb nearby neighbors. Nothing ruins a good time like a visit from the fuzz. The begging, screaming, and crying… they are cleansing to our souls and we wish to do them freely. It’s countryside living for us, boy howdy.

19. We’re very romantic people.

It comes as no surprise that many spankos are traditionalists. We often relish old-timey acts of devotion like marriage, opening doors, buying flowers, and cooking for our partners. Many are monogamous and like to wait to have sex until deep bonds of commitment are set in stone. Spanking is an extension of this attitude toward intimacy. We’re so deeply devoted to our partners that we refuse to turn our backs on their misbehavior, laziness, procrastination, or feelings of guilt. Instead we stay, face them, and do what must be done to help them deal with their problems, following up with plenty of aftercare involving sweetness and reassurance. Squeeee.

20. We speak the same love language.

For partners with a consensual domestic discipline dynamic, spanking is an act of love. It’s an intimate ritual centering on a potent giving and receiving of attention. A means of setting aside time to converse and communicate about the challenges of relationships and everyday affairs. A tool for strengthening the bond and balancing the energy between spanker and spankee. A way of helping one another feel “right” and “natural” in a world that so often feels like it’s tumbling off its axis. In nonconsensual or manipulative contexts, spanking is abuse. Between those of us who crave it from one other, it’s the highest form of affection.

Granted, these are solely my thoughts based on my own observations and experiences.

Anything to add, spankos?

Reach out, I'd love to hear you : https://www.the-rose-moon.com/post/20-things-spanking-fetishists-have-in-common

[wonderjanga]

The Flask

Literally any hero that knows Captain Marvel will tell you that the man is absolutely amazing, pure and above anything such as cheating, drinking, or even smoking. The JL knows this, the YJ knows this, Teen Titans know this, even the Fawcett heroes know this.

Billy didn’t know this. He honestly had no clue other heroes looked up to him that much but anyways, we have to talk about the prelude to this incident.

See, Billy was minding his own business walking through the trenches, because let’s be honest that’s where he lives, (or at least that’s where he lives in the Superman/Shazam movie). Anyways, on this walk home, he finds a flask just on the ground. He picked it up.

Billy: “Oh cool! A water bottle! It’s a little small though.”

Yeah… anyways, he went to a gas station and cleaned it out of any remaining funny smelling liquid. He even filled it with some tapwater when he was done. So… Kablam!

Strange Water Bottle: Acquired!

Let Billy tell you, he was so proud about finding this water bottle. It had a cool sunflower on it and everything. And sure maybe adults look at him weirdly whenever he drinks from it but whatever! He has a water bottle now!

In fact, he was so happy about this water bottle, he even took it to work, a.k.a. superheroing.

Marvel: *finishes beating up a villain and takes out his flash so he can drink some water*

Fawcitizen: “Wow… Guess the cheese is finally letting loose, huh?”

Elderly Fawcitizen: “It’s about damn time. That young man has been slaving around with the other heroes saving people for years. Let him let loose.”

Fawcitizen: *nods head* “Never heard a truer statement.”

The elderly Fawcitizen and the other Fawcitizen were a little concerned at how he was downing the flask without faltering in the slightest but whatever. It’s the Cheese. Just let him do that.

The Fawcett heroes didn’t think the same though. They wanted to bring up what could’ve happened to make him feel the need to do this, but they also didn’t know if Cap would answer honestly. Heck, he might even offended, and they don’t want that! So, they bit their tongues and kept quiet.

Of course, Billy didn’t just take his water bottle out whenever he was in Fawcett. He took it out just about anywhere. This has led to some interesting interactions with others, not that he minds.

Constantine: “I didn’t fancy you to own one of those, mate.” *points to Billy’s sunflower flask*

Marvel: “Why wouldn’t I?”

Constantine: “Touché.” *offers his own flask so they can clink them together*

Constantine and Marvel: *clinks them*

Billy was absolutely ecstatic that someone else had a water bottle like his. Now, of course, there have been negative interactions with his water bottle.

Marvel: *doing security for whatever reason at the UN and sipping from his “water bottle”*

Security Guard: *watching this* “Quite distasteful, no?”

Marvel: “What do you mean?”

Security Guard: “I mean, this is a gathering of world leaders.”

Marvel: “So…?”

Security Guard: “So I think you’d have the tact to not drink from that here, but apparently not.”

Billy was majorly bummed that some people didn’t like his water bottle but you know what? Whatever.

By the way, because of the fact none of the heroes know why he started “drinking” they just blame each other. More specifically the JL blames the Fawcett heroes while the Fawcett heroes blame the JL.

Again to remind you, anything in Billy’s flask is water.

Also, he eventually found out that his “water bottle” was a flask from Solomon and promptly started leaving the thing at home so he could only drink from there because he was absolutely not getting rid of it.

All the heroes were glad when the sunflower flask suddenly disappeared.

[firelxdykatara]

I think part of what frustrates me about age gap discourse with respect to BTVS specifically is that framing Buffy's relationship with Angel as 'grown man preys on teenage girl' requires that you ignore everything about the context of the show, the context that their relationship occurs within, and also what it means for both of them as characters and for the show as a whole.

It's also just like, really boring?

Like before you get to any of the story reasons why that's just a stupidly reductive analytical framework, you have to start with this: in a story aimed at teenagers, the fantasy is of being special and desired by a sexy immortal, and because the story is aimed at teenagers, the main characters are (or start as) teenagers, since the coming of age narrative that underpins everything else doesn't work without it. Hard to tackle that transition from adolescence to adulthood with a main character who begins the series as an adult!

(And it's not as if coming of age stories for adults don't exist. Phoebe Halliwell is a very good example--unlike her older sisters, she starts off unemployed and kind of adrift and desperate to find a purpose, which she ultimately does as a witch and a Charmed One, and all of this is done while she, as the youngest, is in her early twenties at the series start, because the show is primarily aimed at adults.)

And the thing is, Angel isn't just some adult man preying on a highschooler for kicks because he can't find women his own age. As Angelus, he spent well over a century enamored with Darla and committing wanton slaughter and destruction by her side. As Angel, with the exception of Buffy, all of his love interests are adults, and his love for Buffy is not tied to her youth, innocence, or naivete, considering that it links and binds them so completely that they keep crossing in and out of each other's lives through the end of Buffy's show, with the door explicitly open for a future relationship once Buffy's finished baking.

What draws Angel to Buffy--and what makes their relationship so dangerously compelling and also ultimately spells its downfall as, within the text of the show, it is explicitly a tragedy--is the fact that she's the Slayer.

That's the key point--her status as the Chosen One! He is drawn to her (as all vampires are, to a greater or lesser extent, but it's no accident that her only other truly earth shattering romantic relationship in the series is with another vampire) because she's the Slayer, and because of the soul he was cursed to bear and the guilt he feels for the evil he committed as a vampire, he wants to protect and save her as part of his atonement. He falls in love with her because she brings light back into the darkness he has been cast into since being forced to bear a soul even as a monster. And he would be 241 years old whether he was turned as a teenager and could pass as one of her peers or turned at 26 (the show is inconsistent on the age at which he was turned and it really doesn't matter, since the buffyverse never tries to pretend vampires are 'frozen' at the age they're turned anyway), and yes, part of what is darkly compelling about their relationship is that the age difference is obvious (Sarah Michelle Gellar was 20 and David Boreanaz was 28 during season 1), but the reason Angel being an 'older man' is never considered super relevant (aside from a few lampshades) is because... it really isn't.

The important thing, the critical thing, the thing that matters in the context of their relationship is that Angel is a vampire. That's why when Angel pulls out his 'I'm 241, you're 16' spiel it rings so hollow--because that doesn't really matter to either of them and he knows it. He's trying to push her away because it's the only way he can really protect her, and even then it doesn't work, and they all suffer for it horribly, Buffy most of all. (And even then she can't stop loving him, nor he her, and that makes it all the more tragic when he realizes the only thing he can do for her is leave.)

Also, it really throws into sharp relief the fact that people care so much about Buffy being a teenage girl when it comes to her romantic relationships but not at all when it comes to her being fated to die. Something the show itself is also quite critical of, because that's part of the point--being the Slayer is an awful burden that none of them have ever had a choice but to bear, and Buffy was supposed to die at sixteen years old. The only reason she survives is because she broke the rules by trying to have a normal life in addition to being the Slayer, which is the only reason she has friends to help her and save her, and I'm supposed to look at all of that and care that her broody vampire bf was a 'grown man' when he was turned? Really?

I don't think so. You can't just be willing to take what the show says for itself at face value when it comes to all the fighting and killing and dying but then balk when it comes to sex. That just doesn't work for me. (I mean, you can, and a lot of people do, but it's frustrating, hence this post.)

[starlightkun]

➺ word count: 9.3k ➺ genre & warnings: sci-fi, near future, fluff, falling in love without seeing each other, minor hurt/comfort, coworkers au (but in space), space traffic controllers; brief blood/injury mention ➺ synopsis: in which you go to your job as a space traffic controller every day looking forward to your shifts with one specific coworker who you might be falling head over heels for. and sure, you don't know quebec’s real name, nor what he looks like, but you two talk for hours a day between guiding landings and take-offs, and you know him better than anyone else. you’re perfectly happy, until his end of the comms falls silent one day and won’t reconnect ➺ extra info: i recommend being aware of the existence of the icao alphabet so ur not thrown for a complete loop by ppl’s nicknames in here lol. u don’t need it memorized but i swear i didn’t pull these words out of thin air ok. also, in aviation, the number 9 is pronounced niner, ur not going crazy and neither am i ➺ author’s note: agh i had so, so much fun with this one! i know i say that with every new fic, but it’s true! also, i don’t know a whole lot about being an air traffic controller, so this was only loosely based off that (and reader and kun’s jobs are made up anyway), but my dad used to have his pilot’s license and take me flying with him when i was little and i took aviation classes in hs, so i do have a bit of knowledge/experience from that so there’s definitely a lot of influence from american aviation jargon in here (whether or not it’s used correctly is an entirely different thing... we’re in space in the future, after all)

You didn’t immediately see any sign of injury and grabbed his wrist to try to find a pulse. It was faint, but there, and when you put your hand under his nose, you could feel his shallow breaths against your skin. He didn’t rouse, though, and that was when you saw a drop of blood trailing out of his ear.

“Hey, Quebec?” You spoke into the mic, knowing that only one other person could hear you.

“—eah, Zulu?” A familiar man’s voice came through your headset, the very beginning of his sentence cut off as he hadn’t let there be enough still air before he started speaking.

One might think your job lonely or heroic or an opportunity to travel and see some of what the vast Milky Way had to offer. Space Traffic Control was by no means glamorous, and you certainly didn’t feel like a grand figure of mythology in your standard-issue orange jumpsuit that all employees wore on duty, sat at your desk with your feet crossed under you and your mic in one hand as you used the other for leverage against the counter to spin yourself around and around, the various lights on your control panel turning into a starshower before your very eyes. But you quite liked your job. You had the same shift almost every day, so your schedule was predictable, and while the landings and takeoffs that you oversaw were pretty regular thanks to the advancements in space travel, every so often, something fantastic did happen, and you did get to save the day with your quick thinking and directions. You were very rarely thanked or even acknowledged for it, all of the credit and glory going to the pilots, of course, but you didn’t mind—keeping your head down had always best suited you.

And you could never feel alone, even if you were the only person in your control tower. Not when you had Quebec. It was policy to have two controllers on duty at all times, in case of medical emergency (or non-emergency, since even Space Traffic Controllers had to use the bathroom). While you and Quebec weren’t always on shift at the same time, the shifts that you shared with him were by far your favorite. You’d never met in person, nor seen his face, nor even knew his real name, only his call name (Quebec Kilo). But other than that, you knew everything about each other. It wasn’t against any rules for STCs to know each other’s names, but since you only ever used call names on shift, it was pretty pointless to give out your real names.

The landing dock had two towers facing each other, and while they technically did have windows so you could see outside at the approaching spacecraft, even when the lighting was perfect, you could make out no more than a fuzzy, shadowy outline of a person in the window opposite you.

“What did you bring for dinner?”

“Don’t tell me you’re eating your dinner already.” His voice was clearly exasperated.

You hurried to swallow the chip in your mouth before replying. “No…”

“I can hear the food in your mouth.”

“Just a snack!”

“And now you’re going to get hungry again right after dinner and have to go to the vending machine down the hall for another snack and leave me alone with everything.”

“For like five minutes.”

“Remember when that Class-III Tanker came in for an emergency docking while you were on a snack break?”

“Remember every single other time when that didn’t happen, and it was perfectly uneventful?”

He kept his mic on to sigh directly into it, letting you know exactly how he felt. “Just go ahead and eat all of your dinner, why don’t you?”

“Maybe I will,” you bickered back.

“I just brought a rice ball from the convenience store in Sector II,” he answered your question anyway. “And an iced tea.”

“You like to warm your rice balls up or do you eat them cold?”

“I’ve got a salmon one today.”

“Question still stands.”

“Who eats warm salmon and mayo rice balls?”

“Plenty of perfectly normal people.”

He laughed, his disgust from earlier fading away. “You warm up your salmon and mayo onigiri, don’t you?”

“What’s weird about that?” You immediately defended yourself.

“Nothing, I suppose,” he gave in. “I’ve just never thought to try it. Pork, sure. Beef, absolutely. Salmon or tuna? Never.”

“You should try it today. I know that tower has a microwave.”

“Our towers are exactly the same.”

“Almost.”

“What are you leaving me this time? And where?”

You tried to imagine his grin, despite knowing nothing about what he looked. You had decided long ago that he had dimples, one deeper than the other, because that was obviously cuter. And probably straight teeth, since he spoke like he was well educated, which meant his family probably had the money to afford braces if he needed them.

“You’ll find out,” you replied in a sing-songy voice, having already stashed various gifts somewhere around the office. Days in the towers were long and boring, so you’d been teaching yourself more and more complicated origami, always leaving pieces in hiding spots around the tower for Quebec to find the next time he was in there.

The ten STCs were split into two teams of five. Since the station was so large, it was a chore to commute back and forth between the towers every shift. So, each team of five was assigned to one tower, then you’d swap every two months. This meant that your cabin also moved every two months to the opposite side of the station, but you didn’t mind—crew cabins were impersonal and barebones anyway, and different sectors had different offerings in the convenience stores, cafeteria, food court, and just different people. It was a change in scenery even if you were still stuck in the same corner of space.

“And what do you have for dinner, Zu?” He hummed, imitating your tune.

“Well, I just finished my chips,” you sighed with disappointment, tossing the wrapper away. “They were salt and vinegar. But I still have some fruit—honeydew, it’s my favorite—and a leftover sandwich from the caf from yesterday.”

“The fruit—is it imported? From Earth?”

You scoffed. “Pfft! I can’t afford that! You know how much we make! Wait—Unless you’re making more than me. Bec, are you making more than me?”

“No, no, no,” he reassured you with a laugh. “I just thought you might have saved up, since it’s your favorite.”

“It’s my favorite, but I still can’t justify spending that much on something that I’m just going to digest.” You shook your head. “Ag-bubble-grown is perfectly fine for me, thanks.”

“Practical.”

“It’s what I grew up eating. I don’t have a spoiled palate.”

“Like I said, practical.”

A blip appeared on one of your screens, at the same time that all the information on the craft appeared on the screen beside it. “It’s that civilian craft we’ve been waiting for,” you said. “Rock paper scissors?”

“Because that’s always been great via audio,” Quebec chuckled.

“Hundredth time’s the charm.”

“Rock paper scissors, shoot—Rock!” “Paper!”

“See?” He said pointedly, and you imagined him rolling his eyes. “The person who says it always has the disadvantage because of the delay.”

“No, I think you almost had me that time. Really.”

He sighed and cleared his throat, which you took as your cue to turn your mic off. There was another distinct crackle of him turning his outgoing signal on before he started speaking to the incoming spacecraft.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Sparrow, November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey. Do you copy?”

“Civilian Sparrow November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey, we copy, Space Traffic Control.” The voice of the pilot was even more garbled than yours and Quebec’s, typical not only of civilian spacecraft, but judging by how short the N number was, he had a much, much older craft as well. There had been so many made by now that some N numbers were over 10 characters long and included letters too. After the initial identification was made, the N number would typically be abbreviated to the last three characters to save time, unless another craft was in the area with a similar N number. “We are approaching your portside slightly positive on your z-axis, but we’ll sort that out before we get there, about five minutes out. Do we have permission to land?”

“Control to Sparrow, you are all clear for landing. We’ll see you in a bit.”

“Roger-dodger. Thanks, Control. Fair winds. Sparrow over.”

“Fair winds,” Quebec echoed. “Control over.”

Quebec had hardly turned off his outgoing feed when you caught another blip on your screen, this one you weren’t expecting, approaching quickly. You frowned as Quebec cursed under his breath, the information on the spacecraft once again reading out underneath the information on the Sparrow. This was also a civilian craft, slightly larger than the Sparrow, and definitely newer, the N number at least 10 digits long by the look of it.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India—”

“Yeah, copy,” the pilot of the new spacecraft cut Quebec off.

“I need to finish identifying your craft,” he said through gritted teeth. “Civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India-Zero-Zero-Seven-Four-Two-Zero-Juliet-Foxtrot-Niner-Eight-Delta. Do you copy?”

There was a long bout of silence, so Quebec asked again, “Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do—”

“Yeah, I copy, didn’t you hear me the first five times?” The pilot was clearly irritated now, and so were you and Quebec.

“Were you holding the button to turn your mic on the first five times?” Your coworker asked.

“I’m landing in like, two minutes. It’s clear, right?”

“No.”

“What?!”

“We don’t have your flight on file, and there’s another spacecraft that did put their landing request in ahead of time that we’re expecting to land within the next five minutes. So, no,” Quebec reiterated with no sympathy. “Do an orbit. An eccentric one.”

The pilot sputtered indignantly before declaring, “This is an emergency!”

“All readings from your vessel indicate that it’s in perfect condition. Brand new, even. What is the nature of your emergency? Please give us specific details so we can assist.”

You, meanwhile, were glad that your mic was muted, because you were keeled over at your desk laughing, wiping at the tears being forced from your eyes.

Clearly unable to think of a specific emergency scenario, the Hummingbird pilot gave up. “Fine! I’ll orbit and land in ten minutes.”

“We will process your landing request and let you know if you have permission to land.” There was no response from the pilot, but Quebec nevertheless said, “Control over.”

“Hummingbird over,” he finally replied, not hiding how peeved he was.

The dot signifying the Hummingbird changed course, beginning an oblong orbit around the space station that would thankfully take it out of the path of the incoming Sparrow.

“Asshole,” Quebec muttered over your internal frequency.

“Just because we’re not near any major planet doesn’t mean they can show up unannounced and expect to land whenever they want,” you scoffed. “Nobody seems to get that we’re the last station around for light-years, so everybody stops in. Which is why they’re trying to land in the first place.”

“You would think they’d think about that, but no,” he sighed. “Everybody assumes nobody exists outside their own ship. Including us. We’re just disembodied voices to them.”

“I wonder how many people think they’re talking to an automated system when they talk to us.”

“Lots, I’m sure.”

A few minutes later, the Sparrow landed with no issues, and you waved to the quaint ship of various patchwork panels of tan and browns as it came in, despite the pilot being unable to see you. It was just something you liked to do.

“Bec?”

“Yeah, Zu?”

“You want me to let the Hummingbird know their landing has been approved?”

He groaned. “No, but better you than me.”

You snickered, composing yourself right before turning your external comms on, establishing a connection to the Sparrow with a flick of a switch. “Space Tower Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?”

“Where’s the other guy?” The pilot asked, surprise evident in his tone. He was clearly ready for a round two.

“Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?” You repeated in your most neutral, artificial customer service voice.

“As long as he stays gone,” he grumbled. His time-out imposed by Quebec had clearly done him no good. “Yeah, this is civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta. I copy, Control.”

“Your landing request has been approved. In the future, please submit your landing requests at least twelve standard Earth hours prior to arrival in non-emergency cases.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What’s your ETA, Hummingbird?”

“1743.”

“Copy. Fair winds, Hummingbird. Control over.”

“Fair winds,” he repeated unenthusiastically. “Hummingbird over.”

The Hummingbird was of course a sleek ship, slightly larger than the Sparrow in size, but all smooth, thin, long shapes and a glossy scarlet red paint job with chrome accenting. You flipped it off as it glided by to dock with the space station.

After coming back from your late-night vending machine break, you catapulted yourself back into your rolly chair with enough momentum to roll back up to your station with no extra movements needed. Putting your headset back on, you announced into your mic, “I’m back!”

“No disasters,” Quebec reported dryly. “This time.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?” You clicked your tongue.

“No.”

“Anyway, I got cookies, in case you were curious,” you told him cheerily. “And information!”

“What sort of information?”

“There was a paper on the bulletin board by the vending machine advertising skiing lessons on Nixu for this upcoming snow season. Starts in just a couple months. You know what that means?”

“We’re about to get all their tourists coming through here on their way to go ski and snowboard and whatever else,” he sighed. “For the next three Nixiun years.”

“Yup!” You confirmed through your bite of cookie. “How many standard years is that? Five? Ten?”

“Too many.”

“Well, Nixiun summer was peaceful while it lasted. For the whole six months.”

“God, have we really been working here for that long?”

“We started within a couple weeks of each other, I think. My one year’s coming up.”

“My one year was a few days ago.”

“Aw, and you didn’t tell me?” You gasped in betrayal. “I would’ve done something!”

“It’s fine, Zulu. I think I was on shift with Pops anyway.” Pops—another one of the Space Traffic Controllers on your team, an older man who happened to be assigned the call name Golf Papa (shortened to Pops).

“Yeah, but you and me are like—” You gesticulated wildly as you scrambled for the right word. “You know?”

“No, not really,” he laughed. “I need you to elaborate a little bit more.”

“We’re Quebec and Zulu, you know? Bec and Zu.” You could see your pout in the reflection of the glass window as you looked out at Quebec’s control tower across from you. “I know we’re all close but you and me are like extra. Right?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Quebec agreed without a hint of sarcasm or jest. “When’s your one year? I want to make sure I don’t miss it.”

“In six days. I expect fireworks,” you teased.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’re working together that day, I think.” You pulled up the schedule on your computer connected to the ship’s intranet. “Yeah, the 1600 to 2400 shift again. It’s starred, we’re going to have a VIP that shift.”

“What about the day before?”

You hummed as you looked it over. “Wednesday… I’m off, and you are on the 2400 to 0800 shift with Uni. You have a lot of time between shifts on Wednesday and Thursday at least. Ooh… never mind.”

“What?”

“You’ve got alt shifts Tuesday-Wednesday. You’re on 0800 to 1600 Tuesday with Uni.”

With 8-hour shifts and two controllers needing to be on shift at a time, your supervisors tried to give you at least two shifts—16 hours—off between when you were scheduled to allow for adequate rest and downtime. Being scheduled for alternating shifts, on, off, then back on (or god forbid, double shifts), was a nightmare for trying to get any rest, errands, or other personal time in.

“Let me see this,” he mumbled, presumably pulling it up on his own monitor. A few moments later, he groaned. “Kill me now.”

“Hey, I’ve got the 1600 shift Tuesday with Indy,” you scoffed. “I’ll kill you if you kill me.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad…”

“You interact with him for all of five minutes when you swap, I have to deal with him for the whole eight hours.”

“Our crew quarters are near each other, actually. We’ve grabbed lunch.”

You clutched your chest as your jaw dropped in horror. “I thought we were friends, Bec, and now I find out you’ve grabbed lunch with my archnemesis?”

“Normal people don’t have archnemeses, Zu.”

“Well I—” A blip popped up on your screen and you quickly switched your comms over to address the incoming ship. “Space Traffic Control to military Wasp, Kilo-Five-Five-Eight. Do you copy?”

Military ships didn’t have N numbers like civilian crafts, instead they had a much shorter ID number. The first letter indicated the classification of the vessel, while the numbers after were unique to that ship.

“Military Wasp Kilo-Five-Five-Eight to Space Traffic Control, we copy,” the pilot replied automatically. “We’re not looking to dock, just requesting a conditions report.”

“Nothing major in the past twenty-four hours and nothing expected in the next forty-eight. Sending the full specs to your ship now,” you said, quickly doing so on your computer.

A few moments later, she confirmed, “Received. Thanks, Control. We’ll be heading out now.”

“Fair skies. Control over.”

“And following seas. Wasp over.”

It seemed a bit silly to you when you started as an STC, to say an old Naval blessing every time you ended a conversation with someone, considering that you were in space so there were no skies or seas to speak of. But soon it became second nature to you. You found that most civilians just echoed ‘fair skies’ back to you, but military personnel would actually complete the phrase.

As soon as you had turned your outgoing feed off, you got right back into it with Quebec, closing your eyes and putting a hand over your chest as you went on with your impassioned opinion, “I think having an archnemesis livens things up. Especially around here.”

“I thought that’s what I was for?” He teased.

“Do you want to be my archnemesis instead?”

“Could be fun.” You imagined him shrugging with a lopsided grin on his face. “Are you taking applications?”

“Only for you.”

“Ooh, I feel so special.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired of wasting time and brainpower on Indy of all fucking people.” You kicked your feet up on the desk, eyes focused on the other tower now as you grinned at it. You always left shifts with Quebec with sore cheeks. “I need someone more on my level anyway.”

“Are you saying if I become your archnemesis then you’ll think about me all the time?” His voice curled around your ear, still playful but not quite the same friendly banter as before. You weren’t sure when it started, but there were moments like this, between your taunting, and poring your hearts out to each other, and rousing games of audio rock-paper-scissors, and actual work, that the mood… shifted.

You bit the tip of your thumb to keep from literally screaming, taking a second to compose yourself before answering. “Mm… maybe.”

“Because then you’re already my archnemesis.”

Muting your mic, you then literally screamed and pumped your fist into the air victoriously. After a deep inhale, you turned your mic back on, unable to contain your giddiness in your one-word question, “Really?”

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you let out an embarrassing yelp directly into the mic, whipping around to see the STC who was taking the next shift from you. “Fucking—Delta! What the fuck, man?”

Quebec was now laughing directly in your ear over the headset, and you took one ear off to hear what Delta said back to you.

“I’ve been here for the past two minutes. I thought you saw the light.” He indicated to the red light above your station that flashed when someone opened the door to your tower. You must’ve had your eyes shut when Delta came in and missed the signal. Delta looked entirely unamused and a little disgusted as he looked down at you, continuing, “Anyway, I’m ready and I can’t listen to you and Quebec do… whatever that is anymore.”

Your stomach dropped out of your ass at his words. What the hell did your conversation with Bec sound like to other people? Apparently bad. You barely knew Delta, only interacting with him during shift hand-offs, and, yeah, he seemed a bit uptight, but still, this was embarrassing.

Quebec was no longer laughing, now coughing and sputtering on the other end of the line too. You meekly put the mic back on the desk and took the headset off, handing it over to Delta. He took disinfectant wipes to the headset, waving them in the air for the solution to dry before putting them on and taking the seat which you had just vacated. You shuffled over to the table by the door where your bag was, as well as the IN/OUT log, which you signed before hurrying out.

Returning to the hall where your crew cabin was, you walked by an open door and stopped to poke your head in, beaming at the woman sitting on her bunk. “Hey, Uni!”

“Hey, Zulu,” the STC on your team—Uniform Lima was her full call name—lifted her hand in greeting. “Just get off shift?”

“Yeah, I was going to grab something to eat and head to the gym before sleeping. Want to come?”

“I already worked out, but I could eat,” she agreed.

“Let me get out of my jumpsuit then we can go. You pick.”

Indy was the only STC who was a gym rat to your knowledge, but being in space, working out and supplements were just a fact of life in order to prevent muscle atrophy and other deterioration of your body. You were used to it, having spent plenty of time on spaceships growing up. Going to the gym with a buddy made the mandatory exercise regimen go by a lot quicker.

After changing into casual clothes appropriate for the gym, you grabbed Uni and headed out. She was a few years older than you, not nearly Pops’ age, but you knew she had been here for a little while before you started. Uni was a tall woman, tall enough that you had to crane your neck a little to look up at her, with dark black hair that she kept cropped close to her head. There were a few premature specks of grey at the back, which you never mentioned to her in case she hadn’t noticed.

“You were on shift with Quebec today?” She asked casually.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” you answered. “You… checked the schedule?”

“Just to see when I was working. You had your dopey little smile on, so I figured.”

You covered your mouth with both your hands, squinting at her over them. “What are you talking about?”

“No, I think it’s cute. You guys are so cute when you talk about each other.”

“He talks about me?!”

She burst into laughter, fondly patting the top of your head. “Gotcha.”

“You’re mean,” you huffed, swatting her hand away. “Mean and awful and a liar—”

“I wasn’t lying!” You friend defended herself. “He does talk about you when we’re on shift. And it is very cute, too. I just also gotcha by bringing it up.”

The two of you had arrived at the food court that never closed, and she started towards one of the options. You followed, not caring where you ate right now, and also desperately needing to continue this conversation.

“What does he say, Uni?” You pleaded, shaking her by the arm as you got in the short line. Time was pretty meaningless on a space station in the middle of nowhere, constantly getting travelers arriving and departing, so people ate whenever they pleased. The only ones who tended to keep a pretty regular schedule were the crew—except STCs, of course.

“He talks about you the most, out of all the STCs. It’s always Zulu this, Zu that. He knows we’re friends, so he asks about how you’re doing if you guys haven’t been scheduled together for a while, stuff like that.”

You dug your toe into the metal panel under you as you thought about it. Suddenly, your friend was pinching your cheek and cooing at you, “Cute!”

“Uni!” You whined and smacked her hand away, cradling your now-tender skin. She laughed as the two of you shuffled up in line.

The days all tended to blur together on the space station if you weren’t careful. Time was pretty meaningless in the middle of nowhere with no seasons or daylight to give your body cues. STCs mostly relied on shifts and tower cycles as units of time—the duration of a shift, and how long you were assigned to one tower before you moved to the opposite side of the station.

You were back on shift with Quebec, and so far, it had been a busy one. You’d barely had time to breathe between arrivals and departures, much less chitchat. Finally, during what seemed to be a lull, you pulled out your bag of food from your bag.

“Alright, that’s it,” you huffed. “I’m eating dinner.”

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

“Didn’t have time to run to the convenience store today so it’s just some snacks and stuff I had in my room. Might have to make a vending machine run, sorry.”

“Look in the minifridge.”

“What? Did you rig it to explode?” You pushed your rolling chair back to grab the edge of the fridge, pulling the door open to peer inside.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

A plastic container greeted you, and you grabbed it, already spotting something green inside. Setting it and your mic back down on your desk, you took the lid off with a pop, eyes bugging out of your head as you looked at the green and white cubes. The color and shine alone told you that these weren’t grown in an ag-bubble, these were imported straight from Earth.

“Quebec…” You breathed out in awe. “You did not.”

“You can’t justify spending that much on something you’re going to digest, but I can,” he replied kindly. “Go ahead, eat. Happy one year at the station.”

“I didn’t even remember that was today,” you admitted.

You grabbed a cube between your fingers, not bothering to find utensils. The best part was licking your fingers after, in your opinion. The fruit was juicy and sweet, no bitterness from the rind at all, and so much more flavor than ag-bubble fruit could ever develop. You felt tears well up in your eyes, embarrassingly.

“God, it’s so good. Thank you,” you mumbled through your half-eaten honeydew. “I wish I could share it with you right now.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” he said, and you heard a faint pop of another plastic lid opening on his end of the line. “They were selling it by weight. I had them send some to your tower and some to mine.”

You smiled at the tower across the landing dock. “We are sharing it right now.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic, Bec? Like, a real one, outside on a blanket with a picnic basket on the grass with fresh air and food and your friends and family?”

“Once, when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it. My mom showed me a picture,” he mused. “Have you, Zu?”

“No, never. I was born on a mining colony. Never breathed fresh air in my life, or been to Earth. Always been in ships, stations like this, or firmaments.” Firmaments—man-made structures on the surface of planets whose conditions were not naturally habitable for humans. Within the firmaments, the air quality, pressure, temperature, and planet’s surface could be regulated in order to allow for human survival. The actual mining typically happening outside of the firmaments, however, and that was only one reason that it was so dangerous—and lucrative.

“What about your parents?”

“They weren’t born on Earth either, never saw the big deal about going to visit.” You shrugged, popping another piece of melon in your mouth. “What about you?”

“My parents were born on Earth. They wanted me to be born there too, but I came a little early while they were on a trip to a nearby resort planet. The closest hospital was on its moon…”

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

“Visited after I was born, went back and forth for a good bit of my childhood, but my parents just liked traveling too much to stay in one place.”

“My family moved around a lot too. Mining pays good, but you have to move with the materials. There’s always some hot new mineral in vogue that’s paying more than the last thing everyone wanted. You never want to stick around until a mine dries up.”

“How long does that take? Like, how much did you move around?”

“Depends. Sometimes we were there for a few weeks or months, sometimes years.”

Quebec was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to eat two more pieces of honeydew. Then, he said, “Zulu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you take this job? All the way out here?”

“I didn’t want to work in the mines with my parents my whole life. Saw the opening and figured I might as well give it a go,” you answered simply. “What about you?”

“Kind of similar. More desperate, I think,” he admitted. “I was in med school, actually, and I was absolutely miserable. Just at rock fucking bottom. I told my parents I was going to quit and they said I couldn’t unless I either enrolled in law school, or got a job. This was the first one I found.”

You blinked, watching the dark dot in the window across from you. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

“Haven’t talked to anybody about it since coming here.”

“Why’d you ask me that then? You had to have figured I would’ve turned the question back on you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was going to tell you that until I said it.”

“You know you can always talk about whatever with me, Bec.”

“I know,” he replied warmly. “Same for you. I’m all ears.”

“So you quit med school, took the first job you could find and just happened to find something you liked doing?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I did not take to being an STC at all initially. I wanted to quit after my first week. I was on this stupid station in the middle of nowhere starting all over again at a job that paid considerably less than the surgeon I was supposed to be. I was miserable, and lost, and kept thinking that they were right and I should just put my head down and be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever. It felt like I could’ve disappeared from the universe and nobody would notice.” He sighed, and you felt your heart twist in your chest. “Then during my second week, another new STC started, and we ended up on a shift together. And you said—there’s no way you remember this, Zulu, it’s so… but—What do you remember about that shift?”

You rifled through your memories desperately for something, anything specific, but came up empty. “Not much, I mean, it was like my second one, I think. So I was still pretty nervous about doing everything right, and I remember meeting you, but I don’t think we even talked much outside of small talk, right?”

“That’s great. I mean it, I love that you’re just like this, that you weren’t trying to do it,” he laughed with his whole chest, and you smiled fondly, not feeling like he was laughing at you at all. “Anyway, it was pretty dead that shift, and in one of the quiet times, you got on the mic and you told me to look outside. I thought there was a ship or something going on. But then you said, ‘I’ve never seen these stars before.’ Which made me realize I hadn’t even looked at the stars since arriving at the station. At the end of the shift, you said, ‘Talk to you next time, Quebec.’ And I decided ‘sure, I’ll stick around until next time, see what else she’ll say.’” His words made you snicker softly, and he continued, “And then you just kept saying these little, interesting things, or things that made me smile for the first time in years, or you’d ask questions and let me talk about whatever I wanted… I kept putting off quitting until I wasn’t half-bad at being an STC and didn’t hate living at the station anymore.”

“Bec…” You murmured, fidgeting with the wire of your headset. “Do—”

A dot popped up on your monitor then, and Quebec said, “Ah, there’s the ambassador.”

Because of where you were in space, the last station for a very long while along the intergalactic travel routes in this region, it wasn’t unusual for you to receive special arrivals. Politicians, ambassadors, military leaders, celebrities, you’ve seen a lot in your one year as an STC. Today, an ambassador from Earth was stopping over on their way to an intergalactic peace conference. You and Quebec had received the briefing for the landing in advance to your crew emails, so the ship information that appeared along with the dot was already familiar to you. When the VIPs were of this caliber, all of the higher-ups on the ship would be at the docking port to greet them. The protocols for landing were also slightly different, meaning that having two STCs was necessary for much of it.

“Space Traffic Control to military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner. Do you copy?” Quebec took over the initial paging.

“Military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner to Control, we copy,” the pilot’s voice came back quickly. “Sending out recognition codes…”

An incoming message from the Heavy flashed up on your screen, and you accepted. Quebec read his out first, then you got on the mic to read out your three-number code.

“Great, thanks,” the pilot acknowledged. “Are we clear for landing?”

“Yes,” Quebec confirmed.

The two of you seamlessly worked through the pre-landing protocols with the Heavy’s pilot. Finally, you just had to wait for the craft to get closer before you could begin the next phase: landing. The pilot dropped off the comms momentarily to address something internally, promising to get back on when it was time to begin the landing. That just left you and Quebec again.

“Wonder why they even keep having these intergalactic peace conferences,” he mused. “They only invite the factions that are already at peace, never the ones with any tension.”

“It’s symbolic, I guess,” you shrugged. “Maybe they talk about how to go about achieving peace with the ones that aren’t there? Or to promote continued peace among the ones that are there?”

“It’d probably be worse to stop at this point, huh?”

“Yeah, might not look good if they stopped holding the intergalactic peace conference that’s been going on for the past couple decades.”

“Still, Th’irin always has something to say about—” A heavy clunk punctuated the end of his words, followed by silence. Not fuzzy silence, like when the mic was on but the person on the other end was quiet. Dead silence, like the mic had been shut off entirely.

“Bec?” You said uncertainly. Someone must have come into his tower, and he was addressing them off-mic.

When he still hadn’t responded a minute later, even to tell you to hold on or wait a minute, you started getting nervous. Sitting forward in your seat, you futzed with cover on your microphone as you called into it again.

“Quebec? You there?”

Nothing.

You paged him properly this time, hitting the button to flash the lights in his tower as you enunciated as clearly as possible, “Space Traffic Control Tower One to Tower Two, Quebec Kilo, do you copy?”

At the same time, your hands rushed to send a message to him via the STC system.

[TOWER1: Q? DO YOU COPY?]

Your heartbeat was thudding in your ears as you desperately went to send another message via the ship intranet to your superiors instead. As soon as you had started drafting it, though, you cursed under your breath and deleted it. They would be down at the dock waiting to receive the ambassador, not at their usual stations with monitors ready to receive emergency alerts from the STC towers.

“Military Heavy to Control, do you copy?” The pilot’s voice cut through the sound of your heartbeat, and you banged your fist on the desk in frustration. You quickly went into the system and switched it over to be a dual STC setup on your monitors since Quebec apparently wasn’t going to be able to help.

Turning your outgoing feed back on, you confirmed, “Control to Heavy, we copy.”

Now with both set of STC controls, you had to move twice as fast to input everything and go through the landing protocols with the pilot. All the while, in the back of your mind, the black put of worry in your stomach only grew and grew.

In between operations, you were drafting a new message, this time to the other STCs. You doubted any of them were going to be checking their staff emails not on duty, but you needed some kind of help. It was a succinct SOS, and you had to focus back in on landing the ambassador’s ship again, and sent it off without another thought.

“Your partner’s quiet,” the pilot commented, their tone light, and you knew they meant nothing by it. “Did you guys rock paper scissors for who would take what parts?”

“Mm, yeah,” you forced out a laugh through gritted teeth, smacking the page button for Quebec’s tower again—just in case.

The light in your tower flashed, and your heart nearly exploded with hope that it was Quebec signaling back to you, that something had just gone awry with his mic and he was still there. Then a hand tapped your shoulder, and you were thrown back into despair again.

It was Pops, the lines on his forehead clear as he furrowed his brows in confusion. He held his digipad out to you, your SOS message on it. You held a finger up to gesture for him to wait a moment as you were receiving pertinent information from the pilot.

“Seven-Five, Two-Zero,” you echoed, entering the numbers as you said them. “Copy.”

Taking one ear of your headphones off, you switched your outgoing comms off before immediately rambling, “It’s Quebec! He dropped off the mic like five minutes ago and he’s not answering, Pops!”

The older man held his hands out in a ‘calm down’ motion. “You’re sure he’s not just getting a snack?”

“No, no, he’d tell me! It was in the middle of his sentence, and we’re literally landing an ambassador’s ship right now!” You sputtered out, gesticulating between your controls and the large ship right outside your window. “He wouldn’t just leave! Something’s wrong!”

His jaw set and he gave one solemn nod. “How far are you?”

“The rest is automated now. But I can’t—”

“I’ll monitor,” he cut you off. “You go check on Quebec.”

“He’s all the way—”

“Now, Zulu!”

You shot to your feet and threw your headphones off and onto the desk. Running from the control room, you didn’t even stay to see Pops take over the station like you’re supposed to.

The space station was huge. It was a thirty-minute walk on a good day from one side to the other, but now that you had fully been overtaken by panic, all of the worst-case scenarios playing in your mind, your stomach consuming itself in fear and anxiety crushing your lungs, it felt insurmountable. Probably your only saving grace was the fact that word had gotten around about the ambassador’s arrival, so lots of people were down on the observation decks above the landing bay to watch the ship dock rather than milling through all the halls that you were currently sprinting through. Even the crew-only shortcuts that you had access to—which you knew were faster—felt like agony to wait for. Standing around in the elevators felt like standing in lava despite the fact that you knew they were moving 100x faster than it felt. The crew corridors were narrower, and you cut corners too close, banging your shoulder or elbow a few times. In your impatience, you lost the location of Tower 2 a couple times on the directory when selecting your destination in a transporter, screaming and kicking the wall in frustration. The pain distracted you from all the what-ifs, and grounded you back into this moment, so you didn’t actually mind it much.

You clutched the handles of Tower 2’s elevator so tightly your fingertips went numb, gnawing on your bottom lip until well past the point you tasted blood. Finally, you were at the control room, and you damn near pried the doors open yourself. Pushing yourself through the doors as they opened, you probably bruised your shoulder again, but you hardly registered it.

Under the red light that flashed to announce your arrival, a man was sprawled on the floor between the chair and the control station. You ran over, pulling the chair away to reach him. He was face-down, and you took his headphones off to roll him over.

“Quebec!” You shook his shoulder a little less than gently.

You didn’t immediately see any sign of injury and grabbed his wrist to try to find a pulse. It was faint, but there, and when you put your hand under his nose, you could feel his shallow breaths against your skin. He didn’t rouse, though, and that was when you saw a drop of blood trailing out of his ear.

“Oh, God,” you muttered, scrambling to your feet to lunge for the bright blue medical emergency button by the door. The button lit up, and you ran back to grab his headphones and mic.

“—ation EMTs will be at your location in less than two minutes. Please communicate the nature of your emergency if you’re able,” the dispatcher’s voice requested.

“I just found the STC in this tower passed out. He’s got blood coming out of his ear and he won’t wake up,” you said.

“Do you know how long he’s been in this state?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Okay. Any sign of injury?”

“No, nothing. He was fine, he was talking and just, I don’t know, collapsed I think!” You didn’t mean to snap at the dispatcher, but you were freaked out by how little you knew.

“Alright, okay. I understand. The EMTs will be there very soon. Can you stay on the line with me in the meantime?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is the patient?”

“An STC—call name Quebec Kilo.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m an STC too. Zulu Echo. We were on shift and he just dropped off the mic in the middle of a landing.”

“Got it, got it.”

“Where the EMTs?” You asked, feeling for Quebec’s breaths again.

“They’re in the elevator now.”

The elevator door opened then, and your throat seized up anxiously. “They’re here. Thank you.”

“I’ll hang up now. Goodbye, Zulu Echo.”

You took the headphones off as the two EMTs swarmed Quebec’s body, watching them start evaluating his vitals with their field scanner.

“We have the information you gave dispatch,” one EMT informed you. “We’re going to take him to the infirmary in this sector.”

You grabbed the edge of the desk to pull yourself to your feet. “I’ll—”

“Elevator isn’t big enough for all of us,” the other informed you regretfully as they had started loading him onto a stretcher. “You can take the next one.”

“Right. I’ll be right behind you.”

You watched them take him out, and as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, felt your knees buckle under you. Barely catching yourself against the desk, your eyes filled with tears, which you barely saw the flash of a red light through. The elevator wasn’t opening again, though, so you figured it must be a page.

Picking up the headphones and mic, you kept it on the internal system as you croaked, “Pops?”

“Oh, Zulu, there you are,” his relief was evident in his voice. “How is he?”

“Bad, I think,” you confessed, tears slipping down your face. “He was out cold, and there was blood coming from his ear. The EMTs took him—”

“You know where?”

“Sector 2 infirmary.”

“So what are you doing still talking to me?”

“Right. Bye, Pops.”

Your hands were trembling as you set the headphones down on the desk. With a trembling breath, you recalled the elevator. It was empty when you stepped on, and you numbly selected down. The infirmary was close by to the tower, and you wiped your eyes in the hall outside before entering.

It was eerily empty, and your stomach dropped. You dug your nails into your palm to try to get control of yourself again. Finally, a nurse came out of the hallway and into the main hallway where you were, clearly surprised when he spotted you.

“Sorry about that.” He focused a frazzled smile on you. “How can I help you?”

You were sure you were mirroring his expression. “I’m here to see somebody. He should’ve just come in with the EMTs…?”

“Yes, the doctors are working on him.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to where you can wait.”

You were put into a small patient room with a bed and one chair. After pacing for who knows how long, your feet finally got tired enough that you sat down in the chair. You didn’t sit for very long before you were back on your feet, pacing again. That repeated at least three times before you finally heard something from the hall.

Your eyes were already on the doorway when a gurney was pushed in, Quebec laying atop it. Stepping out of the way of the two nurses who transferred him from the gurney to the bed and started hooking him up the monitoring equipment, you were then pulled aside by the doctor who had come in with them.

“Are you a friend?” She asked.

“Yeah, we work together,” you confirmed. “I called it in.”

“Good timing,” she commented lightheartedly. She filled you in on the issue—most of the specifics went over your head, but it didn’t sound good—then gave you the prognosis, “We plugged everything back up. He’ll have a headache for a few days, and needs to take it easy for the next week. But other than that, he’ll be fine.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe your ears.

“How far medicine has come, huh?” She chuckled. “Something like that would’ve killed him a decade ago. But he can go on like it never happened now.”

You looked over at where Quebec’s eyes were still closed, still unable to calm your panicked heart despite the doctor’s reassuring words and relaxed demeanor. “When will he wake up?”

“An hour or so.” She nodded towards the door. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a couple other patients to check on.”

“Oh, go for it.”

“Push the call button if you need anything, or just holler. Small infirmary, someone will hear you.”

With her departure, it was just you and Quebec. You pulled the chair up to his bedside, gathering your knees to your chest in a self-soothing grasp. His heart monitor beeped steadily in the background, and you noticed that his hand was hanging off the bed a little bit, so you reached forward to pick it up and rest it over his abdomen like his other one. There was a small piece of gauze affixed under his ear, and you recognized it as the ear that had been bleeding earlier.

“I’m never letting you live this down, Quebec,” you stated through a sniffle. “Every time you bring up that Tanker showing up while I was at the vending machine, I’m going to bring up you passing out while we were in the middle of landing an ambassador’s ship.”

He continued resting, chest rising up and down.

“So you better wake up soon, so I can start teasing you.” You poked his shoulder before taking your hand back and wrapping your arm around your knees again.

For the first time since you entered Tower 2, you took a moment to process what Quebec actually looked like. Dark brown hair, bangs falling out of the way of his forehead and pieces curling around his ears, and a freckle under his right eyebrow.

You sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Of all the times you’d let yourself daydream about finally meeting Quebec in person, this was absolutely not how it went. Usually, it was something like bumping into each other while you were switching crew cabins, or you just so happened to go to a more centrally located place to eat and started talking to a handsome stranger and found out that it was him. Funny enough, you never thought of actually asking Quebec to hang out off-shift. You were more than happy with what you had, fully content with the knowledge that nobody in the universe knew him better than you, and vice versa. So what if other people knew what he looked like or knew his real name? That never felt important.

Before you realized it, your eyes were fluttering shut, your ears continuing to listen to the rhythm of the vitals monitor. Eventually, a confused grunt caught your attention, and you looked up quickly.

Quebec was hesitantly squinting one eye open, rubbing his other as he seemed to be struggling to adjust to the bright lights in the room. You stayed quiet as you let him wake up a little more and acclimate, getting two eyes open and blinking as he registered first the hospital gown he was wearing and infirmary bed he was laying in, then did a sweep around the room, brown gaze landing on you.

“Hey, Bec,” you greeted him gently, offering a small smile. “How do you feel?”

“Zu?” His voice was hoarse, gaze unblinking as he reached a hand towards you.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you confirmed, taking his hand between both of yours. “You had uhm, a problem. The doctor can explain—But you’re better now.”

He clutched his head, and you winced sympathetically.

“Your head will hurt for a bit, but other than that, all better,” you corrected yourself. “You feel okay?”

He nodded, sitting up a little straighter. “You came all the way here?”

“You passed out in the middle of us landing the ambassador’s ship,” you told him frankly, a hint of teasing in your tone. But your voice wavered as you added, “I was worried sick. Found you on the floor of the tower.”

“Ah, sorry. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand.

“No way I was going to let you die, Quebec. I mean—What if they started putting me with Indy instead?”

He was just staring at you, mouth parted, before a soft smile came across his features, two dimples marking his cheeks. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” You chuckled nervously.

“That you’d be the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

You covered your face as you laughed and shook your head. “Quebec—”

“Kun.”

“What?”

“That’s my real name,” he hummed. “Qian Kun.”

“Kun,” you sighed fondly. “I knew you’d have dimples.”

“What?” He giggled, touching one of his cheeks. “You could hear my dimples?”

“It was a hunch.”

He looked down at the IV in his arm. “They’ve got me on some good stuff.”

“Yeah, they do,” you agreed.

“I mean it, though.”

“Mean what?”

Kun turned over on his side to face you. “You’re beautiful, Zulu.”

You traced the lines of his brows, his freckle, his eyes, his nose, the curve of his smile, his cupid’s bow, and his jaw with your eyes. “Y/N. That’s my name. Y/L/N Y/N.”

He mouthed it to himself first, slowly, then said it aloud, “Y/N. Thank you.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Kun.” You pressed a fleeting kiss to his hand that you were still holding. “Really.”

You kicked your feet up on the desk, tapping your toes in the air along to an imaginary beat. Clicking your internal comms line on, you asked, “So what are you doing after this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kun immediately teased back.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked, asshole,” you scoffed.

“Ouch, first day back on the job and this is how I’m treated?”

“Doctor said you’re fine, no need to throw yourself a pity party.”

He laughed, but answered your question nevertheless. “Gym and then dinner. Missed enough required exercise thanks to that little incident I’m going to start withering away.”

“I’ll have to find another archnemesis if you do.”

“So I am your archnemesis.” His grin was audible, and you could perfectly imagine it now, bright and dimpled. “Well, I can’t have you thinking about anybody else.”

You looked over your shoulder before offering, “Want some company?”

“Sure. Sector 1?”

“Damn, you really that afraid of withering away you’re willing to come all the way over here?”

“I was being a gentleman—”

“Wait, your favorite restaurant is in the Sector 1 food court,” you said knowingly. “Would that have anything to do with it?”

“It’s a win-win—you don’t have to come all the way over here, I get to see you…”

“And eat at your favorite spot,” you snickered. “Smart, Bec.”

“I would’ve offered even if I hated all the food in Sector 1, Zu,” he declared dramatically. “Hand on my heart.”

Despite knowing each other’s real names, it was still habit (and technically proper) to use call names on shift. You checked on him every day during his recovery over the past week, so you’d gotten used to calling him Kun as well.

“Uh-huh,” you agreed mildly. “I’ll meet you in the gym at 1630 then.”

“It’s a date.”

After getting through your mandatory workout for the day, you and Kun meandered over to the Sector 1 food court. Despite your teasing, you also got food from the same restaurant as him. He didn’t move to take a seat in the food court, however, jerking his head for you to follow him. With your bag of food in one hand, you did so, intrigued. Kun apparently had a destination in mind, weaving through the crowds with intention and reaching back to grab your free hand to not lose you.

Soon, you arrived at a crew-only observation deck devoid of other people. You couldn’t recall if you had been to this particular one before, but the door slid shut behind you two and the sounds of the rest of the ship faded away. This particular deck was pointed directly at a large plasma cloud, glowing with energy and all sorts of swirling pinks, purples, and greens.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” you gushed, sitting on the ledge under the window.

“I like seeing how the cloud has changed whenever I’m in Sector 1,” Kun said, sitting next to you. “It’s different every time.”

You drew your gaze over to him, eyes catching on the faint line under his ear, marking where he’d been operated on just last week. It had healed very fast, of course, as all surgeries now did, and you reached out to touch the skin under it with a fingertip. “Do you feel okay, Kun?”

“Brand new.” He took your hand from the incision and laced your fingers together. “I promise, Y/N.”

“Good.” The two of you ate your dinner like that, hand-in-hand, watching the plasma cloud and stars, sometimes talking, and sometimes in silence. And that was more than enough.

⤷ masterlist

TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001 @snowyseungs @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

@classicroyalty @fairvtale @giirlfriendd @shaqs-oatmeal @sofipolii01 @fae-renjun

[partypolitic]

This post is correct, if you are white and trans then the oppression you face is just ‘transphobia’. If you are black and trans then the oppression you face is both ‘racism’ AND ‘transphobia’. The more minority status’ you have, the more oppression you face: they stack ON TOP of one another. One status (black, trans, disabled, autistic/neurodivergent) doesn’t disappear because you have another one.

However, I would like to talk about WHY white people may have such a hard time understanding this: they are also suffering because they are oppressed and don’t usually realize it. They aren’t oppressed for ‘being white’, as conservative grifters would like you to believe, they’re oppressed for being poor/not wealthy.

A lot of the time there seems to be a knee jerk reaction where (white/cis/straight/men) people get mad at the idea that they have privilege because they are financially struggling. ‘How can I have privilege if I can’t even afford my groceries’ is probably a very common thought when ideas like intersectionality (the stacking of minority status’ effecting people differently) is brought up.

This is because class consciousness is HIGHLY discouraged in America and definitely not taught about (can’t speak for everywhere since I’m not from everywhere) and the myth of meritocracy as well as a belief in their ‘temporarily embarrassed millionaire status’ is STILL incredibly common. Unfortunately for them, things for the poor AREN’T going to get better anytime soon (the healthcare nightmare, tariffs, removal of public services, etc.) and upward mobility (the ability to become richer) is going to shrink substantially.

This means that there are a bunch of people suffering because they can’t afford to live, but also don’t know where that suffering is coming from (the wealthy pocketing a large portion of their paycheck and continuously raising prices simply because they can/ greedflation). This means their anger and suffering can be USED as a weapon by the wealthy to turn them against other, often more, oppressed groups by falsely blaming them for their troubles. This is what is happening right now in America with immigrants.

Class struggle is THE #1 struggle we are all facing. It is THE status that trumps all others as well: if you were both ‘black’ and ‘Jeff Bezos rich’, you would still be able to buy America out, however if you were ‘white’ and ‘homeless’ you’re still going to be spit on and kicked while you are down.

It VERY difficult to see oppression when that oppression is levied against the majority.

That isn’t to lessen the message of this post: the answer to the question “Across cultures black people suffer most. Why?” Is because being black is a minority status and racism exists. To be even more specific: because white people and black people have a long history of being pitted against one another for the benefit of the owning class.

Essentially, I wanted to add that advocating for the teaching of class consciousness can help to open (white or otherwise privileged) people’s eyes to the systems at play here. When oppression isn’t something that happens ‘over there’ or ‘to someone else’ they may start to realize that it’s everywhere and that NONE of it benefits them or is even neutral towards them: it hurts them too.

i dont think whites understand how being white makes literally everything easier.

it effects everything.

being trans is easier when youre white.

being gay is easier when youre white.

being disabled is easier when youre white.

being a woman is easier when youre white.

being autistic is easier when youre white.

oppression is eased when you are white, as you get extra privileges, and your whiteness is seen as a positive characteristic that in some ways counter-balances your other forms of being a minority. whiteness controls everything.

you are automatically way more innocent in your own oppression as a gay, trans, disabled person because of your whiteness.

never forget this.

[bomber-grl]

Call Me Penelope cause You’re My Odysseus

Pairing(s): Leo Valdez x Gn!Reader (No specific Godly Parent

Word Count:4411

-

Leo… Leo.

Your thoughts wandered again as you patrolled the deck, the cool sea air nipping at your face. You’d told Percy to take a break—he’d been on edge lately, and you weren’t exactly complaining. Honestly, the more space you had between yourself and Leo Valdez, the better. Your face heated up every time he came anywhere near you.

You found yourself staring at the churning waves, hypnotized by the relentless cycle of them crashing over each other. Lost in thought, you didn’t even notice the steps behind you until—

"Hey!"

You jumped, spinning around in surprise. Of course, standing there, looking ridiculously charming despite the late hour, was none other than Leo Valdez, master of bad timing and probably worse pick-up lines.

Leo’s face mirrored your shock for a moment, but then, just like that, he slid into his usual smirk. The one that was half nervous, half confident—basically, classic Leo. He scratched the back of his head. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, voice a little higher than usual. "Didn’t think I’d find anyone else stupid enough to be up this late."

You couldn't help but laugh. "What are you doing up? I wasn’t aware they let you off the ship’s leash."

Leo blinked, the surprise lingering. "Oh, you know. Just fixing some stuff down in the engine room. Festus was acting all weird, and I had to check on the ship's defenses because apparently, nothing is stopping this whole quest from blowing the Argo ll up every five minutes. But, you know, minor stuff." He gave you a one-shoulder shrug that was probably meant to be cool, but just made him look like he’d forgotten how to stand.

You shook your head, grinning. “Still can’t believe you made the ship. Seriously, that’s pretty impressive.”

Leo blinked at you. Once. Twice. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, but then he just closed it again, visibly thrown by your sincerity. You could practically see his brain buffering. He shuffled a little, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing way he did when he was flustered. Finally, he stammered out, "I mean, I didn’t do it alone but Uh, thanks. That's... really nice of you to say."

And yeah, maybe you kind of like throwing him off balance. There was something oddly satisfying about making the charming, ever-flirty Leo Valdez pause for just a moment.

The thing about Leo? He was a flirt. A big flirt. He could try to charm anyone with a few slick words and a wink, but you learned pretty quickly that Leo’s confidence was just a shiny coat of paint over a ton of... well, feelings—and maybe some issues with his self-esteem.

You’d figured that out one day when you found yourself near him, as he was busily patching up something that had gotten busted in the last battle (because, naturally, everything on the Argo II was always getting busted). Of course, he spotted you and immediately called you over. Because why wouldn’t he?

And that’s how it went: You’d talk for a bit. But then Leo would try to flirt. Sometimes it was an awful pick-up line—so awful it actually made you laugh. And sometimes, he’d lean on something like he was trying to be extra suave and... miss. Then fall. Always a good time.

And on the rare occasions where he didn’t totally embarrass himself? He’d wait for your reaction, face half hopeful, half insecure.

Most of the time, you’d play it cool and pretend to be bashful—making him think he’d won. Other times, though, you’d flirt back. It started as a joke, really. He was always burning up, so one time you decided to play along, and the result? Well, he caught fire. Literally. You weren’t exaggerating. He was on fire, and you had to grab a fire extinguisher before the whole deck turned into an inferno.

“Leo,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You know, if you keep setting yourself on fire every time I talk to you, I’m going to start charging for these rescue missions.”

He flashed you that crooked grin of his, his cheeks turning a shade of red you hadn’t known a person could turn. "I'm pretty sure I'd pay anything to get you to keep talking to me."

And there it was again, that flirtation. But beneath it? Was there something else? Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on yet? You didn’t know. But damn, Leo had a way of making you want to find out.

-

After one of the many, many exhausting days aboard the Argo II, you had one singular goal in mind: get to your cabin, collapse into your bed, and pray that nothing—nothing—would interrupt your much-needed sleep. It was a rare occasion when you could actually get some peace, and you were determined to make the most of it.

But of course, life had other plans.

As you walked down the hall, a distant murmur of voices caught your attention. You froze. Was this the part where you ignored it and moved on? Definitely. Were you actually going to do that? Absolutely not.

You crept closer, your footsteps barely audible. You could’ve sworn you were moving like a ninja—or at least what you imagined a ninja would look like if they had absolutely no stealth whatsoever. Anyway, it was too late to back out now.

You stopped at a corner, inching closer to the source of the voices. Your heart was pounding in your chest—not from the adrenaline, but from the fact that you had, once again, found yourself doing something questionable for the sake of curiosity.

You strained your ears and waited. And then—there it was. The voices of Leo and Jason, clearly in the middle of some deep conversation. You caught snippets of their exchange.

“...what about you and [your name]?” Jason’s voice floated through the air.

You froze, your eyes widening. You hadn’t been expecting that. At all.

Your heart did a little leap as you leaned in closer. “What about me and Leo?” you thought, trying to make sense of it.

Leo’s voice answered—there was a momentary pause before his usual confidence took over. “I like them. Like, actually like them,” he said, his tone laced with that trademark Leo half-cocky, half-nervous vibe.

You blinked. Your brain might’ve stopped working for a solid second. Did Leo just say—?

Before you could fully process the implications of what you’d overheard, you heard their conversation fade into something less distinct, a murmur of words lost in the distance. You were left standing there, a bit dazed, your face heating up. Your heart, too, was doing that thing where it sped up in an uncomfortable, almost violent way. The idea of you and Leo?

No. No way.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a fake, overly dramatic clearing of a throat behind you. You spun around faster than you had ever moved in your life, nearly bumping into the person who had caught you mid-espionage.

And of course, it was none other than Piper.

Piper. Cool, composed, and way too clever for her own good. The girl who always seemed to be two steps ahead of you. And judging by the smirk she was giving you right now, she had definitely been aware of your little eavesdropping escapade.

She just shook her head, looking at you with that amused grin you’d come to recognize. “Really? Eavesdropping now? That’s a new one for you.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. Instead, you just gave her a sheepish look and shrugged, pretending like you were totally innocent in all of this.

Piper’s smirk softened into a smile. “Come on,” she said, tilting her head as she beckoned you to follow. “Let’s go. Before you get caught.”

You followed her down the hall, your mind still spinning. Leo? Actually liking you? You couldn’t even. This was... a lot to process. And now that you were trying to piece it together, your thoughts were as tangled as the ropes on the ship after a storm.

But Piper—bless her—seemed to sense your mental chaos. She didn’t bring it up again, instead chatting with you casually, like nothing had happened. She was way too good at pretending she hadn’t just caught you doing something totally questionable.

Still, as you walked behind her, you couldn’t help but glance back toward the hallway, where Leo and Jason’s conversation was probably still happening. You could almost feel your face flush again just thinking about it.

Piper glanced at you from the corner of her eye and raised an eyebrow. “You okay back there?” she asked, clearly amused by your dazed expression.

You nodded. “Yeah, totally fine. Nothing weird going on here. Nope. Not at all.”

She laughed softly, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say.”

And as you followed her down the hall, you couldn't help but wonder just how much Leo Valdez was going to mess with your head in the days to come. And just how much Piper knew about all of it.

-

The battle unfolded in the blink of an eye. One moment, you, Piper, and Leo were aboard the Argo II, navigating the skies with the hum of the engines beneath your feet. The next, a blast of icy power ripped through the air, and Khione and her goons attacked, freezing everything in their wake. Piper’s charmspeak wasn’t enough to prevent Leo from being thrown violently into the sky, his form disappearing into the distance with an eerie speed.

It was as if time had frozen, leaving you suspended in disbelief. It all happened so fast—too fast. It wasn’t until Piper’s desperate scream rang through the air, her voice cracked with fear, that the weight of what had just occurred hit you. “Leo!” she cried, reaching out as if she could pull him back through the chaos. But Leo was already gone.

The days following his disappearance felt like an endless blur. The crew did their best to carry on, but without Leo’s infectious energy, the Argo II felt eerily quiet. A hollow ache gnawed at you—frustration, fear, and confusion all bubbling together. You couldn’t help but wonder where Leo was, if he was even alive. Had he been lost to the winds of fate?

A week later, there was a commotion—shouted voices, the clattering of metal, the unmistakable sound of Festus’ familiar mechanical whirring. It was Leo. He had returned.

Leo, with his wild grin and grease-streaked face, stood beside Festus, both of them already hard at work in the engine room as if nothing had happened. You watched, your heart in your throat, torn between relief and a growing sense of frustration. You wanted to run to him, to yell at him, to ask him a hundred questions, but there was something in his demeanor that made you hesitate. The old Leo was back, but this version felt... distant.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed him until now. Sure, you had a little crush on him, but that wasn’t all of it. Leo had been your first real friend in what felt like centuries, the first person you’d connected with on a level that went beyond the surface. The way he could make you laugh even when everything seemed hopeless—that was something you never thought you’d find again.

But lately, Leo had been avoiding you. He’d slip away whenever you came near, his eyes darting to the floor or the nearest exit. It stung. And today? You had had enough of it.

You found him underdeck, his back turned as he tinkered with the ship’s machinery. Without a second thought, you shoved him hard against the wall. The impact rattled the room, and Leo's surprised gasp was the only sound that followed.

His eyes widened in shock, his usual cocky grin replaced by an expression of flustered bewilderment. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, trying to process what just happened. But you were done waiting.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you demanded, your voice unexpectedly cracking on the last word. It took everything in you not to shrink back from the vulnerability that slipped through, but you stood your ground, staring him down.

Leo blinked, clearly startled. The tough guy facade faltered for a moment, and you could almost see the invisible weight on his shoulders. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sure you’ve heard from the others, but I ended up on Ogygia when I got blasted out of here.”

Ogygia. The name echoed in your mind. The island of Calypso, the witch who had nursed Percy back to health years ago when you and Annabeth and apparently the rest of camp thought him to be dead. You’d heard the stories, but hearing Leo mention it made the hairs on your neck stand up. A sense of suspicion crept in.

“Yeah, and what about it?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heart was racing.

Leo’s eyes narrowed, clearly frustrated that you weren’t already “in the know.” He threw his hands up in exasperation, though his tone was far less confident than usual. “Well... I met Calypso.” He spoke slowly, almost as if testing the waters, waiting for your reaction.

Your eyebrows quirked. “Uh-huh…” You crossed your arms, a half-amused, half-worried look on your face, but you could tell Leo was about to say more.

He exhaled sharply, dragging the words out like they were heavier than lead. “And I may have promised to come back and rescue her... on the River Styx.”

You froze. For a moment, time itself seemed to stop. “You what?!”

The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them, and your anger flared in a way you hadn't expected. Your heart pounded in your chest, the frustration that had been building for days erupting in an instant. “How could you be so stupid, Leo?!" you snapped, desperate for him to understand the gravity of what he’d just said. "You can't be serious!”

Leo seemed startled by the harsh words, but he braced himself, like he’d been expecting them all along. “She needed my help! She’s been stuck on that island for centuries!” His voice was a little defensive, but there was an underlying note of... concern? You exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. It was clear Leo just felt a sort of kinship with her, the way he always did with anyone who needed saving.

Despite your growing coolness, Leo still felt the need to add, “I don’t... like her, though.”

Your gaze snapped back to him, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed between the two of you. You found yourself struggling to hide a grin. “And why are you telling me this?” You tried, but amusement was creeping into your voice.

Leo rubbed the back of his neck, his usual nervous gesture. “Well, I just didn’t want you to think I—y’know—had some... thing for her.”

Of course. Only Leo would accidentally dig a hole for himself in the middle of a serious conversation.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “And why would I think that?”

He blinked, his blush spreading to his ears. If you hadn’t been in the middle of this conversation, you were pretty sure his face would’ve caught fire.

You grinned, shaking your head as you reached out to sling your arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, let’s go eat. I’m starving, and you’ve got enough ‘I’m a walking disaster’ moments for one day.”

Leo groaned, but the way his eyes twinkled told you he was secretly relieved. Just another day in the life of Leo Valdez.

-

You met Reyna. She, Nico, and Coach Hedge had taken the task of getting the Athena Parthenos to Camp Jupiter a while ago. They were all heroes in their own right, but the last thing you wanted to do was sit around and wait. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of uncertainty and battles, you made it back to Camp Half-Blood. But of course, peace would never last.

Not here. Not with the war that was brewing on the horizon.

In fact, peace didn't even stand a chance. It didn't last more than a few moments after you stepped foot back on the camp’s familiar soil. The battle found you again, just like it always did. You were carried from one fight to the next, running on adrenaline and the relentless desire to protect your friends. Monsters fell before you, and the injured campers you helped were a reminder of what was at stake. But even as you fought, you couldn't shake the feeling that something worse was coming.

Then, you heard it.

A loud bang, a crackle in the sky that sets your teeth on edge. You looked up instinctively, already knowing in the pit of your stomach what was going on. Gaea was being fought, her chaos spilling out over the world. Some of your closest friends were out there, battling the earth goddess herself.

But this—this was different.

The air felt colder, the ground seemed to tremble underfoot. Something had shifted. Your stomach twisted into a knot. Something was wrong, deeper than any battle or monster or war you’d fought before.

And before you could even make sense of it, your attention was yanked away. A shout pierced the chaos—someone calling for help, a camper in trouble.

You didn’t hesitate.

There would be no backing down now. You couldn’t give up, not when you’ve already made it this far.

-

Your gut had been right. The battle raged on, but the worst news hit you like a tidal wave. Leo was gone.

It wasn’t just the usual chaos of battle. This was different. Leo. The guy who could fix anything, who joked through every crisis, who had always been one step ahead of the rest of you. But now? Now he was gone. And the words hit you like a punch to the stomach.

You should’ve known. You should’ve realized that something was off. Leo had been acting strangely lately, slipping into moods you’d never seen him in before. Those long silences. The way he kept pushing people away like he was trying to make himself disappear before the inevitable. And now it all made sense in a way that felt like ice down your spine.

Was this it? Was this what he’d been planning all along?

You couldn’t bring yourself to believe it at first. Leo—a martyr? The thought felt wrong in every possible way. Leo wasn’t the kind to give up, to throw himself away for a cause, no matter how noble. He always had a plan. He always had a way out. But now, as the reality settled in, you couldn’t help but wonder. Was this his plan all along? To go out in a blaze of glory? To save everyone at the cost of himself?

It was impossible to reconcile the Leo you knew with the Leo who might have done this, who might’ve sacrificed himself for the greater good.

But as the news spread and the camp was left to mourn, a heavy, bitter ache formed in your chest. You thought of all the times he’d smiled and cracked jokes, of all the times you’d fought side-by-side, laughing and shouting together. And now... Now there was nothing.

It felt like the world was missing a spark. A spark you knew as Leo.

You pushed the grief aside for the moment—it wasn't time to break down. Not yet. But the thought lingered, gnawing at you. Was this really his choice? And if it was... would you ever be able to forgive him for leaving you behind?

-

Two months had passed.

Each day bled into the next like a long, gray smear, and the world had become nothing but the aching void of Leo Valdez’s absence. The loss was a cold weight in the pit of your stomach, a stone that no amount of time could make lighter. Time, it seemed, only deepened the wound.

Camp Half-Blood had continued, as it always did. The camp was used to death. Demigods were used to death and grief, everyone had to learn to carry their burdens or they’d drown. They had learned to march on, even after losing their closest friends. But you? You couldn’t do it. Not this time.

Leo had been different. He had been your Leo, your spark of light in a world that had so often seemed too dark. And now he was gone. And nothing could fill the hole he left behind.

Amidst your grief you had heard of Apollo's appearance at camp. From what you could gather, he had been punished for Octavian's actions and made human. Even more funnily enough, he was a servant to some hot-headed girl.

But you didn’t care. You couldn’t care about Apollo’s strange fate or his odd little master. The only thing that consumed you was Leo. The only thing that mattered was that Leo was gone, and you were left behind in the ruins of it.

Days turned to weeks, and then weeks into two long, endless months. You stayed in your cabin mostly, not wanting to face the world outside. You couldn't bring yourself to do anything but wallow in the grief. The other campers had tried to help, of course. Some had dropped by to check in on you. A few even brought food, but you couldn’t eat. You didn’t want to eat.

And then one morning, when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, you finally decided—today, you would leave the cabin.

You stood up slowly, the ache in your chest never leaving. You had gone days without food, but something in you told you it was time to stop. Time to start existing again, at least for a while.

You stepped outside, the crisp air hitting your skin. The camp seemed as alive as ever, filled with the sounds of training, laughter, and chatter. But to you, it all felt distant. The faces of your friends, Percy, Annabeth, Chiron, they all seemed to move through a fog. They had all moved on, in their own ways. But you couldn’t.

And you didn’t care about the camp’s new gossip, either. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t Leo.

But then, as you made your way towards the mess hall, you overheard a conversation, sharp and full of whispers. “Leo’s back. He’s really back.”

Your heart skipped. Your breath caught. Leo?

You hurried towards the Big House, ignoring the pull of your doubt. When you arrived, there was a crowd of campers, gathered in a long line stretching out in front of the door. And, in the center of it all, there he was.

Leo.

You blinked, and for a moment, it felt like your heart might stop. Was this real? Was this... really happening?

He looked the same, but different. His usual cocky grin was there, though he seemed a little subdued, almost unsure. His hair was a mess as always, and his shirt had the usual grease stains from his latest invention. But there was something new about him—something that made your chest tighten.

The line shifted a bit, and it was like everything fell away. The campers were giving you space, stepping aside. You moved forward, not even thinking, just needing to be close to him, needing to see him, to know that this wasn’t a dream.

"Leo?" you whispered, barely able to get the word out.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, he looked stunned, like he couldn't believe his own eyes. Then, in a move that was so typically Leo, he shot up from the bench where he had been sitting, his arms wide open.

“[Your name]” he exclaimed, and before you could even think to react, he wrapped you in a hug. “You won’t believe what’s happened, but—”

You slapped him.

It wasn’t a gentle tap, either. It was a full-on smack, the kind you only give to the person who hurt you most.

Some campers nearby snickered. But you didn’t care. You had to do it. You had to make him feel how angry and hurt you had been all this time. How he had left, without a word, without a goodbye.

Leo froze, his expression turning to one of surprise, then to embarrassment. “Ow! What the—” He rubbed his cheek, eyes wide. “Okay, okay, I deserved it”

You stepped back, your breath shaky, but now that you’d slapped him, something else took over. Something that drowned out all the hurt, the anger, the loss. You threw your arms around him again, pulling him close, holding him tighter this time.

“Don’t you ever leave me like that again, Leo,” you said, your voice breaking. “Do you hear me? I thought... I thought I lost you. You can’t just... just disappear.”

Leo chuckled softly, his voice low and full of warmth, despite the seriousness in your words. “I mean... I didn’t mean to disappear. You know how I am—always making things explode and running off to save the day.” He pulled back slightly, looking at you with that trademark mischievous grin. “But I’m here now. So... does this mean we’re together now? Like... officially?”

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief at his question. For a moment, you almost wanted to laugh—except all the emotions bubbling inside of you weren’t exactly funny.

"Yes," you said, pulling him in and kissing him fiercely, because you couldn’t hold back anymore. Because you needed him. Because you needed him to know you still loved him, even after everything. Even after all the pain.

When you pulled away, Leo was grinning, his usual cocky smile back in full force, despite the tears you both had been holding back. "So... does that mean you're not going to slap me again?"

You could’ve slapped him again. You really could’ve. But instead, you just smiled, shaking your head, and murmured, “No. But I’m never letting you go again.”

And this time, you meant it.

[pukefactory]

HELLO!! May I please request some Bobbette x reader headcannons?

Of course! I hope you enjoy these headcanons.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊��⁺˖✮ CHERRY LEMONADE ✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

❆ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring Bobette as your girlfriend

❆ Character(s): Bobette (Dandy’s World), Coal (Dandy’s World)

❆ Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

❆ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

❅ Bobette is already a cheerful and friendly toon, but with you, she’s the sweetest companion imaginable. Caring, inventive, and always by your side, she wants nothing more than to spend time with you and spread holiday cheer. Lively and upbeat, she makes it nearly impossible to stay upset when she’s around.

❅ One of Bobette’s favorite traditions is enjoying cookies with a warm cup of hot cocoa, and naturally, she wants to share that with you! With Tegan’s help, she prepares a big plate of cookies and two oversized mugs of hot cocoa, topped with cream and marshmallows—the full works. The two of you cuddle up, savoring your treats and each other’s company. It’s not unusual for you both to drift off during this, with Bobette’s arm around your shoulder as you rest your head against her chest, peacefully napping together.

❅ As a toymaker, Bobette is extremely busy around Christmas, crafting toys to fulfill children’s wishes. But even though she’s the best at what she does, she still appreciates an extra pair of hands. When you offered to help, she was over the moon! She loves having you by her side, even if it means things get a bit messier than usual, with paint scattered everywhere. Over time, you become more skilled, and together, you both produce toys far more quickly than Bobette could on her own. With your help, her work feels even more special.

❅ Speaking of presents, Bobette often gives you gifts she made herself. Whether it’s a toy you specifically requested or something as simple as a new blanket, she always manages to create or find exactly what you wanted—and you couldn’t be more grateful. Bobette makes sure you never go without, and seeing your face light up with happiness and surprise makes it all worthwhile for her. Just be prepared—sometimes, she might give you a few too many gifts!

❅ Being Bobette’s partner means you are partially responsible for looking after Coal, especially when she isn’t around. Coal tolerates you as much as she does everyone else—except for her owner—but she is a bit warmer toward you than she is with others. When Bobette is too busy, it’s up to you to take Coal on small walks and help her move large crates of toys. Of course, she probably likes you more than most because you regularly give her favorite treats, making you very popular in her eyes. Your girlfriend truly appreciates your help with Coal, and you always get plenty of kisses from her after she sees how well her pet rock has been cared for.

❅ It’s probably no surprise that Bobette’s wardrobe consists entirely of Christmas-themed sweaters. However, nearly all of them are at least slightly itchy—if not unbearably so. Neither of you knows why, but they always seem to irritate her skin. As a surprise, you got her a stack of new, non-itchy Christmas sweaters made from the softest, most comfortable material you could find. Needless to say, Bobette was elated and gave you a bone-crushing hug. From that moment on, she only wears the ones you gave her.

❅ Another one of Bobette’s favorite festive activities is making gingerbread houses, and what better way to make it even more fun than doing it with you? She carefully lays out all the supplies before you begin, and it isn’t long before you’re both covered in brightly colored icing, your hands and aprons a complete mess. No matter how much effort you put into decorating, the house always seems to collapse under the weight of gumdrops, peppermint swirls, and mountains of powdered sugar. After a moment of staring at the sugary disaster, you both burst into laughter and give up, helping each other clean the icing off your skin. Her kisses tasted especially sweet that day. You both agree to ask Ginger for help next time.

❅ After finishing her toy making, Bobette loves nothing more than to snuggle up with you and Coal under a warm, cozy blanket. You’re well aware—probably even more than she is—that her constant work leaves her completely exhausted and maybe even a little stressed. You can see it in her eyes; something always seems different once she’s done. Of course, you’d never stop her from doing what she loves, but you make up for it by ensuring your shared bedroom is as comfortable as possible. Soft Christmas lights, freshly baked treats, warm cocoa, plush blankets, and an especially cozy Coal all make her heart swell with happiness. So, you always make sure everything is just right before she returns. She rests easily, comforted by the love and care you put into making her feel at home.

❅ Bobette loves telling you about her adventures with Coal—how they delivered presents in blizzards, how she got frostbite, and how she came so close to meeting Santa himself. Oddly enough, she only seems to share these stories when you’re settling in for bed, which can be a little frustrating since her voice is so soothing that you always fall asleep before hearing how they end. Fortunately, you still remember every detail of each tale, no matter how many times she retells them. Especially the one about Coal dragging Bobette through the snow in a sleigh—you’d love to recreate that someday, even if there’s no snow.

❅ Bobette often attaches a sprig of mistletoe to the end of her hook to steal as many kisses from you as possible—and you fall for it every time. Not that you mind the extra affection, but she loves pulling you into an impossibly tight hug and covering your face with kisses until you’re too breathless to protest. When she finally lets go and you gasp for air, she giggles, apologizes, and insists that you’re simply too cute not to smother with kisses. Honestly, you can’t argue with that. You do love her kisses, after all.

[honourablejester]

I’m going to respond to this directly, since I’m one of the ones it’s aimed at, but I understand if OP doesn’t have the spoons for direct conversation. This is just running into several related things I’ve been seeing a lot lately, so I’m going to explore this a little.

Fantasy, Religion, War, Genre Conventions, and Portrayal as Endorsement.

So the thesis here is that the crusades should not be portrayed as a good thing. And what I want to know here is what specifically we mean by that.

Why were the real world crusades bad? And this is not some kind of gotcha question, I’m not claiming they weren’t, I’m asking why specifically. They were a series of religiously inspired wars of conquest that involved invading and occupying foreign territories.

Is the issue here ‘war of conquest’? Or is the issue here ‘religiously inspired war’?

Because the specific example in Pathfinder can be argued as a war of defense, in the sense that an army of demons had actually invaded and conquered one country and were looking to expand from there. Now, granted, the country invaded wasn’t the crusaders’ country, at least not the majority of them. This was pre-emptive defense where a foreign army basically occupied one country and walled off another to prevent a second foreign army from using them as staging grounds to invade further. So there is a native country stuck in the middle getting shat on by everybody, which was true of the Holy Land of the real world crusades as well. But if there is a genuine threat, is it wrong to go to war with them? At what specific point does a war stop being justified? (Or, alternately, at what specific point does a war start being justified)? Is the issue here the concept of war?

Or. Since the impression I’m getting is that the issue is the choice of demons, an objectively evil enemy that it is morally correct to fight, as the opponents of said war, is the issue that it’s a religious war? And in that case … Is the issue the portrayal of religion as objectively correct?

What I’m saying is, are we approaching this from an atheist standpoint? While we’re talking about the assumptions baked into our narratives. Is the assumption here that the historical real life crusades were wrong because religion is false and never a justification for war or anything else that would damage another person, and that therefore any portrayal of a religious war as something the heroes might morally take part in is objectively wrong?

Because. Fantasy as a genre. Assumptions, genre conventions of fantasy as a genre. Not universally, but quite often. Magic is real. Gods are real. Supernatural threats are real. If we have those as a baseline of the genre, how do we marry those concerns?

If a supernatural threat does exist, one that is inimical to other life, one that genuinely wants to destroy everything before it, and that supernatural threat is currently attacking, is it morally wrong to go to war with said threat? If you have an another supernatural ally, one that is the enemy of the thing trying to destroy you, is it morally wrong to listen to them? Is it morally wrong to believe in and follow a god if gods are demonstrably real things?

Now. Pulling back slightly, I fully understand that the terms are loaded. Gods, demons, crusades. These are real world words that had often horrific real world consequences. Blood libel, zealotry, genocide. Calling an enemy force ‘demons’ so that you can justify wiping them out has had real world consequences. Historically, the crusaders weren’t fighting actual demons, but people.

So is the issue here calling the fantasy war a crusade while swapping the portrayed enemy from people to an actual demonic foe, and thereby … justifying the real crusades the same way? They thought the enemy were demons, and demons are correct to fight, so actually the real crusades were justified?

The thing is, though, that we know that the enemies the real crusaders fought weren’t demons. The audience knows. (And the parts of the audience that don’t aren’t the part that are going to be critically examining much of anything).

The narrative is not real life. The narrative is operating on certain specific assumptions that, particularly in the case of fantasy as a genre, are held up as impossible in real life. (Whether they’re right to be or not, there is a particularly atheistic, Enlightenment, ‘we’ve progressed beyond such silly superstitions and beliefs’ sort of stripe in the Western approach to fantasy). Demons are a fantasy thing.

And a religious one. Which, yes, is where the danger lies.

So what I’m asking here is … What do you mean when you say ‘fantasy thinks the crusades were good’? Do you just mean that fantasy operates in a world where demons are real, and that makes fantasy automatically wrong? Is the basic premise of a heroic ‘good’ force fighting a supernatural ‘evil’ force just automatically wrong?

And again, I want to clarify that I do get it. The alignment system, creating a fantasy race or species of beings specifically to be your villains and specifically so that it’s okay to kill them. An enemy that you don’t have to agonise whether you have a moral right to kill, because they are inherently, on a molecular level, just … made of evil. That desire in and of itself is problematic.

But. The thing is. That desire also inherently indicates that the writer knows people can’t provide that. If a writer has to make up an explicitly supernatural foe to serve as their fantasy punching bag, it’s because they’re aware that their audience (or at least hopefully most of their audience) know that humans at least are not inherently evil and morally okay to slaughter.

(The question of other fantasy races created to be punching bags is a different one, the orcs, goblins, drow, etc, because those are explicitly meant to be people bred or damned to act a certain way, which goes different directions, but honestly I think demons are actually less fraught, here, because they are explicitly supernatural, a direct force of embodied evil. Which does then get complicated when you then go back and go ‘no, they’re actually people too’, but eh. This gets messy no matter which way you slice it, unfortunately).

So is the desire to fight an uncomplicated enemy and feel righteous doing so just the basic problem? Because I feel we’re veering there into ‘video games make people violent’ sort of territory. The desire to do something in a game in a fantasy environment that you are conscious is not real is not the same as wanting to actually beat someone to death for being different in real life. And even if it is, the desire to seek out a fantasy means of satiating that desire instead of a real life one is, I would argue, a very good sign. Thought police again. Desires aren’t the problem, actions are.

And, well. A lot of people have the desire to just, for once, know for sure where the evil comes from, to see it given a form, and to be able to directly fight that form. That’s just a thing that happens in the bewildering landscape of today’s increasingly stressful world.

There’s just. There’s a bundle of closely linked potential issues in here that don’t all point in the same directions. It’s a very broad statement, ‘fantasy thinks the crusades are basically good’. Potential elements of that:

Fantasy often uses metaphysical concepts like ‘good’ and ‘evil’ as physical, concrete realities, with all the potential loss of nuance that entails.

Fantasy posits a world where traditionally religious elements such as souls, spirits, demons, gods, sin, etc are physically real, which interacts in very messy ways with the history of religion in our world (as well as with current religion in our world).

Heroic fantasy often automatically creates a value judgement of certain violent activities (quests, war, combat, dragon slaying) as ‘righteous’ based mostly on the fact that it’s the hero doing said activities, and either doesn’t examine that value judgement or causes a lot of (sometimes) unintentional implications while trying to justify it.

When a fantasy narrative using the conventions of the genre (evil as a tactile force, heroes as morally justified, violence as the vehicle of righteousness) borrows terminology from real, significantly more dangerous and nuanced real world events, there is a potentially dangerous resonance where the fantasy narrative is (purposefully or otherwise) being read as an interpretation and endorsement of the historical event.

On the flipside, however:

Fantasy as a genre (whether rightly or otherwise) is specifically highlighted as unreal, as divorced from reality.

The conventions of any narrative genre tend to interact very messily with the significantly more complicated real world. (Heroic war movies, unrealistic or unhealthy relationships in romance novels, etc).

The use or deliberate avoidance of specific terminology within fiction is its own thorny issue, and especially in fantasy given its interesting history of allegory and thinly veiled disguises. Just not using the word doesn’t automatically fix the issue.

Which is not to say that fantasy shouldn’t be examined and criticised and questioned! But. I want a bit more specificity than blanket statements like ‘fantasy thinks such-a-clearly-wrong-thing is good’.

Because. Does fantasy think the real world crusades were good? That likely depends on the writer. Does fantasy create a fictional world where fictional crusades are good? Yes, sometimes it has done. Is fantasy wrong to do so? It depends on the execution.

Because fantasy posits a world where supernatural forces are real, and in such a world, is it wrong to fight such forces if they threaten you? And does fantasy coming to the conclusion that in a world where such things are true, it is right to fight them, does that then mean that fantasy believes that a) such things are true in the real world, and b) such violent actions can be justified on that basis in the real world? Again, it depends on the execution. Because fantasy, as we are told so very often, is not reality, and when we’re judging fantasy (and any fictional narrative), we’re interpreting it both within its own universe, and on how it interacts with our universe.

And, again, going back to that specific example. Paizo, Pathfinder, and the Mendevian Crusades. Pathfinder is carrying a lot of baggage from the history of D&D, the alignment system, the concrete physical realities of good and evil and all the buggy and messy and wrongheaded ways its been implemented. Could they do better, absolutely. But. These specific crusades, as I mentioned before, were portrayed as incredibly flawed, politically and morally messy, and were shown devolving into mindless persecution and opportunism several times. Which means that, in a world where the enemy was objectively evil, where a real and genuine god had mandated the fight against them, and where the survival of the world depended on holding the tide back, the crusade was still shown as complicated and messy and wrongheaded and as harsh on the afflicted people as the demonic invasion itself. There are good demon characters within the narrative. There are intelligent demon characters within the narrative. There are evil crusaders within the narrative. So yes, I’m going to give Paizo some credit here, for interacting with the concept with nuance even with certain fantasy conventions in place.

And again, said fantasy conventions are not inherently wrong in-and-of themselves. Is it wrong to interact with the concept of physical gods? With a physical, supernatural manifestation of dark concepts? If we create a narrative in which evil is given a physical body for us to fight, is that an inherent sign of weakness?

I suppose the other part of what I’m asking, here, is what the solution is. Like. Are we not to interact with these concepts? Is fantasy as a genre inherently wrong for having these concepts as genre conventions?

When you say, fantasy thinks the crusades were good, what is the opposite of that? What is the thing you want to see? Are we getting rid of the supernatural as a genuine force? Are we getting rid of tying inherent morality to supernatural forces (which I can definitely see the argument for, and which to be fair, people are currently struggling with attempting in the genre, and the ttrpg expression of the genre)? Are we dumping the whole concept of the heroic struggle? Are we, say, removing heroic and high fantasy as genres and going exclusively for low/grimdark fantasy?

I realise that this is a very specific example, of how D&D-inspired ttrpg fantasy interacts with the specific concept of religious wars, but as I said this is bumping into a lot of related questions I’ve seen floating around recently. Morality of war, morality of religion, portrayal vs endorsement, morality of violent games, purity culture, etc.

And I am curious, I guess. How do you think a setting with the specific fantasy conventions of pathfinder/d&d, in this case specifically that gods are real and that good and evil can be physically embodied to threaten people, should interact with the concept of a holy war? Just avoid the issue altogether?

Because honestly I think it’s on the audience to draw the conclusion that since the Islamic forces were not actual demons in our world, we’re not going to judge the historical crusades by the same metrics that we judge a fictional world where the enemy literally was an embodied chunk of elemental evil. You know? What might be an understandable and moral course of action in a fantasy world where literal embodied evil trying to destroy the world is a threat you might actually have to face isn’t necessarily a moral and understandable course of action in our world, where things are unfortunately significantly more complicated than that.

I’m not sure if I’m still talking past you, but I figured I’d get my ramble in anyway.

kind of concerning how married the fantasy genre is to "crusades as a basically good thing"

[ectonurites]

Do you think the use of Ariana was made to prop up timber in the valentine's day special.

And on another note what do you think of the lack off explicit callbacks to tim/steph but callbacks with ariana.

i mean like you have a valentine's day story with tim and stephanie shows up and you mention tim having many gf's in the past but choosing callbakcs and explicit references to ariana but not steph when she shows up.

really hope they don't start doing where any callbacks to tim's romances are his past minor gf's and not steph and pretend they are just friends with no romantic history

"Do you think the use of Ariana was made to prop up timber in the valentine's day special."

I think Ariana was definitely used as a prop to tell this story with little consideration given to her as an individual—the author uses Ariana's family's deli restaurant as a setting and uses her past relationship to Tim as a way to connect things but doesn't actually have her do anything else in the story. Except, well, mention Tim & Bernard's relationship.

Now, to be fair, there really are times in stories (especially short ones as part of an anthology like this) where you just need a throwaway character to do something for a moment for the sake of moving the plot along. Acting like every single character who shows up in a story needs to be Super Important And Fleshed Out In That Specific Story is unrealistic and frankly ridiculous.

But but but but... a character who was once a prominent love interest & supporting character for one of the leads you are writing about isn't the same as a nameless throwaway, you know? Especially when you're mentioning that connection specifically—of her being Tim's first girlfriend (rather than it just being a wordless cameo or something) in a story that’s premise hinges on Tim having dating experience.

Ariana is a character who hasn't appeared since like 1999, so pulling her out of the woodwork to be used for one panel while also... needing to make a huge logic leap with her to make it even work—something the writer felt fine with just explaining as having happened off-panel—is really frustrating and annoying. I'm talking, of course, about Ari just suddenly knowing Tim's identity as Robin. You know, the root of most challenges that they faced in their relationship because he couldn't be honest with her about it. Yeah that's just no big deal now, apparently.

That's what pisses me off about this the most—bringing her back only to brush off the sources of conflict between her and Tim and make everything all okie dokie in a completely unearned way. Now to be clear: I don't think it's a bad thing for Ariana to be like, nice about Tim & Bernard being together now—especially because in her last speaking appearance before this that I'm aware of [Robin #66], the two of them had cleared some air on still wanting to be friends even though they're no longer dating. But I do think using her one speech bubble of dialogue to mention how she 'owes' him and Bernard a dinner feels off.

If there were like... an actual conversation between Ari & Tim and during that she said something nice about Tim & Bernard/something about being happy for him, then I don't think it'd feel so weird. And I will say, this is a short story so I get there not being the page space to resolve Tim & Ari's history in a story that's not about that, I really do. But this is the first time she's shown up in about 25 years! Using her in a story and having a big reveal like Tim's identity and not touching on any of that but making sure you do use her single dialogue bubble to mention her ‘owing’ Tim & to mention the relationship btwn Tim & his current love interest??? That just feels weeeird!!!!!!

It feels like her purpose in this story was largely to show a lack of conflict in Tim's current life and that everyone around him is super enthusiastically pro Tim being with Bernard, without actually considering much about her as a character. Which… again, this story isn’t about her, it’s about Tim & Damian… but… it’s still just frustrating when this isn’t a character we can just go read some other book published in the last two decades to see her actually get used well in, this is a character we very well may not see for another 25 years after this.

"And on another note what do you think of the lack off explicit callbacks to tim/steph but callbacks with ariana. i mean like you have a valentine's day story with tim and stephanie shows up and you mention tim having many gf's in the past but choosing callbakcs and explicit references to ariana but not steph when she shows up. really hope they don't start doing where any callbacks to tim's romances are his past minor gf's and not steph and pretend they are just friends with no romantic history"

Yeah I think that also felt a little weird too. This definitely would have been a time that made sense to bring up their history—but also this story was just weird in regards to Steph overall (with Damian's 'Stephanie is too female' line as to why he couldn't ask her for girl advice...?) so I dunno if it's something to think of as a larger trend or if this was more just that particular writer being weird.

Considering the writer also (in the post I already linked earlier) said this about Tim's past love interests—"I figure Tim probably carried some guilt re: his relationship with Ariana, but less with his other love interests?"—I really feel like he just doesn't have a great grasp on Tim's previous relationships at all. Tim is like the fucking poster child for 'feels guilty about everything he's done ever'.

To act like he's not wracked with near-equal levels of guilt about how pretty much all of his past relationships (esp with civilians) went is nuts. Ariana is not the one I would single out from that bunch as somehow him feeling more guilty about than the rest (the only real justification for that I could think of is if you were to explore his guilt over him starting to have feelings for Steph while he & Ari were still together but from the way the rest of that writer's interaction is talking solely about Robin-identity related stuff, I don't think that's what he had in mind?). What about Zo who he ashamedly broke up with over the phone, feeling as if he'd already let her down too many times? What about Tam who he let think her father was dead for days because even though she knew he was a superhero he still couldn’t fully let her in which caused the slow building relationship between them to explode? Tim and Ari actually had a civil face-to-face break up at school and talked in a friendly way afterwards! Not to say he shouldn't feel guilt there with her because there are reasons he should, but acting like it's somehow a higher level of guilt than he’d have with the others is just odd.

Anyway that's getting a bit off topic. But yes, while I'm very much so not opposed to the idea of Tim's previous girlfriends getting to be referenced/come back in some fashion, I do also hope that it doesn't mean Tim & Steph's history will get thrown to the side. And I'd hope that if they do get to come back, they'd actually get to be... characters, who have dynamics with other characters, rather than just cardboard cutouts there to say one nice thing and then fade back into comic limbo for the rest of eternity.

[midnight-mourning]

Roses are Red

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 2💘💘

I was feeling, something, when I wrote this, and by that i mean lots of flirting and such ajsldkfjklsjdf

Prompt: Gardeners Sun and Moon preparing a special bunch of roses for their dear Y/N and hiding an engagement ring in a single special rose. Y/N happily saying yes and giving the boys a smooch!

Word Count: 2403

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

You stand by the kitchen door, hand on your hip and brow raised. 

"This again?" You ask the moon-themed bot in front of you, as he leans one elbow on the counter. Awkwardly, mind you, with his height. 

He shrugs, despite very clearly blocking the door to outside. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Sweet."

You cross your arms, nodding to behind him. "Okay, then may I get past you to go outside?"

"Why bother?" He tsks. "Dreadful weather today, wouldn't you rather stay inside?"

You wrinkle your nose. "No. I think it's a lovely morning actually, based on how sunny it is, and the nice breeze coming in through the window. I'd like to read my book on the swing." 

You'd gotten up extra early for exactly this reason. You were hoping if you woke up just a bit sooner, you could sneak out and enjoy the garden as you'd so been hoping to. It was a bit frustrating that you had to put it that way. 'Sneaking out' of your own home. But that's what it had come to at this point. 

Loved them as you did, but your gardeners had been exceedingly... difficult over the course of the last month or so. Despite the spring months finally being upon you, the prime time to truly enjoy the garden and appreciate their hard work, you'd been banned from the space entirely. 

Keep in mind, they were always bashful when it came to their work, and would sometimes not let you see their handiwork in the early days of spring since it wasn't 'complete' until all the flowers bloomed. This was different however, as you hadn't been barred from seeing the castle gardens just mere yards from your residence, nor the plants being tended to in the greenhouse.

No, it was specifically what they were working on in your garden—the walls far too high for you to peek over, unfortunately—where the source of your woes lied. Apparently. They were being incredibly secretive about the whole affair, going so far as to deny outright that you were banned from your own space.

Or in this case, making excuses. 

"Ah, but the weather could change at any time. Surely you'd rather not take the risk and spend your time doing something else?"

You lean back on the kitchen counter. "Like?"

"Reading your book inside, of course." Moon nods, straightening and walking over to you. "Even better, you can read it to me, out on the parlor couch, perhaps. I could hold you, or better yet, you could hold me. I've a terrible crink in my neck that only resting in your lap can resolve I fear. What do you say?"

You tilt your chin up as he now stands in front of you, towering over you even when he sets his hands on the counter on either side of you. Not so subtly blocking you in. 

You hum. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Sun can handle himself for a bit, and really I think I've more than earned a morning's rest." He leans down so your faces are only a few inches apart. "You wouldn't deny your poor Beloved a break, Star. Right?"

You huff, though the temptation to take him up on his offer—and more—was at an all time high. "Beloved is a bit of a stretch at the moment."

"Is it now—" Just as the gap was about to close between you, Moon is gone. He makes a strangled noise of surprise as he's yanked back by a half-gloved yellow hand.

Sun releases him after a moment, cheery as can be. "More than earned a morning's rest, hm? Last I recall you didn't spend six hours potting pansies without a break, did you?"

Moon grumbles, but doesn't retaliate further than that. 

Before you can say anything, Sun turns to you, seeming to know what you were going to say. "The garden is off limits for the time being, Sunbeam. I might suggest the castle grounds for a good location instead. Once we've finished up here this morning I'd be happy to join you. I'll even bring lunch if you'd like." He finally finishes putting on his glove, adjusting his work apron. 

"And just where do I fit into that scenario?" His counterpart asks, searching around for his own outerwear.

Sun's grin widens further, eyes upturned crescents. "Why, you'll be busy trimming the hedges that you've been putting off all week, of course."

"That all sounds lovely, though I do feel bad for Moon." You step closer to the sunny animatronic, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. "But I do have to press you on the reason for why I can't access part of my own home. Which you live in, mind you."

He sadly doesn't buy into your scheme, hand cupping your cheek as his rays click. "You'll find out soon enough. No need to go spoiling the surprise at this time. Go enjoy your morning, Love." He presses a kiss to your forehead and you scoff lightly, despite the heat rising to your cheeks. 

"Fine. But no more putting mud on the windows, while I'm gone. Makes me feel like I'm living in a cave." You hadn't expected them to go to such lengths, though knowing them you weren't surprised either. 

"No promises~"

Later on in the day you do in fact, enjoy a picnic with Sun, Moon nearby as he begrudgingly trims hedges. Though, another week goes by, and you still can't enter the garden. Not to mention, the flirty banter you typically so easily exchange has dropped to practically nothing. 

Your advances are avoided, to the point you can hardly even get a goodnight or good morning kiss. Which, given that you were used to being overwhelmed with affection, being underwhelmed is, incredibly deflating. So, you decide to change your tactic. 

You wait until one of them is alone, in this case Sun, to strike. While he may act very blunt and avoidant with Moon around, alone you think you can get him to slip up and finally tell you what they're up to. 

You find him on a quiet rainy afternoon hard at work in the greenhouse. The rain pitter-patters softly against the glass far above, the space cast in a bit of shadow from the grey sky and plants that are all encompassing throughout. 

He's at a workbench, tending to a group of sickly looking hydrangeas when you find him. He jumps a fraction when your arms wrap around him, head resting on his shoulder as you watch him work. 

"Oh, hello, Starlight. What brings you here in these conditions?" Despite the evenness of his tone you can hear a tinge of anxiety underneath. 

Your hands shift to slide across his arms, causing him to freeze at your touch. "Was curious about you. Wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Well, as you can see, I'm simply just—" He hesitates as you turn to kiss one of his rays. "B-busy. Would hate for these hydrangeas to wither away because of a lack of care."

You chuckle, kissing him again. "I suppose so. What a pity." Just as he turns to face you, you pull back from him, moving to sit on the workbench instead. 

"Something else you need, Sweetpea?" Sun chuckles nervously, you can see the smallest hint of steam arising from him.

You have to smother your smirk to keep your own composure. "Nope, just want to watch you work is all. Don't mind me."

"Ah, of course."

For several minutes there's nothing but muted clinking and such as Sun works, posture stiff as you keep your eyes—and hands—on him. Just simple little touches, traces patterns on his forearms or handing him things every so often. It only spurs you further as you notice your plan is working, the flustered avoidance you'd been experiencing is now just fluster, and you see your chance. 

"You know. There is something else I'm thinking you could help with." You reach out and cup his chin. "If you're willing, that is."

You see his rays flutter just a tad. "That so?" 

"Mhm. It'd be really easy for you to do too. And if you do, I might have something for you in return." You lean in, just hovering your lips above his smile. 

He chuckles, eyes-lidded. "A trade then? I'm certainly not opposed."

"I was hoping you wouldn't be. Now, close your eyes—hey!" You're suddenly plucked off the bench and hauled over a shoulder by blue and white hands. Quickly marched away from a startled and utterly confused Sun, as you see when you glance back. 

Moon sets you down by the door to the greenhouse, displeased grin on his features. "Dirty tricks like that belong in the garden, Moonflower."

"Well, I'm not allowed in the garden, so I had to resort to other locations." You huff, brushing off your clothes. "Was that really necessary?"

He bends to your level, eye to eye and inches apart. "It was."

"You're not on my kiss list now, I hope you know that." 

Moon's hands cup your cheeks, faceplate spinning once. "What a shame then, that you're on mine."

He kisses you once, then steps back. 

"Tomorrow, if the weather clears up, tomorrow you can go in the garden as you choose. I promise." His thumb rubs against your cheek, troubled look in his eyes before he shakes his head. 

You keep your frown, despite the heat on your face, and nod. "Tomorrow, then."

You stomp out of the greenhouse and into the rain in the hopes of making it clear your resolve is temporary. In reality you think it just makes you cold, and wet. 

But, the next morning the sun peeks through the clouds and after a brief and somewhat quiet breakfast, your gardeners finally relent. 

While you're beaming with excitement, they both seem nervous as can be. You're so caught up in all the activities you wish to do that you're only half catching the anxious looks and fidgeted movements they share between each other. 

Sun's hands are clasped in front of him as he speaks. "We're sorry it's taken so long, Love. We had several setbacks—" He sends a glare to Moon, who shrugs. "But, we hope you like it."

"And if you don't, just keep it to yourself." Moon's hand rests on your shoulder with a snicker, though there's still that nervous hint to his tone. 

You scoff at the two of them. "I always love what the two of you create. Regardless of whether it's for me or anyone else." 

With a final sigh, Sun steps out of your way and you all but skip over to and out the door, the warm morning light hitting your skin like an embrace. The garden sparkles from the dew and the day prior's rain. All across—

"Roses?" You ask, in awe at the sheer abundance of them. 

Several varieties and colors cover the expanse of the garden, from the edges to the center. Every flower bed is filled to the brim with them. Yes, there's the typical flowers and bushes they plant as well, sprinkled in here and there. Primarily, however, are the roses. 

You walk through the grass with a sense of curiosity at the scenery around you. It's breathtaking, but not the least bit suffocating. Brimming with life, but not crowded. It was, in a way, perfect. 

Though, you don't understand why they tried so hard to hide this from you. Yes, it was stunning, but the secrecy you just couldn't—

As you turn around again, you see the two of them standing there, together, with a large bouquet in their hands. It consists of bright yellow and deep purple—near black—roses. 

"These are for you, if you hadn't already guessed." Moon's gaze is elsewhere as he holds the flowers out with his counterpart. 

Sun's rays are spinning quickly as you flick your gaze to him, he coughs and also looks away. "We, we hope it's to your taste. We got what we thought would suit you best."

You're too stunned to really think on the words. "Oh, these are, incredible." You say, gently taking the neatly wrapped bouquet from them. "For me, really? You didn't need to—"

Inspecting the flowers closer, you realize that in the center of the cluster, there's something shimmering in the middle of a rose. This one is different from all the others. Its center is yellow, but the outer petals expand out into that deep violet, with speckles of contrast all throughout. Lying in the very center however, is a ring. 

It clicks then for you. 

"This needed to be special, to show how much you mean to us, hence all the preparation." Sun states. 

Moon continues. "An ordinary flower wouldn't do you justice, nor would an ordinary proposal. The garden served as the best place to refine both."

You nod slowly, feeling a little more than just choked up. 

"Is, are you, will you—" Sun stops himself. 

"Would you do these two humble fools the honor of having your hand?" Moon asks. 

"Yes, that."

You nod again, quicker now, face on fire and tears pricking your eyes. "Yes, yes, absolutely yes!"

Before either can react you shift the bouquet so you can grab them both by their shirts, planting a kiss to each of their smiles several times. 

Breathless, you pull back to hug them both. "I would have taken just a simple stroll by the lake, you didn't have to go through all this trouble just for me. But know I appreciate it more than anything. Thank you, I love you. So, so much."

Based on the clicks and whirls that emit from the two of them, and the bits of steam, you think they're as overwhelmed as you in that moment. Sun's lop-sided grin and Moon's half-lidded daze makes you chuckle. 

"Duly noted." Sun states. 

Moon nods. "Don't spend four years seeding, growing, and experimenting with roses next time. Understood."

"Four years?" Your brows shoot up. "But we met just roughly four years ago."

"We know. We started on this about a week in."

At this you shake your head, laughing outright. You give them another kiss, and revel in that moment. 

It's going to be one you cherish for years to come.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you for the lovely request @amarynthian-chronicles!! I love how you always write the boys with a sense of whismy and charisma so I tried to channel that for this hehe ^^

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

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[wingedshadowfan]

people: it didn't matter that sevika was sitting in cassandra's seat because "it wasn't caitlyn's to give" (the seats are not inherited) and because caitlyn didn't want to be a councilor anyway so she wouldn't care

you guys are missing the point!!

we don't actually know if the seats are typically inherited or not

maddie told caitlyn she can reestablish the council, and at the end the council was actually reestablished (and while i personally don't believe maddie that caitlyn could've done that by herself, or at least not if she chose to follow the usual procedure, despite her powerful family name and the fact that at one point all councilors except shoola were dead or gone) w/ powerful people whose families seemingly hadn't held a seat before - but that's not necessarily evidence for councilor seats not being inherited, as it didn't seem like it was the standard that all of a sudden there were no councilors anymore and their families were busy grieving them. perhaps it was completely intentional that reestablishing the council involved putting new faces in it (esp if the old councilors/their families had been in power for a long time - and they likely had been ever since ambessa sieged piltover).

when salo tells her she's not authorized to be at their meeting and caitlyn tells him she's "a decorated officer, leader of house kiramman" that definitely means she doesn't have a seat on the council automatically after her mother's death, but it doesn't mean she couldn't have gotten it, had she wanted it - or had the remaining council members held a vote about it. this is what i mean when i say i don't think the seats are typically inherited - i think the council has to vote for each new member (except when fully reestablishing it from 0 members) but we've seen how easily those votes can be manipulated with mel adding jayce as an 8th councilor and them kicking heimerdinger out with some political play. what i mean to say is, even if the seats aren't inherited, i believe they'd probably function that way regardless because every council member would try to keep a seat in their lineage, especially if they're from a known powerful family like caitlyn is. this is why caitlyn has leverage despite not being a councilor, and why it's so shocking when jayce becomes one and heimerdinger gets kicked out. seats are rather understood to belong to a house and "promised" than inherited.

even if you don't believe me (bcuz this is something we can only guess about and my word's as good as anyone else's), we can all agree caitlyn's opinion matters - especially after she lead the piltovians into war and helped councilor and mage mel medarda defeat the enemy in the face of her mother and noxian general warmonger ambessa medarda, and basically save humanity. the "decorated officer, leader of house kiramman" was already influential enough to receive virtually unanimous support to become commander in martial law and now she's somewhat of a war hero. so even if she isn't a councilor, and seats can't be inherited, sevika taking specifically her late mother's seat, after almost killing caitlyn and vi on multiple occasions, isn't something that could've happened so easily, had caitlyn not wished it to. regardless of who we think reestablished the council (although i think it makes the most sense that it was mel, shoola and caitlyn), even if caitlyn didn't "give" the seat to sevika, she very much allowed her to sit there and gave her her blessing.

caitlyn didn't want to be a councilor anyway so it doesn't matter to her who got her mother's seat

yes, caitlyn never wanted to be a councilor but she's still her deceased mother's daughter and the leader of the house that kept that seat - if it was up to her (which i'm sure it had to have been, at least to an extent), she wouldn't have allowed just anyone to become councilor, let alone sit in her mother's very seat. she would've definitely cared who carries this specific piece of her mother's legacy. and if she thought sevika was unfit for it or that it would taint her mother's memory, she wouldn't have allowed it to happen. and i have a post explaining why i think the undercity representative had to be sevika and caitlyn knew that. with jinx gone and ekko having his commune to take care of, sevika isn't just the only choice, she's the one who worked to unite the entire undercity after vander and silco failed, who lead her people into battle. caitlyn saw this.

and of course, caitlyn's last words to vi in the show are definitely consistent with this as they point to the idea that caitlyn hasn't just left things the way they are after the council got reestablished - sevika is still a minority vote and the other councilors didn't exactly seem happy to see a zaunite there, so the fight is only just beginning. this is evidence to believe that caitlyn is actively using her resources and privilege (with vi's help) to aid in rebuilding, reforming and healing the two cities and their relationship - and in doing so, dedicating herself to atoning for her mistakes.

[rjalker]

from the replies:

mercifulmother Dec 1, 2024

The amount of white man blinking gif I'm doing at that person right now. I am so TIRED of those popular romance tropes. Like I get it, it's fake and a fantasy, but I want some variety so I can read what I want too, you know? I really desperately wish I could find more stories with the main romances actually caring for and respecting each other. Sigh. Just gotta write the hyper-specific stuff I want myself I guess!

novella-november Dec 1, 2024

Yeah, like. Just because werewolf fiction has a common trope of women being treated like crap, don't get to transform at all, or if they can transform, doing so will cause miscarriages during pregnancy and they commonly get abused by the men in their life and this is seen as the 'correct' and Normal Thing in werewolf fiction………

………. doesn't mean that's a trope we should continue or endlessly praise this trope.

*standing in doorway looking over my shoulder: "sometimes, popular tropes… are bad"

mercifulmother Dec 1, 2024

[claps] Yes, this, thank you. Its so utterly ridiculous and doesn't even make any sense? Like. It's magic. It's literally magic and FAKE and people can, in fact, make up whatever new werewolf rules they want that are not… This hot mess nonsense. I can't even read werewolf romances anymore because it's always like this and I hate it. I don't see how that's supposed to be interesting or romantic in the slightest. I can literally just watch true crime if that's what I'm after. There are so many other interpretations out there that are sitting around just… Untouched. And for that matter, I'm so tired of abuser-to-still-abuser wearing the enemies-to-lovers trench coat. Why does the one enemy always have to be extremely controlling, cruel, violent, and utterly unapologetic with no attempts to even admit to their wrongdoings (which at that point shouldn't be forgiven regardless). Whatever happened to enemies who deeply respected each other's abilities and are obsessed with each other instead because nobody else can understand them? Or enemies who hate being on the opposite side and are desperately trying to 'save' each other because the respect and care go that deep? Like. Literally anything other than aggressively trying to oppress and abuse and subjugate the other (and it's ALWAYS a man doing this to a woman like haha funny how that works except it's not funny).

Making a much longer post short:

If you are writing a Romance, especially one you want your readers to root for, please make sure you take the time to include lots of little scenes that show that:

your characters actually are *friends* as well as lovers,

they enjoy spending time with each other on a casual basis

they respect as well as love each other

they try to communicate their feelings clearly instead of bottling their ire up til it explodes in violent arguments

neither of your characters are genuinely afraid of the other when they're angry

that they do not threaten each other with bodily harm during arguments, or use physical force

they respect each other's consent, and respect their partner's wants and wishes when it comes to physical affection.

pretty much to sum it up: do your characters actually enjoy being with each other, or is the entire relationship built on lust and dramatic arguments and nothing else?

Because if your relationship is the latter, your readers are more likely to want them to *break up* rather than *stay together*.

[genderqueerdykes]

I'm going to start throwing a tantrum if the popular leftist YouTubers keep saying Trans Women when talking about the effects of Trump's policies that very much can and do harm and kill trans men. Like I don't get it? What is the point of specifying trans Women every time they talk about broader trans issues? Do they even realize they're doing this?

this is a really good ask, thanks for taking the time to say it! that makes me really glad i don't watch anything even remotely political or related to queer topics on youtube. i'm not sure how other people can do it, it's entirely too stressful and it's way more common than not that people just end up getting sucked up into petty drama instead of talking about the queer experience or helping other queer people.

i have to be honest to god about this behavior: it's virtue signalling mixed with genuine trans(andro)phobia. the vast majority of it is straight up just virtue signalling and it's old as fuck. it is super obvious and i have no idea how people think they're doing anything good by behaving this way. this is a way for people to make Themselves feel better because they're patting themselves on the back for being sooooooooo progressive and sooooooo good to trans women. people want to look like a great ally to transfems without actually being one.

it's fucking annoying as hell and it's being done on purpose to show that that person doesn't give a singular shit about trans men or anyone else and is literally just sucking up to trans women in the hopes of gaining brownie points and looking more progressive. like it's glaringly apparent that people think that trans woman is the only way to be trans, can we call this bullshit for what it is? "trans person" does NOT mean "trans woman". if you want to specifically talk about trans women, just say that. don't do this weird thing where you're like "oh this is gonna affect trans people!" and then immediately say it as trans women.

trans women are not the only trans people. fucking stop this behavior. you are doing this on purpose. you are leaving out trans men on purpose for the sake of trying to look progressive and like you care about trans rights. all you're doing is proving that you are transphobic af and are only doing this to either suck up to trans women, or for trans women to intentionally erase trans men and completely leave them out of the conversation. like sometimes it IS trans women doing this and we HAVE to call it out. trans women can and do participate in transmasc erasure. we have to pretending that trans women can't hurt trans men, transmascs, nonbinary people, genderqueer people and all other kinds of trans people.

i 100% agree with you. if we're talking about trans issues in general why do people ONLY say trans women and that's it? i don't know how to say it any other way than transphobic legislature hurts every single trans person. every single one. masc, femme, both, something else altogether. all of us are affected. what about genderfluid people? what about bigender people? what about transfems who aren't women? what about agender people? what about transneutral people?

trans does not mean "Trans women and trans women only". stop this behavior. we GET it. you wanna LOOK like you care about trans women. we GET that you want to suck up to us for Progressive Brownie Points. like people really think we can't see this shit. people really think that we cannot tell that people are pandering to us just so they can pat themselves on the back for looking like they care about trans rights. we can fucking see that you're doing this to try to get the transfems in your life to think highly of you while you're not actually helping them at all.

i need people to understand that transfems and trans women are aware of how fucking phony this shit sounds, even when it's coming from other transfems and trans women. like we are nowhere near as dumb as y'all think we are. i honestly find it really fucking nasty that people think that trans women are too dumb to tell when people are just sucking up to us to try to make themselves look better. if you ask me, this behavior is just as transmisogynistic as it is transandrophobic, exorsexist and just transphobic in general.

you can't leave out every other single trans person for the sake of trying to gain rights for trans women. it's all of us, or none of us. leaving other trans people out of the discussion will not make trans womens' lives better or easier. we don't want this. stop it.

[plotthotrobin]

I’ve talked about the polite neutrality between the three lords during White Clouds, but I have another point about friendships in this game to make. The Golden Deer are the only house that feel like something close to an actual friend group to me - but that’s not a complaint or me saying that GD is objectively the best house. (There being a ‘best house’ actively defeats the point - and I actually like more of the students from the BE.) It’s just neat to compare and contrast.

Despite most of them having known one another from a young age, the Blue Lions feel more like the reunion of kids who played together during their parent’s work meetings. They’re stiff and awkward around each other a lot of the time despite being more familiar. They get along because they have to for the future of their kingdom. Hell, I think at least half of their interrelationships are at least initially born out of obligation. And that isn’t to diminish the sincerity of some of the friendships that do blossom, but that energy overall never really goes away. I think it reflects the tone/culture of Faerghus and Dimitri both really well, actually, since there are a lot of themes of tradition and doing what is socially expected of you.

The Black Eagles are kind of a weird mix of strangers and friends when they start out. I read them as being more individually isolated than the other two houses. Because the unspoken obligation of the BL’s isn’t there, this group falls into almost the opposite camp. Dorothea, Ferdinand, and Petra are on good terms with almost everyone - but aren’t actually close to anybody. Linhardt and Caspar are childhood friends of sorts, but a lot of it seems like the former merely tolerating the latter (especially during WC) - and neither of them are really close to anyone else. Bernadetta is… well, Bernadetta. Edelgard and Hubert are the one exception since they are very close, but even then they are princess and retainer - not ever really friends on an equal level, even though they have a deep love and respect for one another. The house as a whole, though, doesn’t feel very tight-knit. Again, none of this is a complaint. I can’t say much when it comes to Adrestia itself, but I do think it reflects a lot of Edelgard’s individualistic mindset on a personal level as well as her overall approach in Crimson Flower.

Other than Raphael and Ignatz, none of the Golden Deer seem to know each other by much more than name at the start of the game - which means that they’re all getting to know each other at the same time. I truly think that different foundation makes them growing together feels a little more organic in terms of friendship. I can easily see this group naturally sitting around a campfire and swapping funny stories. While, again, I can’t say much in terms of Leicester’s culture or anything, I think this works extremely well considering Claude’s whole thing is wanting to tear down walls and bring people together. It’s really nice to see. (Quick disclaimer: I don’t believe Claude truly sees them as his friends until post-timeskip during VW specifically, but do think most of the others view him as a friend pretty early on.)

It’s interesting how these setups affect their respective routes. 😊

[mightyneinrewatch]

FAQ

Someone pointed out to me that asks were turned off, oops... that has been fixed now. Feel free to ask me anything! If I don't respond right away, forgive me, I have a day job and must pay bills, but I'll at least check in once a week when I'm rewatching the episodes myself.

Just to answer a few questions I've gotten so far:

There is no need or obligation to tag spoilers. (With the sheer number of people here who will be repeat watchers, it will be impossible to avoid spoilers, and I don't want anyone policing anyone on what tags they use - I want everyone to have fun!)

If you WISH to tag spoilers as a courtesy to new watchers, I would suggest using #nein again spoilers just so we all know it's specifically spoilers for the rewatch. (And if you are a first time watcher, WELCOME! I hope you enjoy the ride! Please tell us your thoughts as we go!)

PLEASE keep negativity to a minimum, meaning if you dislike a particular ship or canon event or whatever, I would only ask that you keep it out of the #nein again tag? That tag is for sharing LOVE of this campaign, so similarly I would ask not to see too many comparisons to other campaigns. (I have no intent to actually police any of this or call anyone out, and this is also NOT a request for ANYONE ELSE to police it either. I can and will use the block button.)

I am currently queuing up posts with the episode links, which will go out one episode at a time every Sunday at 8:00 am Mountain Time for the US (which I believe is 10:00 am Eastern Time for the US, and that's as far as my knowledge of time zones go) This is not a "live watch" per se. Think of it more like a book club. We all have a whole week to watch the episode and chat about it. Set your own schedule, and of course PLEASE don't feel bad if you fall behind! If you have a bad week, it's COMPLETELY okay to just skip the episode for that week and catch the next one. Or take a break for a few months! Or if you get REALLY into it, you can watch ahead at your leisure. No one is grading you on how well you manage to keep up.

On a very cool note, I checked the follower count AND WE ARE SOMEHOW ALREADY AT OVER 200 FOLLOWERS??? MY GOD, THAT IS INCREDIBLE! Very happy to join you all on this journey!

Special thanks to @sethdomade for mentioning the idea of a "dracula daily" version of a Mighty Nein rewatch! (That I'm now realizing I basically hijacked the idea and didn't even ask them at all if that was okay, I AM SO SORRY, I guess I'm asking forgiveness instead of permission??)

Drop any other questions in the ask box, and I WILL SEE YOU ALL TOMORROW FOR EPISODE ONE!

[brightvelvet]

I'm going through season 1 of Rings of Power again before I start watching season 2. There's so much to talk about, but what I want to talk about here is Halbrand. Specifically, Halbrand and what he meant to Galadriel. **NOT WRITTEN WITH HALADRIEL IN MIND**.

For one, looking at interactions, these two don't feel like friends. There's no casual exchange of friendly words or touches. Galadriel looks at Halbrand and sees so many things. He's rough around the edges and wary, handsome if grody, and too clever. His goodness wasn't apparent from the get-go, and it appeals so well to Galadriel's own seeming struggle with darkness. They're equals, but Galadriel's watching Halbrand to see what he does as much as he's evaluating her.

Galadriel wasn't being wise or powerful when she kept coming back to Halbrand and his potential royal bloodline. To be clear, she doesn't trust anyone. She can only go to him because he won't care enough to use her and he's too kind to say no. Most importantly, she recognizes his type, someone she doesn't want to leave by their lonesome. Maybe it was selfish of her, to keep dragging Halbrand into her journey, but I don't think so. Halbrand was a cracked reflection of her flaws and strengths, and so she treats him not like any friend or ally. She treats him like he's cut from the same cloth as her, like he's a mirror of herself. She pushed him like she wished someone would push her. Unfortunately, we know that Halbrand was incredibly receptive to this.

For two, Halbrand's reciprocation to her actions just enflames their strange, intimate dynamic. Galadriel pushes hard, asking more and more of Halbrand and it seems harsh from the outside. Yet Halbrand stays with her step by step, taking in her commands and demands. Galadriel pushes so much of her own expectations on him and when she thinks of him the words -thank you- must surface. She realizes how tired she is of carrying everyone's expectations alone. Her gratefulness and guilt for him sharing her burden are what finally manifest Halbrand as that mythical King in her mind. Not his silver tongue or Southland's crest. They speak the same language, 'favors' as a weak cover for the fact that they are too loyal to ever refuse the other. She meets him at the bow of the ship and acknowledges this attachment. It becomes something she holds close to her chest in the absence of anything else. Not love, but some type of dream fantasy/fulfillment where Galadriel doesn't have to fight alone.

For three, Galadriel watches Halbrand fight the orcs and it cements something in place. Galadriel appreciated Halbrand before, was grateful and saw good qualities, but here we see that she genuinely doesn't want to let him go. She was never interested in redeeming his bloodline, not really. The 'bloodline right' was to convince other people of her cause and his glory. She never needed a material reason to want better for him. But now it sets a line between them. He was her equal when he was a low man but now he is a King and he has other obligations. It threatens to drag him from her, and I mean drag because he's demonstrated on a few occasions that he's just as attached, and she's conflicted. Maybe some part of her wants to grab him and run. It's not simple, what she feels for him. It's not simple what his person does for her. And the thing is, she knows what the correct course of action is. He looks noble, acts noble, and hundreds of Southlanders need him. He would be the King they were Promised. So she begins to let him go in her mind, loosen her dream from her heart, because she won't keep him. He'll become one of her ideals (like Elrond, like her husband, like her brother) and she'll remember their time together as bittersweet.

In the end, Sauron grows impatient of Halbrand.

Her dream dies when Halbrand eventually asks for the one thing Galadriel wouldn't give.

Halbrand himself dies a dishonorable, screaming death. His pupils shrink to slits, his eyes shot through with red. His teeth become ungainly and sharp. His skin turns grey and darkens with visible veins.

Galadriel turns her blade against him.

She'd looked up to him on his mortal, Kingly pedestal. She'd envied him, been so proud, and wanted to steal him away. And in the wake of his utter betrayal, she has to try and think past the flames.

Halbrand's dead, even if he never existed in the first place. She can't mourn him, for so many reasons, and she must immediately get ready for battle because her massive fuck-up could cost the lives of everyone she loves.

Halbrand's ghost will haunt her though, and I'm sure not just in the form of her worst nightmare come to life.