#you don't actually need as many pins as the full pattern takes

[siriusleee]

Like Blood on Iron | Part 6

Historical Executioner AU Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

A/N: I am actually sorry to the anon who asked me weeks ago if this Jonathan is Jonathan Price and I said no. I lied. I couldn't show my hand to fast.

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You don't bring up running away with Simon again. You think about it, each night sitting in his cabin, the nights you spend beside him, fingers memorizing the hills and valleys of his body. It eats at you - the complete knowledge that if you were to leave alone, you would leave him behind. You're not sure what would be worse: a life without him or a life with him always on the fringes. 

You almost bring it up again, just once. Lily had cooked too many sticky buns, something you'd found out Simon was completely susceptible to. There was a sneaking suspicion that she was doing it on purpose - you knew that she was smart enough to put it together: the cloak you'd returned, and all the nights you spent away. Watching him suck the syrup from his fingers, the question tumbled out of you - one you'd been thinking of for weeks.

"You can get married can't you? The last executioner was."

Simon froze, finger still poised in his mouth. His gaze kept you pinned to your seat as he thought about his answer.

"We cannot marry once we've been sentenced. However, if we were married previously, we stay married."

You had wanted to push the question further. 

Would you marry me?

But you didn't ask it, instead keeping it close to yourself. 

There was no good answer, and you knew whatever it was he said would break you anyway. So you keep the fantasies to yourself: of the two of you running away, of Simon being the one to wait for you at the end of the aisle. Even if it meant Mother and Father never speaking to you again, you would give it up for him. But you know what he would say, so you keep it to yourself.

You know you need to tell him when Jonathan is coming home, so you do. Curled up into the small of Simon's back, you whisper the words, mouth nearly pressed against his spine. It's a subtle shift, the way Simon tenses at the words, but you feel it nonetheless. 

"He'll be back in the port tomorrow."

Simon swallows heavy in the silence.

"I hope he arrives in one piece."

He doesn't roll over to face you while the two of you speak, and you don't want him to. You couldn't take the look on his face, you know it.

"I'm sure he will. He's not new to sailing."

"I suppose you'll be staying home tomorrow night - to spend some time with him."

His voice clenches at your heart; absentmindedly you trace patterns on his back, fingers stuttering on the scars that litter him. Your favorite - one that's shaped vaguely like Orion, you trace, feeling the way Simon shutters at the feeling. It takes nearly a full minute for you to speak around the knot in your throat. 

"I will have to stay late at home, yes. But I can come here after."

Simon shakes his head, the bed shaking beneath the two of you with the movement.

"He is your fiance; you should spend some time with him."

You can't think of anything you want to do less, but you know he's right, and you know he won't let you do otherwise. So you slip your hands around him, pulling him so that your chest is pressed tightly against his back, and let his breathing lull you to sleep.

He wakes you up earlier than usual to go home the next day. 

When you step through the front door of your home, it's still dark outside. The faint sounds of the house sleeping greet you along with the smell of a long extinguished fire. Upstairs it's chilly, your feet freezing almost immediately against the wooden floor. Your first stop is to peek in at Maggie and Lily, each curled up against each other. 

Your second is to clean up, to prepare for the day. 

By the time everyone is awake, you've done your best to get some sort of breakfast ready. Or at least prepared enough that Maggie and Lily can take over. 

"You look horrible," Maggie says, pulling the toast from the fire. Her eyes are dark moons against her skin, her hair still tangled. 

"Thank you Maggie, I really appreciate it." Your sarcasm falls flat - she must notice, must know why because she doesn't have a retort for the first time. 

"Are you excited?" She asks, pulling an apron around her waist to keep her skirt clean. You pretend to pick the dirt that isn't there from beneath your fingers so that you don't have to meet her pinpoint gaze. 

You decide, after fiddling with your thumb for long enough, that there is no reason to lie to her.

"Not in the least bit."

Lily keeps her eyes downcast at the dough she forms roughly - dough for dinner tonight. You know the serving girl will be here later to help with it. Nothing can be spared for Jonathan's arrival. Jonathan who you will march towards in a month. Jonathan who had to know about Uncle Henry, and who couldn't do anything from halfway across the world. 

"It could be worse you know, he-"

"Shut up Maggie."

Your words cut through the kitchen; around you the ambient temperature drops. Lily's hands still in her task, but she still doesn't look up at the two of you. Maggie turns to face you with a stiffness that could only be inherited from Mother.

"What did you say to me?" There's fire burning in her eyes, but today you don't care. 

"I said shut up," your voice quavers, "you get to marry the man you want. You got a choice in your own life. You want to be a wife and mother. I want differently. I want to travel the world with the man I love, and I can't. So please, just fucking drop it Maggie."

Your eyes plead with her - don't rub in today. Just leave it be. 

You don't know if it's the look you give her, or if she finally developed the ability to feel sympathy, but she drops it. 

When breakfast is ready, you skip it. Your feet pull you heavily up the stairs and to your bed. Even with the sleep you got the night before, warmed by Simon and held tightly to his side, you crawl into bed, flinching at the cold that attacks you. 

You force yourself to sleep.

For the first time in a long time, you have a bad dream.

It is Simon waiting for you at the altar, usually worn out black attire swapped for something new and clean. The flower lined path between the two of you is long, and it seems as if no matter how many steps you take, you can't get any closer. Eventually you start to grow frustrated. 

A movement on your right startles you, and you realize your arm is linked with your Father's. He should be walking you towards Simon, but instead he's steadfast. He doesn't look at you; his sight is death upon Simon. When you try to pull your arm away from him, he keeps you glued to your side. 

At the altar, Simon's face starts to warp and shift into something more dangerous. He grows almost skeletal, skin paling. 

Behind him, the glint of a sword. 

You recognize the hit, the cross so delicately affixed on the end. It's his own sword, the one assigned to him when he became the executioner. You try to shout for him, but your Father keeps his iron grip on you - you're too far away for Simon to hear your yell.

When the iron meets blood you wake up.

Your mouth is coated in copper and iron; you've bitten your tongue in your sleep. Between the slots in the shutter, you can tell the sun has shifted drastically. The smell of a roast drifts up to you; at the end of the bed a heavy gown, light blue and new to you, is laid across the foot of the bed. It's an obvious message from Mother on what to wear for the night. 

Your legs are lead; trying to stand makes you dizzy and the blood in your mouth makes you want to vomit. The wavy mirror across the room winks at you, projecting back the ragged version of yourself. You frown at it, fingers rubbing your eyes to try to get the haggard look off of your face. But it's futile. 

The dress is like water between your fingers; you can only imagine how much it must have cost Mother and Father - how much wasted money trying to impress someone who already agreed to marry you. 

The dress is light against your skin - laces pulled tight in the front to keep the neckline from slipping down to low. 

You hate blue. 

Your favorite color had been red - the red that only showed on the horizon when the sun was setting late in the summer. The red of the berries you and Lily could find in the early fall. But once, you'd arrived at Simon's when he wasn't expecting you; when he answered the door he had a dirty tunic you'd never seen before: forest green and loose around him.

The sight of him in something other than black had changed your entire perspective on the idea of colors. 

You know that your face still looks terrible when you arrive downstairs, but everyone has the good graces not to say anything. Instead, they skirt around you - a ghost they’re tired of seeing. Father walks past, boots so freshly shined that you’re sure if you bend down and look, you could see your reflection in them. His waistcoat is looser than you remember it being; you can’t remember the last time he ate a complete dinner. 

Maggie’s at the door with Edward; his hand lingers at the small of her back. The sight of them makes you want to hurl - it’s not fair. It’s not -

“Hello.”

Soft air tickles the shell of your ear, causing you to jump and stumble into the wall. A warm, rough hand wraps around your elbow, pulling you away from crashing. 

The corner of Jonathan’s eyes crinkle up at you, the corner of his mouth turning up as he looks down at you. The smell of the sea waves off of him: coarse salt and sunshine, blue waves rolling beneath the smooth deck. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, straightening you back up. He must feel how your muscles tense beneath his hand because he drops you, your skin tight where he touched you.

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” it’s the truth, and you don’t need to force yourself to sound pleasant because of it.

“I arrived early, but your little sister said you were sick and asleep,” he holds his hands behind his back as he speaks, spine ramrod straight and the stance reminds you so much of Simon that your stomach aches. 

“I was sick earlier, but I feel fine now.”

“You don’t look fine.”

His golden brown mustache twitches when you shoot him a look of venom before you can stop yourself. 

"Don't you think that's a rather rude statement to say to a lady you've barely spoken to."

"It would be rude," Jonathan starts, cutting off to nod and Maggie and Edward as they skirt past the two of you to duck into the dining room, "if I lied to you."

"Is that so? I suppose that's some sort of moral code you live by."

Your tone is piercing, but Jonathan doesn't seem to mind. You don't break your stare away from his eyes, surrounded by weatherbeaten wrinkles. The product of months spent burning in the intense sea sun. He steps half a step closer to you, mouth opened to retort, but is cut off by Father.

"Everyone come!"

The sound of chairs scraping on the floor fills the house, but you don't move. Jonathan stays in place beside you, arms crossed over his chest as he stares into the dining room. The silence stretches out across the two of you until Father yells at the two of you again. Jonathan gestures for you to go first, he follows so close behind you that you can feel him just at the hem of your dress. 

You can tell by the furtive looks that everyone sends you throughout dinner that they're waiting on you to explode and run away again. Everyone but Jonathan, who chats happily with Edward and teases Lily, her small smile shining in the otherwise oppressive room. But the time crawls, and by the time Maggie and Edward stand to excuse themselves from the barren plates in front of them, you're exhausted. 

You want to excuse yourself back to bed, and you think you might when Father leans back in his own chair, hands clasped tightly in his lap, and speaks to Jonathan.

"Jonathan I believe my daughter could use some fresh air; her complexion is terrible. Do you mind accompanying her?"

"No Father," you try to deflect, pushing yourself away from the table, "I'm sure Jonathan wants to get home. He must be exhausted."

Across the table, Jonathan studies you with a look you can't fathom. You try to beg him with your eyes to say no to decline the offer, but he doesn't.

"Nonsense," Father says, hand digging into his pocket for his tobacco, "you have a wedding in three weeks and the two of you barely know each other. Go."

His words leave a ringing in your ears; you find yourself moving like a wind up doll, following Jonathan to the door. You flinch away from him when he tries to settle your cloak across your shoulders, but he pulls away, and you take the strings from him.

The darkness is oppressive outside; fog rolls in heavy and pregnant from the sea. The last few villagers skirt around, attempting to avoid the rain that threatens to fall from above. Jonathan sets a leisurely pace, steering the two of you away from the town center. The silence stretches between the two of you, the only sound is the two of your feet against the hard packed dirt.

He steers you towards the pier, his ship bobbing in the distance. The lanterns scurry around the deck, but you can't make out the faces of the men carrying them.

"Where is it you want to sail first?" Jonathan's voice cuts through the wind rolling off of the waves. He keeps a distance between the two of you.

"What?"

"Where do you want to sail first? You are in charge of our path?"

You can't help the mirthless laugh that escapes you, hands clenched so tightly together beneath your cloak that you're losing sensation in your fingertips. 

"I am in charge of no path Jonathan. Let's not make a pretense of this entire thing."

He shuffles his feet, boots carving the soft loam beneath the two of you.

"Is that how you feel?"

"It's not how I feel, Jonathan. It's the truth. We can labor under whatever pretense we want, but it's the truth."

You watch his hand come towards you from the corner of your eye, but it barely skirts the curve of your shoulder. 

"Is there - is there someone else?"

You can feel his warmth through all the layers of your clothing; it's dangerous you know, to tell him the truth. To betray the secret happiness you and Simon have, but you're so tired of pretending to be someone else. Of pretending that there is nothing between you and Simon. So for once, you let the truth fall from you.

"Yes. There is."

You expect his hand to turn heavy, to dig into the sensitive skin of your shoulder and dash you across the ground. But if anything his hold growls more gently as he steps towards you, chest nearly touching your arm.

"Why don't you refuse - tell your Father you won't marry me. And marry him instead?"

"You're naive," you shrug his hand off, "if you think I have a choice. My Father settled on you, and that is what I have to do. I have no rights except the right to my home, which has to be provided to me by a man."

"And so you are stuck." 

His mouth turns down as he speaks, fingers dipping into the neckline of his shirt. He pulls out a flash of a medal, and you recognize it from the one that dangles above you from Simon's neck.

"Let me guess," you cut him off, "you're going to tell me how much you relate to me. How the King and his military took all the choices you had once."

"How did you know?" He asks, letting the cross fall to dangle on his chest.

"You aren't the first person to ever tell me that."

"Was he wrong?"

You think of Simon telling you the same thing, think of the way he's been regulated to his position because of a mistake supposedly made on the battlefield. Of the way the both of you are trapped here under someone else's bootheel. 

"He was right, in a way."

You pull yourself away from the image of the ocean, Jonathan following you faithfully. Your feet find the hidden path you and Simon used to walk when he was still Ghost to you. 

"I don't suppose," you ask, rounding the farthest house and turning back towards home, "that you are so kind and noble that knowing I belong to someone else, you will tell my Father that you don't wish to marry me anymore."

Jonathan chuckles, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

"You don't think that you could grow to love me?"

You measure your words out with the beat of your steps.

"Perhaps in another life, Jonathan."

He doesn't answer your question. The last of the shutters close around the two of you as he walks you home, cloaks swishing over the dirt and cobblestones. Fat, heavy rain drops start to fall, you pull the hood of your cloak up to protect your hair. When the rain starts to fall harder, Jonathan follows suit. 

At your front gate, you go to push past him and leave him at the latch, but Jonathan reaches out to stop you. His eyes shine at you from the darkness of his hood as he holds you still, one arm on each elbow. 

"For what it's all worth: I am sorry."

You think, as he leans down, that he's going to kiss you, and the thought makes your stomach drop. But instead he presses a single, chaste kiss to your cheek before pulling away. Your skin tingles from where his beard touched your sensitive skin. 

The rain starts to fall in a heavy sheet as he brushes past you, back towards where his ship is docked. You're stuck, fingernails digging into the wood of the front gate, and you think you might throw up from the feeling of the world rushing beneath your feet. 

It's not until you lift your head, trying to unstick your feet from where you're frozen to the ground, that you catch sight of the looming figure down the street. 

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythot, @hearts4sky, @crystallizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0t3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild, @crowsjourney, @c0pernicus, @wistfullyhypomanic, @arbesa-mind, @ray-rook, @daisyfrubies, @september-22-1996

[matt0044]

The Showrunning Scapegoat: A Troubling Fandom Phenomenon

Knocking about from show to show, from fandom to fandom, you inevitably start to pick up on reoccurring patterns when it comes to the inevitably discourse to come.

One has been this weird sort of "Auteur Theory" that manifests as hate. Where all those pissed off by this season finale, by that episode or by that game installment are pinned on one or at least a few figureheads in the creative team.

Now I focus on television and movie franchises due in part to how with novels (from the ground up) or webcomics, you do have significantly less cooks in the kitchen with one or a few guys making the story decisions. While publishing companies will have a say, nine times out of ten we are seeing what the writer full intended.

But with TV shows, you will have multiple episode directors, multiple episode writers and multiple studio heads overseeing the whole shebang. Yes, there will be a guy or two in charge of the story unfolding and its production. Often the creator of an original show or somebody hired for an installment of a greater franchise.

Buuuuuuut to act like the flaws or features of the show in question start and stop with the one showrunner is... dumb. However, it's a kind of dumb that's depressingly not hard to parse out. A major factor in this is how many fan actually know that television involves many moving parts... and how overwhelming that all is for them to take in.

So fans gotta water it down to lionize/demonize one figurehead or a few. Especially when they have a prescense on Social Media and/or have made themselves known through various interviews. Executives or shareholders who are usually old fogies won't have a Twitter account and when their decisions influence a poorly received creative choice, they're spared.

Twitter often enables a person's impulse to be quick on the trigger and put their two cents before stopping to ask, "Do I have all the facts or am I just rushing things?" Either way, an angry fan often needs an outlet for their growing ire and see the creator as the party who should take responsibility.

It's very much a "The Customer Is Always Right" mentality that even the best of us have to grapple with. The creators and their team make it look so easy to write good, animate good, what have you but only because we don't see the back-breaking process they go through. As much as we don't have to like it, some vocal disagreements border on an angry mob.

To them, their harassment is heroic actually. They have been wronged by the thing and the one credited to the thing are their enemy. And with others feeling the same, they feel like part of the Avengers.

TL;DR - Fandom needs therapists. Like… that’s not even hyperbole.

[katyspersonal]

Before you deride anyone for being an "idiot", you should probably shit can the Meyers-Briggs pseudo-science in your description. You know, that way you don't look like an idiot who buys into that stuff.

Naaah, I still think that accusing a very anti-nationalist creator that created a very anti-nationalist movie FOR nationalism just because his movie used trademark brilliant Japanese nonverbal display instead of spelling stuff out like poorly written modern Western media IS pretty "idiotic". Waaaay more "idiotic" than MBTI stuff. 🌛 (retroactive, because I already did take my insult back several days ago)

I'll have you know that whereas MBTI is definitely not as binding and fails in what it tries to do (just like every attempt to strictly categorize people failed), it is actually SUPER handy to communicate a LOT of traits and patterns within a short abbreviation instead of a long essay! For example, people that know MBTI lore will read that I am ENTP and instantly expect me to be a lover of debates and "devil's advocate", be bad at talking about my feelings genuinely and sound hurtful without any intention to do so! If person chose to describe themselves with an MBTI label, it doesn't necessarily mean they are the type to take it super seriously, but often it is a way to communicate what to expect from their personality in a really compact form! Or at least what this person believes about themselves, which is also good for "communicating without communicating" :p Most people that have MBTI in their bio/pinned/whatever aren't as serious about it. Those that tried to choose friends/couple and form a collective according to MBTIs are long ago extinct, trust me!

I also found MBTI useful for some writing stuff. To define a type, you have to make 4 choices between 4 pairs of traits: 1) Introvert or Extrovert; self-explanatory 2) Sensory or iNtuitive; so, oriented more in "physical" reality and present or into past, thoughts and concepts 3) Thinking or Feeling; so, stronger at logic and thinking, or at empathy and tact? 4) Perceptive or Judging; so, an open-minded person that is okay with leaving loose ends or a person that needs clear distinction and final conclusion! Yeah they are very bare-bones descriptions and there is more to say about the 8 'letters', I am just cutting to the chase! I never passed MBTI test, I just figured which one of these aspects applied to me and it made ENTP abbreviation! Then I read the description of this type and could recognize a lot about myself. You can for example do that for a character you want to develop, get the abbreviation, then go read full description of this type and I guarantee you, there will be MANY things in the text making you go "damn this makes sooooo much sense for this character 👀" or otherwise inspire a vision of them!

I agree that people that get too caught up into MBTI stuff can be frustrating, and that accuracy of MBTIs is long ago debunked; again, no way to split humans into clear cut types works and we are all too different! Zodiac signs stuff is a similar problem. But, these things are good for communicating aspects of your personality quickly, for finding which sides of yourself to focus on and get "coherent shape" (very useful for my personality disorder ass!) and are good for WRITING! I've even found using MBTI descriptions as a help a good preventive measure from too much self-protection onto characters I am writing! You know same face syndrome issue in drawing? Sometimes the same problem is possible in writing personalities, MBTI is something that helped me to double-check whether I am doing this. Don't harshly discard a thing just because you haven't found an efficient way to utilize it! MBTI failed at what it intended to do but succeeded at being a good compilation of distinct traits and ways to think, act and react!

On the other hand, believing in anti-scientifical things is not necessarily a sign of being a judgemental, narrow-minded, "idiotic" person: a person is only an "idiot" when they make themselves be.

___________

That being said, I don't blame you for being strictly negative? MBTI craze, Zodiacs stuff and similar things have history of really annoying people wasting their time and being weird about what they tell others but that's not my case. In my country MBTIs are in general 90% fandom of memes xd I might consider removing ENTP from my bio in the future if I estimate people are more likely to expect the worst (like you did) than take it for fun after that """science""" has fallen but I just dunno yet. But I'd appreciate if you didn't use harping on me for a mistake I already apologized for to express your disapproval of MBTI stuff 🌛 Not only it is cruel, but also even UNDER assumption that liking MBTI stuff makes me an "idiot" your logic doesn't work - why would doing one stupid thing remove my right to call out another, irrelevant (!!!) stupid thing? This is like saying that only "perfect" people are allowed to offer criticism and disapproval towards frustrating situations and I am not here for this sort of attitude. Someone can be competent in one area and be a complete moron in another area, does it mean they can't talk about what they're competent at anymore?

[careless-with-your-heart]

Lay You in the Ground Crazyposting.

I don't know why I'm like this. This is like many chapters ahead of where I should be writing. But, have it anyway! It's spicy!

Before she has time to be nervous, or start talking to fill the quiet, he kneels at her feet and reaches for one of her ankles. Kitty huffs out a short, surprised laugh and puts both of her hands on his shoulders.

Blaine doesn’t speak as he deftly undoes the small silver buckle of first one shoe, and then the other. At the gentle pressure of his fingers on her calves, she steps out of both, looking down at him as he raises his eyes to her.

He still doesn’t say a word.

Then, his hands…move. He slides his palms slowly, smoothly up the backs of her legs, the backs of her thighs, his thumbs rounding the fronts of her hipbones as he stands to full height, gathering the skirt of her dress as he goes. With every inch, Kitty feels a flush rise higher on her cheeks. Her breath grows shallow.

“Arms up,” he rasps.

She obliges, raising her arms and letting him lift her dress over her head. Next, he tugs out her hair pins, and the long, dark length of her hair falls down her back. She shivers lightly—standing in front of him in the slight chill of the Romero’s dining room in nothing but her bra and panties.

Blaine steps back and looks her over, slowly, head to toe. He’s muttering under his breath again, a litany that she doesn’t recognize. Kitty isn’t sure if he’s asking for forgiveness or praying gratitude, but the look of beatific concentration on his face makes her want to either preen under his gaze or bolt from the room—she can’t decide which. She needs to even the playing field, because she feels too exposed, off-kilter, with him fully dressed in front of her. So she swallows thickly and reaches for his tuxedo jacket.

He stops her, pressing both of her hands flat to his still-clothed chest. “Oh, no. As much as I want your hands on me, kitten, I don’t think I can hold back if it actually happens.” His voice is suddenly very shaky. “So let’s just take care of you, hmmm?”

He tugs her hands up around his neck and, bending, lifts her from under the backs of her thighs to deposit her on top of the piano. She laughs nervously as the keys jangle under the closed fallboard. Then, Blaine steps into the vee of her legs and presses himself to her. Two things happen—Kitty becomes breathlessly aware of the fact that Blaine is very obviously hard under his expensive dress pants, and he cups her chin, tilts her face away from him, and leans down to start a slow, soft pattern of kisses down her neck.

Everything in her sings at the touch of his lips.

Finally.

It’s not a kiss, but she thanks every deity she can name as he opens his mouth over her pulse point and licks in soft, lingering passes, punctuated by gentle, occasional suction that makes her full-body shiver at the feeling of the barest edges of his front teeth.

She squirms against him. He starts back up her neck.

So, so dangerous.

Oh, it’s danger that is caged and held back, but it’s still there.

“Pretty girl…” he whispers across the skin he has wet, “I knew you would taste good.”

[himikochan]

Hey there friends- today I finished up my ribbons and checks dress!

It was a weird googling rabbit hole that got me started on this project- I was actually looking for a painting of an Italian Renaissance kirtle, but ended up finding the Peculiar Seamstress's Tartan Caramel Dress and felt inspired to do something a-historical and cozy. I ended up doing a similar silhouette because it was just so sweet on her.

I meant to finish this project in a month, but I often took breaks so I'm not feeling too hard on myself. I only used ~2.5 yards/meters of fabric (it was 60in/152cm wide, 2 full yards/meters and the last was cut to a half width) and I decided to play with this giant spool of ribbon I had!

I spent quite a while draping the bodice pattern and putting together historically constructed 16th century boned sleeves which was a treat. You can see in the first picture that I fully lined the bodice with a beautiful cotton print too. It felt really good to create a garment for the joy of the process and the materials.

The front closure is alternated hook/eye pairs and I think I might need to re-do all of them or pin some kind of stomacher behind them because it keeps breaking open. But overall, I am so pleased!

This next project, I am pretty annoyed about, actually. For FIVE years, my grandma has persistently asked me to re-line this jacket for her. For context, she is completely physically capable of doing it herself. She worked as a seamstress for YEARS and taught me to sew, but she doesn't want to re-line it herself and doesn't want to pay someone to re-line it. And I also don't want to re-line it! And she'll say I already agreed to it and I haven't! But she got my aunt to just dump it at my place and she wants to wear it for New Years!

I'm so mad!

And I guess I'm just going to do it because she's like 90!

So I spent about 2.5 hours today carefully taking out the lining. It's going to be a bitch, frankly, to re-line because it's constructed VERY well and in a very frustrating way. So there's the silk outer layer, a layer of wool flannel, and then the shredded silk lining.

Unfortunately, the seams are all done in a super duper traditional Japanese style where the layers are machine stitched together and then tailor tacked so the layers are all offset to have a nice soft fold to each of the edges. I'm not really sure how to explain it more clearly.

But basically every piece is sewn together many more times than they usually are and I cannot rip out the seams because I cannot put it together in a way that will hang as prettily as it does on the body now.

What I need to do is carefully cut the lining fabric where it is sewn down (but not cut the seam), re-create the lining as a bag lining, install the lining at the cuffs/edges like you would normally, and then tack them to the garment at the side seams too.

So far today, I spent 2.5 hours carefully cutting the shredded silk. And then I discovered the fabric she wants it re-lined in is a cheap thick polyester!! Ugh!!!!!!!!

[jovenshires]

💙Smoshblr December Asks Day 18💛

What are your top 3 fave clothes, that you currently own? (can be faves for any reason, like comfort, smth you love to wear on special occasions, etc. 🤗)

Bonus: What are your top 3 fave accessories? (like jewelry, belts, bags, etc. 👜)

oh my god....... this is so hard bc i am a Fashion Girlie. but i digress. have some gpoys as well to showcase the Fits bc i am Proud of Them

the first is this cropped sweatshirt that says practice safe hex. i love her. SO much. i study witchcraft (one day ill practice. one day.) and i think this shirt is so funny and the and when fall hits? im a menace this is all i wear. (bonus shoutout to the patterned jeans in that pic bc they'd probably be my fourth pick for this list i LOVE those jeans.)

second is this brown corduroy skirt!! this is a more recent addition to my closet (i think i got it like last year?) and i wear it all the time. it is sitting on my bed to be put away from the wash rn. it's so cute and simple and goes with so many different things. ive got this outfit i really like to do with it (but no pics of the full thing unfortch) i call my shaggy fit where i wear this with like a lil green tank top sweater combo and its SUCH a cute winter/fall fit. (also this picture peeps one of my weeb tattoos so enjoy xx)

third and finally i cannot believe this is the best picture i have of this stupid thing (censored the face and an identifying landmark in the background LKNFKNSFLKNR) BUT this lil plaid overshirt? i have had that thing since i was literally... 13. so like 12 years and i STILL wear it ALLLLLL of the time. showing my arms makes me Uncomfy so this thing is a lifesaver. and i also wear a lot of plain black clothing so if smth needs a lil spice? ya just throw this bad boy on. plain black dress? plaid overshirt. lil romper? plaid overshirt. plain t-shirt? plaid overshirt. she's everything to me.

OH BOY OH BOY okay so two of these are like. staples to my wardrobe and the other one is. just for fun!

so the first one - my best friend handmade this for my birthday. this is my very own clown collar!!!!!! katie lore drop incoming - i am obsessed with clowns. i have a clown collection and a clown tattoo. so of course when she went to knit me smth she made me this!! i have not had the occasion to wear it but. im manifesting it soon (i will say she gave me this While i was dressed as a clown)

the second picture is of my class rings. (don't worry they've been heavily censored i'm not doxxing myself <3) the lighting is terrible and they also. don't leave my hands so the gems are grody as hell but the gems are blue zircon (my brother and mother's birthstone) and amethyst. im not even like. very proud of being an alumni from my schools but they remind me how hard i fought and all i learned to be where i am today and honestly. i love a ring! i love a ring moment and i wish i wore more so. class rings stick around.

and FINALLY. oh Boy oh Boy. i can talk about this thing for hours. this is my backpack. it is Covered in pins and keychains (spot all my special interests in there....... so many things....) and i take it Everywhere with me. this is actually the Third iteration of this backpack - i had a black backpack that all these pins were on (it broke tragically), then his white backpack had different pins, and now we've moved the black backpack pins onto the white backpack. im a bag enthusiast and a pin collector (i have so many pins....... so many) so i have multiple bags with pins all over them but. these pins are my faves.

ANYWAY. sorry ab being so extra but i love all these things soooo yeah <3<3<3

[whiteredrose13]

SEE THAT'S THE GREAT THING-- Candi, Qamar, and someone else altogether remember.

They don't tell each other immediately, if only because they need time to process All of That, and they both wait to tell Vince until they know for sure he remembers, too--they'd rather not have him spiral over dying if they can avoid it, y'know? And Vincenzo doesn't tell them bout of both shame and because he's terrified of speaking it into existence--as if he vocally acknowledges it, that will set it in stone and then he really can't atone for it all. They're all doing this careful dance of doing enough to ensure a happy ending, but not too much that it's suspicious.

So when they DO tell each other, when they're all mentally capable to handle it, it's a lot of tears and a huge relief. Being able to openly communicate and pin down their exact fears and frustrations without potentially tipping anyone off the edge is a relief of insane proportions. Vince can trust them with the full depths of his fears, his struggles, and be open about why he wants to change: Not just because he doesn't want to die or because he doesn't want them to live with the weight of having to kill him, but because he understands that being hurt doesn't give him carte blanche to hurt other people. And Candi and Qamar can tell him how proud they are of how far he's come--it can't be easy, especially doing it all on his own, but he is. They see the effort he's making, and while he's got a long way to go, he's on the right path. They have a big group cuddle and a good cry about it.

And it SUPER messes him up, in fact, I am SO GLAD you brought that up!!

He's constantly, constantly, second-guessing everything he does. Does he REALLY want to change, or does he just not want to die this time? Is he acknowledging his feelings for them because he does want to have a better relationship, even if it goes unrequited, or because he's trying to get into their good graces? Is he really improving or has he tricked himself into thinking he has? The impostor syndrome is heavy in this man. He has to restrain that instinct to just give in again, because he does want to be better, but it's tempting to go back to old, familiar patterns. Vince has days where he can't tell if he's doing better or worse. He's able to avoid making certain mistakes--he manages to significantly cut down on the wanton murder and destruction. Knowing everything he does, he's able to prevent certain attempts on both his and their lives--which ends up with him accidentally becoming their bodyguard. (I am horrifically weak for this trope, I admit it.) Could they both devastate attackers? Absolutely! However, Vince would rather take that on his conscience rather than them, even if it is self-defense.

And yessss, there absolutely has to be more focus put on things like therapy and mental healthcare, HRT/gender-affirming care and disability in fantasy! It gets a bit tiring seeing magic just fix everything, and it's fun to really get in there and think about the scientific(?) process of it all, how it really works, how procedures could be streamlined and certain components changed once magic gets involved. Qamar specifically found a way to arrange glyphs that aid in a more stable reconstruction process, so the patient only has to go in once for their surgery, rather than several times little by little for a complete result. He cut down the process from whoever knows how many visits and six months between each procedure to six hours. (Full adjustment is about seven or eight months.) Man is INSANE, I fucking love him.

And for the disability tidbit, Vince himself is actually partially deaf and uses enchanted hearing aids, which I'll add below here!

Oh, and the one other person who remembers the previous timeline? It's Vincenzo's father.

AAAAAA, OKAY-- @persephone-s-moon I could not find their updated refs for the life of me, so, woe, busted old concept art be upon ye. (Excuse the wonky proportions, these were done on my phone.)

Shortest rundown I can manage:

Did someone order a tragic throuple with time-travel/reincarnation shenanigans and a side of hurt/comfort/fluff?

Candavata Bhatia: Elven queen, from the kingdom of Sona, and the baddest bitch to ever live. In order to prove herself worthy of holding the crown over her sisters, she needed to channel one of the gods. So, not only did she channel one, she called upon Bijalee, the embodiment of lightning and storms--and the most difficult one to channel due to her wild and hazardous nature. She has been the only person to do so, aside from the First Queen. This earned her the titles of Storm Bringer and Lightning Tamer. She and Qamar are married and have been best friends since childhood. Can you tell I love her?

(Side note: Editing this on my laptop and holy ashy tone, Batman. Hoping it's just my screen because my girl does NOT look like this, I promise--)

Qamar Abn awaa: Werejackal prince, devout cleric of Layl, goddess of the night and medicine, and the definition of the "I'm a healer, but--" meme. He managed to show both great power and promise from an early age when, during a political visit to the Sona royal court, he used his knowledge of anatomy to turn one of Candavata's would-be assassins inside out. This is where he and Candi's marriage was arranged. He is of a generally very sunny disposition, which often makes people underestimate him, as they assume he's useless in serious situations--but, when shit hits the fan, he's the one you want to be next to. (I started designing him when I did not understand how to map out locs or braids. Qamar, my prince, I am so sorry, I swear I will do right by you and fix whatever monstrosity I gave you.)

Vincenzo Virago: Vampire duke. The intersection of an emotionally constipated killing machine and massive nerd failure. He's head over heels for both Candi and Qamar, but he doesn't feel like he can tell them, due to the fact that he views himself as unlovable, both wanting and growing jealous of them. (He is completely oblivious to the fact that they are also in love with him.) He's terrified of turning into his father, but it seems like everything he does only turns him further down that path. He's a warlord. He's a wet cat. He needs therapy.

It's a stable, constant dynamic. You never see one without the other. Where Qamar goes, Candi is right beside him, and Vince is right behind them. Whenever something goes wrong, usually they're at the center of it, all having different roles in the trouble. Candi, the planner, Qamar, the keen lookout, and Vince, the instigator. He keeps the two of them grounded, on their toes, and they do what they can to keep him away from his father. Even after they graduate and take their places in their respective castes, they stay in touch.

The story itself begins at the worst part of their relationship.

At this point, Candavata and Qamar have been married and are tending to their responsibilities as king and queen of their joined empire. Though they try to stay in touch with Vincenzo, it's difficult--and Vince doesn't make it easy, either. Over the years, he becomes withdrawn. He stops answering their letters, he refuses to see them when they come in person, every time. After a while, they stop trying. Not because they don't love him, they do, but there's only so much you can do when a person doesn't want (or doesn't think they deserve) help.

Vincenzo, after years of sitting with the jealousy and battling his father's horrendous treatment, broke. He didn't just spiral, he nose-dived, doubling down on every bit of gossip and rumor, until he's changed and warped into something even he can't recognize. He shuts out Candi and Qamar. Maybe he doesn't want to taint them, maybe he thinks this is how it was meant to go, maybe he can't stand their gentle hands or the pitying look in their eyes. Maybe he just wants the excuse. Whatever it is, Vincenzo becomes a monster, with blood on his hands.

In the end, Candi and Qamar had to be the ones to put him down.

Which is where we get into the time/reincarnation fuckery.

Because, when the pain fades and Vincenzo opens his eyes, expecting to see whatever eternal damnation looks like, he sees his university bedroom. Littered with textbooks and letters from Candi and Qamar, and his graduation robes hanging on the back of the door.

He's got a second chance to go back and unfuck everything, but only time will tell if he'll succeed or end up exactly where he was before.

Something, something, breaking cycles and being open with your loved ones, allowing yourself to be loved by others and yourself, and sometimes men are at their best covered in blood and a little bit pathetic.

(Oh, and, you want a really fun fact? Vince isn't the only one who remembers the original timeline.)

[badassindistress]

I found some more pins but I still don't have quite enough for the whole sample. I'm doing Kat stitch, named after either Katherine of Aragon or Saint Catherine, patron Saint of Lacemakers. It's a really nice pattern, simple and quick:

[popopretty]

The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side B (1)

Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Final

This is the first few pages of Side B of the new Dazai novel, which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

I said on Twitter that I will not spoil Side B any time soon, but as I have finished the translation for the first part of Side A, I think there is already enough context to move on with this one. Actually, it's pretty interesting to read and compare between 2 sides.

For that reason, I HIGHLY recommend you to read the first 3 parts of Side A that I have translated first, before moving on to this one, for better understanding. You can find the link to the tag with all Side A translations I have done in my pinned post.

Please also carefully read the notes below before progressing. - This post contains spoilers. It is not a summary, but a full translation of the first few pages of the novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here. · I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don't speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes. · This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoiler tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don't take many screenshots.

· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr. If you ever decide to do it without my permission, at least don't mention my name. I don't need the credits for that. · DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

I'm sorry if that's too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don't want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible. If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

A bloody corpse of a young man is lying on my front porch.

I look down at the corpse, then at the front of the house. It is a quiet morning. The apartment across the street is casting a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The trumpet vines planted in the hedge are rustling in the breeze, and whispering to each other in a way that human cannot decipher. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the sound of the long-distance trucks scraping against the road surface. And there is a corpse in the middle of the stairs in front of me.

In any case, to our eyes, a corpse is always a strangely exaggerated presence. But this time it is different. This corpse blends in with the landscape, becoming one with the everyday peaceful morning scenery. After a while, I realize the reason. The corpse’s chest is moving up and down faintly. It is not a corpse, it is alive.

I look at the young man. He is all black. A high-collar black cloak, a three-piece suit, a black tie. The things that are not black are his button-down shirt, and the bandages around his head. This one is a mottled color of white and red. This color pattern reminds me of some ominous Chinese prophetic characters. The place he is lying is the middle of the stairs that leads to the front porch. The blood stains continuing down the cracked concrete stairs looks like he has been crawling.

Question. What should I do with this nearly-corpse in front of my eyes?

The answer is simple. If I touch him with the tips of my toes and put some weight on him, he will just roll down to the ground below. If I do so, then he will not be on my premise anymore. He will be on a public road. The country’s territory. All those who are in trouble within the territory of the country should be saved by the mercy of the country. An ordinary postman like me should go home and have breakfast.

I am not doing that because I am a cold and heartless person. I am doing that because it is a survival necessity. The young man’s wounds are clearly from gunshots. He has been shot multiple times. There are probably more holes in his body than I can see from here.

I look at the young man, at the road, and the sky, and at him again.

And then I start to act. First, I approach the guy and lift him up by his sides. Then I drag him by his heels into the house and lay him down on the wall-mounted bed. He is much lighter than he looks. Carrying him alone is not that much of a trouble. I check his wounds. There are many deep wounds, and the bleeding is not usual, but if he receives immediate proper treatment, it is not like he will die.

I take out my medical kit box from the back of the closet, and give him some simple first aid treatments. I put a towel under his upper body, cut his clothes with a pair of scissors to expose the wounds, and check if there is any bullet left inside. In order to stop the blood flow, I apply pressure on the pressure points: below the armpits, inner elbows, ankles, backs of knees, and tie them tightly with a clean cloth. Then I put disinfected tourniquets to the wounds to stop the bleeding. Fortunately for him, I can do this kind of first aid even with my eyes closed.

After I am done with the treatment, I look down at the young man and cross my arms. His breathing has stabilized. His respiratory system and bones seem to be intact. But he does not seem to be waking up. “It’s fine already, just kick him out.”, I can hear the angel’s voice in my head. There is nothing more stupid than treating a suspicious guy like this. I guess I should listen to that voice. That is what a wise man would do.

Before following the angel’s advice, I take another look at the young man. I don’t recognize his face. Probably not someone I know. I say probably, because the bandages covering most of his face makes it impossible to make out his features.

I feel an uneasiness in my chest.

There is something strange about this young man. It is impossible to say that seeing someone covered in blood in front of your house is not strange, but I am feeling a completely different kind of discomfort than when I first saw him. I go around and look at his face. His eyes are closed. His face is pale and tired. His breathing is so faint that it is hard to tell without paying close attention. But still, I feel a strange power coming from his presence. It’s like will power, a certain sense of trust in his own body. And more specifically, right…

It is as if the whole thing about him collapsing here is all according to his plan.

The young man opens his eyes and looks at me.

I am startled and jump up. I didn’t notice when he opened his eyes at all. He moves without any sign of movement. He looks without a sign of looking. He seems to be one of “those people”, the kind of people you will never encounter if you are to lead a normal life.

Those eyes.

I’m not a person with an excellent observation skill. But even so, just by looking at those eyes, I understand a few things right away. He probably has killed before. Not one or two digits. Hundreds of people. When you have killed that many people, you will reach the other side of the mentality that ordinary humans can possess, beyond the other shore where neither light nor gravity can reach. The spirit of those who have reached that state will be seen first in their eyes, then in their mouth. Their eyeballs become black holes, and the muscles around their mouth become organs to show the depth of their sin, not their facial expressions.

And I also know one more thing instantly.

This young man knows me.

“Who are you?”

I ask without thinking.

The voice coming out of my mouth is so cracked, I cannot believe that it’s my own voice. If I didn’t hold my leg strong, it would have backed up a step on its own.

“Who are you?”

I ask again. There is no answer. I don’t even know if he is listening. Because the light in his eyes show no reactions to my question. No matter how cold-hearted a person is, if you look at him in the eyes and throw words at him, you can still see some kind of responses. But this young man does not have any of that. Just black eyes looking at where my figure is.

I cannot say anything much in details, but I associate this young man with a certain state.

There is no heart here. Just a heart-shaped emptiness.

Just as I am thinking this, the young man opens his mouth. He is trying to say something.

To make sure I do not miss anything, I stare at his lips and listen carefully.

But he doesn’t say anything. He just opens his mouth in a certain way. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t show any emotions. He just changes the shape of his lips. That’s it.

“Do you know me?” I try asking. “Why did you collapse in front of my house? How did you get all those wounds?”

The young man looks at me. He opens his mouth and breathes in as if he is going to say something, but he ends up not saying anything. His mouth is quietly closed, together with a sign that it should not have been opened from the beginning.

Maybe he cannot speak? Aphasia, or probably congenital speech impediment. People can lose their voices for various reasons. Mental reasons, brain conditions. Having their throat burn in a fire, or having their pharynx removed through surgeries. However, I feel that none of those applies to this young man. There is a sign that he has been suppressing the sounds coming right up to his throat.

He can speak but he doesn’t.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. But if I leave you untreated, you will die. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He doesn’t reply. Those eyes are filled with a quiet emptiness. From that, I assume that he is listening. Because if he is deaf, there should be a reasonable amount of confusion and signs of claiming that he cannot hear.

“To treat you, or to kick you out, it is up to me to decide. As long as you don’t speak, you have no rights to decide. Is that okay? If it’s not, say something.”

The young man stares at me. A few seconds, then tens of seconds. Then he gently looks away and closes his eyes. Quietly, emotionlessly.

He can hear, he can speak. The reason he does not talk is because his door is closed. A door built of thick, huge iron that will not open now matter how hard you try.

“I see. Then I will do as I like.”

I say, my words echoing in the emptiness and dropping into the corner of the room, in the middle of nowhere.

And so begins my communal life between me and the young man.

Strictly speaking, it cannot be called a communal life. It cannot even be called nursing. It’s more like an adjustment work, a monitoring work, and a maintenance work. If I dare to put it in a terribly devious way, it is like keeping a fish. After all, the young man just lies in bed and hardly moves all day. Except for eating and going to the toilet, he is not stirring a muscle. He doesn’t react to what I say or do. It saves me some effort, but it does not feel like dealing with a human at all. I do not expect to hear words of gratitude, and it is a lot easier than dealing with rampages or complaints, but it makes me feel restless all the time. I have never experienced something like this in my life.

There is just one time, when I try to change the bandage that covers most of his face, do I get a strong resistance. That is such a quick reaction that I cannot even imagine. He quickly grabs my wrist as I try to change the bandage. His other body parts do not move at all. It is just like his hand only has turned into another creature and attacked me.

In fact, that bandage should be changed. The bandage that covers most of his face has turned gray in places, and the blood stains have darkened into a gloomy color. From a hygienic point of view, it is not in a condition for an injured person to wear. So I try to change it no matter what, but he is still resisting so stubbornly that I eventually give up. I have carefully applied disinfectant on it. He will not die.

Probably, I imagine, he is afraid that I will see his face when I change the bandage that covers it. I can see the stubbornness in the color of those hard and cold eyes. When you are resisted with such strong will, there is no choice but to back up. However, no matter how many times I try to recall after that, I cannot remember ever seeing him before. Not even in a photo. So, his worry is absolutely groundless. I think so and I actually speak it out, but there is no response from the other side.

Just do as I like.

I cook his meals, let him change his clothes, and change the bandages on his body. We do not talk. He is not speaking anyway, and I am not exactly good at conversations. So, his silence itself is a convenient thing. But somehow, I cannot get rid of the feeling that I have been put on a boat without knowing where it is going.

The time the cops appear at my house, is one of those times.

...

[kurisus]

Chapter 100 thoughts

We've hit triple digits! No going back now. :') Spoilers under the cut.

Whatever last chapter did to me emotionally, this somehow beat it. I think it's because it was a full-length chapter as well as the announcement of it being the final arc alongside the content itself.

So let's talk about that first. I mean, we've all known for a while the manga was heading toward its conclusion--monthly mangas usually don't go too far beyond 100 chapters, Yukine's past finally came to light, Yato faced his fear and his father in battle, the characters got split up into different teamings amid higher stakes, the patterns are all there. But seeing it right there was...well, bittersweet. I know Adachitoka will take us to a good conclusion. And it's not goodbye yet! If the length of the Nora arc was any indication, we may still have 4 years of monthly chapters. Although it could be much shorter than that too, if they plan to have this arc all take place during Ooharai.

I don't want to get into territory of speculating about the series end content-wise because that's still far off and a lot could change, but looking at it optimistically, we do still have a full arc left yet. It's just knowing that we really are in the endgame now, so things seem a lot more final and it's affecting my reading.

I've believed all along there was one more arc after the Nora arc, but I honestly didn't expect 99 to be the conclusion of it. I even joked about it last month, but it was a joke. I'm literally like "wait Noragami is actually ending I thought it was a joke." I think because Ooharai is still going, my guard was down. But no, the arc definitively concluded with Yato getting Yukine back, which makes a lot more sense in hindsight. But damn it, we're not getting the usual 2 chapters of levity before the next arc kicks our asses, are we?

On the topic of the recap, Yukine/Hagusa still being listed under Father's "team" made me nervous. I hope that's not foreshadowing him going back to Father somehow, but Father has yet to release the "Yuuki" name, so. Can I just hedge my bets optimistically, for once?

Anyway, to the chapter. Hiyori caught Yato's scent! Does that mean she's going to find Yukine next, and reassure him? Will Yuka be coming with her? Will chapter 101 consist of me being a weepy mess because Yukine finally comes to terms with his death, helped by his sister and the girl who's like a sister to him? [voice cracking] please?

Yato finally confessing the burial of Yukine's body just. swept me with a tidal wave of feelings. I've been in agony about that stupid tree for YEARS and now we got the answer that so many have speculated upon. So congrats, everyone who predicted that. You were right. And it's absolutely rife with meaning, but since Yato already said it, I won't repeat it.

I will instead just point out he buried him WITH his letters. Jesus. I'm going to die of feelings.

It does add an extra layer of tragedy to Yato getting stabbed there, though...

Those panels were so pretty. I need to lie down. I am 8 pages into my thoughts and getting teary-eyed.

I don't want to talk about Kazuma yet, I'm saving that for the end of the chapter, so just put a pin in him being like "Why does Yukine suddenly care about being dead?" followed by "I don't want to die like a dog." I'll also put a pin in Bishamon saying "If anything happened to Kazuma I won't forgive myself." And one more in Father saying "Don't you care what happens to Kazuma?"

Trash dad bringing back Yukine's hit on Amaterasu is another reason why I'm nervous about him potentially going back there. For one thing, Father could do a lot more damage, and for another heaven might be like "ah yes there's the shinki working with the sorcerer."

Before anyone gets mad about Nora defending Father this chapter, I don't think Kazuma remarking she's lost the will to fight, her refusing to use Father's names for characters, nor her time with Yukine and Hiyori in turn was pointless. Adachitoka doesn't really do things without a point, and while this chapter might have been a prime moment for her to abandon trash dad for good, she's not quite there yet.

Her repeating "I love you" to Father really did make me think she was going to hold him there while Yato dealt the killing blow. And she still might! But for now, she's decided to strike back.

Time to talk about Kazuma without this stupid character limit warning constantly going off in my face. Okay so anyway. Him getting hit by GGS was a long time coming. We've been worried about it since before Yato even named him, since what he wanted was a powerful shinki that didn't fear death he could use against the sorcerer. However, for a while it seemed things would be okay--Kazuma was wearing earplugs, they were careful to fight Father from a distance just in case he was using Chiki, and only moved to hand-to-hand combat because they confirmed he wasn't. But now the first crack has been struck, and we already saw what happened with Yukine. It took a very long time, but he did get to wondering about his past.

I think with Kazuma it would be accelerated anyhow, since he's been exposed to Yukine talking about his family for a hot minute, as recently as this chapter, plus Father has commented on the nature of his death directly to him (though he had earplugs in). It's just, god, the boy JUST accepted life and now he's faced with the certainty of death once more.

We've already seen Kazuma's past thanks to Yato, and we know what GGS does to shinki, so what will happen to Kazuma? The optimistic route out is that Yato releases him after Father bites it (the crack is on the name Yato gave him), he goes back to Bishamon, and wonders no more. However, in this case they'd still be battling the clock and Yato might have to weigh "release Kazuma and save his life, and sacrifice my Father-killing weapon for good" or "continue taking the risk of him getting hit further, his name devolving faster and reaching the point of no return, but I might actually get to kill Father."

The less optimistic route out is that Kazuma dies, like he's been threatening for years. He has so many death flags I don't even know where to start. And we're approaching the series end. Will Kazuma succumb to GGS, now that he's decided he wants to live? I really don't want him to, but I'm afraid of how things will shake out. It seems like the manga has been heading to this for quite some time, but Adachitoka is known for being unpredictable.

I'm going to scream WAIT before the falling ice cream truck hits me and point out Kazuma's foiling Ebisu right now and Ebisu died after realizing he wants to live. If Kazuma is an inversion, he might live after all?

But if Bishamon finds out that Yato not only named Kazuma but put him in danger (even though Kazuma insisted on it himself), she's going to go right back to despising him, I fear.

We didn't get any Take and Ebisu content, but they will still have to destroy the grave to kill trash dad, so we have to get answers sooner rather than later.

[checks my notes] I think that's all I have. Horrible chapter, see you next month.

[lo5o]

Maria Hill's uniforms

(long post alert)

Since I've spent an unhealthy amount of time staring at photos of Maria Hill in uniforms, I figured I might as well make a post about it. Might even be a helpful reference for some of you writers..

So I counted 4 uniform styles:

1. The Classic

This one everyone knows. It's the classic Maria Hill look. She wore it in the Avengers (2012) and also in the Agents of Shield.

So it's a one piece suit, dark navy blue. Very practical, with inbuilt loops for her gun belt. There's a plastic-y looking SHIELD logo on each side of the arms, with a three stripes thing also on the left arm (I'm guessing three stripes means commander).

Based on that last photo, I'd say it's made of some kind of thin polyester material, you know, the kind that's light and flexible and keeps you cool when you work out in the summer.

I really love the zipper and standing collar here (I love it when Natasha grabs her collar and pulls her in for a kiss. And there's lots of things Natasha can do with the zipper. But I'll leave that to your imagination 😏). And I think Maria always wears a black tank top or maybe t-shirt underneath.

It seems she always wears this with knee high boots.

2. The Winter Uniform

This is the one she wore in Winter Soldier (hence the name) and also in that vanity fair photoshoot (that very rare occasion where Maria and Natasha were seen together in a single camera shot, or at least the same photo)

I think this is a two piece suit. Also in dark navy blue. But it also looks a little greyish under certain light. My favourite thing about this is it has an embroidered name tag at the front with her name "HILL". It also has an embroidered SHIELD logo at each side of the arms. Let's take a closer look at the logo.

Not only is it embroidered, it has COLOUR!! It's so fancy it even has tiny yellow dots surrounding it. Making this the most colourful SHIELD uniform that Maria has.

This uniform seems to be made out of thicker materials, looks a bit warmer than the first (another reason I dubbed this the winter uniform). Feels more like a jacket, she probably needs a t-shirt underneath. It has a rolled collar and hidden zipper. Again she wears knee high boots with it. The fingerless gloves are a nice touch.

3. The Old-Timey Uniform

There's another set of uniform she wore in the deleted scene of Winter Soldier. Was only able to find one high res photo, the others are screenshots.

I actually quite like this uniform! It's greyish? Blue? (I can't tell). But look at that very subtle checkers pattern in that first photo! I love the little buttons on the rolled collar. The collar itself is half standing (which makes her look so cute 🙈) But also!! Do you see that very tiny SHIELD pin on her left collar?? Isn't it neat? That pin reminded me of Peggy Carter's uniform too where she had a pin on each of her collar. The thin belt across the waist of her jacket is also very old timey. So is the material… I think it's just plain old cotton.

We don't have a full view of this uniform, but I think it's a two piece. Peggy wore hers with a skirt. But I'm guessing Maria is wearing it with pants here.

4. The non-uniform

Not sure if this counts. But she wore something like a uniform in spider man far from home.

So this is an all black two piece. I don't think it has a SHIELD logo.

The only comment I'm gonna make is that it has so many pockets!! (Probably a result of Natasha's influence… or Yelena's)

[ofhouseadama]

Ed gets drafted into the Navy right after high school, and in between finishing basic and getting shipped out to the Pacific, he promises Lorraine that the next time he sees her, he's going to propose.

after high school, Lorraine needs something to do so she gets a part time job as a secretary at the Diocese of Bridgeport helping wrangle parish finances and correspondence and other clerical and administrative work.

(this is where Lorraine first meets a young Father Gordon, who occasionally borrows her because she knows her way around a files room and takes excellent notes; he hears a lot about her boyfriend who's away on a ship in the Sea of Japan)

Ed and Lorraine write... a lot of letters during this time, which range from very chaste and heartfelt to NC-17 horny teenage screeds referring to their 3-day sojourn when they were seniors in high school, their many misdeeds in the back of Ed's car, and the time he snuck her into the Alamo Theatre after it closed so that they could have a "private showing" of a movie they remember very little of

when Lorraine is too anxious to sleep, she sews her wedding dress. she saw the pattern a few weeks after Ed left, and liked it, and bought it. she's been slowly buying yards and yards of satin and lace and tulle.

Ed squirrels away all the money that he can towards buying a wedding ring set for Lorraine. after he buys them while on shore leave in Tokyo, he keeps the rings in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt, next to his heart, to feel close to her.

his ship strikes a mine and goes down in the small hours of the night in June of '53; the rings are in his shirt pocket, and Lorraine feels it immediately. Father Gordon has to drive her home from work, and believes her immediately when she says she knows something bad happened to her boyfriend.

Ed makes it home to Bridgeport ten days later; he gets in a taxi at the Navy yard and immediately goes to Lorraine's house. she meets him at the front door before he can even knock and tackles him on the front lawn.

he proposes to her while very exhausted and not exactly coherent.

technically, she proposes to him because she tells him they're getting married and she's not waiting any longer.

these are two hotly contested facts for years to come.

they get one very hasty pre-cana session in as the Moran family (+ Father Gordon a little bit) cash in all their political capital with the church to expedite a wedding as soon as humanly possible.

Georgiana and her friends plan the wedding, everyone is very concerned about Lorraine's dress. Georgiana tells them they should be more concerned about Ed's dress uniform, currently at the bottom of the ocean.

(He wears a suit from Sears. It's fine.)

the story of Ed Warren, hometown boy, as the sole survivor of the sinking of the USS Saint Paul makes the local papers and absolutely no one remembers to tell his father that he made it home until a full 24 hours later.

Ed and Lorraine get married exactly two hours after the end of the legally-required 72 hour Connecticut waiting period elapses. it's a Friday afternoon.

when he sees her in his dress, Ed absolutely cries.

their wedding readings are Romans 12:1-2, 9-18 and Sirach 26: 1-4. it's not a full wedding mass, due to time restraints. it's actually nothing like Lorraine thought her wedding would be like, but she's so relieved Ed is alive, and he's not allowed to go back to the war without being her husband.

their reception is some cake and champagne in the parish hall, Ed's hands have been shaking so badly all day that he can't manage to get cake in her mouth off a fork so Lorraine grabs his hand and sucks it off his finger.

by this point she's had three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

it's over by the middle of the afternoon, and they're speeding off to the same aunt's beach house that they ran off to when they were seventeen, this time with permission and this time knowing the whole drive down that they're finally going to have sex.

Ed spends much of the four-hour drive from Bridgeport, CT to Cape May, NJ rucking the many layers of the skirt on Lorraine's dress up her legs, running the hand not on the steering wheel of the car up and down the inside of her thigh, keying her up.

they arrive shortly after dinner, having eaten cheeseburger and fries in the car in their wedding clothes, and are suddenly very very nervous.

even though they've done everything except the technical deed itself.

as Ed peels himself out of his suit and tries to not psyche himself out, Lorraine goes into the bathroom and changes into the peignoir and robe she made for her trousseau. she comes out of the bathroom to grab her brush to take her hair down, but Ed asks her to sit on the bed and pulls all the pins and flowers out himself, gently brushing her curls.

when he's done, he moves onto gently touching her. the last time he saw her naked was also in this bedroom, as they shook with restraint. now they're shaking for other reasons, hands rediscovering each other's bodies and warming themselves on each other's skin.

kissing her neck, he reaches one hand in-between the halves of her robe as the other moves her hair off her shoulder, exposing more skin.

he rucks the hem of the sheer white peignoir up to her knees, then her thighs, then her hips. Ed decides that he needs to make her orgasm before they have sex, because if he doesn't last long, then at least she'll be satisfied.

he eats her out like a man with a point to prove, because he's nineteen and very much is one in this moment.

it's been almost eighteen months since they've been physically present together, and they didn't have much alone time together before their wedding, and Lorraine feels like her body is on fire. it's been so long, and she feels like a bullet leaving a gun. it doesn't take much to make her cum, and Ed manages to do it several times before she's hauling him up her body.

he's still not done getting her ready, unable to not think about every horror story he's heard about bleeding and pain and discomfort and the terrible jokes from his bunkmates.

(they're all dead now. he tries to not think about that, why he lived and they all died. why did he survive, if not to make Lorraine feel good? if not to make them both feel alive? he needs to feel alive, and when he drinks her with his mouth and feels her clench around his fingers, he finally does.)

he sucks hickeys into Lorraine's neck and chest and breasts, keeping her high as he circles her clit with the fingers on one hand as he plays with her nipples with the other.

he is harder than he's ever been in his life, he thinks, pumping two and then three fingers into her. she's wet and all over his hand, dripping down onto his wrist. he wants to eat her out again, taste her again. his mind is a feedback loop of her pleasure.

Lorraine is trying to touch him, but her hands don't feel entirely attached to her body. she ends up curling her fingers into his hair and pulling. the sharp pain is delicious, and he moans while lapping at her nipple and thinks he might see God.

eventually he realizes that she's begging, chanting "now, now, please now, Ed, please--"

they both feel lust drunk and clumsy, all limbs as they take their clothes off, as Ed slots himself between her thighs.

she hasn't touched him at all, and he thinks if she does he'll cum immediately.

he pushes into her slowly, incrementally, watching her face the whole time.

she gasps, bites her lip, scrunches her face up. then, it starts to feel good, and her eyes flutter closed, and she moans.

he doesn't want to move. he wants to move more than he's wanted anything in his whole life. dropping down on his elbows and forearms, he shakes while hovering above her.

Lorraine's mouth is a perfect "o," and slowly she tests out how she wants her legs, first pressing her heels into his calves, then his hamstrings, before pressing her knees in at the sides of his hips. it feels incredibly intense, and she's not quite sure what to do with herself. she no longer feels in control of her body. all of her gifts of perception narrow down to hyper-perceiving Ed, the red sheen to his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, the sweat dotting his brow, his heart in his chest. his racing thoughts, his love for her. she feels him inside her body and inside her head. she shivers.

she squirms, trying to get him to move.

he does not, burying his face in her neck.

eventually he realizes that, as she traces her hands up and down the side of his spine, she's whispering, "move, honey, you gotta move, oh God please move, Ed honey please--"

something in his head breaks loose a little bit, and he snaps his hips into hers. when she moves with him, it breaks loose entirely.

it's entirely unskillful and uncoordinated, but Lorraine is already so close to orgasming again that it doesn't matter. when she cums again, Ed's entire brain malfunctions and he stops, watching her, feeling it and feeling her. she reaches down and straight up spanks him, telling him to keep moving.

doubling down, he sucks on the tendon where her neck meets her shoulder, and doesn't last much longer than her.

he thinks his vision almost whites out, gripping her hips tightly as he cums inside of her before pulling out of her and collapsing, happily burrowing his face into her breasts.

Lorraine laughs, wrapping her arms and legs around him, holding him to her tightly.

the insides of her thighs chafe a little, and she feels a bit raw, but she likes it.

they almost fall asleep that way, but Lorraine knows that's probably not a good idea. her mother knew enough about their relationship to know that Lorraine needed a little bit of motherly advice before her wedding night, but not that much. after rolling him off her, Ed promptly falls asleep on his side of the bed.

he didn't sleep the night before.

Lorraine takes a quick shower, washing the shellac out of her hair and scrubbing the make up off her face. she doesn't bother to redress, just gets into bed with him. he feels her weight on the mattress and rolls over, blearily reaching for her to pull her against him. he's half in between dreaming and wakefulness, and slides his hand up to cup her breast in his hand.

"can we do it again?"

[butterflies-dragons]

I don't think antis know about meaning of 'willowy'. When Jon said that Val is a warrior princess not a willowy creature brushing her hair, willowy is not an insult. It means tall, slender and graceful. And Sansa qualifies as willowy brushing her and like knights. It seems like Jon throwing shade on Sansa, but why? Considering he liked her brushing Lady hair and he himself wanted to be knight. Why he subtly remember Sansa while differentiating her with Val?

This is what I wrote about Val and the willowy creature line a while ago:

Val

Repeat after me: Val is not a warrior woman. Again: Val is not a warrior woman.  One more time: Val is not a warrior woman. If you don’t believe me, then read this:

However, in my own defense, I should note that Dalla was not a “warrior woman” per se. She was from a warrior culture, yes; one that gave women the right, but not the obligation, to be fighters. Ygritte was a warrior woman, as was (most conspicuously) the fearsome Harma Dogshead. Dalla and Val were not.

[Source]

But you may say, ¿What about the “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” quote?

Well, as GRRM has stated many times, all his POVS are “Unreliable Narrators”.  Being from a “warrior culture” doesn’t make you automatically a “warrior woman”.  But here is Jon Snow “deciding” that Val was a “warrior princess”. Once again, the contrast, the dichotomy in one single person: ¿A warrior like Arya, a princess like Sansa?  Not that Arya has ever fought in a war, but you get my point.  And Sansa was created following the princess archetype.

I will show you one of my favorite Jon’s passages that will serve us to read “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” line with a better and more revealing light:

I call this passage the “Jon -It’s nothing special- Snow”.  Or as we say in Spanish when we can’t get what we really want: “Al cabo que ni quería”, that can be translated as “I didn’t even want it anyway”.  Let’s see:

"Oh, I learn things everywhere I go.” The little man gestured up at the Wall with a gnarled black walking stick. “As I was saying … why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what’s on the other side?” He cocked his head and looked at Jon with his curious mismatched eyes. “You do want to know what’s on the other side, don’t you?”

“It’s nothing special,” Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. “The rangers say it’s just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

I mean… COME ON!  This is one of the most telling passages to know, to really know Jon’s true nature, and it’s very, very similar to the quote about “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair”:

They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

“Some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.”  Nah, it’s nothing special, I didn’t even want it anyway, not for me, no.

“It’s nothing special,” Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. “The rangers say it’s just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice.”

Do I have to say more???

Actually, yes, I have.

Jon Snow does really want a lady.  Jon Snow does really want to be a knight and rescue a maiden.  Jon Snow does really want a lady to love and be loved back by her.  Here some evidence:

Jon Snow wished that his mother were a highborn lady: “Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.”

Jon Snow wanted to be a hero like the Prince Aemon Dragonknight.  The same Prince Aemon that jousted in a tourney, won it, and crowned his sister and lady love “Queen of Love and Beauty”, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “The Dragonknight once won a tourney as the Knight of Tears, so he could name his sister the queen of love and beauty in place of the king’s mistress”.

Jon Snow tried to comfort Gilly with courtesy: “Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower.”  “That’s pretty.” He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her”.

Jon Snow put Ghost between Ygritte and him and remembers that knights put their swords between their ladies and themselves, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor’s sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword”.

Jon Snow imagined romancing Ygritte as if she were a lady: “If I could show her Winterfell … give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us”.

Jon Snow wished for a domestic life in Winterfell, with his wife and children: I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. […] I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. […] Mance���s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb. He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily”.

Jon is a romantic that called his mare “sweet lady”.

Jon Snow closer friends in the Night’s Watch are Samwell Tarly and satin, they are literally male!Sansas.

Jon remembers fondly Sansa’s more feminine and ladylike traits: her romantic nature, her courtesies, her singing.

It’s also worth to mention that, despite Val’s beauty and physical attractiveness, Jon Snow, once again, appreciates her being maternal and singing to Gilly’s son, but was turned off by Val saying she would kill Princess Shireen:

“I have heard you singing to him.”

“I was singing to myself. Am I to blame if he listens?” A faint smile brushed her lips. “It makes him laugh. Oh, very well. He is a sweet little monster.”

“Monster?”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VIII

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. “You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …”

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

“North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago.”

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. “Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child.”

“I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Wait a minute! Val was “singing to herself” like Jon’s memory of Sansa “singing to herself” while brushing out Lady’s coat???

Where did Jon get this idea of “some willowy creature that only brushes her hair” from???  It could be from his half sister Sansa, a literal princess, now trapped in a tower, that always brushed her hair and even brushed out her direwolf’s fur???

“She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone” —Sansa

“Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone.” —Eddard

I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. —Catelyn

He thought […] Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. —Jon

And I also suspect that when Jon said this about Val:

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

He was remembering another pretty girl, princess like, next to a direwolf, looking as though they belong together.

A young beautiful girl, that everyone considers a princess, next to a direwolf???

Val is a beautiful young woman, Sansa is a beautiful young maiden.

Val has long blonde hair the color of dark honey which she wears in a braid. Val actually take care of her hair, enough to braid it, like Sansa that always brushes it. And if you google “dark honey” hair color you will find a variety of reddish brown (auburn) and reddish blonde hair colors.

Val has high sharp cheekbones, like Sansa.

Val’s eyes are pale grey or blue.  Again the grey/blue eyes pattern…

Val is slender with a full bosom, like Sansa.

So?

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him. […] It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.

Think about it!

* * *

For anyone interested, this is an excerpt from this post.

[fferthe]

AAAA INFO ON THE HUMANS

Lucas and Prudence. wonderful TRULY WONDERFUL.

Well it seems that I Somehow (it's the gaster hold that has lasted for 8 years) manage to be on the same wavelength with other GASTER fans so It just happens (i am able to see through your mind with X-RAY. beware)

Oh, yeah, the paragraph about the monster souls is exactly what I meant!

I also know that humans can use spells, though I wondered about Frisk shooting yellow bullets while not wielding the empty toy gun. Also, there's an unused 'Spell' button in the game file. Some people speculated that humans need tools to cast magic, but I think it's more of an augmentation, as their initial powers don't allow them for much. Humans can't do patterns, therefore their attacks are very limited and straight-forward. Though, I didn't think that they could use magic of other colors!

Very fitting description for Patience!

He skips NPC dialogue like a total idiot and gets very lore confused later.

this part made me cackle 😭 ah yes the Lore

I love how you pinned down Integrity's personality!! And her being similar to sans didn't cross my mind, but it does make sense. I've noticed that the name Ingrid looks a lot like her trait, so I decided to look at the others. Prudence is self-explanatory, but..

"Lucas. Origin: Latin. Meaning: Bringer of light."

Oh. you A lightbringer. of course Of course

Oh, and I did take a note of the KARMA effect, but didn't exactly think of it as magic and it was kind of late, which is why I left it out. Also, interesting point about clinging onto dear life. (perseverance, strings..) THOUGH THE SIMILARITIES. I AM LOOKING AT YOU.

Countering? That's a great game mechanic, actually! I've seen it in some sans battle™, but it would definitely add some spice if it was something that we could do as well. It does seem to fit the SOUL of Justice alright hehe. Kindness may not be so easily crushed down, simply taking cover, but Clover takes the active approach and responds to a bullet with a bullet!

YOU VIEW WINGDINGS AS AN ACCENT TOO? I AM THIS CLOSE TO SHAKING YOU LIKE A SNOW GLOBE 💥💥 SO many people, practically 99,9% of the fandom, deem it a different language. Or garbled speech. But sans and PAPYRUS are right there (i love spelling their names in respect to how they talk. it feels so wrong to spell 'sans' with a capital letter). And WINGDINGS (yes it's applicable to him as well) isn't used as just a font that is pre-installed on Windows that Toby used as 'some Language'. If that was the case, then GASTER wouldn't have it as his first name, solidifying the fact of it being a font. It's so funny to me that if you refer to him with the honorific and his full name it's just. so long Doctor wiiingdiiiiings ggggaaaaaster And TWO initials being next to the honorific is just comedic. Dr. W. D. GASTER It gives off an air of being old-fashioned, a time when it was common for people to have those lengthy names.

#i like the idea of wingdings exploring the soul's lasting qualities for magic infused technology SO MUCH i think about it all the time

HAHAHA YESS Also you calling them 'laser siblings' 😭 "Im Prudence." "and im Bravery." THE LASER SIBLINGS (the iPod brothers ref) Perseverance paving the way for the other two is honestly genius.

Pardon me for the question, but does he always say 'fleshlings'? Even when said 'fleshling' is very much present. I feel like at least one of the three that he has dealt with would correct him Not sure if Chara would, honestly, but maybe the the other two?

So, only the DT experiments? I suppose he built the machine in sans' workshop after the death of the humans? He could've done so after the fall of a human and before the next one, so it would explain him not noticing the anomaly. I suppose the siblings didn't die often either, so he didn't experience déjà-vu either. Also whenever I read the words 'sad monster(s)' they became capitalized in my mind and I got mentally flashbanged with an image of Gaster

The Bravery SOUL. so normal about it Shotout to n4rval's Gaster who got me thinking about the two humans‼️ Stares

(Patience not included as it's just plain good ol 'Your Best Friend' throughout) Why does the theme sound so NERDY. All the other SOULs, even Kindness, sound serious. And it would be logical for Perseverance to sounds like that, but nope: it's Bravery's theme.

When I listen to Kindness' theme, it associates with defending oneself, Perseverance with calculating your next moves, while Justice focuses on the opponent's.

Integrity is hard, its creepiness strays me from my line of thought, but most fitting would be 'attacking'. The dustiness of the tutu doesn't play a role in my choice and it's likely that neither of the humans killed anyone, as it would instill at least some fear into monsters and, y'know', be mentioned at least somewhere. But self-defense is still an option, though! Doesn't have to go as far as murder. Nerdy, and many people have pointed out the presence of Gaster's leitmotif in there.

(The video it's taken from)

And, well, these. Just some silly things. Personally I think Gaster could've dealt with two humans after Chara, namely Patience and Bravery. The Patience and Bravery weren't used for the reason of being excessive (I feel like 4 SOUL modes is enough) and Toby not having ideas about how such a SOUL mode could be even executed (the OVERTIME one has a special place in hell). But if looking at it from an in-universe perspective, what if Gaster utilized the SOUL power for lasers? I think a monster's SOUL combines every human trait in it, making it white. Like RGB. So they can also use colored attacks, which have a unique effect. The Royal Guard uses blue attacks to hinder the movement of their target, or, more specifically, a human. Same goes for sentries like Sans and Papyrus. Woshua uses them so you could stand still and let it cleanse you. Hard to say why Gyftrot would, but hey! It's a personal choice, so why not? Orange attacks are very scarce and only one monster exclusively uses that type of attack, and not a combo. Tthat monster being Pyrope. When it comes to switching between these two, Mettaton uses both because of the lasers prominent in the CORE and Hotland, while also being a robot, which, I suppose, makes the utilization easier. Asgore, unlike Undyne, isn't adamant on his target being still to the point of rendering it immobile, so he uses blue attacks instead like the rest of the Royal Guard, while also mixing them with orange ones to disorient the human. So Sorry is a weird case. They attack you but are also sorry for that. (Asgore-style) ..They're quite the character. Green attacks are self-explanatory. Also got a silly idea: what if, since a monster's SOUL is all traits mixed together, white attacks damage you since that is also applicable to them? If you make an orange and a blue attack into one, then it turns into an attack that damages you upon contact either way. But strong monsters, like the main cast, can turn your SOUL a different color. Which, too, is connected to the fact that a monster SOUL consists of every trait, so it can be any color. I already talked about Undyne above. Sans rarely even fights, but in the one instance that he does, it's the sins weighing on our SOUL. Papyrus views the whole fighting thing differently, so for him it's about the challenge. The art of fighting. The purple and yellow modes are a bit weird, the latter one especially. But Muffet uses the former one over the green one due to her playfulness. The purpose of the yellow mode is hard pin down, because it doesn't inconvenience you in any way. But a SOUL is a SOUL, so naturally, SOUL magic would affect them as well. The yellow mode could be used to aid monsters and allow them to get more precise hits? My point is, monsters using either of these (colored attacks and SOUL modes) is natural. What Gaster did was to use that power a bit differently, fusing it with technology.

I feel like Bravery stayed with Gaster for a bit longer than Patience, hence the amount of connections. But if we're going off of Flowey's order of the six SOULs, Patience died first. Bravery dies shortly afterwards. Very reminiscent of the Dreemurrs, isn't it? Ouch. Imagine searching for them and finding out that you arrived a bit late to the scene. Gaster, probably: human...... i know your BRAVE.

[hslotharrie]

valentines (a.m)

summary: when reader and harry go home from their valentine’s day date.

word count: 2741

warnings: fluff, smut. slight bit of a choking thing going on. not edited as per usual!

tags: @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist

read part 1 here!

After your meal and a hearty slice of double chocolate cake, you're both stuffed.

The restaurant is much quieter now, nearing it's closing hours. Harry's hand is joined with yours across the table as he continues to munch away at the remnants of the cake. He hums along to whatever music plays quietly over the sound system until something crosses his mind and you're chatting away again.

You're smitten with him. He could be talking about something completely absurd and you would still be looking at him with more love and adoration in your eyes than should be humanly possible. The day you met, you fell in love with his personality, his mannerisms, him. And, when prompted (though sometimes not), he would say the same about you; meant to be.

Your pretty new necklace is now hanging safe around your neck, perfectly accenting your shirt just as Harry somehow had planned. Shocker. An inside joke, 'Harry magic', is announced when something works out perfectly in his favor. An unreasonably frequent occurrence, in your opinion, though you can't complain.

The plate is empty (spare the streaks of frosting and crumbs you both couldn't scoop up) and your drinks are finished. You're both up at the bar now, Harry's politely complimenting his experience to the teller while using the card machine to play your bill. It makes you smile how close he keeps you even at the mostly empty pub area, you're unmistakably his, right on his hip.

While he's doing his thing, you zone out on the sports television. They're saying something about some scandalous faked injury and you're not all that interested, but it's there, and—

"Do y'come here often?" Harry jokes, pulling you out of your trance. You let out a snort, turning your attention back to him and flashing your most innocent look,

"I do, actually! With my boyfriend, have you seen him?" you tease back, grinning when his hand wraps around your waist.

"Hmmm, can't say I have," he replies, faking thought "D'you want t'get out of here then?"

You lean back on the bar top, pretending to contemplate while his smile grows. He's feeling touchy, desperate to get you home but you know he's playing it down because of the public setting. Too many eyes.

Before you know it, Harry's leading you to the rather cold car and he's backing out of the parking place, inching towards the main highway to get you both home. His hand lays gently on your mid thigh, thumb rubbing delicate circles and patterns.

He hands you his phone to play some music through the bluetooth, and after struggling with what to play for a few minutes, you decide to play it safe and hit shuffle on his favourites playlist. He hums, braking out into lyric every now and then. The volume is low, his voice standing out against the tune.

It's quiet, but not so, at the same time. A pleasant medium.

"Can we have a bath when w'get home?" Harry asks, glancing in your direction only for a few seconds.

"Only if you wash my hair," you tease in return.

...

Soon you're pulling into the driveway, you both do a funny little run to the front door because of the cold. It causes a fit of giggles to erupt between you while Harry unlocks the door to your warm home. As soon as you're inside, he pulls you in for a kiss; holding your jaw with one hand and the back of your neck with the other to keep you close.

His kisses are soft, slow, and loving. You could feel the need behind them, but you still had a bath to get to so the kisses stayed kisses.

Harry pulls away, pressing one more peck to your lips before announcing that he's 'going to get some candles for the bath!' and scurrying away somewhere within your living room. Your shoes and coats are forgotten messily in the entryway as you head upstairs to start the warm bath.

You plug the large bathtub and then start the water, adjusting the temperature to a comfortable warm. Harry soon appears behind you in the doorway with your favourite candles and both of your bathrobes.

He places the candles with his own careful consideration and lights each of them with a lighter. When he finishes, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Harry notices the bath is nearing full, so with a smirk, his hands venture through your open tucked shirt to tickle along your back. You chuckle, leaning your foreheads together as his hands slowly untuck your shirt and then rise to push the fabric off of your shoulders. He dips down, pressing quick kisses along your neck, reaching your collarbone before you have to reluctantly push him away.

"Bath first, H." you murmur, pulling his head back to meet his eyes.

He does nothing but hums in reply, a big smirk still plastered on his face. You start unbuttoning his shirt, teasing him on purpose. You step back to admire the fake shock-offended expression you've created on his face before slipping off your bottoms and sliding into the warm bath water, leaning ahead to shut off the tap.

After murmuring something about you being a little minx, Harry shrugs off his clothes and sinks in behind you. For a moment, you relax into eachother. The comfortably hot water soothes your skin. It's bliss.

Until Harry's lips begin to roam. And his hands, too.

It started out innocent, just a few light kisses on your shoulder, but those grew into nips, bites, and soon he's blooming purple flowers along the line of your neck. You sigh as his hands roam the parts of your body exposed from the warm water.

Harry slides his foot to the tub drain, moving it to the side to allow the water to escape. Harry's hands continue to tease over your skin, lightly tracing from your collarbones, between your breasts, then skipping over your middle to run a finger down your thigh, lowering his touch as the water drains.

"Beautiful, every inch of y'body," he breathes, just under your ear.

"Harry," you warn in return, attempting to squeeze your legs together when he traces particularly low. He only hushes you in reply.

You can feel him behind you, getting hard against your lower back. A sly smirk on his face as he watches your skin tense as he traces all the way down your thighs only to skip over your most sensitive area and drag a finger up your stomach. To tell the truth, Harry loves the desperate, sensitive reactions you give him. He's having fun teasing you.

The water is gone now, completely down the drain. He nips once at your ear before his fingers travel feather-light down your thighs and this time they don't jump to your chest. He's holding his middle finger over your clit, no movement but it's pressure and it's there. The shock makes an uncontrollable gasp escape your throat and your legs try to snap shut again.

Harry hooks his foot around your ankle, successfully pinning your leg against the side of the tub and thus allowing enough space for him rub slow circles around your little bundle of nerves. You get more and more sensitive, and soon he pulls his fingers away from your clit only to slide two swiftly through your entrance.

Your jaw is wide open and your head is thrown back against his shoulder. You can see the growing, entertained, smile on his face as he pumps his fingers and you whine out. You're beginning to tighten, he can feel it, so he snakes the hand previously holding your hip up to wrap gently around your neck.

Your breathing turns into gasps and your fingertips turn white from holding the sides of the tub. Your pussy starts to flutter, hips jaunting, and Harry's adding pressure to your neck as he feels you near closer to your break.

You can almost feel the smug smile on his face. He's enjoying getting you off on his fingers, making you feel good, and he always has. He matches your moans with his own, cheering you on.

"Harry," you whine, breathless.

"Y'can let go, baby. Let me feel y'cum," he says.

He holds you through it, moaning along with you when you come undone. His hold on your neck tightens just a tad more, making your head foggy in the best way. His fingers don't stop until you're forcing him away, breathing heavily and twitching from over-stimulation.

When you come down, you let out a quiet giggle through your huffs of air. Harry wraps you in a hug from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek and letting out a few giggles of his own.

"Didnt wash my hair," you joke. Harry snorts in reply.

"Would have you rathered I washed y'hair instead?"

"...No."

"Ah, need I say more?," He says, quiet and close to your ear, just the sound of his breathy whisper shivers down your spine.

You sit forward, giggling at the hiss Harry makes from the relief of pressure on his dick. You stand and step out of the shower,  grabbing one of Harry's soft towels and patting the remaining dampness off of your body. Harry watches like a lost puppy, hurt almost, cock hard against his tummy.

You throw the towel onto him, flashing him a smirk and walk backwards towards the door to your bedroom.

"I'm not 'gonna fuck you in the tub, H." you say, arms folded while he stands to dry himself.

"Going t'fuck me?" he pats dry his chest and legs with little effort, giving up when you stop at the door to look him up and down.

There's about three seconds of silence when the both of you just stare, taking in each other's bodies before your eyes meet again and he's dropping the towel to step towards you.

Harry brings both of his palms to your face and kisses you hard. He nudges you backwards, guiding you to the bed. Just as the back of your legs hit the mattress, he gently pushes you enough for you to lose balance and fall onto the plushy sheets. He stands, taking you in.

You move back on the bed to allow Harry some room to join you. The mattress dips with his weight and you then feel him pressing opened mouth kisses on your neck, light scruff scratching along where his lips and tongue don't soothe. The tip of his cock is resting just below your hip bone, leaking; telling the truth of just how much you turn him on.

"M'gonna fuck you baby," Harry almost warns "so good."

"So good." you agree, watching as he slides himself between your legs and brings each of your thighs to wrap around his hips.

Suddenly, he's taking your wrists and pinning them above your head, using one hand to hold them while he uses the other to tap the tip of his cock against your clit. You let out a quiet whine, your pussy clenching around nothing.

"Harry— fuck, please," you beg, squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation.

He guides himself to your entrance, teasing over your hole a few times before sliding in all at once. You both let out a loud groan, your jaw drops and you struggle against his hold on your wrists. Harrys in his own world, eyebrows furrowed as he brings another hand to hold your wrists and drops his head into your neck to compose himself.

"You're squeezin' me so tight, so fuckin' wet."

He slides out slowly, then snaps his hips forward. He moans again; the sweet sound blending with your own.

"So warm, baby, takin' me so well." he coos, pulling out just to the tip and pushing in again, setting a steady pace this time.

You can feel him deep. Every vein, the soft ridge of the head of his cock, every time his skin comes in contact with yours sends a jolt through your body. You can feel his breaths against your collar bone, building himself up so that he can truly fuck you.

And he does.

When he's confident he's got enough control over himself, he brings a hand down to your hip to use as leverage as he begins pounding into you without warning. Your head flies back into the mattress, a long needy moan breaks out of your throat as his hips snap into your own. It's not long before you feel the pit in your stomach begin to knot, and when harry feels your pussy begin to flutter he's moving the hand on your hip to rub fast around your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Give it t'me baby, you can cum, let go," he sighs, out of breath.

You give in, whining loudly and then moaning out a few loud ah ah ah!'s as he keeps his relentless pace even through your orgasm.

He slows only slightly, letting you get your bearings. He finds your eyes, making sure you're alright before flipping so he's sitting with you on his lap, holding your arms behind your back. You moan out at the new angle— he feels deeper this way.

Somehow, you convince your legs to move, sliding up and down on his cock. You're whimpering uncontrollably, Harry presses a kiss to your lips before leaning down to take one of your breasts into his mouth. You yelp, already feeling another high approaching.

Harry, of course, can tell. He releases your arms and your breast to wrap one hand around your throat, much like in the bath, and holds your hip with the other so he can fuck into you again. You almost cry with the joined sensation, wrapping both of your hands around his forearm and locking eyes with him.

There's sweat joining at his hairline, on his neck, down his chest and, fuck, it's the hottest thing you've ever seen. His eyebrows are creased together, jaw open, he's panting. He's slamming into you, keeping a medium level squeeze on your neck and trying his hardest to bring you to a second high before he meets his limit. The rings on his fingers, especially the shiny new silver ones, provide the perfect amount of bite to his grip on you. Harry magic.

He’s hitting that spot inside of you every time he thrusts and he can’t believe how tight you are. He’s losing control, fast, and his desperate whines are nearly overpowering your own at this point.

“Baby, need you to cum,” he begs, watching your eyes. You can tell he’s close, his jaw is clenched and his rhythm falters every now and then.

“Baby, please,” he whines again, out of breath. “cum around my cock.”

His thumb hardly had time to find your clit before your body tenses, the white hot feeling of your third orgasm washing over you. Harry isn’t far behind, both of his arms wrap around you to hold you close as his hips snap up one final time and warm spurts are coating your walls.

His head is tucked into the bend of your neck as he lets out a loud groan of pleasure, milking his orgasm and pulsing inside of you. You can’t help but smile and hold him through it. Gently, you knit your fingers into his hair to bring him back

When he’s caught his breath, you pull away. Harry lets out a quiet hiss when you do, but he’s got a drowsy smile on his face and presses a quick kiss to your lips before he rotates and gives you a gentle push onto the bed.

His feet pad to the bathroom and you can hear him wetting a cloth to clean you and himself up with. When he returns he kisses you again, slower this time, before bringing the damp warm cloth to your inner thigh, testing the temperature before gently cleaning you off. You still flinch though, sensitive, and Harry meets your eyes before he continues.

“Alrigh’?” he asks quietly, more to soothe than to assure your comfort. You nod, allowing him to finish and throw the cloth in the direction of the bathroom and crawl into bed beside you.

“Wha’ time’s it?” you whisper to Harry beside you. He shuffles to his side to check his phone, cringing at the brightness and then flopping back into bed beside you.

“Twelve fourteen,”

He presses a light, sweet kiss to your lips; knowing what you’re about to say.

“Happy valentine’s day, H.”

[to-be-a-dreamer]

Ok ok so Crutchie ♒️🔆☮️

Ahh my boy!!! Alright hang on I gotta figure out what the symbols are for.

OH okay these are fun

Cooking/Food

I think he loves making cakes and cookies and stuff like that, but only the decorating part. The mixing and rolling and "actual baking" is alright but he'd rather let someone else cook the stuff and just come in at the end to make little frosting flowers and do pretty lettering. His cabinets are full of fancy piping tips, no less than a dozen different food coloring colors, a turn table for cake decorating, all that good stuff. Yet, this man does not own a rolling pin. Also, his toaster is older than he is. That's unrelated to the previous stuff, but it just feels right.

As for actual food, I think he has about a dozen different meals that he knows how to make without looking up a recipe and just cycles between them over the course of a few weeks. (Plus, like, sandwiches and canned soups and salads and stuff like that, I mean a dozen hot meals that involve multiple pots and pans and mixing and stuff) He occasionally tries a new recipe, but he knows what he likes and he knows his abilities. He gets all the nutrients and calories he needs and can splurge on take out if nothing he knows how to make sounds good.

His go-to dish for thanksgiving and Christmas and other gatherings is macaroni and cheese, the kind with more cheese than macaroni, and cracker crumbs sprinkled on top

Appearance

Oooh okay this is a fun one because I never really think about appearance. When I just think of Crutchie, I picture AKB but when I write him I don't think I do. I'd say he's on the shorter side, but not remarkably short, just under the average hight for someone his age. Kinda skinny, but still decently strong. I guess Zachary Sayle’s build? Idk this is why I’m not an fanartist, I don’t know what people look like. I usually write him as having dirty blonde hair, and I think he keeps it short, neat, and well-kept, but tries out new styles every once in a while.

His clothing style really just depends on the AU. He always likes bright colors, but he keeps it to one item per outfit that’s colorful or has a fun pattern, the rest is pretty neutral. So like, a simple pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt but then just a bright yellow button-up with flamingos on it. And funky socks. So many funky socks, but he especially loves the kind that look like normal socks until you take your shoes off and they look absolutely ridiculous.

I also typically write him as walking with crutches most of the time, but occasionally using leg braces, or a wheelchair if he needs it. I picture him using forearm crutches and they’re probably blue and there’s probably stickers on them.

Depending on the AU, he has pierced ears and mostly wears simple studs. They all look the same from a distance, but he actually has dozens of pairs in various different colors that he matches to his outfits. I also wrote several paragraphs on tattoos I think he would have in my Against Fate’s Design AU so you can read that here if you want.

Friendship

Besties with Jack, obviously. I always write them as having been best friends for several years before the story takes place, or being brothers if it fits the plot. It sometimes switches between which of them is older, but their dynamic is always the same. They look out for each other and aren’t afraid to call the other out when they’re being stupid (Jack needs to get slapped with reality more often than Crutchie, that man is such a himbo he’s becoming a hazard to society)

Also pretty close with Race (especially when I write them as brothers) and their personalities just match each other so well. They both make jokes a lot but Race is usually big and loud while Crutchie is deadpan and sarcastic. So oftentimes Race will make a joke to the whole room, Crutchie will mutter something beside him, and then Race becomes incomprehensible with laughter for several minutes. Crutchie always refuses to repeat what he said and Race can never keep a straight face long enough to say it.

But beyond those two, I think him, David, and Katherine would be a great trio. They’re all the “smart and responsible” ones in their own ways, but when they’re left alone together, every single brain cell within a ten-mile-radius just disappears. You think the Race/Al/Finch trio are a menace? When they get left alone without supervision they come back with a dozen baby chicks and a goldfish. When Crutchie, Davey, and Katherine are left alone together something ends up broken, on fire, blown up, or all three in the name of science. AKA: One of them asked the other two “what would happen if we broke, burned, and/or blew up this random household object?” The answer is chaos, just always chaos.