#we need to re-appropriate her

[jesncin]

It's Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen! Been itching to do a take on them.

[carojaramillo]

kind of sad about anette and jayjay leaving i cant lie

[hexhomos]

The 'Talis' hypothesis

So I think the S2 trailer confirms something central about Arcane I've wondered for a while. This has plot bearings to it, namely what nebulous purpose 'Magic' serves in the story -- how they're changing the role Hextech has in the game lore, incl. its power system & ruleset -- and what kind of hubris is associated with it historically. But it also answers something that has always nagged at me: why the fuck did they change Jayce's name?

So let's talk about this picture. And I'm going to give you the rosetta stone in 5 seconds:

This is Hextech now. Like that is just an incredibly concise and complete descriptor of Hextech-in-Arcane, right. It 'harms' Jinx, it 'protects' Jayce in the snowstorm, it 'heals' Viktor to a degree. It is installed permanently in architecture; the Hexgates ARE the brand.

First off, we have this fucker carrying around a talisman from back when he was 7, and the cinematography of the show agonizes over showing you this throughout all of ep2:

Jayce's bracelet is a bang-on definition of a historical talisman. The way hextech *functions* in the show is inextricable from the promises and rites associated with talismans, a word appropriated/popularized by the French - which I'm going to conservatively argue Fortiche would be familiar with;

Which brings me to the subject of what Hextech is, and how Hextech was changed for the tv show (and what its possibly being retconned to in the game)

Hex'tech' is not technology. The name is a carryover from a bygone era of leagueoflegends speak; Hextech in Arcane, and presumably in expanded lore going forward (given Skarner's rework and other things) - is the study, development, and the building of an industry around the craft of practical Talismans. If you want to understand how this shit works you need to promptly abandon the assumption that it is 'manufactured' magic -- its pure magic. It's raw magic. The tech part is a red herring misnomer.

The beliefs around this already cover links to 'the Arcane' as another, ethereal destination realm with Inhabitants that learn and change, ontop of rune-carving as magical instruction;

This also covers Viktor's impending transformation and the changes made to his character.

IN MY OPINION, via the content released so far and what we've already witnessed in S1, Viktor has been shifted away from becoming 'the machine herald' and re-positioned to become the Herald of Divine Rune Alchemy or whichever name they end up using.

I don't doubt that he'll get the armor at some point, because that's a recognizable visual and as much fanservice as they owe his decade-long fans, but... I would temper my expectations around the thought of machine evolution. It's not what this Viktor does, and it's not what he (or the narrative,) is interested in -- My guess is that the armor comes into play as a secondary way to AVOID overusing limited magical power, as we've seen runes can be depleted, and the hexcore tends to kill things in exchange.

Now that we've established all that, here is the bridge that I'm going to sell you.

Now, for today's homework, I expect you to run off to do something useful and homoerotic with this information.

[goldsbitch]

Our wedding

Y/N and Lando probably went a little too overboard when planning their wedding. She finally looses it when his friend suggests a product placement bucket hat.

A dream wedding.

Distant palazzo, with acres of private lands to roam around at night. Lavish dress, designed to fit perfectly and re-done three times. Coordinators, who made sure everyone who needed to be invited actually was. And also took care about almost anything one can imagine.

A perfect wedding, that's what they both wanted. Go big or go home. Combining romance, with generously giving everyone they loved, or deemed important, the time of their life. To say that this event was supposed to be extra would be an understatement.

Lando said yes to all of Y/N's wished regarding flower arrangements, menu items and rooming lists. She said yes to all of this ideas about the music, sound systems set up in each part of the venue (because heaven would turn upside down if there had been one quiet spot with no music, according to Lando) and drinks choices. They could not agree on the photographer - so Lando just booked his, and hers option as well. Saving money was not on the table. He knew that the amount of good PR and brand deals the Quadrant team managed to get together was going to pay out in the long run. Everyone loves a wedding.

That's where the first issues started - the amount of people invited grew into higher hundreds. She voiced her point few times, but Lando quickly shut those off with a promise to book a private charter for all friends and family who were coming from her homeland. She caved in and agreed to just few more CEO's she'd never met, as long as they did not share their table.

It was the final two months before the wedding and things could not be more hectic. They had to plan the wedding around Lando's race schedule, so summer break between races it was. Y/N had to juggle her job with all of this planning, so she attended less races than she usually would. Most of the calls she shared with Lando were wedding related and it seemed like his best friend Max took it upon himself to speak on behalf of Lando - so sometimes it felt like she was marrying Max rather than her fiancé. After a total break down she had few days ago, which resulted in her crying on the phone to Lando at 4 am his local time, they agreed she absolutely had to come over to the next race so that they could find some down time.

//

Having to endure a tiring overnight flight, she finally stepped into the hotel where Lando was staying at. Exhausted, jet-lagged and generally in a bad mood were the main ingredients in the perfect cocktail of "you should just avoid me" Y/N. She finally opened the door to his room and let out a groan. Traveling to see him used to be her favorite thing. A bombastic cherry on top was that she immediately recognized Max's voice coming from the living room. Was this guy staying in the same room as them now?

"Y/N, is that you?" she heard, desperately hoping he hadn't heard her enter in. She felt like a bitch for wishing that, but he was the last person she wanted to see at that point. Her hopes of jumping in the bed and cuddling Lando the first thing coming here dissolved like cotton candy, leaving tooth aches behind.

"Yes, Max, it's me," she said, not even bothering adjusting her tone to something more socially appropriate.

"Great, just on time. Can you come in here? We have some decisions that are becoming pressing matters," he said dryly and added his own frustrated comment quietly "...since someone does not feel like answering emails." She heard that, bit her lip and swallowed all her comments, otherwise she would explode.

"What's up?" she asked, entering the living space. There were dozens of baseball caps and buckets hats laid down on the coffee table with Max and some random young guy towering over them.

"We need you to pick out one of these which you'll be wearing after the reception. I have a great brand deal on the table which I need to close today. So, go ahead - pick one." She could not believe the words coming out of Max's mouth. Was he for real?

"May I ask when did I agree to wearing a baseball cap with my dress right after my wedding?"

Max glanced at her and then rolled his eyes. "Can you just pick one? Lando is on board with this, he'll be wearing this green one," he pointed to objectively very nice stylish item of clothing - but still, it was a bucket hat. Rage levels shot up in Y/N blood steam.

"Max, I'm suppose to be wearing my wedding dress until the evening, that's also in some deal you guys made," she proclaimed, hoping this would finally make him get some sense. "The dress is very classical, I don't think this would fit the vibe."

"Oh, come, we agreed to sticking to the Quadrant Athletes color palette and all of these check that. We want to break the classical vibe up with this."

"I'm sorry, who exactly is we in this scenario? And who the fuck are you?!" she pointed at the guy standing next to Max.

"I'm...I'm the product placement controller," he said in a shy voice.

Her eyes just went wide at that point.

"Y/N, no need to freak out again, you need to create a viral moment to make the brand grow," Max said, as if he was talking about a new merch launch.

And that was the final straw. "I'm getting sick of you guys making my wedding into a Quadrant PR stunt. You need to realize this is my wedding, not yours! The whole event is already dripping with brand deals and promotions, is there nothing out of line to you? Will my mom also have to wear one of these hats? Will force the officiant to wear sneakers? Where will you stop?"

Max stared at her, his own cup finally also full. But unlike her, he spoke calmly - again, giving strong business vibes. "Oh, I'm sorry - I'm sorry I am pulling heaven and Earth to make sure your wedding does not ruin your future husband! I apologize that I seem to be more stressed about this wedding than you are. Sorry for caring and trying to uphold some standard."

"Max, this is all too much! I feel like I'm suffocating," she tried to reason with him once more.

He just had enough at that point. So many little moments of mutual disagreement finally grew on him.

"Yeah, well maybe you're just not suited for this world."

Before she could even take a breath to respond, a familiar voice cut them both off.

"Guys, that's enough I'd say," Lando said as he slowly stepped out the same corridor Y/N had entered moments ago. Both Max and Y/N turned around, knowing they'd have spoken way differently had they known he was there as well.

Max gulped, knowing he stepped over a line and immediately started to apologize. "Mate, I'm sorry, we just sort of lost it. I'm sorry."

Lando glanced at him, his face suddenly hard to read for both his friend and his fiancée. He quickly flashed Y/N a look, seeing the obvious distress finally on his own, in a way the camera on a phone just does not capture. It pained him to see them two fighting, but it pained him more to see her on the verge of crying.

She couldn't find words to apologize to Max. In fact she could barely even see him, as Lando took all of her attention.

"Can you guys leave us for now? I think we need to talk alone," Lando said in a tone so serious that Max hardly remembered last time he'd heard it.

"Yeah, mate. Of course," he said shyly, gesturing to his companion to quickly exit with him.

Once the door finally clicked, Y/N felt like she could get out of her frozen state.

"My god. Lando, I knew it would be a challenge these few months, but I did not expect to grow so far away from you," she said, as the words flew out of her mouth without her being able to control it.

He was more careful with his words, but brave nevertheless. "It's true. I don't think we've even been so distant."

Him acknowledging it just made it real and hurt more.

"Right. At least we have that in common."

There was an awkward silence, something these two hadn't experienced in months.

"Why is Max involved so much?" she asked, hoping that she would not hear anything that would make her biggest fear come true - Lando's lack of desire to marry her.

He took a moment to get his point in the right order. "He's my best friend. This is our wedding. I can't stop focusing on racing, but I want it to be perfect. I'd say not giving him any credit sometimes."

Of course, he was defending him. She wondered if he defended her in front of Max sometimes.

All card on the table. She gulped before uttering the next sentence. "I'm scared that I don't want to go to my own wedding anymore. I feel like an unwanted guest."

They shared a look full of hidden pain. It was impossible to tell, but Lando was scared as never before. "What are you saying...Do you want to call it of??"

She looked back at him, praying that he would understand. "God no, that's the last thing I want to do," she sighed and put her head in her hands. How did it got to a place where he could even assume that? "Marrying you, the love of my life, is my dream. In fact, I'd just like to jump to the moment where I can finally say yes to you."

The air still felt really heavy. "Then let's do just that."

"What do you mean?"

Lando took few steps closer to her, missing her close proximity for the past few weeks. He desperately needed to fix them. "Let's book a wedding for next week in Monaco, just you me and any other people required by the law."

The idea of that seemed silly at first. But the more she thought about it, the more she craved that idea. "So, you want to call the actual wedding off?"

Lando chuckled at the image of them cancelling that at last minute and all the hustle that would bring. "No, silly, not unless you really want to. But who says we can't have a fake ceremony there, celebrate with everyone, while already being married at that point? We don't need to tell anyone, keep the magic for them. We can have two weddings."

It was her time to laugh now. "So because we find organizing one wedding hard, we're going to be doing two now?"

"We are anything but conventional. And if this is news for you then, well...That would mean I'm marrying the queen of delulu. Twice."

The weight of the past weeks was lifted.

"Does this mean I can say "No." at the big wedding?" she teased him, closing the distance between them and holding his hand.

"Not if I'll say "No." first," he winked and quickly gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm not wearing a bucket hat. Just stating that now."

"Oh come, at least one of our weddings," he said as he ruffled her hair. "Wow, I think you need a post airport shower, my love."

"Do not try and change the topic - no bucket hats!" she mumbles as she tried to fix her hair.

"Fine, I'll just get you drunk. You'll wear a bucket hat at one of our weddings one way or another."

It felt so good to just banter with him, like they always did before they got caught up in all the stress. A shot of guilt went through her system, as she flashed back at the whole process so far.

"I should probably apologize to Max," she uttered, avoiding his eye contact once again.

He finally hugged her. "Yeah probably. But...let him rot in his feelings for a moment. I hate when someone makes you upset. Apart from me, of course."

"What makes me upset right now is the alarming amount clothes you're wearing."

"That's my girl!"

//

They got legally married the following weekend, Lando bribing anyone he could in order for them to skip few spots that were unavailable. The first wedding was secret and full of inappropriate, but honest kisses. The second one was fake, but they slayed it together, as newly married couple. Without the stress of actually getting married, they really enjoyed their wedding. The little secret stayed with them - and Max of course, because he just had to get involved with everything.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 7 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

chat what would be *your* reaction if you woke up and found agatha straddling you? (love that she has sensible pants under the skirt)

this is what sex after 50 looks like ladies, take notes

regular timeline: lilia has already joined the trial and was just doing a reading for billy.

lilia's pov: this is the first time she sees billy after he kinda sorta tried to kill her

this delivery from sasheer destroys me

lilia goes from anger to shock to recognition while billy reads her mind and responds to her thoughts

billy sounds so young here. of course he would have saved alice, if he could. of course he's reading her thoughts: he can't help it. he cannot help any of this. it's up to his coven to help and guide him, it was never the other way round.

now that the sigil is gone, lilia recognizes the lost boy from three years ago. not a scary monster, not the son of the scarlet witch. just a boy in a lot of trouble.

and look what jen does here. now that she knows what lilia's going through, she can step in and help her along

meanwhile agatha is making a scene, per usual. and lol she puts the hat back on, she really likes that outfit

love how jen is now 100% lilia's champion. same, girl, same

and jen being jen, she doesn't coddle or anything, she's very practical. she's like, hey girl, focus! you were in the middle of something important. I got your back and I'm going to fill the gaps for you. we can do this together.

yes I know babe the glinda halloween costume is cultural appropriation. could be worse. jen's dressed as snow white's fugly witch forchrissake.

does she have an eye on her crown? that's so neat

THIS shot. billy supporting lilia with his physical strength. jen supporting lilia with her no nonsense attitude. hell, even agatha just jumped in to save her from the falling sword.

agatha realising all that lilia did to protect billy. but also detective agnes getting another precious clue re: billy getting a new body.

lilia cast the sigil to protect billy from any external threats, and to give him the time to adjust to the shock of a new body and new life. again, lilia knew this was the son of the scarlet witch, someone that on paper terrified her. but when she actually met billy, she didn't see danger. she saw a young member of her own community in an impossible situation, and she stepped in. you know if she had met agatha as a teenager in salem she would have done the same thing.

pay attention now. lilia needs to find out what was her past/future self's mistake while reading for billy.

something interesting happens: while looking for answers, she jumps in rapid succession to episode 5 and episode 2. stop, stop, stop, stop, she repeats, like she is trying, for the first time, to direct her jumping. before, she was just a passenger. she's starting to become the Traveler

and where does she land? back to her maestra, where she can find answers to her current problem. she brought herself there, and only half accidentally.

and there's the crucial question.

che peccato, what a shame. a witch requires a coven.

the latin sentence on the table, in nave expeditus sis tam celer quam ventus, translates to something like "on a ship, may you be unimpeded and as fast as the wind". but there's another sentence in front of lilia, we can only read the first word behind her hand: mors. Death.

it's sure not going well now. despite the little step forward with jen, lilia still feels the odd person out, the one that's just too different to fit in. I know many of us, especially on this site, especially with our various but similar issues, have felt like that.

lilia's words are angry, resentful. but she's not angry, she's afraid. she's lashing out because looking in is too much. but like lilia herself said to alice: sad is better than angry.

when an actor gets that single tear forming in their eye... that's the good shit.

YOUR TASK IS NOT TO CONTROL, BUT TO SEE. you were born with a burden? turn it into power. if people don't accept you, show them what they were missing. do it in your own, unique way.

go to episode 7 part 4

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

OH GOD YOUR REQS R OPEN, i would rlly like to request something, could you write an one shot of price with a little daugther reader? just like, him coming home and spending some time with his little girl, she tells him about her school, he tells her some funny stories that happened while he was at work, he cooks her favorite meal, just a big fluff, i love this man more than anything and i just need some paternal love LMAO, feel totally free to deny! do everything in your time and remember to take good care of urself!

Memories of Youth

Pairing: Father!John Price x F!Daughter!Reader

Synopsis: It was hard being away from his little girl, but warm mornings spent in each other's company were blessings - even if they were far and few in between. It didn't matter the form.

Word Count: 4.5k (short and sweet)

Warnings: Angst (just a little cuz I can't help myself), a lotta fluff, banter, just good platonic/paternal relationship in general, etc.

A/N: Didn't specify if the reader was adopted or blood-related, so that's really up to you! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He got the call at the halfway point of crossing the English Channel, Northern France behind him and Southern England just on the horizon line as the sun began to spread its orange glow over the waves. Sitting high above the water in a slick black Heli, John Price’s hand snaps to his side pocket, fingers deftly peeling back the layers as the overwhelming sound of helicopter blades shakes the hull. 

The rest of Task Force 141 watch with varying interest, only Gaz taking notice of the sudden frown that mars his Captain’s face; the furrowed brow, and the spark of concern in his eyes. A call was unusual. The Sargeant tries not to intrude, but can’t help the way his body lightly shifts so he can have a better view.

John doesn't bother to look at the contact when he takes the device out, rapidly pressing the answer button and slotting the phone at his ear, tilting his head so his opposite rests at the junction of his shoulder. It only stops a fraction of the noise, even so, it would have to do for now. But with how his ears were already straining to find a sound over the line, he may not need to force out the jarring racket after all. 

Inside his chest, John’s heart is racing – confusion laces his mind. This was abnormal. 

I told her only to call if it was an emergency. What could she have gotten herself into now? I said to stay out of trouble…

“Where are you?!” The Brit has to shout down the line, his familiar deep accent loud and guttural. 

His mind flies through every possibility. An intruder had broken into the house, you had broken your arm falling down the stairs again, or a fire had broken out in the kitchen. Fuck…he was too far away to help if anything bad had happened. John’s jaw clenches, eyes looking out over the water as the bucket hat on his head flops in the wind. It was only a product of his job that made him think like that; years of intuition and thinking on the fly leading to his mind making up the worst scenarios. 

Especially when you called on a secure line when he told you it was only appropriate for life-and-death situations. Especially when it was his little girl.

I told ‘er about the Pistol in my office, yeah? The Captain asks himself with a steel-like resolve. And gave her Laswell’s number?

John’s fingers tighten over the phone when he hears your breath over the line, a shuffling of clothes, and a deep exhale.

“Sunshine!” He tries again, sitting up straighter as his pulse gets faster. Why isn’t she answering me? “Where are you right–”

“We don’t have anything for breakfast.” Your voice is heavy with sleep; fatigue drowning the syllables and holding them under the very waves that rage under John only separated by thin sheets of metal. 

The Brit stops. His body freezes, and as the tense minutes go by his panic falls away and leaves a thick stain of annoyance resting behind his eyelids. Of course. John brings two fingers to his nose bridge, digging into the skin until tiny crescent moons are left behind; he has to take a deep breath before answering, but his tone leaves nothing to the imagination.

“...Breakfast…?”

“Yeah, Old Man, you need me to spell it for you? B-R-E-A-K-F-A–”

“Enough!” John barks stiffly and has to hold back his anger as you laugh from the other side. Ever the jokester – did you not realize how serious this was? How fast your father’s heart was racing with adrenaline? 

Fuck, he had just about been ready to radio the cockpit and force the pilots to fly faster.

Across the way, Ghost locks eyes with the man, and with a tilt of his head and a loud call he asks, “That the Mutt?”

The Captain’s eyes slip back into a firm blank slate.

“Affirm.” John tilts the phone away from his mouth, ignoring your sarcastic comments to catch his sanity for a moment and respond to his Lieutenant.

Simon blinks as Johnny perks up at his side, looking in from the view in favor of the Captain with newfound interest. A bright smile forms over his scruffy cheeks

“She all good?” The skeletal man asks, and Gaz smirks lazily tapping his fingers over his knee, immediately noticing your shenanigans and the way the Cap was so worked up. 

But anyone would be when they had a daughter thousands of miles away.

John simply nods once with an exasperated expression to Ghost. MacTavish snorts out a laugh, knowing the context of the situation without having to think hard.

“Is that Uncle Simon?” You ask, and with a scratch at his beard, your father hums in confirmation, letting the sound of your voice put him more at ease. She’s just fine. “Tell him I want him to come over and play Mario Cart with Gaz, Johnny, and me again! He wiped the floor with ‘em last time!” 

There’s a clinking of pots and pans as you move throughout the house. 

“Sweetheart,” Your father grumbles, sighing through the call. His voice takes on the authoritative tone that works for both soldiers and teenagers – but it rarely works on you, despite that fact. Took after your dad too much, is what John would say. Never listened until it was absolutely necessary. “What did I tell you about callin’ this phone when I’m away from the house?”

He hears your scoff and raises a warning eyebrow, though you can’t see it. You know your dad enough to know he’s doing it despite being separated. It was pretty common.  

“Not to, unless it’s an emergency…But I’d say food is a big enough reason, y’know? Unless you want me to eat the leftover cake for breakfast – which I haven’t thrown out as a possibility yet, honestly.”

“You’re not eatin’ bloody cake for breakfast. You’ll get sick.” Gaz snickers, turning his face away to hide the amusement at the comment. 

It hadn’t been a surprise that the Captain’s daughter was such a familiar creature – they saw traits reflected every time the two were together. Everyone had expected her to take after her old man in nearly everything, and when she had they had bumped fists and prayed for the brown-bearded man. But it was funny nonetheless, considering they got along better than most fathers and daughters; practically reading each other's minds when everyone was playing poker. Johnny was still pretty ticked off about that – he’s a good deal deep into the sweets debt he owes you because Price helps you win. But where they really shined was with the shared deadpan attitudes, bottom-of-the-barrel sarcasm, and knowing how to command a room without even trying. Safe to assume that the rest of the team would do anything for you.

“Will not.” You grumble in retaliation, and John’s lips threaten to tilt into a grumpy smile when he hears you put the cake plate back into the counter. 

Letting the tension fall from his shoulders, the brown-haired man takes a glance outside, watching the waves go bright orange as they lap and writhe like great sea serpents. 

“How long have you been up, eh? The sun’s barely risen. Thought Sunday was when you always slept in?” 

There’s a pause in what John believed were fingers digging through a cupboard, and he narrows his eyes in confusion as the silence grows long. He frowns when you speak again, words so quiet he has to place a hand over his other ear to hear properly. Having half a mind to go and tell the pilots to hurry up and go faster so he can just talk to his little girl in person, he refrains, knowing that’s not how this works. But something was wrong – it had been laced in your previous words, as tiny and unnoticeable as it may have been. Only a father would notice it.

“You said you were gonna be home last night. I stayed up.” It takes a moment of halted breathing before John’s eyes widen, blues full of realization.

Oh. 

…Damn it. He lets out the tense breath of air from his lips, shifting in his seat as the gear around his body weighs him down. His gun digs into his chest. 

He hadn't seen you for over a week – leaving you in the care of a close and trusted neighbor, Mrs. Lilly, just as he always had when he needed to leave for work on short notice. But seeing as you were older now, it became apparent that, with your learned independence, staying at the house by yourself was alright as long as you checked in with the neighbor every morning and night. You had been waiting for him to come home. All alone. In the dark. 

Fucken’ hell, John thinks in a deep layer of guilt as wrinkles overtake his forehead, I did tell her I’d be back yesterday. I forgot to call and tell ‘er. Shit! He didn’t want to imagine the stress that had been put on your shoulders. God, what’ve I done?

Not checking in was something he had never missed before – he always told you when he was about to come back. What had gone wrong this time? How had something that important just slipped his mind? Sure the Op had been tedious, but he was trained to handle it. It was no excuse. 

“Sweetheart,” John starts and then pauses the soft and gentle endearment, knowing that an apology didn’t fit into what you were looking for. You didn’t want an ‘I’m sorry’ right now, you wanted your father. Flattening his lips into a line, he continues, wishing he was with you more than ever so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “...I should be back before 1200. How about when I get back I’ll cook you up somethin’ myself, yeah? Or we can go to that Cafe you like down on Newman Street and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“...When do you have to go back?” You don’t answer his question, and yours makes his heart hurt. 

John clears his throat.

“None of that, now. We’ll talk more when I get back, Darling, alright?” You don’t respond, but he hears you sigh and quietly scoff under your breath. “Alright?” He tries again, head tilting forward and eyebrows rising as if you could see him. Maybe you could.

“Fine. But you better make me pancakes. I don’t care if it’ll be noon.” 

“Pancakes it is.” The Captain looks up in time to see Johnny mouthing words to him, and with a blank face and stiff lip, your father mutters with a grunt, “Johnny says ‘hello.’” 

Your shocked snort makes him feel better, but a layer of guilt still stays. You were awake all night waiting for him, and he never showed up. Did you sleep on the couch? Damnit, he hoped you didn’t…but in his rattling chest knew you had. He found you like that every time he came back from a long stay away. Huddled under blankets, no pillow under your head. Sometimes you steal one of his shirts and hold it like a stuffed bear to your chest, shoving your face into it. 

How could I forget to fucken’ call her?

Your voice takes him out of his growing self-resentment. 

“Tell him to watch his back – I’m getting better at Rainbow Road. Soon enough I’ll be able to beat him in a 1V1!” John can’t help the slow chuckle that bounces in his throat, mind, for the moment, at ease as long as you continue to speak to him.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along. But, eh,” The Brit makes sure he speaks slowly, letting you hear every syllable of his next words. “Promise me you’ll stay at the house until I get there. No goin’ out with friends, yeah? You know how I worry.” John ignores the teasing look from Gaz and peeks out again to see how close they were to the mainland with narrowed lids. “‘Specially when I’m not there.”

Getting back to the Base wasn’t the problem, it was the damn reports coming in that would wring his neck before he could get out the door. But he’d push it off for however long he could; call in favors from Laswell to get him more time with his little girl so he can fix his mistake. As a dad, the only thing that counted was seeing his daughter after a seemingly unending Op that he didn’t want to relive. The hardest part wasn’t the blood or the guts – it was being away from you. Nothing would ever change that, even if he was the one on the ground gritting his teeth at the bite of a bullet.

“Scout’s honor, Old Man.” The happiness in your voice makes him smile to himself. 

“Stop calling me that, Muppet.” John grumbles affectionately, rolling his eyes, “I’ll give you a call when back I’m in town, Sunshine. Make sure the door’s locked–”

“--Locked, the windows too, plus, if someone knocks on the door I need to look through the peephole and if I don’t recognize them don’t open it…Am I missing anything?”

“Mind yourself, now you’re just being cheeky, you are.” John teases, scoffing, but proud that you remembered his rules. It made all of this just a bit more manageable.

“Who do you think I got it from?” You laugh, but it tapers off sullenly, “Just…get home safe, okay, Dad?”

John’s beard pulls back into a soft close-lipped grin, eyes crinkling as his heart warms. He so desperately wanted to ruffle your hair. 

“Of course, Hun. But, eh, take a nap. It’s still early, and I know you’ve got schoolwork to do later. You sound like you’re about to keel over where you stand.” You scoff before agreeing with a muttered grumble, most likely already stumbling to the living room couch, and then the line goes silent and is replaced once more by the whirring of the helicopter blades. 

The man peels back the phone and pockets it, hand unconsciously brushing his breast pouch where a picture of the two of you always sits. It was a baby picture, with your little form held in his grip delicately; looking down at you with soft eyes and an easy smile on his lips that always formed when he was with you. From under a soft blanket, your tiny hand reaches out to try and brush his stubbily cheek. 

It never failed to bring him ease when he realized the photo was there. A reminder that if everything else in his life went horribly wrong, you would still be looking up at him with those eyes of yours. At the very least, he had managed to do one thing right.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a good kid.” Gaz calls at him, and John spares him a glance out of the side of his eye with a raised brow.

“I know she is. I’m the one who raised her.”

—

You remember eating a piece of toast before you made your way over to the couch, throwing your phone to the coffee table haphazardly before tossing yourself onto the cushions. Still in your pajamas, you can’t find it in you to go and grab the homework in your backpack this early. The sun had only just risen, and the bags under your eyes reminded you how late you stayed up last night. 

But your father had never shown up.

Frantic was too light a word to describe the feeling you had when your eyelids had peeled back to the empty living room and the TV still playing. It had been second nature to snatch your phone and call the secure line – half of you had said it was better to call Laswell, just in case, but your adolescent brain had wanted nothing more than to hear your father’s voice.

He would make it better. But you needed to hear his voice. 

Dad, you remembered pleading to yourself as the sound of the dial tone echoed in your ear, please answer the phone. Please. Answer the fucking phone. 

Your heart was pounding; hands shaking. He never just didn’t show up when he said he was going to. Never. Your dad was punctual – always on time no matter what – and he had ingrained the same sentiment in you as well. 

When his deep voice finally bounced in your eardrums you nearly started to cry, missing the first hurried and concern-filled inquiry of where you were. Hearing his voice put you at ease, and after a week of missing your father’s strong presence and his warm hugs, it was hard not to take a shaky inhale when he seemed so close.

You just wanted him home; you wanted him to make you pancakes and help you with your schoolwork. You wanted him to read a book to you on this couch like you were a toddler again while his old record player was on in the background. 

It was childish, getting so worked up about it, but your dad meant the world to you. Not having him here felt wrong. 

Sighing, you rub at your eyes and revel in the darkness before letting out a strained yawn, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over your body. It didn’t take long before your eyes were flickering shut, a calm quiet settling over the house as cars passed by outside in the street. You pull the blanket closer and breathe, inhaling pine needles and ash. 

You don’t know how long you were there, twitching in your sleep before the scent woke you up – it makes your nose scrunch, eyelids blinking away fuzz. There was a pillow under your head, the blanket wrapped tight around your neck to keep out the London chill, and a clanking of pans in the kitchen. Scraping spatula over cast iron, you knew, the sizzling of batter. 

The haze of that in-between state, sleep and consciousness fighting in the back of your skull and under your hairline, stays even as you try to force it away. It was like a wave – it constantly pulled you under when you thought you were getting to the surface. Your eyes would blink open and closed; comforted back into sleep by the deep humming, the waver of an old record player. Feet over hardwood and the smell of fresh pancakes. 

Dad’s home. 

A delirious smile slides over your sleep-hot face. That was why you were so content. This was what home sounded and smelled like. 

Dad’s home. You repeat it once more, nuzzling farther into your father's travel pillow he brings to and from Base. Pine needles. Ash. Cigar smoke.

Dad’s home! Your eyes snap open wildly, your body shooting up from the cushions as the blanket falls to the floor. Angling your head to the separated kitchen, you swipe the drool from your mouth with a heavy hand and listen. 

Your dreams had tricked you before, but no. Not this time. 

He was humming along to some old tune under his breath that mirrored the record player behind the couch; the antique turned low so it wouldn’t wake you. Blinking in shock, your mouth morphs into a rich smile instantaneously. 

Throwing yourself off the couch, your feet slam to the floor, rushing and almost tripping over the blanket on the floor as your body slants forward. Giggling, you push on, righting yourself with no second thought other than welcoming your dad home the same as you always did. Zipping around the corner, a shadow is already turning your way, a plate of pancakes ready to be put on the table and devoured. 

“Dad!” You yell loudly and launch yourself at him, hearing his chest let out a grunt and his hands splay around you so he won’t drop breakfast food all over the floor. 

A velvety chuckle is wrung from his body, and his free digits go to rest heavily on your head as you shove yourself into his hold. Gripping his shirt tight between your fingers, you try not to cry when that scent that had been fading from the house comes back tenfold. Your eyes burn, but you only let one tear out when your dad’s finger begins stroking your hair just like he did when you were little.

You had been so worried. 

“There’s my girl,” His voice whispers out, “I’m here, Sunshine. Easy now.” 

“I thought you died,” You can’t help the helpless gasp that rips from you. Your father’s hand freezes; body going rigid around your smaller, desperately grasping frame. The atmosphere of the room flips. Digging into the fabric of his shirt the full flood of tears finally comes forward. “W-when I woke up and you weren’t here I… I thought you were never coming back home, and that I would have to go and live with the neighbors and I’d have to bury you in the cemetery. I don’t-don’t wanna have to put you in the ground.” You’re rambling, but you can’t stop the words. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone.” 

At some point, the plate of pancakes had been tossed to the counter without care for if the porcelain cracked from the force, and both of your father's arms hand scooped you into his hold effortlessly. Your breath was hiccuping violently, tears making his shirt wet and sticking to his skin. 

But John didn’t care. 

He wrapped his arms around you and curled his body in, taking you into a hold so warm and tight you couldn’t leave it even if you tried.

What’ve I done? The man feels his lips tense, blinking down at your shaking body with guilt as you sob. Oh, my Little Girl, I’m so sorry. What’ve I done to you? 

Had he never noticed the toll that this job was taking on you? John asked himself this in disgust as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, whispering words into your hair under his shaky breath. He hated when you cried because of him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love, alright? Look at me.” You don’t move your bruising grip, face still held away from sight as you gasp down frantic breaths. John’s voice gets firmer, “Sweetheart, I need you to look at me, yeah?”

Your tight fingers stutter, and your head barely shifts to the side, one red eye peeking up as he looks down at you with all the love he can muster without looking incredibly broken. He never wanted to see you cry again but knew that would be an impossible feat to accomplish – but he’d do his damndest to try.

“There she is.” John’s hand goes to your cheek, brushing away the saltwater with a calloused thumb as you sniffle. “Just keep those eyes on me, Little One.”

“...M’ not little anymore.” You grumble out, your cheeks heating even as your pulse slows as you focus on your dad's eyes. So soft the edges were nearly liquid; water that held your attention as they lapped across your form. 

“To me, you’ll always be little. Can’t change that I’m afraid.” The man grunts out, tilting his head down at you and letting his eyes travel from concern to comfort. But that doesn’t change the present. 

“I’m so sorry, Love,” Your father mutters, eyes flickering away from yours in guilt so rarely shown to others. He always prided himself on being strong, you knew, bearing the brunt of the weight. Apologies weren’t often verbally said until it truly mattered. “I should have called you. That’s all on me, that is. Bloody stupid to forget about, knowin’ how you wait up for me.” 

Your lips thin to mimic your dad's, brows pulling close. But in your chest, your heart couldn’t be larger. You didn’t hold it against him, but you wished he could be here more often; not put himself in dangerous situations. Knowing as little as you did about your dad's actual job, you still knew it wasn’t entirely safe. 

Maybe the two of you protected each other from the things unseen. 

Your chest aches.

“...You’re funny lookin’ when you have to apologize. Like a kicked bear.” Pulling back your lips, a tiny smile lighting your face, and you look up at your dad with a sniffle in your nose. 

His visage snaps to yours, eyebrows going high on his head in surprise, and hooded blue eyes widening. It takes a moment, but a smirk pushes back his beard when he sees the tears have stopped falling. 

“Yeah?” John asks you, a grumble reverberating in his chest, “Now, y’know, that is just bloody rude, Sunshine. Thought I raised you better…And after I made you pancakes.” 

Laughing, you pull back, stomach rumbling and nose twitching at the prospect of the nearly forgotten food. Slithering past your father, you snatch the plate and fork before rushing into the living room. Jumping on the couch you begin to cut into the carbs, piling pieces into your mouth and smiling at the taste. No one else could make them as your dad could. 

The Brit comes not seconds later, a cup of tea held in his hand before he sits down next to you with a groan, stretching out and laying his socked feet on the coffee table next to your tossed phone from hours earlier. You giggle, suddenly leaning to his large frame and hearing him grunt in retaliation. 

“Tell me a funny story,” You demand, listening to him sip his drink in the mid-morning glow that spreads outside the house and leaks in through the opened curtains. Birds sing outside, heard from the street. 

Your dad hums, his beard tickling your scalp as he leans into you in turn, making you chuckle before he nuzzles against you kissing your head; leading to a larger exclamation of glee before you elbow his gut. 

He laughs and answers with a smile in his voice.

“Hm, did I tell you ‘bout the time Gaz fell out of the Heli?” 

You laugh, eating the rest of the pancake remnants; feeling incredibly happy and warm. There were many memories you loved of your dad and his recounting of stories fit many of them. He always kept out the gory bits – promising himself that he would never lead you down that path no matter what – and always opted for the many downright hilarious situations the rest of the 141 always seemed to get into.

“Yes, but tell me again. It’s funny, especially when you describe his face afterward! Like he–”

“Like he had shit his pants and didn’t want to tell me,” John chuckles, eyes squinted, looking down at you as you snuggle into his side. He wraps an arm over your shoulders, taking your empty plate with one hand and putting it on the side table before pulling you close and making sure his tea won’t spill. He feels your tiny, bird-like, heartbeat on his ribcage and knows that nothing could ever take you away from him. You would always be his little girl.  “Yeah, Love, I remember that one. Now, let me start from the beginning…”

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[spankingwishes2]

Sophie's Preference vs. My Own

When my sister Sophie feels like she's gotten a bit off track, she confesses to Mom and - despite being 22 years old, goes over her knee. Even when she doesn't use her dreaded hairbrush, Sophie gets an effective re-framing.

For a long time I resisted following suit, despite Sophie's suggestions (and the fact that my behavior is much further out-of-bounds than hers is). With time, however, I found a woman who would reliably hear my confession and deal with it appropriately.

Now, sometimes - often, really - when Sophie decides she, or we, are in need of correction, as she is suffering over Mom's lap, I am getting 'corporal encouragement' of my own.

And I didn't choose her to avoid Mom's hairbrush - plenty of times I'm the one who has to get it worse!

[lavenderchqn]

𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 — MANY MOONS AFTER (3,3K WORDS) 𝑅𝐸𝐷 𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆 — lyney x f!reader smau

𝑆𝑌𝑁𝑂𝑃𝑆𝐼𝑆 —

Second year of university should've been everything you thought of it - more studying with human interaction sprinkled throught... What it definitely wasn't supposed to be was an investigation saga where one of your friends goes missing out of nowhere

𝑃𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆 — 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — 𝐸𝑁𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑇𝐻𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻𝑇𝑆

“Navia, please don’t pull my hair so tight— ly.” [Y/N] pleaded, seated at Charlotte’s vanity at their dorm. She was letting her friend do anything to make her look drop-dead gorgeous for the incoming date with Lyney. Clorinde and Charlotte were also in the dorm, thinking about an appropriate outfit for their friend.

“Ah,” Navia stopped brushing [Y/N]’s for a second. “Sorry, Love!” She eased her grip and continued with a gentler touch. “Can’t help but be excited for you. I feel like a mother witnessing her daughter’s wedding!” 

“Oh please…” Lynette’s voice sounded through the phone sitting on the vanity. She was the only one not present in person for [Y/N]’s getting ready — choosing to stay behind to calm her brother down, in case his friends fail to do so. “You’re not going to get yourself the maid of honour spot this way, Nav.” 

 “Maid of honour?!” [Y/N] yanked her head towards the phone. “You’re already thinking about a wedding?! Girls, this is a first date.” 

“Given Lyney’s personality,” Charlotte said, looking at the clothes sprawled all over the bed. “He might marry you in like a year. We’re simply preparing for when it happens!” 

“As if you have any chance at being the maid of honour, Charlotte.” Navia moved [Y/N]’s body back to continue her work. “You and Clorinde had been disqualified for not being supportive of the relationship initially.” 

“We were simply trying to stay rational.” Clorinde scoffed. “You ought to not get into a relationship at such an emotional period.” 

“Excuses, excuses!” 

“Okay, okay,” [Y/N] interrupted the conversation, rolling her eyes playfully. “I’m happy you’re supportive, but seriously, what if I mess this whole thing? Then there won’t be a relationship to plan a wedding for.” 

“—‘re an idiot,” Lynette said bluntly. “Lyney likes you, for you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t even ask you out on a date.” 

[Y/N] tried to rebuttal, getting shushed by Navia in an instant. “[Y/N] I will tug your hair really hard if you say that we’re just saying because we’re your friends.” 

The girl sighed, biting back her tongue as Navia gave a teasing but pointed look through the mirror. “Alright, alright.” She mumbled, relenting. 

“Good,” Navia said with a satisfied nod, gently patting the hair she’d been working on. “Now, if you start doubting yourself again, just remember this: Lyney’s the one who should be worried about impressing you. Got it?” 

“Exactly!” Charlotte agreed, holding up two outfits in front of her with a contemplative expression. “Let’s talk clothes. Romantic and sweet, or bold and daring?” 

“I think bold,” Clorinde remarked from her corner, her sharp gaze darting between the options. “It will throw him off his theatrical game. Besides, you’re not just any ordinary date.” 

[Y/N] glanced over at the phone as Lynette let out a tiny laugh. “Seeing him not act like a diva might be fun to watch.” She admitted. “But honestly, he’s already a goner for you. Wear something you’re comfortable in— Oh, the pitcher has broken?” 

“A pitcher has broken?” Navia raised her eyebrow at Lynette’s statement. “Isn’t that an odd thing to say?” 

“The gang is over,” Lynette stated. “They’re helping Lyney with his part of getting ready. Since Neuvillette claims he’s not good at those things, he decided to check on the Brita pitcher, that’s all.” 

Charlotte let out a melodramatic gasp, clasping her hands together. “Helping Lyney get ready? What does he even need help with? He’ll probably just throw on a flashy outfit and go out like he owns the world.” 

Clorinde and Navia joined in, snickering. [Y/N] and Lynette, however, kept in silence. They both knew that as much as Lyney was charming and theatrical, there was more than that to his personality. 

“—Oh, alright,” Lynette said, directed at somebody at her house. “I’m going to leave the call, girls. Good luck with your date, [Y/N]!” 

“Thank you, bye-bye!” 

The door to Lyney’s room swung open with a thud. 

“Geez, sis.” The male turned around to look at Lynette entering. “You’re going to break the door off the hinges one day.” 

“Don’t care.” She deadpanned, picking a stool from under his desk. “You’re the one who asked to have me do your braid. Don’t complain.” 

Lyney chuckled nervously, running a hand through his unstyled hair. He was so glad Furina and Wriothesley left his room to get something to drink moments ago, at the very least he wouldn’t have to put on an act. “I wasn’t complaining, just didn’t expect you to storm in like that.” He sat back in his chair, fiddling with the edge of his cuff. “I appreciate the help, though. I want this to be perfect.” 

Lynette rolled her eyes as she placed the stool behind him. “You’re overthinking it,” She said, gathering his hair with practised efficiency. “It’s a date, not a performance. You don’t have a script to follow, you know?” 

“You say that,” Lyney muttered, “I thought I wouldn’t be so nervous and here I am sweating bullets!” He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “My charm won’t get me out of this one!” 

Lynette tugged his braid a little tighter than necessary, earning a yelp. “Stop being dramatic,” She said flatly. “You’re acting as if [Y/N] doesn’t like you back. She agreed to the date, didn’t she?” 

What he didn’t have to know was how she read back all the messages that had accumulated on her group chat with the girls — including the messages where [Y/N] revealed her crush on Lyney. “Besides, even if you mess up, it won’t be the end of the world. She won’t judge you for being a clumsy bitch, like I would.” 

Lyney gasped. “That was uncalled for! I thought sibling code overrides bestie one!” Even though he was dramatic as usual, Lynette’s words brought him much-needed comfort and confidence. 

“Not when it’s my best friend we speak of.” Lynette’s expression got serious. “Don’t do stupid shit, by the way. I’m going to break your hand if you break her heart.” 

Lyney froze, his playful demeanour slipping for a moment as he processed Lynette’s words. Her expression was calm and composed as ever, but the underlying seriousness made him sit up straight. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” He said softly, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I like her. Really like her. That’s why I’m so nervous… I don’t want to mess this up.” 

Lynette’s sharp eyes softened slightly, though her expression remained neutral. She finished tying off his braid with a firm tug, smoothing down some of the pushed-back strands of hair before stepping back. “Good. Keep that in mind, and you’ll do fine.” 

Lyney turned to face her, a small smile playing on his lips. “You know, for someone who pretends to be detached, you are awfully protective.” 

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “And you’re awfully perceptive for someone who didn’t even get a bouquet for his date.” 

“The flowers are here~” Furina sang as she and Wriothesley entered the room. All this time, instead of getting drinks, they headed for a nearby flowery — picking up a gorgeous arrangement full of rainbow roses. “Look at you Lyney! You need to wear your hair like that more often.” 

“Passion and romantic encounters, huh?” Lyney commented, taking the flowers from Furina’s hands. “I appreciate the help.” 

Furina swayed from side to side, joyful at being useful. “Of course! While there’s no doubt the date will go splendidly, you simply cannot not have flowers on a first date.” 

Wriothesley chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “She’s not wrong. These ones practically scream your relationship’s name.” 

“… And who’s the dramatic one now?” Lyney questioned whisperingly, rolling his eyes. “I owe you one, you two.” 

Furina waved him off, smiling from ear to ear. “You owe me nothing but a juicy recount of the date later. I demand details!” 

“Archons, don’t make the guy even more stressed.” Wriothesley elbowed the dainty girl. “He’s already ready to jump out of his skin.” 

Lynette, who had been quietly observing the exchange, stepped forward and straightened Lyney’s jacket. “You’re good to go,” She said, brushing off an invisible speck of lint. “Now don’t keep [Y/N] waiting. And remember—“ 

“I know, I know.” Lyney sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No stupid mistakes or breaking hearts.” 

“And,” Lynette added, her expression unreadable. “Be yourself.” 

Lyney paused, her words striking a deep chord. He nodded, a genuine smile curving his lips. “Thanks, Lyn. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Furina clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. “Alright, shoo! You have a date to pick up!” 

With one last glance at the mirror and steadying breath, Lyney turned and left, the bouquet clutched tightly in his hands. 

As the door closed behind him, Furina sighed dramatically. “He’s going to be a nervous wreck the whole time, isn’t he?” 

Lynette sat down in the chair Lyney had vacated. “He’s not the only one. [Y/N] is also worried about the thing. They’re basically mirroring each other.” 

Wriothesley chuckled, shaking his hands as he crossed his arms. “Like all of us are. There’s a reason we’d agreed to spy their date.” 

“Wait, so it wasn’t so that we’d capture their first kiss?” Furina asked, her gaze fixed on the empty doorway. 

In [Y/N]’s and Charlotte’s shared dorm, all that could be heard was the sound of footsteps. [Y/N] was pacing nervously around the entryway, muttering to herself. The agreed time for the date was coming up, and with each passing second, she could just feel her soul partially leaving her body. 

The girls who minutes ago helped her with dressing up simply decided to leave her be, observing from the living room’s couch. They had been made aware of Lyney’s incoming arrival but decided against relaying it to the most interested person in the room.  

[Y/N] fidgeted with the hem of her outfit, her nervous murmurs barely audible. “What if he thinks I overdressed? Or worse, what if I look like I didn’t even try?” 

From the couch, Navia chuckled, leaning back with a relaxed smile. “Sweetheart, if anything, Lyney’s going to think he didn’t try enough. Trust me, he’s probably losing his mind over there.”

Charlotte stifled a laugh as she flipped through social media. “He might even trip over his own feet when he sees you. That would be a sight.” 

Clorinde gave a small, approving nod. “You look perfect. Stop second-guessing yourself.” 

[Y/N] sighed, stopping mid-step to glance at the clock. “What if he—“ 

“Shh!” Navia interrupted, sitting up straight. “Did you hear that? I think your date is here~” 

Charlotte perked up, peeking through the window. Sure enough, a familiar figure was making his way toward their dorm. “Oh, it’s him. And wow, these flowers are stunning.” 

The girl froze in place, her heart thudding wildly. “Archons, what do I do?!”

“Relax,” Clorinde said, getting up to join her in the entryway. “And stop pacing. You’re going to burn a hole in the floor.” 

“Also don’t forget to breathe!” 

Before [Y/N] could reply, there was a soft knock at the door. Her pulse skyrocketed as she heard Clorinde leave her alone to deal with the situation. 

She walked to the door and opened it, revealing Lyney standing there with the bouquet of rainbow roses in his hands. His usual confidence seemed slightly dimmed, replaced by a nervous yet genuine smile.

“Hi,” he greeted, voice softer than usual. He held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

[Y/N] blinked, momentarily stunned by how earnest he looked. She knew Lyney was damn attractive, but him with his hair pushed back? Drop dead gorgeous. She took the bouquet, her fingers brushing against his. “These are beautiful. Thank you so much.” 

“Not as beautiful as you, dare I say~” 

Behind her, she could hear Charlotte whispering something about how they both were already “smitten beyond repair,” followed by Navia shushing her. 

Lyney seemed to also notice the whispers but chose to ignore them, his focus entirely on the girl in front of him “Shall we?” He offered his arm, his confidence starting to return in the warmth of her smile. 

[Y/N] nodded, taking his arm. “Let’s.” 

The two walked down the cobbled street, the atmosphere tinged with a pleasant buzz of anticipation. Lyney, ever the charmer, adjusted his posture slightly as if rehearsing a silent act. Meanwhile, [Y/N] felt her initial nervousness ease with every passing second in his company. She was passing occasional glances, still enthralled by the sheer beauty of her companion. 

“You know,” Lyney began, glancing at her with a soft smile. “When I asked you out, I half expected you to say no. But, well, with how you’re looking, I can tell I was gravely mistaken.” 

The girl felt her cheeks heat up, a bashful smile tugging at her lips. “You give yourself too little credit, Lyney. I’d have to be crazy to say no to someone like you…” 

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, with how you’ve made me the luckiest man in all of Teyvat tonight, I might as well asked you out months ago.” 

[Y/N] raised her eyebrow, but was unable to hide the flutter of her heart. “Whatever you mean, Lyney.” She hid her everlasting smile with her unclaimed hand. 

As they strolled, the glow of the city lights reflected in the cobblestone streets, the air filled with the lively hum of Fontaine’s nightlife. Lyney, ever the attentive companion, subtly guided her away from any puddles and bustling crowds. 

He finally led her to a quaint little café by the water, its atmosphere warm and inviting. Twinkling lights adorned the patio, and the gentle murmur of conversation and the tinkling of piano music filled the air. 

“Lyney,” [Y/N] said, looking around in awe. “This place is gorgeous.” 

“Only the best for my favourite girl,” He replied, pulling out a chair for her.

[Y/N] hesitated, sitting down slowly as her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. “Favourite, huh? I guess, I could get used to this title.” 

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and easy conversation, their initial nerves melting away. To any onlookers, they might’ve looked as if they were celebrating their anniversary, rather than having their first date.

“You know, darling, ” Lyney started suddenly, his head tilted as he took a good look at [Y/N]. “You kinda suck at hiding your feelings.” 

[Y/N] froze mid-laugh, her cheeks flushing a vivid red. “W-What do you mean by that?” She stammered, trying to keep her composure as she took a sip of her drink to hide her embarrassment.

Lyney’s lips curved into a mischievous grin, his purple eyes sparkling with that trademark charm. “Oh, nothing too scandalous.” He said, leaning forward just enough to whisper right into her ears. “Just the way your eyes light up every time you laugh, or how you keep glancing at me like I’ve hung the moon. And, well, how you’ve been doing it for months now.” 

The girl nearly choked on her drink, setting it down quickly. “I… That’s not— I wasn’t—“ She mumbled, her mind racing for a witty comeback. 

“Relax, [Y/N],” Lyney teased, leaning back to rest his chin on his hand. “If you tell me how long you’ve been crushing on me, I’ll answer the same.” 

[Y/N] blinked a few times, trying to gauge if this was simply a prank on his part. Of how she would make a joke out of herself for him to laugh at. Lyney sensed her sudden discomfort. 

“Hmm, what if I go first instead?” His eyes wandered around the room before finally settling on his. “But you have to promise to not laugh at me, alright?” 

She gave him a sceptical but curious look. She put her pinky up. “Promise.”

Lyney linked his finger with his, eyes softening at the simple gesture. 

“I think it was soon after the conflict you had with Charlotte and Clorinde, although Furina and Wriothesley are convinced it was way back when we had that picnic at Mary-Ann’s.” He began recounting the memories of how his body urged him to do anything in his power to make her feel better.

Once he was finished with his story, he took a second to look at [Y/N]. She had been silent for the entirety of his monologue. What he noticed was how she was trying to hide her warm cheeks behind her hands. 

“Y-you know…” She stuttered, taking his story in. “That conflict…” She looked away, shyly. “Was because of my crush on you.” 

Lyney’s eyes widened, his smile growing even wider as he processed [Y/N]’s words. The realisation hit him like a wave, and for a brief moment, all he could was stare at her, his purple eyes shining with shock and pure love. 

“You mean to tell me,” He began, his voice almost teasing, “That I was the last one to figure out that you liked me?” From his side of the story, he didn’t notice her glances until his own crush was pointed out to him…

“I— Maybe?” [Y/N] leaned down, hiding the entirety of her face in her hands. She could barely breathe from how fast her heart was racing. What she didn’t expect to learn, was the possibility of Lyney’s crush being as long as a few months long. Much longer than her own. From a person, she didn’t even think would entertain her feelings in general.

A silence fell between the two of them — both trying to process what just happened. Even their hidden audience waited on bated breath on what would transpire next. 

What broke the silence, was the scratched of a chair being pushed away. Lyney, almost working on autopilot came up to [Y/N]’s side of the table, crouching slightly to be level with her position. He gently grabbed onto her hands, revealing her beautiful face. He kept them in the grasp of his hand, for safekeeping. 

Before the girl could respond, Lyney’s free hand cupped her cheek gently, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. His face was inched from her now, and [Y/N] could feel the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. Her heart began racing in response, her breath shallow, almost as if she was holding it in anticipation. 

Then, without any more teasing, Lyney leaned in and closed the space between them. His lips brushed against hers softly at first, tentative and gentle, like the first raindrops on a spring day. But when [Y/N] leaned into the kiss, responding with a quiet sigh, he deepened it. Their lips moved in a slow, tender rhythm as if savouring the moment they had both been waiting for without realising it.

The world around them seemed to disappear — the soft hum of the café, the glow of the thinking lights, and the distant sound of cheers from their friends, all faded into nothingness. All that mattered was the warmth of Lyney’s lips against hers, the soft pressure of his hands holding her close, and the overwhelming feeling of connection that blossomed between them. 

When they finally pulled away, their breaths were mingled, lips still lingering close. Lyney’s eyes shone with a mixture of wonder and affection, his hand still resting against [Y/N]’s cheek. He whispered, his voice low and sincere, “I think this is just the beginning, [Y/N].” 

“Did you record all that?” Furina whispered to Charlotte, looking at the scene that unfolded in front of them.

“Sure did, queen.” The pink-haired girl ended the recording, looking at the rest of the party with an accomplished look. “We make sure to show it during their wedding.” 

“But of course.” Wriothesley grinned. “I can’t wait for Lyney to pass out when he sees this back.” 

𝑇𝐴𝐺𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — CLOSED

@state-of-grac3 @santaluna @meigalaxy @romyoia

@meurtreofcrows @charles-braindump @floweringanna @moonjellyfishie @vavrin @lovelypadisarah @dearanemo

@dearanemo @ladylee

date of posting — 7th december 2024

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not saying please/thank you?

So this is an ongoing argument with my roommate. I (22nb) am autistic, and T (55f) has ADHD.

Now to get this out of the way, i do say thank you. I was always taught to wait a moment after receiving something, take a bite or appreciate what you were given for a breath, before thanking someone so that you could add something more to it. My roommate and I both agree that i do say thank you the vast majority of the time, but the problem for her is that i do not say it fast enough.

T often gives me a "tHaNk yOu" while the item in question is still being passed. This seems ridiculous to me as i haven't even been fully given it yet.

In addition, i have the dishes as my household chore, and i do them daily, despite almost never making any dishes myself. I do this to both support T and her diet, as well as contribute to the household that i live in.

T thanks me near daily for doing the dishes. This always seems weird and unnecessary to me, as it is my responsibility. I have told her this. I dont expect to be thanked for doing my own laundry, after all. In return, T gets upset that i dont notice and thank her for taking out the garbage/recycling/compost, to which she is the main contributor to and is under her responsibilities.

As for please: i do say this much more rarely. I think it feels overly preformative and fake, and i typical choose more "would you mind closing my door for me" "if its not too much of a hassle, could you toss me my waterbottle" "id appreciate it if you could preheat the oven while you're in the kitchen"

I think that these work perfectly fine as a replacement. Please just has always felt wrong and fake. No one else in my entire life has ever commented on this before.

Thirdly; T has been upset that i don't respond to her apologies appropriately. After she is snappy at me (due to her emotional disregulation from ADHD) (last time it was because i asked if she was using the oven instead of asking if i could use the oven myself, for reference) there is a 50/50 shot that she will come and apologize.

I dont often accept apologies. Apologies are for the person saying them to get it off their chests, or to make you put it behind them. Usually, ill say something like "it was just one of those days, y'know?" Or "its alright, water under the bridge"

Because i was always taught that apologies came with a promise of change, and T can't (or won't) change how she re-directs her frustration at unrelated things to things ive done "wrong". When she told me the correct response was "i forgive you", i decided to not engage instead of telling her directly that i didnt forgive her (because i am certain she will do it again). (I usually dont engage with her when shes irritated: she never notices and just wants to say her piece so im not being rude here)

She said that i was being disrespectful, "like always", and when i suggested it may be more difficult for me due to my autism, she said that we made plenty of accommodations for me (which i think is false), and that i just needed to do this for her comfort. That please/thank yous were something she needed to feel appreciated and i should be making more accommodations for her.

To me, i feel like she is getting really caught up on semantics and is being a little controlling about it. But maybe its just a boundary? I dont know if i could commit to changing my language for her though, i feel like i will just start forgetting after awhile because it feels so fake. Shouldn't it be better for me to say things genuinely than just for her approval?

AITA for not saying please/thank you?

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

Musings on titles and definitions

I've been listening to Radical Elphame and BiblioSophia. The interview they did recently with Marshal and Austin and the interview Biblia Sophia did with Shani Oates (my god that was fascinating) got me thinking about how we define and title the things we practice.

Why do we specify traditional witchcraft? Is there a difference between witchcraft and trad craft? What exactly is folk witchcraft?

I know we have all heard that tw is used to distinguish from Wicca; but I don't honestly think that's accurate. I know Cochrane disliked Wicca and did consider what he was doing diametrically opposed to Wicca. I do think the two are different, but are really different enough to define trad craft as non-wiccan witchcraft? I don't think so, we use similar tools, laying a compass is similar to casting a circle (having done both I have noticed differences), Sabbatic Craft works with Divine Male/Female pairings. No, I would think that its more accurate to describe tradcraft as non-new age witchcraft. When I see people complaining about wiccans, I find that often, not always, what they're actually complaining about is New Age! Both trad craft and wicca used similar ideas/material in their inceptions, it just seems like it was interpreted differently. They certainly are two different approaches to the craft but in the same way I do not think it would be helpful to describe a Baptist as a non-Catholic Christian, even though that is true, I don't think it's helpful to describe tw as non-wiccan witchcraft. Most trad witches would probably describe witchcraft as the art of trafficking with spirits, becoming like them and the practice of malefica. So why not just call ourselves witches? Imo it is because, generally speaking, the popular idea of witchcraft is more along the lines of energy manipulation, manifestation, angel numbers 'intentions' and tends to conjure up images of crystal healing, eclecticism etc and/or tends to be use as term to describe magic in general with no specific definition. (Not that there is anything wrong with that it doesn't matter what other people do, so as long as it isn't racist or appropriative). There is certainly still some conflation with wicca and witchcraft, but I don't think it's as bad as it was and therefore do not see the need to specifically set us apart from wiccans.

However, I do think wiccans and trad crafters approach the craft differently. (generally speaking!) I feel that the trad craft approach is more about connecting to rediscovering or reinvigorating the culture/traditions of a certain place. This often leads to a dual-faith observance, as our idea of witchcraft came to be in the context of Christianity. When I was wiccan, it felt more about re-inventing and reclaiming witchcraft and participating in a religion which, at the time, I felt made up for the lack of feminine/nature-based spirituality. We have different founders of course, Cecil Williamson, Robert Cochrane, Gardner, Valiente (though I think she was involved in both currents). The two trads evolved differently. Shani Oates said in her BiblioSophia interview "It [Wicca] is something that has no cosmology, and no end times. So, it doesn't have an eschatology, it just exists in its own creation, in its own bubble. Whereas The Clan of Tubal Cain and Robert Cochranes development of that very much has a cosmology and an eschatology, so it's a full rounded thing." I disagree about Wicca not having cosmology, the god/dess and belief in rebirth/Summerland's would be cosmology, no? I'm sure different traditions have their own too, which the public may not be privy to. The rest resonates very well with me and why I am drawn to trad craft specifically. Before I continue, I want to say in this I am comparing and contrasting my own experiences in wicca and tradcraft. I was wiccan for a while. I am not attempting to diss the religion as a whole, there's much about it that I appreciate! I can only speak on MY OWN experiences and in no way am trying to speak for or on wicca as a whole. I absolutely felt that wicca 'existed in it's own creation' during my time as one. It did not engage with culture or folklore. It had no connection, as far as I am aware, to a cosmology or eschatology that had evolved over time/within a certain culture or religion. (this is not a problem per se and I am generalizing). Trad craft gave me a way to connect to existing cosmologies which had connections to the land, the cultures and the histories I was drawn to. (local ones + my ancestors). I felt that I had more "scaffolding". What I was searching for, when got into spirituality, wasn't a re-creation or re-invention of a pagan/witch faith but rather connection to land, culture and its people. I didn't want to re-invent these things, I wanted to appreciate with and engage with them as they are. That isn't to say that a wiccan can't blend their religion with local or ancestral lore/culture or incorporate an outside cosmology into it.

This brings me to folk witchcraft. I'm seeing this word used more and I have a lot of feelings. I would think that a folk witch is one who is practicing the witchcraft of the area they live in or is one who has been brought into a living folk tradition. Can you call yourself a folk witch, if you're one such as myself? Raised in a white homogenous consumerist culture. No language passed down, no folk tales, very few folk customs retained. I seek out the lore and traditions of my state and of the cultures of my ancestors. I use folk spells. but who are my folk? folk magic is community based. I can't call myself a Canadian, French or Scottish folk witch, even if all the magic I did came from those cultures. I don't live in any of those places. I cannot claim those cultures. I suppose, as the lore of my state is a part of what I do, I could call myself an INSERT STATE NAME folk witch. But, again, who are my folk? The old French-Canadian culture that was once here is all but gone. Not that we don't have a distinct culture of our own anymore! We certainly do.

I like how Marshal described trad craft as "loric" as opposed to folkloric. The lore/history of Europe and America do inform my understanding of witchcraft, but folklore is regional! One cannot say their craft is based on European or American folklore. Who's folklore? Which countries? Which states? "loreic" is specific enough to imply that the lore of witchcraft shapes what one does while not claiming that one is part of a folk trad they have no connection to.

Certainly, one's craft being a melting pot of ancestral and local lore(s) while having to navigate practicing on stolen, colonized land, is very American in spirit.

Edit: Forgot to mention this! Honestly the biggest difference between trad craft and wicca is the "astral sabbath" I never encountered mention of a "sabbath" (I don't like the word tbh due to its antisemitic origins. I propose the use of Conclave instead?) as a nonphysical, spiritual event within Wicca. If you've spent any time in the trad craft sphere, you'll know it's a main focus of what we do. Idk if wiccans place emphasis on spirit initiation either. I didn't learn of the term until I got into traditional witchcraft.

[genericpuff]

All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (A Prologue)

So I referenced a certain article in a recent reblog/ask response and I just need to talk about it because what the actual fuck-

This has to have been written by either a bot or a hater who's reached peak god tier level at playing the long con sarcasm game because NOTHING about this feels sincere or even factual. Much of it almost has to be read in a mocking tone for it to make any real sense.

It says "Lore Olympus" (literally in quotations) in just about every single paragraph over and over again and every single talking point revolves EXCLUSIVELY around Persephone, which I suppose comes as no surprise considering that seems to be all the comic - and its fanbase - cares about at this point.

I really love (/s) how Persephone's "evolution" is being naive and then 'blossoming' into an independent woman who relies entirely on the rich man who groomed her to solve all her problems.

Also all she's done since becoming Queen of the Underworld is abuse lower class people. That's the stuff feminist dreams are made of <3

While we're talking about the main leads, "poster child" is definitely a word for Hades, I think a more appropriate term would be "literal child". And boy howdy, 'god of consent' sure is a title to give the guy who ripped out a lower class satyr's eyeball and beat him half to death.

This man owns slaves, btw. And both he and his "powerful wife" are equally horrible to lower class people, especially women.

This is hands-down the funniest section of the article and we're only three bullet points in.

Thetis and Persephone have never even so much as spoken one word to each other outside of the courtroom that Thetis technically put her in after plotting against her for an entire season.

Eros is a man. Nothing wrong with that but it comes with the unintentional icky hilarity of implying that because Eros is the gay best friend, that means he's a woman.

They literally don't read this fucking comic-

Everyone always relies on this weird talking point of Demeter not being able to "let Persephone go"... y'all, she just didn't want Persephone to outright move to Olympus, she wanted her to commute. That was it! That was literally the only problem! She wasn't preventing Persephone from pursuing a higher education or telling her she wasn't allowed to work, she literally fucking encouraged it! And with the added later context of Persephone killing a bunch of mortals - and, ironically, the fact that Persephone was assaulted/put in harm's way by TWO SEPARATE MEN in the first two days of her time in Olympus - yeah, I don't blame Demeter for not wanting her daughter to move cold turkey actually LOL

Also hilarious that they claim Rachel has turned "tradition" into "innovation" when the only thing she's managed to do is set back modern feminism in her young adult readers by 80 years and re-establish misogynist brainwashing in her adult ones. Rachel, your fanbase was literally shipping a victim of abuse with her abuser just a few days ago.

oh boy this is uh

this is some cult shit ngl

and the "rewriting the script of Greek mythology" part is VERY concerning knowing what we know about Lore Olympus and who it was written by. This is literally cultural appropriation, full stop, and it exists because Lore Olympus - and works like it, made by people like Rachel - exists.

I can't even commit to the original theory that this was written by a bot because it all feels very pointed and intenetional. This is being written by someone who, at the very least, REALLY sucks at media analysis and writing, because the entire article is just "Lore Olympus, buzzword, Lore Olympus, buzzword, buzzword, Lore Olympus", it's like a white knight incantation for guilty virtue signallers who have zero clue what they're talking about. And at worst, yes, it's appropriation from someone who doesn't mind taking a culture's stories and myths and promoting their erasure by people outside of the culture like Rachel.

And that's it, that's literally the article lmao

*EDIT: There was a section here before addressing the writer of the article from a very opinionated POV that, while isn't unusual for what I do here, did feel necessary to remove after I was contacted by the article writer who addressed the flaws in their original article and is now seeking to correct them with revisions/an article rewrite. So I felt it only fair as a compromise to at least remove that section as it really doesn't have a whole lot to do with this post as a whole and can be removed without entirely ruining the flow of this analysis. If/when that article is rewritten, I'll be revisiting this post and my overall analysis !

And honestly, it's all really telling, because this does accurately reflect the state of the LO fanbase.

Not only do many of the people who defend this comic like it's their job not pick up on the blatant misogynist tones that are going on in its narrative (I can't even call them "undertones" anymore, they're no longer that subtle) but whether or not they even read the comic at all is up for debate with how much stuff they tend to get wrong in their own arguments and justifications. And this is something that's VERY regularly seen in the fanbase discussions, readers will constantly be unaware of things that happened because they skimmed through it at lightning speed just to see if Hades and Persephone kiss and so they can get the top comment on Webtoons so they can be "ahead of the fanbase". It's no wonder that Rachel has gotten used to getting away with retconning things because her fanbase didn't even read what she established the first time.

Rachel's fanbase was literally defending the romance ship of an abuser and his victim on the newest FP episode preview. When that FP episode came out two nights ago and Hera said, point blank, that he didn't love her but abused her, I could only think of that portion of the fanbase who was very audibly simping over Kronos in the IG comment section. Are they actually having their moment of shameful clarity now? Or are they just gonna move the goalposts and pretend that didn't happen?

I don't want to say anything bad about Shelby here because she really seems like she's fighting for her life on this site that she's trying to get off the ground, but a lot of her other articles also come across as very one-note while being peppered with buzzwords that make it seem like what she's talking about is "progressive" when it really isn't. Case in point, Lessons in Chemistry has been commonly criticized for not actually appealing to the demographic that its Mary Sue-ish main character is supposed to represent - women in STEM career fields.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Lore Olympus is not 'feminism', it's white feminism that is designed to appeal to predominantly heterocis white women who think the solution to misogyny is to willingly submit to it and accept the status quo - that it's "empowering" if the woman is smiling and having all her needs paid for by a man. Sure, I can accept that different women will be looking for different relationship dynamics, some women genuinely are happy being in a relationship where they support their husbands first and foremost. But can that truly be called feminism? Or is the real feminism the choices we make along the way that we should be given the freedom to make?

It says a lot about the folks who tend to regularly prop up LO on a pedestal like this as some "revolution in feminism" despite the contrary after spending more than just 30 seconds skimming the attention-grabbing art, and Shelby is just one of many. She's not the worst of the bunch, though.

That goes to someone else who I want to give proper light to in their own essay. Someone who definitely earned a good stern talking-to this past week and has, thankfully, had consequences dished out to her for her horrible actions towards queer POC writers.

If you know, you know. If you don't, buckle up.

[mothiir]

Captain Sevatar’s 100% Legitimate Advice on Handling a Human Female

this is so dumb why am i writing this instead of something useful. anyway, here is sevatar’s response — comes after fulgrim’s first letter. i love sevatar so very much, and the only background bit of lore you need to know for this is that back on his home planet sev fed the crows because the sound of their wing beats calmed his psyker headaches.

—

Father,

Delivered the crows as per your request. Have her feed them to a schedule — they will quickly bond with her.

Will defer to Uncle Fulgrim’s advice re: names though unsure what the issue with my suggestions was. Names should be practical and indicate the purpose of the thing. War Sage. Terminator. Cocksleeve. All clear and easy to understand. Still. Your choice.

-S

—

Father,

Glad to hear crows settling in. Apologies, did not think to warn you of territorial nature, assumed you would have one of your visions and therefore know.

If they are used to her giving them food they will defend her. I am sure the wounds will heal swiftly, and it seems they did not get you in the eyes. Suggest goggles until they acclimatise to your presence. Would advise against culling the flock. Crows are not humans. They have personalities and are not easily replaceable.

-S

—

Father,

Why can’t you just ask one of the household staff to do this it is not remotely my job

I am the First Captain I am tasked with flaying our enemies not babysitting my own father

Have sought out tailor and provided appropriate measurements. Are you sure you want it in linen, not in a nice tanned skin? She’d suit the Chapter’s aesthetic far better if she was wearing the freshly harvested hide of a foe.

-S

—

Father,

Two weeks is more than enough time for her to become accustomed to her new station. If she is still crying at night try removing her tongue. We do this with the whinier serfs and it doesn’t seem to affect their job performance.

-S

—

Father,

Quick note to follow up the last one — given the duties you want her to fulfil best she keep her tongue. Suggest removing something less useful, like a toe or a finger.

-S

—

Father,

Fulgrim knows best, I am sure, though it does sound like he is suggesting you spoil her rotten. A lost digit or two is not going to kill a human.

Regarding the other point. See no reason why you should wait. Just take care. Humans are breakable. Have you ever tried to put a chain sword into a sheath too small for it? Same principle. Happy to provide demonstration on how to do it correctly if you would like - best way to learn is through observation. Promise to leave her in one piece for you more or less.

Your adoring and faithful son,

Sevatar

[zukosdualdao]

something i was thinking about regarding the parallels of aang and zuko accidentally burning toph and katara, respectively, is the similarity in their reactions in the immediate aftermath, but the way their reactions diverge afterward, re: apologies.

Aang tosses it into the air and spreads his arms out. For a second, he has a smile on his face, but it vanishes as he accidentally burns Katara's hands. Katara shrieks in pain. Aang: Katara! I'm so sorry! Sokka comes running to Katara's side. Sokka: [Concerned.] Katara, what's wrong? [Angrily.] What did you do?! Aang: It was an accident! I was, uh... Katara, I'm so-- Sokka furiously tackles Aang. Sokka: [Enraged.] I told you we shouldn't mess around with this! Look what you did! You burned my sister! [Katara runs away.]

Zuko: Who's there? Stay back! [Whips fire.] Toph: It's me! [Throws up an earth shield, but steps back into Zuko's fire blast.] Ow! You burned my feet! Zuko: I'm sorry, it was a mistake! [Comes toward her, but she begins to crawl away.] Toph: Get away from me! [As Toph crawls away, she grabs the earth under her and throws it backward at Zuko.] Zuko: Let me help you! [Dodges another rock.] I'm sorry! [Tries to grab her.] Toph: Get off me, get off me! [Brings up some earth which sends Zuko flying back.]

both of them try to immediately apologize as soon as they realize what they've done, and while that's understandable and they both do feel genuine remorse, the kinds of apologies being made in these contexts are inherently a little selfish. an apology should be for the other person, and neither katara or toph is in a place to process it, as both are in immediate pain and both are panicking. aang and zuko also both try to repeat the apology - aang only doesn't get all the way through his because sokka tackles him and interrupts - in the moment when it's become very clear that it's not going to be appropriate or helpful at the time.

where i think they diverge, though, is that while aang continues to feel remorse, he doesn't offer another apology now that tensions have lowered and she might be in a better place to receive it. instead, it becomes about his own guilt, and katara having to comfort him, telling him it doesn't matter because she was able to heal herself.

Katara enters the cottage to find Aang sulking. Aang: Jeong Jeong tried to tell me that I wasn't ready. I wouldn't listen. I'm never going to firebend again. Katara: You'll have to eventually. Aang: No, never again. Katara: It's okay, Aang. I'm healed.

he also learns the wrong lesson from it. and to be clear, i'm not criticizing that as a writing choice - i think it's very realistic. but instead of resolving to do better in the future and learn discipline, he declares his intent to avoid firebending instead of committing to the responsibility of controlling it. (which, as katara rightly points out, is just not going to work.)

whereas, despite his lapse in wallowing in his own guilt - why am i so bad at being good? - by the next day, zuko is able to apologize to toph in a setting where tensions are lower and she's better able to process it, as her feet might not be completely healed but are healing and she's in significantly less pain and a clearer mindset. he gives the explanation of it being an accident without excusing it, instead affirming that he knows he has a responsibility to be more careful and resolving to do better.

Zuko: [To Toph.] I'm sorry for what I did to you. [Bows to her.] It was an accident. Fire can be dangerous and wild, so as a firebender, I need to be more careful and control my bending, so I don't hurt people unintentionally.

i think the reason zuko is able to work past this and not keep wallowing in shame and guilt is because part of his journey has been learning (with help from iroh) that the guilt and shame he was made to feel for his 'wrongdoings' in ozai's eyes never actually helped anything, and he has finally started to internalize that. so he's able to say "i did a wrong thing and i'm sorry and i will do better" without either trying to completely justify himself or debasing himself, and that's powerful and important.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Floor Routine

Inspiration struck Erica while watching the Olympics cuddled up with Mads. Snug in her soggy nighttime diaper and favorite Winnie the Pooh two-piece pajama set, she stared up at her boyfriend. Erica had been living her best life since Mads had agreed to be her boyfriend and caregiver. Only one issue had cropped up.

As time went on, Erica could tell Mads was losing respect for her as an adult. That loss of respect was expected when someone was tasked with changing your messy diapers everyday, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Erica still wanted to be seen as the sexy, intimidating, and mature woman Mads used to see her as, if only just occasionally.

That's where gymnastics came in. In high school, Erica had been a gymnast. However, like with many youthful endeavors, age, injury, time, and resources cut her gymnastic career short. But, the Olympics reminded Erica how strong, powerful, intimidating, and sexy the sport was.

Two days later, Erica stood just inside the door to her nursery, dressed in the sexiest leotard she could find, ready to surprise Mads.

"Are you ready, Daddy?" She called out flirtatiously.

"Yes, baby," Mads responded.

Erica stepped out from behind the door, revealing her sexy body wrapped in spandex that barely covered her naughty bits. Mads looked at her, appreciating the view. Erica grinned as his eyes lingered on her ass.

"Sweetie, you aren't even wearing a pull-up?! You're going to ruin your cute outfit!" Mads said.

Erica could have screamed. She almost did. She resisted though. Tonight, she was a big girl. She wasn't going to throw a tantrum. Instead, she walked up to her boyfriend and grabbed his crotch.

"I'm only worried about needing protection from this!" She said, kissing Mads as she stroked his cock through his pants.

After what Erica deemed an appropriately long make-out session, she pulled away.

"Are you ready to see some of my special skills, Daddy?" Erica asked huskily. Mads just grinned.

"Other than being the world's cutest pamper packer?" He asked, squeezing her mostly exposed ass.

Erica did stomp her foot at that.

"Daaaddddy!"

Mads tussled her hair before saying, "I know, baby, I'm sorry. Let me grab your diaper bag and we can go."

Erica huffed again, but knew from experience there was no getting Mads to go anywhere with her without her diaper bag.

The couple reached their destination in 20 minutes: the Little City Gymnastics Center. Erica led Mads into the building with all of the energy of a toddler dragging their caregiver into a toy store, excited to show off her moves and re-establish herself as a capable woman to her boyfriend.

Once inside, they were greeted by a beautiful, younger woman at the front desk. Her name tag identified her as Sammy. As Erica looked at her, a familiar sensation struck her stomach and bowels. Not concerned, Erica dismissed the feeling as butterflies.

Sammy spoke cheerily, "You must be Erica? You rented out the whole gym for an hour? Come this way, let's get you where you want to go!"

Sammy led the couple down a hallway and into the main gym. A large, springy floor for floor routine was surrounded by various other gymnastics apparatus, pads, and training devices. Erica's eyes went wide as she walked in, and the sensation she was calling butterflies intensified. It was beautiful.

"Here you go, have fun! I'll be in the corner if you need anything," Sammy said, grabbing her cellphone and leaning against a wall.

Erica grabbed Mads hand as she turned and looked at him seductively. "Are you ready to see how much of a 'big girl,' I can be?" She said as she dragged him towards the space for practicing floor routine in the center of the room. Erica didn't even notice her other hand subconsciously rubbing her stomach as she walked.

"Of course, baby," Mads said with a smile.

Erica moved to the center of the floor and prepared for her first move, a standing back flip. She hadn't done one since high school, but she was sure that didn't matter.

Making eye contact with Mads, Erica squatted down, threw her arms back, and launched. The world blurred for a moment before Erica realized she had screwed up.

Erica undershot her landing, leaving her feet splayed out behind her as she belly-flopped into the hard floor. Failing to land wasn't the worst thing to happen though. As she hit the floor, Erica lost control of the cramps she had chalked up to nerves. With a trumpeting sound, her bowels released themselves, forcing Erica to push out a lumpy brown mess into the back of her leotard.

Mads quickly ran to Erica's side, diaper bag in tow. "Oh, baby, did you have a little accident?" He said as he hugged her.

Erica couldn't form words. She just sobbed as she felt her mess squish in her leotard.

With deft hands, Mads quickly undressed and diapered Erica. Sammy also appeared, holding a new, much less sexy, pink leotard that looked suspiciously like an infant's onesie. Mads quickly dressed Erica in that as well.

Staring at Erica, now dressed in the pink onesie with a substantial diaper bulge at her waist, Sammy pressed her finger to her lips.

"You know, sweetie, I don't think this room's for you," she said, grabbing Erica's hand. She led the waddling woman out of the room and into another one, a gym clearly meant for a toddler tumbling class. "This place seems much more your speed!"

Erica blushed as Mads came up from behind her, placed his hand on the small of her back, urging her to go play. "Go on, little one, enjoy your time! Show Daddy what you can do!"

Erica toddled into the middle of the room and released her bladder, soaking her diaper in shame. Standing in the middle of the glorified daycare in a wet diaper and onesie, Erica knew she was precisely where she belonged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my entry for a little, friendly competition with @baby-erica! I may have lost, but she is still the bigger baby.

[cator99]

(Re: previous post about my home) with all that said yes i did finally snap and admit that the stress of this situation has been affecting me and pointed directly towards how PG and new girl have irresponsibly conducted themselves and pushed an unstable situation onto all of us which I did not appreciate considering how hard I've worked to reach a point of relative housing stability. They must have assumed I wasn't home because I heard the two of them reacting in a very real ie messy way (I seriously respect that they were just being real about it for once instead of putting up a front like nothings wrong and using instagram infographics speak to slough off taking responsibility for their actions and guilt people into placating their poor behaviour ykwim) like really just cackling about how I brought up the overall flippant attitude that the situation has been treated with, and that [new girl] may think the house is in an unlivable condition (she brings this up constantly as though this is a reason to approach all of this with utter disregard) just because it's not the suburbs but for some of us who grew up without shit this place is a godsend and honestly there's not that much wrong with it at all, so please try not to jeopardize our ability to live here for the people who really need it just because it means nothing to you. Grow up. That was what comprised my (now deleted) message. They were having real fun in the kitchen laughing at how seriously I was taking everything. Fair enough. Their issue at that point wasn't that I was somehow wrong but rather that I care at all enough to get butthurt about it and to say all of this. Then they got to the real issue: how to respond to it? I came out of my room and assured them that there was no need to. Doesn't seem like there's a conversation to be had. New girl ran off and hid behind the corner while PG sat there and shifted back into her can-do-no-wrong sjw mode and asked me if I wanted to talk about it. I leaned against the stove on the far opposite side of the room from them and told new girl that if she really didnt care about all this at all then she should say so to my face. Everyone else has to live with the consequences of what seems to just be a joke to you, so why do you get to hide? I was entirely calm about this for the record so this didn't seem to be a fear thing it's just that she'd just been caught acting shifty lol. She just kept hiding silently around the corner in the living room. PG tried to come at me with the "to be honest, you're Causing Harm by singling out [new girl]'s attitude towards the situation." I told her that overstating harm isn't appropriate here (again, these words exactly. I'm not here tweaking acting out or losing my mind I'm just calmly telling them what I think but I got the impression that it would've made no difference either way) and assured her that the particular statement about Attitude was directed at how everyone involved has handled this. We talked about the minutiae of my language and I reiterated that I was addressing the Overall Attitude that people have taken towards the issue. "But you're singling her out." I don't find that unreasonable. We went back and forth about language until she told me: "if you take issue with the way someone is conducting themselves then you need to tell them." I said she was right! She was absolutely right. So I invited new girl to peek her head around the corner. She brought herself into view. "I think that you are careless and irresponsible. You've made decisions that put people's housing at risk. And yes, you have a shit attitude." They stared at me.

[bijoumikhawal]

Planning a Mallory Grace cosplay: The Ironwood Tree Dress, but more medivaler

This came about for two reasons: one, recently I've been making fabric flower corsages, mostly to wear on my head, and two, I was reminded of the imagery of green clad young women from medieval times.

If you know Mallory, you probably know this image. We have a few more useful images as well, but we won't be sticking to them; they'll just be inspiration.

From there four images we get the details that

the dress is mostly white with deep green accents

it has the princess cuffs over the back of the hands on the under sleeves

the over sleeves are angel sleeves

Mallory's hair is in a little ribbon cage with two silver flower pins

there may be a subtle flower brocade on the skirt

The skirt has two tiers of bottom ruffles and a border above them with three stripes

There appears to be a white underdress peaking out of the sleeves and skirt

I loved this dress design as a kid, but I think the bodice is actually rather unflattering. It reminds me of some armor breast plates, which is cool, but doing what's basically a paned sleeve as a bodice... makes me think of a pumpkin. This artistic difference led to me sketching a new design

This design is a houppelande underneath a boat necked cotehardie/kirtle with a shortened hem. I did another pass on the cotehardie design (see the left). I'm going to do the embroidery with silver clon cord and beetlewings I already have from another project. The neck is going to be cut even lower, and I'll make a lattice pattern out of ribbons or fabric strips over a sheer fabric to stabilize it. The embroidery isn't period, but it covering the bodice is inspired by some miniatures depicting that composition.

I also needed to scrap the ruffle on the houppelande- the fabric I wanted to use is an old dark green Ralph Lauren flat sheet with a rose jacquard pattern, and I don't have enough of it for a houppelande already. My solution to this is that I'll be color blocking the houppelande, and making up the difference with a complementary green fabric. The houppelande will be working with the circle theory.

I planned to use silver curtains I already had for the overdress, but it has this evil rubber backing fused on so it won't behave for this. I'll be in the hunt for an appropriate silvery fabric.

The original dress has no clear and specific historical source imo, other than it does resemble a boat necked cotehardie a bit. The hair, however, is clearly a coazzone. The most well known depictions of this are from 1490s Italy. However, in Spain it was worn at least between the 1360s and the 1530s. There are multiple theories about what exactly these were, including a veil that's been wrapped around a braid or ponytail with ribbons. I'd probably make a "fixed" version, so I wouldn't have to re-wrap the ribbons every time.

However, the cotehardies and houppelandes i was looking at were moreso mid to late 1300s. While the coazzone does fit that time in Spain, it has a late "feel". So I kind of want to make a bycocket in addition to a coazzone and flower corsages, to give me options for headgear. The bycocket is also called the "Robin Hood" hat, and it was worn by people hunting, traveling, hawking, etc. It seems to me like it functioned to protect the eyes and direct rain away from the face. I think it fits because the dwarves had a sword in with Mallory, which to me indicates some respect for her running about as a fencer. Additionally, one analysis of women depicted as wearing this hat by R. L. Pisetzky (Storia del Costume in Italia, vol. II, 1964-69) referred to it as a "rude oddity", "masculine/ambiguous", and that women wearing it had a "diabolic essence". The place I found it said this was too harsh, but I find it funny and it reminds me of the reaction the Pooka had to Mallory.

I may make a foam sword for photos/if I ever wear this to a con, but it's not pressing to me right now (this project will probably take awhile). I do want to make this as wearable as possible so various elements can be worn on their own or in combination with other things, which is why I didn't plan to make a single dress that just looks like two layered on top of each other, and why the over dress with be silver and not white (also I hate sewing white fabrics).