#I’m having fun with it at least???

[ronsenburg]

tactility - chapter 1 preview for WIP Wednesday

Most kids grow up listening to fairy tales before bed. Knights and princesses, happily ever after—that kind of thing. There’s almost always some moral or deeper meaning worked into the story, boiled and mashed into easily digestible bites for young minds, but that’s not actually the important part. It’s the act, the sharing of the story from one person to another, that matters most. That’s where the connection happens.

Anyway, here’s the bedtime story Sylvain is told: in the early summer of 2367, an ion storm system of unprecedented ferocity rips through the atmosphere of the Valo system, lighting up the sky with huge streaks of electromagnetic radiation and disrupting any and all communications between the planets within. This is the day of Sylvain Jose Gautier’s birth.

“Oh, it gave us all a fright! A sign from the prophets, to be sure,” an old woman he’s never met will tell Sylvain when she stops him mid-stride on the station promenade, embracing him with the familiarity of a grandmother. Her grip on his arms is stronger than he would’ve imagined possible, her ancient hands nearly as wrinkled as the ridges of her nose. “If you’d seen the state of the sky, you would have thought the same. Angry—that’s what they seemed to most everyone else. But I knew better: they only wanted you to be born among your own kind.”

The problem with being the first recorded progeny between two divergent humanoid species is that there isn’t exactly a manual detailing what to expect when you’re expecting. At a gestational age of six months and eleven days, Sylvain is both early (for a human) and late (for a Bajoran); in either case, his arrival is the kind of surprise that would have been best left for another time.

Sylvain will learn, much later on, that his potential physiology had been a matter of intensive debate among Starfleet medical elite. Humans, in all their extraterrestrial philandering, tended to have the kind of malleable DNA that readily accepted the dominant traits of other species. But, despite the abundance of exterior similarities, Bajoran DNA differed far more significantly from Humans than, say, your typical Klingon. Would the little fetus Sylvain develop at all, they’d wondered, and, if so, would the resulting child be an amalgamation of its parents or something brand new? Prenatal scans were inconclusive, thanks to the sheer number of blood vessels surrounding his tiny form. Wait and hope, they’d advised, all the while scribbling notes for the case studies they were already anxious to publish. It’d been the only counsel they could actually give.

The refugee camp on Valo III was not the Federation medical center where Sylvain was meant to be born. There, antibiotics and sterile bandages were a precious commodity; the vast majority of the resources they did have had been just recently replenished with the arrival of his mother’s ship. The thought that they might have an intensive neonatal unit capable of supporting a (possible) preterm infant with a (possible) heart and spine malformation was laughable. And still, it was in one of those wind-ravaged tents, among a group of haggard Bajoran matriarchs, that a squalling Sylvain would enter the universe.

The fact that he managed to live long enough for a federation ship to make it through a gap in the storm should’ve been some pretty definitive evidence for the existence of the prophets. Sylvain’s not clear on the details himself—something about a more robust cardiovascular system temporarily making up the difference for his underdeveloped lungs. Any blankets that could be spared in camp were proffered without prompting to be wrapped around his tiny form, any loose kindling gathered up without question to feed the fire that would keep him warm. For eighteen hours, the Bajoran women of the camp stood vigil, in a constant rotation of attention and prayer. In the end, it didn’t matter whether it was the luck of genetics or the blessing of their gods; what really saved him was the sacrifice of those Bajoran refugees that saw Sylvain through the storm.

Later, far from Valos III, and farther still from Bajor, a different woman on a different starbase will reach for Sylvain’s hand. Her milky eyes hold so much softness within them that they will nearly make him flinch away.

“You were so very small, child,” she will murmur, reaching to pat gently at his cheek as she speaks. It’s all he can do to smile politely back. “None of us thought you’d make it through the night. And look at you now! The prophets truly have blessed you, as they have blessed us all.”

It’s a story he will hear dozens of times over the years, in dozens of different voices: the story of his birth, mythicized. He was, after all, the first federation citizen born of Bajoran descent. How could the federation continue to turn a blind eye to their suffering while one of their own admirals had married a bajoran woman, while he raised a bajoran-human child? With his birth, Sylvain became an instant symbol of unity for bajorans and sympathizers alike, of hope for an intercession to the five decade long occupation from Cardassia.

But this accomplishment, the one that had endeared him to so many? It was nothing more than a birthright passed down from his influential human father, a tactical choice made in conjunction with his Bajoran mother. It wasn’t something he’d asked or worked for. What was Sylvain, in the end, but a spark meant to ignite a flame in a volatile political standoff? One more weight on the mountain of pressure piling up on the federation’s back as the official conclusion of the Cardassian wars drew nearer.

So, no, Sylvain has never really deserved anyone’s respect; the only thing he’s ever done is survive.

—

STARDATE 73687.87 (2396)

The call comes just before sunset, as Sylvain is packing his notes and other various belongings haphazardly into a leather shoulder bag.

It’s timing is excruciatingly precise: ten minutes earlier and Sylvain would still be making his way across campus from his last lecture, ten minutes later and he would already be gone. Seems pretty impossible to assume this kind of intimate knowledge of his schedule is actually just a coincidence…. which means that the list of possible callers can be narrowed down to exactly two.

For a very long moment, Sylvain considers letting the phone ring out. It’s been a long day—a string of long days, really—and it’s a hell of a walk to the Academy transportation station from his office. There’s a bottle of something red and a stack of mediocre student papers to slog through back at his apartment (Machiavellianism in the Romulan Senate—prophets, what had he been thinking?). It would be better, really, to save this conversation for another time.

Yeah, right.

Sylvain summons up a smile just as the view screen flickers into life with a barely audible click.

“Ingrid told me I might be hearing from you,” he says. “Long time no talk, Captain.”

The image of Dimitri Blaiddyd flickers to life on the screen, looking every bit the Starfleet Academy poster child with his ramrod straight back and new, fourth pip fastened high on his collar. Shocking, really, that they haven’t put him on billboards yet. It’s been about eight months since the last time they’ve spoken—in that time Dimitri’s blond hair has gotten a bit longer, a bit less regulation. Sylvain’s always telling Dimitri he should lighten up a little; somehow, Sylvain doubts his look has anything to do with that suggestion. Probably, he hasn’t noticed it needs cutting, yet. There’s a reason it’s called tunnel vision: focusing so hard on long-term goals makes it kind of hard to see what’s going on around you, hair length included. Sylvain decides not to be the one to point it out.

It’s not that Sylvain doesn’t want to see Dimitri—they’ve been friends longer than Sylvain can really remember, after all. It’s actually impossible for a Sylvain to separate Dimitri from the memories of his childhood. The good ones, at least; the relief that went with watching the swirling white clouds of Earth’s atmosphere disappear out the window of a transport ship, intrinsically interlinked with the excitement of seeing a young Dimitri waiting with his father at the starbase docking platform. Very few good things have ever been handed down to Sylvain from his own father’s starfleet career; the friendships he’s inherited will always be one of them.

So, no, it’s not that Sylvain’s avoiding Dimitri. It’s only that there’s other memories mixed up in there with the good ones, memories that take enough effort to put aside that these calls become more like a minefield than the friendly chat they ought to be. Out on the table, there’s a whole host of topics to talk about—but watch out! It’s a little exhausting, to be honest. The fact that it seems to be one sided, something that Sylvain alone can’t get past, makes it all a little worse.

But, oblivious to Sylvain’s tumultuous inner monologue, Dimitri is smiling gently at him from the screen. “So you’ve heard, then. I was hoping to be the one to tell you myself.”

“Cat was out of the bag a long time ago,” Sylvain replies with a little laugh. “The whole academy’s been talking about it.”

Dimitri frowns softly. “Oh?”

“Another early promotion and your first command at twenty-six? C’mon, that’s almost a record.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose so,” Dimitri concedes, looking suddenly embarrassed. Sylvain gets it; it’s easy for people like them to be a little sensitive about success, or more accurately, the means by which that success is earned. For someone like Sylvain, who’s father is alive and still serving, it’s nothing special. Just one more burden that plenty of children in multigenerational military families bear. By now, he can almost always tell when someone is just trying to kiss up. For Dimitri, though? It’s something way worse. The funny part is that there’s no one in the galaxy that’s worked harder or with more single-mindedness to achieve their goals than Dimitri. It’s one of the reasons they haven’t spoken in so long—Dimitri’s relentless pursuit of duty never leaves much time for socializing. It’s that tunnel vision, again. If it weren’t for the fact that Ingrid has been stationed with him on nearly every vessel, Sylvain’s not sure he would hear from Dimitri at all. “And just how much did Ingrid tell you?”

Always straight to the point, too. Sylvain settles into the chair at his desk, resigned to the length of the conversation, before responding. “Only that you had a question to ask.” And, then, when Dimitri doesn’t immediately respond, “I think she was trying to spare you some of the awkwardness if I decided to say no.”

Dimitri hums, the tone mildly displeased. “And are you intending to say no?”

“Don’t think I would’ve answered if I knew that for sure.”

It isn’t the answer Dimitir is hoping for, Sylvain can tell by the soft frown that’s taken up residence across Dimitri’s face. It’s the truth, though—Sylvain owes Dimitri that much, at least. He’s been wrestling with the question that Dimitri hasn’t even asked yet for almost a week now, alternating between obsession and avoidance with such velocity that he feels a little like an overworked metronome. Ingrid had been purposefully vague with her information—all I know is that he wants you there with us—but wasn’t that enough? Being on that ship when it departs, regardless of the role, means returning to active duty. It means stepping back into the same set of circumstances that led him to a life of retirement in academia at the age of twenty-five. It wasn’t just that he was out of practice and no longer qualified to be placed in any sort of combat capacity. It’s the fact that, sometimes, when he thinks of Dimitri, it’s not the face of his friend that he sees waiting there in his mind. It’s the seemingly lifeless body on the floor of the bridge. It’s the phaser still gripped in Sylvain’s hands.

“Listen, Dimitri,” Sylvain starts, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “you have to know there are better choices out there.”

But Dimitri is shaking his head before Sylvain is finished speaking. “There aren’t.”

“There are. Guys who have full use of their right hand, for one thing. I haven’t passed phaser qualifications in years.”

He doesn’t say the word liability but it hangs there in the air between them, anyway. There’s a reason all Starfleet personnel are issued a personal phaser upon commission, despite the strict regulations that surround the acceptability of their use. Diplomatic relations between all people and planets is a great ideal to strive for, but it’s never going to be the reality. Every cadet at the academy knows they’ll have to raise that phaser and fire, one day. Forced into sudden left-handedness after two decades of training with his right, Sylvain’s always going to be a lousy shot.

“… May I speak frankly?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Wish you always would.”

It takes Dimitri a very long moment to find the words he wants. Sylvain watches him search in silence, an unwelcome feeling of anticipation rising up higher from the pit of his stomach with each additional second that passes. Dimitri’s always been thoughtful with the words he chooses, but not this careful. It means whatever he’s about to say is either painfully sincere (not an uncommon occurrence, actually) or broaching starfleet security clearance in some way or other.

“This mission is a matter of some delicacy, both diplomatically and… personally, as well,” he says, finally.

Both, then. It’s impossible for Sylvain to stop his eyebrows from raising at that. “Yeah?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details at present,” Dimitri continues, sounding apologetic. “Suffice to say, however, that my one condition in accepting this command was that I would have full control over any appointment made aboard my ship. While, ah, steps have been taken, there is a possibility that what occurred aboard the Aeron may happen again. I would prefer my crew be staffed by officers I know I can trust, should the need arise.”

That last part lands like a kick to the gut.

“Dimitri—“ Sylvain starts.

“And I can trust you, Sylvain, despite what you might believe. More than that, you are one of my oldest and closest friends. I’ve always relied on your insight in the past—and I hope to do so again, now. There is simply no one else who can fill that role.”

Sylvain blinks, left suddenly at a loss for words.

It’s… not a great feeling, really. For five years, he’s been carrying around the guilt that’s come with the choice he made that night on the Aeron. The specifics of Sylvain’s motivation, whether he was right or wrong in the end… that didn’t really matter, did it? He hadn’t picked Dimitri and he’d lived with the implications of that decision ever since. But, surprise! This whole time, not only did Dimitri not hold it against him, he’d seen Sylvain’s actions on that bridge as proof of the depth of their friendship. Actions he might count on Sylvain to carry out again, should the need arise.

The whole thing is a little bit fucked up, to be honest. Sylvain should say no right this very moment, put them both out of their misery and move on with the life he’s been building for the past five years. Starfleet had never been his dream, after all. Just an expectation from his dear old dad, and then later, an easy choice to follow his friends. On the whole, Sylvain was enjoying life as an academy instructor. He was good at it, probably better than he’d ever been as a soldier. But… Sylvain rubs a hand across his temple, exhaling a long breath in the process.

“…Yeah, sure,” he says at some length. “Okay.”

The way Dimitri brightens at his words isn’t enough to make Sylvain feel better about the way this conversation has turned out. “You’ll accept?”

Last chance, Gautier.

“If that’s what you need from me,” Sylvain says, with a smile he isn’t sure he can possibly mean. “What are friends for?”

… Boy, did they all need therapy or what?

“Excellent.” Dimitri is smiling now, a genuine expression that fills up the whole of his face. “I’ll have my first officer send over the paperwork for your reinstatement and the details of our deployment promptly.”

“Can’t wait,” Sylvain lies.

From there, the rest of the conversation runs on autopilot. Dimitri expressing his gratitude with a little too much sincerity, Sylvain trying his best to wave it aside while simultaneously steering their talk to safer, less heartfelt matters. It isn’t until they’ve said their goodbyes, until Dimitri is reaching out to press the button that will end their call, that Sylvain even thinks to ask.

The fact that it takes him so long to realize, that it hadn’t been the first question out of his mouth when Dimitri had mentioned his ‘oldest friends’, says a lot about how things have gone for Sylvain over the past five years. Shows how much he may have changed as a person in all that time, how much progress he’s actually made in moving on.

He’s going to ask it anyway, though. And that shows just how much he hasn’t changed at all.

“—Hey, Dimitri?”

Because that’s the thing about hope, you know? It’s hard to get rid of completely. No matter how much time has passed, it's still going to be there, biding its time just below the surface. Like a still-glowing ember, ready to flare back up with only the smallest bit of provocation. Sylvain’s always been easy—he doesn’t need much more than this to bring that old hope blazing back to life. So, for a fraction of a second, he allows himself to feel it. He thinks of dark hair falling in loose, haphazard strands across equally dark eyes and the way that sharp mouth looked when it actually turned up into a smile. Sylvain feels his chest tighten in response; for once, he doesn’t force himself to set the image immediately aside.

But Dimitri pauses, blue eyes flicking back up to meet his across the screen, and Sylvain knows two things at once. The first, that Dimitri already knows exactly what he’s about to ask. Has been waiting for it, maybe, through this whole conversation—and doesn’t that make Sylvain feel even more pathetic? The second, and by far the worst of the two, is that asking is pointless. Dimitri can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know, Sylvain can tell just by the regret that lingers on the edge of his expression. Stupid to think that Dimitri wouldn’t have told him already if he did.

“Forget it,” Sylvain says, forcing a tone that he can only hope comes across as light. He feels anything but, right now. “It’s not actually important.”

For a moment, Dimitri hesitates. The apology is already forming in his mouth—Sylvain can almost see it. They’ve had this conversation a dozen times over the past five years, each instance more excruciating than the last. It isn’t productive for either of them, just like it can’t change what’s already happened. That’s never stopped Dimitri from saying it, though. Sylvain braces himself for the fresh wave of sympathy… but, then, it passes.

“Take care, Sylvain,” is all Dimitri says before the screen goes suddenly dark.

And then it is just Sylvain, alone in his office, as the light continues to wane around him.

[friendlyneighborhoodghostpal]

i’m just gonna say it i love how kaos handled orpheus and eurydice. i really did, im a huge greek mythology nerd and that story has always been about the refusal to give someone up even when you should, its not a love story its a story about grief. and i just- ah they did something really cool there didn’t they? i’m gonna rewatch the season and like properly form my opinions but i really like it.

[twinstxrs]

so much happened in this whole episode but i’m still on fig infiltrating ruben’s dream, making it look like the place where his friend was murdered, and then disguising herself as kipperlilly & repeatedly saying different variants of “somebody needs to take the fall for this, and it’s not going to be me. it’s going to be you.” while adaine as the elven oracle shows up next to her. can you imagine waking up from that, the idea of a horrible truth being pinned on you by your friend to save her own skin while the personification of fate and destiny stands there, almost as a promise that this is GOING to happen to you. we don’t even know if this kid is guilty. my god.

[cupcakeslushie]

Well, he can’t make any campaign promises in exchange for your votes, since he only owns the schmatte on his back, but you don’t really want him whisked back to the Prison Dimension so soon, do you?

Vote for feral Leo over at @tmnt-multiverse-election

[timethehobo]

Wonder who he’s watching.

[obikinetic]

Star Wars: The Sub Awakens

Aka, Anakin has a very ill-timed ~realization~

This is my contribution for Sub Anakin Fest [@anakinfest], which I actually didn’t sign up for but decided to butt in on anyway! As such, this doesn’t correspond to any prompts :)

[sunnibits]

decided to join in on @quezify’s eggtober again this year as a little art warmup and I actually ended up really enjoying it!! it’s obviously way outside of my usual comfort zone so I’m very happy that I was able to create an end result that I’m proud of :)

[milolovesbmc]

It’s Marvin’s Bar Mitzvah!

Little extra Marvin In Trousers :)

[truth-01001001-liar]

I tried to needle felt a scrib and well…

he’s .. maybe a little bit off?? He was fun to make tho :))))

(not enough legs .. alas, I tried but couldn’t get all eight on there.)

[elfkissing]

[ID in alt text]

POV you are a little bunny guy and you almost forgot how pretty your boyfriend is in between visits

(Thank you Thespius for letting me go bonkers on trying procreate for the first time you are an excellent muse)

[mossy-paws]

Get in the fucking biograft, Shuriken. (EVANGELION/PHIGHTING!)

(og screenshot’s/cover under text!) Why hello there to my tumblr followers, it’s been a awhile /silly

ANYWAYS!!! Guess who recently finished the EVA franchise minus the rebuilds and has been in a horrible chokehold over it, this anime ruined my life but hey at least its intro theme is nice……

Well, I wanted to draw some stuff for it! All together these pieces took exactly 48 hours and 20 minutes… with the cover-piece taking ~35(?) of those hours. These were… very, VERY time costly safe to say LOL,,, I am super, SUPER proud of how the cover came out though, everything on it was drawn, colored, rendered, edited, whatever, BY HAND stroke by stroke (as you can see below)

The text, the lineart, the shadows, the colors, the snowflakes on the bio and Shuri, EVERYTHING was done by hand, it was horribly time costly but it did come out very, VERY well in the end I would say (fun fact! I also didn’t originally have the textless version of the cover, and I had to trace all of the lineart for bio’s tophalf by just guessing what line when where and what the hell was going on /silly)

this was a very, very hard project to do all together, but it was also a really nice learning experience too, I’m happy i did it that’s for sure :3!

(og screenies + cover)

[crazymecjc]

✨daniil dankovsky’s fun steppe vacation✨

[remxedmoon]

“the merciless cobra. its caustic venom can traverse any distance… as long as it stays out of danger.

…please, pay no mind to those ghastly stains. it must’ve been splashed with paint while my back was turned.”

reptile

1 power - 1 health - 3 blood

2 power - 3 health - 2 blood

sniper - you may choose which opposing space a card bearing this sigil strikes.

touch of death - when a card bearing this sigil damages another creature, that creature perishes.

hidden trait - gemmified

when a sigil is transferred to this card, it becomes gemmified. gemmified cards gain +1 power, +2 health, and -1 cost.

COBRADILE!! this was probably the most fun card to make out of all of them. also probably the prettiest card imo!!! writeup below!!

sniper and touch of death! pretty deadly combo. literally. you can just kill any card you please from any spot on the board. i was DEAD SET on giving her the sniper sigil. it just felt right.

GEMMIFICATION YIPEEE! this is a mechanic from act 3! but mox cards appear in act 2 as well. in base game inscryption, you need to have specific gem vessels on the field in order to activate the buffs (ruby for power, emerald for health, and sapphire for cost) but! mox cards and gem vessels aren’t really. in kaycee’s mod. and it would be super clunky to add them for a single card! so all you have to do is sacrifice a card’s sigils onto her. is this a little broken? maybe. but this is inscryption, literally everything is broken lol

^expanding on this, it still kinda fits lorewise? ka buans do compress their ashes into diamonds after all. let’s say that they compressed the creature into a diamond or something and that’s what’s powering her, idk

ok i’ll stop talking about the mox thing after this. both sif and odile were given mechanics from the other scrybes! siffrin requires bone tokens (grimmora) and odile has mox (magnificus). no sorry there’s nothing for p03. they don’t have computers in the isat world i think. i’m pretty sure.

initially i wanted to make her a stork or an ibis, but. all avian cards have the airborne sigil. which makes their attacks hit the opponent directly instead of their creatures. and that defeats the entire purpose of sniper. so she gets to be a spitting cobra! i think it’s more fun this way anyways. more fun shapes.

also this kinda spoils bonnie’s card a little but!! i put thought into the tribes too!!! the vaugardians (mirabelle, isabeau, and bonnie) are all from the hooved tribe! odile is a reptile and sif is tribeless because they’re outsiders. teehee.

ok patch time. she gets double strike, which makes her attack twice (as the name implies). i chose this in reference to memory of first strike (it just reminds me of it? idk) and also because it synergizes with sniper! you get to oneshot TWO cards in one turn! good god! odile really is merciless

that’s everything important about this card! i know this is long as hell but! that’s what happens when you introduce an entire new mechanic. i guess. anyways alt card art!!!

[ricky-mortis]

Curtwen Week Day 3: Scars

[princessefemmelesbian]

Maybe I’m just being dramatic but it does legitimately scare and sadden me to see that a lot of transandrophobia truthers are literally just…young boys. Like, actual children. Like you’re not even old enough to vote yet and you have your whole life ahead of you and yet you are being manipulated into joining an mra group that hates trans women with a passion and thinks that men are oppressed in society for being men, and constantly uses Black men as their talking point in order to sound diverse and inclusive, meanwhile they’re also appropriating and misusing terminology specifically created by Black women to talk about our own oppression in order to get their misandry point across…to say nothing of the fact that the largest people in this group(including but not limited to its creator!) have misogynistic rape/detrans kinks centered specifically around preying on lesbians and trans women and this is something that is normalized and defended by the vast majority of transandrophobia truthers, or at least defended viciously by every single transandrodork that I’ve ever encountered who argued with me(a lesbian!!!) that actually there’s nothing wrong with getting off to the corrective rape of women because two consenting adults can do whatever they want in the bedroom(yeah right)! Not to mention I have yet to come across a transandrophobia truther who wasn’t also a raging die-hard Zionist.

And that’s why it disturbs me so much to see young trans boys jumping onto this transmisogynistic hate train like you guys realize these men don’t have your best interests at heart, right? They’re only going to manipulate you into being a sexist entitled asshat who shuns and bullies the trans women in your community and sees them as oppressing you. Like I know you’re still in middle/high school but you can still think for yourselves, you can choose to be better than this, you can choose to actually learn about feminism and realize that it’s not actually misandry that oppresses you, it’s transphobia. Misandry doesn’t suddenly become real because you slap a trans paint over it that’s not how it works that’s not how intersectionality works that’s not how any of this shit works. There are better trans men to talk to about trans issues who know that the patriarchy is real and don’t shit on trans women in order to speak out about trans topics, so go seek them out, okay? You absolutely do not have to listen to shit that the “male supremacists but trans” group of lowlives has to say. Hell, tell them to fuck off instead! Please, I promise you that there are much better options, there are ALWAYS better options, and you still have time to escape before they fully radicalize you into basically being an incel. There will ALWAYS be another way. ❤️

[formerprincewille]

Something that really sets Wille and Simon apart from other queer ships is that when we say their love language is physical touch, IT REALLY IS PHYSICAL TOUCH. And I’m not speaking of just sex. Over the course of the show, the amount of touching between them is astronomical. And that’s really something rarely seen in queer media. There may be moments here or there, but often times there’s a lack of physical contact unless it’s for “the plot”. Wille and Simon feel like a real couple in the way they’re always physically reaching out for each other.