#12 25 22

[f1nns1deblog]

12/25/22

[zhansww]

[nyanaknifegal]

A Date to Remember <3

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine the Red hair pirates being a cute found family during the holidays

Uta: tried sitting down at the Adult's table

Hongou: ah ah ah, no, kids sit at the kiddie table *points at the small table closer to the kitchen*

Uta: Eh! I'm an adult.

You: * leaning on the table, smoking a fat blunt* You're like what, six?

Uta: *gasps* I'm ten!! I'm not a little kid anymore! Gosh.

Hongou: Of really? Then what's a mortgage?

Uta: Some sort of death pledge?

Benn: It sometimes feels like it, but no. Those who know what mortgages are can sit at the adults table.

Benn, Yassop, and Hongou: *finally take their seats at the adult's table with you*

The rest of the crew: *go crouch around the Kids table*

You: really guys?

Shanks: What, I've lived on a boat my whole life, mortgages are out of my sphere of existence.

You: how lucky you are.

Uta: *sticks her tongue at you* Mortgages are a stupid metric to measure adulthood.

You: alright alright, you can all sit at the adult table.

Uta: Yay! Now get up. Only I can sit at the head of the table.

You: *Laughs as you get up* What a little diva.

The crew: *gasps in shock*

Shanks: *covers her ears and gawks at you in disbelief*

Benn: We don't use the D-word around Uta.

You: oh *crouches down to her height, so you can look her in the eyes* My apologies I didn't know that you took offense to that term. Now is there a T-word you wanna say, since I'm giving you my seat?

Uta: T-word? .... Oh, thank you! *gives you a big smile*

You: *pats her on the shoulder* you're welcome sweet pea.

NSFW New Year's Eve Special Post Announcement!

[moonysfavoritetoast]

how many tags can i have

[kaedehararchives]

its odd.

you would have never expected to fall for this person out of all people. hey… maybe mr. eyecandy, ayato. but thoma?? that’s unspoken territory.

thoma is supposed to be your best friend. the one you could rely on when you need to vent. so… how did you even catch feelings for the guy?

its been like two years since the friendship has started. you memorized how long he takes his naps and when he wakes up from those naps. from basic facts like favorite color to oddly specific ones like which donut is his favorite? it is chocolate with sprinkles (SPECIFICALLY with more red sprinkles than the others!).

ok.. maybe, that’s how. but you refuse to have feelings for him. especially when you know he will never return them. he aches, longs for and yearns for different entire girl.

that girl being ayaka kamisato. you cant help but envy her. she has the affections of a man you want. to love. but you dont blame him. she is such a beautiful girl if you were thoma; you would also crush on someone like her.

but it is easier to crush on someone when theyre distracted with their own crush. easier to slip away from the feelings you harbor towards him even though they eat you up inside slowly.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Journey South

The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 3 Scene 1

Whumptober Day 22: 22 BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES | Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good"

Whumptober Day 25: SURGERY | Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- Previous | Next -> (coming soon!)

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1600

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: blood, stitches, wound cleaning, worry

A/N: Hector and his stubbornly optimistic apprentice Luc have begun their journey south in search of a magician who can reverse Luc's curse. But can they find her before Luc bleeds out? A Watcher met on the road may provide an answer.

----------

Three days earlier…

“We’ll rest here.”

“Are you sure? There’s still a few hours of daylight left.”

Hector gave Luc a flat stare. While his apprentice was clearly trying to put on a brave face, his body language betrayed him. Exhaustion lined every inch of Luc’s body, and the way he held himself in the saddle betrayed how every movement bothered the wounds in his back and chest. Every sway and dip was accompanied by a wince or a tightening of the jaw as he tried to hide his pain.

But he knew Hector’s eye for detail better than anyone, and his shoulders slumped. “Okay, we can stop here.”

‘Here’ ended up being a spot a short distance from the road, hidden behind a small hill and the tall scraggly bushes common in the sparse plains southwest of the Fells. They had left the blockade as soon as they were able, but progress through the Fells on horseback was, as usual, slower than Hector would prefer, losing most of their daylight navigating through barely passable terrain.

Hector dismounted and secured their horses before he helped Luc down. Luc hissed through his teeth when he hit the ground, jaw clenched. “That’s… that’s gonna be pleasant.”

“Silas said to change the dressing every morning and evening. You think you’re up for it now?”

Luc hesitated before responding. “Let’s get it over with.”

Hector unloaded their supplies from the horses, setting them down beside Luc as the boy slowly lowered himself to the ground, face set against the pain. It was only until after Hector finished loosening the saddles and removing the bridles from both horses that he realized he was stalling.

He exhaled sharply and went back to Luc, digging the medical supplies out of the saddlebags. The elves had made sure they would not run out of things like bandages, dressings, augri for cleaning wounds, or various medicines on their journey. Understandable, considering Hector wasn’t certain how long it would take before they tracked down Qila Scoria. Magicians were unpredictable in how they chose to use their gifts, but last anyone in the Fells had heard, she was near Valdove, a few days’ journey south.

He was stalling again. “Shirt off,” he commanded, a little too sharply for the situation from the sideways glance Luc gave him before complying. The young Watcher hissed through his teeth again as he raised his arms above his head and worked the shirt over his head in slow movements.

Hector set his jaw when he saw the state of the bandages wrapped around the wounds on Luc’s chest and back. Blood was beginning to seep through the cloth and in some spots had entirely soaked through. Stitches or no stitches beneath the bandages, the carved runes were proving their refusal to properly close.

“Is it bad?” Luc asked quietly.

Hector untied the knot holding the bandages tightly and began to unwind them. “They haven’t gotten worse, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well…” Luc began, thinking, “I suppose it’s all I could be asking for. Every day that passes without infection is a good day for me.”

Hector finished removing the bandages and set them aside, trying to ignore his nephew’s blood on his fingers as he pressed a clean cloth reeking with pure alcohol to the small, uniform cuts. Luc stiffened when the cloth made contact, but he did not cry out. “Still finding the silver lining,” Hector muttered, methodically working his way across Luc’s back, “I admire your perseverance.”

“I try,” Luc said, wincing with each movement. The runes sliced into his skin had been stitched shut by the elves, but that didn’t prevent the curse from continuing its work and keeping the wounds from closing.

Hector worked in silence, moving on from cleaning the wounds as quickly as possible. Rewrapping was much the same as unwrapping, although Hector felt his work was clumsier than that done by the practiced hands of the elven surgeons.

How many more times must I do this? He wondered as he put away the medical supplies. Luc’s blood was no longer on his hands physically, but he could still feel the thick, sticky liquid every time he rubbed his fingers together. How much longer until he bleeds out?

…How much longer until I have to bury another family member?

He didn’t voice any of these thoughts aloud. Not when he gathered some fallen branches from the nearby shrubs to start a small fire. Not when the fire grew hot enough to cook with. Not when he prepared their evening meal. Not when they ate in silence, the chill of the autumn night pressing against their backs.

Hector didn’t voice any of the thoughts aloud.

But he suspected, from the way Luc occasionally shot glances his way, that he could still hear them, even if he didn’t answer aloud either.

Facing your own death is one thing. Hector faced his so often that such a threat was almost meaningless.

Facing the death of your apprentice is another.

And facing the death of your apprentice when it might happen through circumstances utterly out of your control? Another thing entirely.

Not to mention the very real possibility that Qila Scoria, once they found her, would be unable or unwilling to provide aid. Then what? Search for the next magician? And the next? What if they encountered the one who had done this to Luc in the first place? They had only gotten away alive because Hector had caught her by surprise, he doubted the same thing would happen twice.

“I can help keep watch,” Luc offered as they were settling down for the night.

Hector looked at him sharply, about to argue, but Luc continued, speaking quickly. “I’m not going to be able to sleep well anyway, no matter which way I lay down I’m going to be on the stitches, and you can’t keep watch all night and navigate the next day, so get a couple hours of sleep, at least….”

Hector exhaled in frustration. He had a point. “Fine.” He unclipped his pistol from his belt and held it out to Luc, still in its holster. His apprentice stared at it for a long moment before hesitantly taking it. “I don’t expect you to have the same range of motion as you would normally. I’ve seen you shoot, you’re a good marksman.”

Few Watchers carried firearms, most in Hector’s generation preferred the bow or crossbow, having used them for decades. But Hector knew a dangerous and useful weapon when he saw one, and so when he got his hands on one he made sure he learned how to use it well. Such skill was imparted onto Luc, although you wouldn’t know it by the way he handled the weapon like a hot coal.

Hector contented himself with the crossbow he had inherited from his own mentor. Luc was as familiar with it as Hector himself, but the extra exertion from reloading the bolt was guaranteed to tear the stitches in his back.

“First watch?” Even before the words completely left his lips Hector knew the answer.

Luc nodded, turning the pistol over in his hands. “Perhaps when my watch is done I'll be exhausted enough to actually get some sleep.”

Hector allowed himself to return his nephew’s smile. He hoped his optimism would be able to last long enough for the curse to be reversed.

*****

They met the unfamiliar Watcher ten hours later.

The sun had only just risen above the horizon, the last wisps of morning fog yet to evaporate. She was walking south along the road, the same direction as Hector and Luc, and from her unbothered disposition when they caught up, she had heard them coming a while before.

“‘Morning,” she wished them as they rode up on her right. She wore a cloak dyed in the recognizable greens and browns of a Watcher, although hers were a more muted shade than Hector's own coat. Her curly brown hair was tied back in a low ponytail. She carried a bow in one hand, a quiver hanging from one hip and a short sword on the other.

Judging from her relaxed posture as she walked, she deemed them no threat. But her short sword was at easy reach, and any number of other weapons could be hidden within the folds of her clothing.

As Hector made his assessment, the way her eyes darted between him and his apprentice showed how she made hers. She frowned when she noticed Hector’s pistol holstered on Luc's belt. “Watchers in the north carry firearms now?”

“Fires faster than a bow or crossbow,” Hector countered.

“Hm. Noisier too.”

“Easier to carry.”

“Harder to acquire ammunition.”

“Yet.”

She sighed. “Fair enough.” She closed the distance between them and stuck out her hand towards Hector. On his horse, she came to the middle of his chest, estimating her height around one hundred and seventy centimeters. “The name's Kaira. Kaira Ta'ruen.”

He shook the offered hand. “Hector Epsilona. This is my apprentice, Luc.”

Kaira nodded to his nephew before turning back to Hector. “What brings two northerners to this lonely road?”

“Could ask the same of you.”

“Fair enough. I came from west of here, was called out to find a couple missing folks. Tracked them almost to the Fells where….” She narrowed her eyes. “You two wouldn't happen to know something about a serial killer up in the Fells, do you?”

Hector glanced back at Luc, who gave him an imperceptible shrug. Probably the best he could do without bothering his wounds. “As a matter of fact… yes. We do. We were called in from Caenum to help with the elven blockade….”

[yakultii]

ever since I was little I never gave a fuck if anyone else liked me, I just wanted to like me and eventually I did for a little while but then I forgot how

[photozoi]

Angel Man

the Brother  Silken Windhound

[sugarpopss]

November 30th, 1942

This is very much inspired by that post thats like 'remember how Bucky said he enlisted so Steve wouldn't worry about him'. I just couldn't stop thinking about Bucky getting his draft letter and being so worried about people worrying about him. This draws heavily from the lore developed in the chat with @bucknastysbabe , inculding but not limited to: Rebeccas food thing, George Barnes the WWI vet who died from a medical problem caused by his time in the amry, Steve and Rebecca being close, Ma Barnes being one of the kindest people in the world and a midwestern girlie...etc etc. Sources for the bits of research I did for this fic are here and here.

November 30th, 1942

In 1942, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, Bucky got a letter. He saw it when he got home from the docks, slightly crumpled between Rebecca’s algebra and geography books on the kitchen counter. It had gotten a little damp in the mailing process and was stuck to the front of a letter to his mother, from her own mother back in Iowa. He didn’t think too much of it-he was too exhausted to think much of anything. Unloading crates from ships was far from the worst work in the world, but it sure did zap his energy and fill his sinuses with dust and dirt and smoke. Some of the old timers-guys who claimed to remember striking for a 5 cent raise-liked to joke that pretty soon ‘pretty boy Barnes’ would get to know the sort of back pain that went hand-in-hand with a lifetime of hauling cargo, and that would trump exhaustion every time. 

Bucky always laughed it off. They were just joking around, and he’d take any ache in the world if it meant being able to take care of his family, anyway. Even if his Ma kept bringing up trade schools that weren’t too far or too expensive, and Steve was champing at the bit to join the military, Bucky was fine right where he was. He was just fine in the apartment he grew up in, working hard, flirting with the girls running telegrams in the harbormaster's office, walking Rebecca home from school when he got off in time. He got fantasy novels from the library with Clark Gable knights and Lana Turner princesses on the covers; He boxed on the weekends and was always a good sport; He caught Rebecca in the short hallway connecting their bedrooms every morning and gave her a noogie; He went to the cinema with Steve when they both had a little change in their pockets and flicked popcorn kernels at each other like they were kids. 

All that to say-Bucky was doing perfectly fine. He wasn’t raring to make a name for himself or see some great bloody glory. He definitely wasn’t interested in signing up for the war. The picture of his father on the mantel, clean shaven in an army uniform from twenty years ago, kicked the sense back into him whenever he thought about it. If the photograph of the man Bucky could barely remember didn’t work, the urn next to it surely did. 

And all of these things were reasons why, when he unstuck the damp mail from his sisters schoolbooks, the bottom just about dropped out of his stomach. The ink was a little smeared from getting wet, but still perfectly legible: for him, with the selective service system logo stamped right on the front. 

It was like the entire apartment tilted, rocked like a seesaw and threw him completely off balance. Without even thinking, Bucky stuffed the letter into his pocket. He didn’t want to look at it, think about it, deal with it. Whatever it said-as if there was any question as to its contents-he would worry about later. Preferably not standing in the middle of the kitchen in his grimy work clothes, whale eyed and frightfully pale.

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

The letter remained stuffed deep in Buckys pocket until after supper. Bathed, comfortably full and bone deep tired, he was usually out like a light after working a full day. But instead of passing out underneath the quilt-a gift from the elderly widow two floors up, after he’d spent the summer of ‘35 bringing up her mail and groceries and painting over the water damage on her kitchen ceiling-he fished the letter out from the pants strewn on the floor and just…held it. Looked at it. Turned it over, looked at where his address had been smudged a little by the damp. It was definitely for him; no mistake there. His full name was right there on the address line, middle initial and everything. 

Maybe it was completely mundane! Every guy had to sign up for selective service-tons of them probably got letters about misspelled words or unchecked boxes. Maybe he’d written something down incorrectly back when he had filled out the forms. 18-year-olds were stupid, after all, and he probably hadn’t been paying that much attention to the information he was putting down. That was most likely it; He’d put his birthday down as October 3rd instead of March 10th by accident, or initialed something that was supposed to be a signature or vice versa. So what if it’d been four years since he filled out that paperwork? Tiny errors like that were probably pretty low priority for the selective service, especially after America joined the war. 

He was just going to open the letter and see what they needed him to fix or resign. 

He opened the letter. He read it once, then twice, then three times. 

There was no problem with the paperwork he’d filled out at 18. 

He didn’t need to resign any forms or recheck any boxes.  

He did need to report to the local selective service board the following Tuesday. 

Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. 

Buckys first thought wasn’t ‘I don’t want to join the military’. It wasn’t even ‘I’m scared’. Buckys very first thought was for his family. He couldn’t be in the military! He was an important part of the household! The Barnes had only recently edged back into a relatively comfortable financial situation because of the combined incomes Bucky and his Ma brought in, and someone had to be around to look after Rebecca-as much as she’d protest and whine that she was 16, she didn’t need to be looked after-when their Ma couldn’t. Someone needed to haul Steve out of fights and into dance halls, because yes, Steve was as good as family, would’ve been even if Rebecca hadn’t declared he had ‘adopted brother rights’ years ago. 

Buckys second thought was ‘I don’t want to join the military’, because he didn’t. He’d never wanted to, never even seriously entertained the idea. There had already been a Barnes man in a war and it had destroyed him; robbed a good man of his peace and his health, robbed Buckys mother of a husband and himself and Rebecca of a father. Hell, Rebecca had never even met their father-he had died two months before she was born. A couple of old photographs, a ceramic urn, and a watch and wedding band with no hand to wear them were all she knew of the man. 

It made Buckys stomach turn to think about leaving his family for the thing that had put his father in the grave before 40. 

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

The next morning he started to think. He couldn’t tell his Ma he’d been drafted-he certainly couldn’t tell Rebecca or Steve. They’d all worry too much for him. The downside to having loved ones was that as much as you loved them, they also loved you. And loving someone meant worrying for them when they were about to get scooped out of their life with less than a months notice. 

It’d be less worrying if he'd just enlisted, if he had made a choice, even a rash, ill-advised one. At least that would imply he had some sort of excitement or confidence in joining the military. At least that would imply that he was ready, that nobody needed to worry about him because Bucky himself wasn’t worried or scared or hesitant. 

That was the thought that he chewed on all day. Chewed on it so much, in fact, that he barely chewed anything else, including his supper. And that was strange behavior for Bucky. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Rebecca had asked him. It sounded incredibly blunt, but to be entirely fair, she had first made a frantic gesture towards the peas on her plate with her head-because Rebecca was not eating peas that week, and if she could switch their plates without their Ma noticing she could avoid a stern look and a ‘clean plates club’ lecture-and then kicked him under the table when her head tossing got no response. 

Their Ma was looking at him, too. If there was one thing the Barnes siblings were, it was chatty, and although Rebecca had been blathering on about how a girl in her geography class had gotten in trouble for wearing lipstick, Bucky had been almost entirely silent. And he’d barely touched his food even though he wasn’t on the same legume strike as his sister. 

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, casual and calm. He took a bite of his food-the peas were fine even if they came from a can, because their Ma was an excellent cook. Rebecca was just weird about food sometimes-to give himself time to think. 

He settled on “I can’t walk you home next week.” 

Rebecca sighed in that ‘God, you’re all so uptight and dramatic’ way that teenagers do. “I don’t need you to walk me home. I’m not a kid, I know how to get home from school.” 

Their Ma gave him another curious look, though. “Did you make plans?” she asked. “With Steve? With a girl?”

She didn’t sound upset, just…curious. It was odd, after all, for Bucky to not want to walk Rebecca home. He tried very hard to align his hours at the docks with her school schedule. It was important to him, to make sure she was safe and that nobody bothered her. 

“Sort of.” He replied. 

He knew that wasn’t a very good answer, and his Mas face reflected it. He’d never in one million years chose some dame over his sister, and Steve was as good as Rebeccas second brother. He was more likely to just join in on the walk than make plans over it. Hell, half of the time they did things as a trio-things like pooling Christmas and birthday money to go to Coney Island, an outing upon which the then teen boys had ridden the Cyclone, Steve had vomited into a public trash can, and Rebecca had proven that she was somehow remarkable at darts despite never having played before in her life. 

His Ma raised her eyebrow. God, he was bad at lying, bad at keeping secrets, bad at misleading people. 

“I-” He met his Mas eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, steeled himself. “It’ll be a few days next week, actually. I enlisted and I’m reporting to induction on Tuesday.” 

The world didn’t end once he said it. A small part of him-the part that reminded Bucky he hadn’t lied to his Ma since he was 17 and she asked if he had cigarettes in his bedroom, and even then he’d come clean about two hours later-had expected something huge and dramatic to happen. Maybe both his mother and sister would drop their forks and snap their heads up, maybe a police siren or fire alarm would go off somewhere nearby, maybe lightning would strike the building. 

But none of that happened. Rebecca continued pushing her food around her plate. “No you didn’t.” She scoffed.

Their Ma didn’t dismiss his statement as a joke, but her expression was difficult to read. “You did?” She asked, her voice stern and level. 

Bucky kept going. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I was just thinking about it and it seemed like a good idea. I stopped at the recruiting center last week. I…” 

He trailed off. This wasn’t a perfectly thought through lie, but it felt like a necessary one. 

“Yeah.”

Rebeccas fork actually did clatter to her plate once he finished talking. She looked up at her brother, agape with bright pink spots at the high points of her cheeks. 

“You’re fucking joking! You can’t just leave!” 

“Rebecca Grace!” Their Ma snapped, though it was clear that her heart wasn’t in it. 

Rebecca shot up from the table, her eyes-bright blue like Buckys, like their late fathers-welling up with tears. “No! You can’t leave, that’s not fair!” 

With that she stormed off, the slam of her bedroom door in the small apartment sounding like a gunshot. 

Bucky swallowed and looked down at his food. He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“James.” 

He looked up at his Ma. Guilt immediately began to eat at him. Guilt for the lie, guilt for having to leave them, guilt for everything his Ma had been through and would go through in the future. 

“What branch?” 

He swallowed again. The guilt was crawling up his throat like vomit. He wanted to admit it was a lie, to say he was scared and didn’t want to go and didn’t know what to do. But there was nothing to be done. All he could do was help the people who loved him to not worry so much. 

“Army. Like dad.” 

She raised her eyebrows. They barely ever spoke about George Barnes military career. Not to say that they never spoke about Bucky and Rebeccas father at all-he’d been the love of their Mas life, she had plenty of stories about him. But they didn’t talk about his time in Europe. Bucky had always gotten the impression that his father hadn’t spoken much about his time in Europe when he was still alive, anyway. 

“Your father was drafted. He didn’t choose the army.” 

He shrugged. 

She sighed and put her fork down, picked it back up, put it down again. 

“I don’t-” She sighed again. “I can’t tell you what to do. You’re a grown man and you get to make your own choices.” 

Bucky didn’t feel like a grown man at that moment. He felt like a little boy trying to convince his mother that he wasn’t afraid of the dark. 

“Do you genuinely want to join the military?”  

The earnest concern in the question was what broke him. He took a very deep breath and met his Mas eyes, blue on brown. She had asked like there was any changing it. Even if he had voluntarily enlisted, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it after the fact. 

“No. I-I…the letter came yesterday and I have to go on Tuesday and I-.” Bucky cut himself off, feeling something far too much like tears in his eyes, something far too much like a sob beginning to choke up his throat. 

“Jamie, sweetheart…” She stood from the table and opened her arms to him, a hug that he gladly accepted. Three inches taller than his mother or not, 22 years old or not, there was nothing more comforting than his Mas embrace. 

“It’ll be alright, Jamie.” 

By god, he hoped so. 

[shimomcdragon]

some doodles of my freakazoids (+new oc)

[mikeywayarchive]

pixiesofficial: The combo you didn’t know you needed...

We’ll be joining @mychemicalromance at their show at Rogers Centre - Toronto, ON on August 22nd 🇨🇦

[Nov 12, 2024]

[bebebisous33]

Jinx: To Give🎁 or To Take? The Subtle Battle of Love ❤️ and Power 🥊 in Jinx

Finally the essay "To Give🎁 or To Take? The Subtle Battle of Love ❤️ and Power 🥊 in Jinx is finished. Feel free to comment. Retweet/like it as support. 🙏@_MinGwa #징크스 #Jinx #Jinxmanhwa #kimDan #Jaekyung #joojaekyung #mingwa #jinxanalysis

Please support the authors by reading the Manhwas on the official websites. This is where you can read the manhwa: Jinx But be aware that the Manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. Here is the link of the table of contents about Jinx.��Here is the link where you can find the table of contents of analyzed Manhwas. Here are the links, if you are…

[sngii1726]

hello! if you would have the time, may i please ask, what could it mean having the 10th house lord in saturn in capricorn on the 5th house in the d-10 chart?! thank you 💗

Saturn, the lord of the 10th house (career and profession) placed in the 5th house in Capricorn in the D-10 chart, suggests the individual to have a disciplined approach towards creativity, education and speculative ventures in his professional life. This placement may indicate careers in fields requiring structured thinking such as education, research or government positions. One can achieve success through systematic planning, perseverance and attention to detail. However, there may be challenges in balancing work responsibilities with personal activities or managing authority figures in creative or educational settings, requiring patience and practicality for career development. Those who had more information could use THEKUNDLI.COM. Which can give you accurate information.

[biblicallyaccuratepigeons]

Fellas, is it gay to love something so much that any real reminder of it overwhelms you with emotion? Makes you curl up and throw it away so you don't break down and cry from just pure joy? Because you can't let yourself be happy and in love for some fucking reason, even if it's not a person you're in love with?

[cindernet-exploded]

Pinned post!

Blue Sky link for where I post full NSFW

U'nia Redfeather Vairemont

Pronouns: She/Her

Gender: Trans Woman

Sexuality: Polyamourous Lesbian/Demi

Bloodline: Mixed Duskwight/Xaela

Jobs: Mystic Knight [MTK] (PLD with more magic w/ sword imbueing), MNK, AST/WHM Hybrid, DRK, FSH, CUL

Height: 7'8"

Short Bio: Selectively mute and willing to sit on the sidelines in a conversation, U'nia seems to most as the stoic silent type. To those that know her, however, she's a beacon of love and care, willing to shine her light on any that will accept. It takes a lot to get her to open up, but when she does you'll never find a more stalwart friend.

Tags: Screenshots || Lore || Aesthetic

Relationship tags: Girls in Red [U'nia/Alisaie/Lyse] Dreaming in Blue [U'nia/Ysayle] Void and Ash [U'nia/Flidais] One Steppe at a Time [U'nia/Cirina] In Menphina's Arms [U'nia/Zhloe] Niabette [U'nia/Nabette] U'niyami [U'nia/Ayami] Mirth and Magic [U'nia/Ayami/Flidais] Written in the Stars [U'nia/Leveva] of Sea and Steppe [U'nia/Yugiri] Full Metal Shield [U'nia/A'vyra]

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

Nabette Vairemont

Pronouns: She/Her

Gender: Cis Woman

Sexuality: Bi

Bloodline: Mixed Duskwight/Xaela

Jobs: Sage

Height: 6'11"

Short Bio: Fiercely loyal and protective of her sister to a fault, Nabette can come across as grating to those that don't know her. Energetic and good with people at face value, yet not knowing how to make that connection beyond that. Those stubborn enough to work through that will find a woman who won't throw them away for anything.

Tags: Screenshots || Lore || Aesthetic

Relationship Tags: Niabette [U'nia/Nabette]

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

Shyssa Ironheart

Pronouns: They/Them

Gender: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sexuality: Pan

Bloodline: Hyur (when alive), Android now

Jobs: Nightblade [NTB] (a mix of Gladiator and Samurai)

Height: 5'10"

Short Bio: Once a technician and enforcer in the Allagan Empire, a tragic accident almost took their life. On the last thread of that life, their partner put them into life support for nearly a year while she laboured to research soul transference. Reaching a breakthrough, Shyssa's soul was taken from their nearly dead body and placed into an android recreation of them, staying powered until the Allagan Empire crumbled in the wake of the Calamity of Earth. Repowered for the first time in multiple eras, rebuilt by the wishes of she who bears the soul Shyssa once did, they now explore a world so different from the one they knew, trying to find a purpose.

Tags: Screenshots || Lore || Aesthetic

Relationship Tags: Weaponized Waltz (Allagan Era) Shyssa/Honey B Built to Last [Shyssa/Crescent] Reassemble [Shyssa/A'vyra]

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

A'vyra Mitu

Pronouns: He/She/They (in that order)

Gender: GNC Cis Man

Sexuality: Bi

Bloodline: Mixed Seeker/Keeper Miqo'te

Jobs: MCH, GNB, BSM, CRP

Height: 4'11"

Short Bio: Explosive. A word with many meanings, and all of which apply to A'vyra. She bursts with energy, both on and off the battlefield, and his voice matches in volume. He's often first to act and last to leave, willing to give himself up to buy time for his friends. To know A'vyra is to know unrelenting support, and unwavering devotion.

Tags: Screenshots || Lore || Aesthetic

Relationship Tags: The Soldier and the Poet [A'vyra/Alphinaud] Frienemies [A'vyra/Prudence] Bulletproof [A'vyra/Kabniel] Gay Crimes [A'vyra/Flidais] Reassemble [A'vyra/Shyssa] Full Metal Shield [A'vyra/U'nia]

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

Oketra

Pronouns: She/Her

Gender: Cis Woman

Sexuality: Aro/Ace

Bloodline: Mixed Rava Viera/Raen Au Ra

Jobs: BLM, NIN, DNC

Height: 6'

Short Bio: Prickly and standoffish to those that don't know her, and often to those that do, Oketra seems to most as just another asshole in the world. Yet to those she's close to, that deign to look beyond that, see a woman who cares fervently for any and everyone she may come across. She just doesn't always show it how you'd expect.

Tags: Screenshots || Lore || Aesthetic

Relationship Tags: Oketra/Krile Oketra/Cymet

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

Noressa

Pronouns: She/her

Gender: Trans Woman

Sexuality: Lesbian

Bloodline: Drahn (13th Au Ra)

Jobs: Memoriate (WAR with a hammer and magic)

Height: 6'7" (6'11" with the horns)

Short Bio: A veteran of the Contramemoria, Noressa has cheated death due to the actions of a woman who couldn't leave well enough alone. Now, out of her time and out of her world, she still has a lot to grow accustomed to, to find her place in the Source.

Tags: Screenshots || Lore || Aesthetic