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faededaway · 6 months ago

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Today's theme: Garp (ONE PIECE) x Reader

AGE GAP RELATIONSHIP [UNHEALTHY and Creepy]

He's seen her before. He's seen her in her marine uniform and in formal wear.

But he's never seen her look so young. His mind blames himself for leading her on and not addressing her crush on him. He should've told her how wrong it is for her to want him.

From the way she's dressed, he sees a generational gap between himself and her. Back in his day women wouldn't wear dresses above their knees or such flashy colors. She's wearing a designer floral dress. He knows it's expensive and trendy. She also has dainty diamonds on her ears and an even more delicate one around her neck. But she's also wearing sneakers. Something about how heels make her back hurt.

He wouldn't have a problem with any of it if it didn't highlight the difference in their ages, if it didn't make her appear younger than she is.

He wonders if she know what a perv he is for focusing on how the dress accentuates her curves. It's delicate tulle makes him want to rip it off of her. Her dainty diamonds make him want to kiss her and leave his mark where he touches her. Her sneakers make him want to take them off and see what coquette socks she's wearing underneath.

He wants to see her naked underneath him in nothing but her soft, innocent accessories.

The staff at Baratie give him the stink eye when they take his order. But no one says a thing after seeing the smile on her face. She wears the look of a love sick puppy on a first date.

Garp hopes it's not her first date. He hopes she has enough experience under her belt to take some guilt off of his chest. But he knows how marine life can be, specially for someone so young who rose through the ranks so fast.

“I've always admired you. I'm happy you agreed to give me a chance, sir." She beams at him after the servers are gone.

Even on a date she calls him sir. He has to clear his throat before he can reply, “ya wouldn't leave me alone if I said no. Would ya?”

He's half joking. He knows he said yes because he wouldn't be able to stand her crestfallen face.

She gasps and stutters, “no! I mean, yes! Of course I would respect your decision and maintain my distance!”, her voice drops and she looks down at her lap, “I wouldn't bother you like that.”

Ah, there's the look he wanted to avoid.

“I'm joking kiddo! If ya want'a date this ol' man, ya'll need'a get used ta his punches.” He kicks himself mentally. Already, there's a lot that went wrong. He's called his date a kiddo. Hopefully that will-

Her face lights up immediately, “of course! I'm willing to face it all just like I did your training! I really like you, s-, “she pauses before she earnestly says, “Garp. I like you a lot, Garp."

Ah darn. He wishes she stuck to calling him sir. His name rolls off her tongue so softly. He can almost hear how she'd sound moaning his name. Garp, Garp, Garp! I like you, a lot.

He wants to scare her. To turn her away. He wants her to be grossed out. He's an old man. And a perv. Maybe he should rip the band-aid now.

“Ya should be careful 'bout what'cha say ta men ma age. Back in ma day, that meant ya want'a shag the guy.” he's lying. But she won't know that.

She looks down at her lap again but this time her lips are curled up, “I do want that.”

Garp takes in a sharp breath. He pretends not to hear it. Yes, he can do that. He's old and loud and unprepared to deal with this in any sensible way. He's thinking about what Sengoku would say. Yes, think about that old fart and get that bo-

“Garp, I said I do want that with you”, she says it clearer and louder this time. Garp cannot pretend to not hear it No amount of thinking about his old friend is going to tame the wild dog in his pants now.

She's looking at him expectantly, waiting to hear his response. Her fingers fidget the lace that ties her neckline. A nervous habit he recognizes.

Garp takes a sip from his century aged wine and deicides darn it! She's old enough to be a lieutenant. If she wants this old man, she can have him .

He does not say anything. He finishes his wine before putting a hand under her chair and bringing it closer to him. He replaces her hand with his and slowly unties the lace that gives the dress a sense of modesty.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd've thought you're a minx," he feels her freeze in her seat, "you said you want this old man. Well, he wants you too".

When the lace comes undone, he leans over and presses a kiss right where her heart beats. He feels it beat faster under his lips. He thinks he's done too much so he starts to pull away when her hands come up to hold his face in her chest. The sudden movement causes him to hold her thigh to steady himself. A wanton whine leaves her lips and he has to laugh. This darned minx!

His laugh booms across the room. Loud enough for patrons to glance his way and throw him dirty looks seeing the state he is in.

He takes a moment to catch his breath while she turns away from him and fixes her dress.

"Let's wait till dinner arrives. We can continue our activities after we're done," he whispers in her ear when he returns her chair a respectful distance away from his.

"Ye-Yes! Uh, mmm. I- I'm sorry I-, for getting, uh-", her words leave her mouth in pieces and Garp can't help but laugh again. He finds himself giving into the devil An old man deserves fun too.

"It's alright. Only normal for virgins like you to loose composure like this. You'll get better with practice,"

A high pitched squeal tries to dispute the claims but the food arrives before she can "thank you for waiting, sir and miss. Your steamed Haddock with basmati and Moqueca. Please enjoy".

The waitstaff refills the drinks before leaving. Garp thanks the staff and raises his glass to her, "a cheer to us enjoyin' this day".

Suffice to say, Garp has the best meal of his life later.

#tw: age difference #tw: age gap #garp x reader #monkey d garp x reader #one piece x reader #monkey d garp #my writing

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tonydaddingham · 1 year ago

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aziraphale constantly expresses his admiration and adoration for crowley by telling him he's nice, and good, and thanks him for what he does for him, calls him all the time to tell him things, "our car" and "our bookshop". and then dear, sweet crowley, who cannot go a single minute without doing something for aziraphale, driving him around everywhere, looking after and tidying the bookshop, indulging him in his earthly pleasures and quaint little hobbies, saving him even when he doesn't necessarily ask to be saved, "little demonic miracle of my own" and "alright, I'll do that one, my treat."

their methods of communicating their - friendship, affection, love - are set.

let's look at the bandstand, where crowley offers to magic them away, away from earth and the loom of armageddon, and aziraphale retaliates with stating that they're not friends and he's doesn't even like him. let's look at the So Did I argument, where crowley offers to whisk gabriel away and dump him on the moors so aziraphale doesnt have to deal with it and is no longer under threat from the former archangel, and aziraphale practically begs crowley to stay, that he'd "love [him] to help [him]".

their methods of communicating their - friendship, affection, love - are being rejected; they're not working.

let's look at 1967, where aziraphale gives in to giving crowley the holy water, but refuses the lift to anywhere he wants to go, and crowley offers to thank aziraphale, but refuses to hear aziraphale's verbal concerns about the danger it poses to him, "you told me what you think - 105 years ago." let's look at the final fifteen, where aziraphale offers to restore crowley to what he thinks crowley has always been yearning for, and crowley tries to tell aziraphale exactly what he means to him, put it into words what he hopes aziraphale will see through and understand.

their methods of communicating their - friendship, affection, love - are swapped, and break them apart altogether.

swapping those methods, in a guesswork effort to reach the other person better, isn't the answer. the action, and what is being said, is what needs to change. crowley offers things that aziraphale doesn't want, or goes against who he is fundamentally, and aziraphale says things that wound crowley deeply, reducing what they are to nothing in a few sharp words. so instead crowley tries to use words, and aziraphale tries to offer an act of devotion; but this doesn't work either - arguably, it's worse!

what they communicate needs to be clearer, not how. crowley needs to stay with aziraphale when he promises that he will, and not attempt to solve problems by running from what he doesn't want to face, threatening to abandon him in the process. aziraphale needs to express outright, plainly, what crowley needs to hear; that exactly as he is, everything that he is, is everything that aziraphale wants and respects and loves. and to be able to do that, they need start by giving each other the respect of acknowledging their respective boundaries, their fears, and what principles are important to them.

they've had their methods right all along, but what they're currently saying with them doesn't make sense. it's the french all over again; the words can be translated, "but you understood me!", but that doesn't mean that it makes any sense.

#once again another rambling noone asked for but robyn got the wheels turning #i have Issues with the LLs but they can be useful in recognising characters' behaviours even if a little (very) reductive #good omens #crowley meta #aziraphale meta

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universe-friday · 8 months ago

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EXCERPT #26:

Hello. I hope somebody is listening.

[…]

Thalia has been very friendly lately, old sport.

And I mean literally friendly…

Call me crazy, but how can someone kiss me and listen to me speak so highly of them just to go back to calling me ‘bro’ and ‘dude’... Huh? That’s not normal, right?

I wouldn’t know! I… haven’t really done this before…

Old sport, I know she likes me. You’d expect me to start doubting it now, right?

But I know... Have you ever just known? The way they act around you, maybe even by the way they initiated a kiss… I am many things, old sport, but I am not oblivious.

Why are they trying to push it away… push me away? Am I dangerous? Repulsive? Do the times we spent together mean nothing to her, despite meaning everything to me?

I just can’t think straight right now, old sport. Maybe I’ll just have to wait for this rollercoaster to inevitably stop.

I want to fight for it - I’m willing to fight for it. But I don’t even know who my enemy is yet. Is it her? Or is it myself…?

[…]

I was wondering around late last night, February. I found myself at the mouth of this tunnel. The entrance is illuminated by street lamps, yet, look any further and complete darkness stares right back at you. I was always afraid of the dark.

I was looking for that light, the one they always talk about, at the end of the tunnel. You were always that light, February. I even tried to call out to you.

For a moment, I could’ve sworn I heard you call back.

Perhaps, you, February, finally answer, but how can one be sure it's not just an echo? The voice responds, copying and mocking your own words and pleas. If you're shouting back, February, you have to be louder than that.

The definition of love is so old-fashioned. In every language, I'll shout from the mountain tops how much I am in love with you, truly. If only people would know what I really meant by it. If only you really knew what I meant by it.

If you're shouting back, February, don't let it be dismissive. I am being clearer than I ever have been. You have to understand that I'm serious. I need you to understand.

I need you to understand this is why I do everything I do. I do it for you. The calls, these letters… At this point, I know there’s no escaping the City. But you’re my escape from reality, February. If you ever do answer, I’m free. But for now, I am restricted to merely shouting to a void and calling it by your name.

You must wonder too what to do with that information. I know. But you could at least show me you’re listening. That you hear my pleas. If you are trying to move on with your life, tell me, because I will remain here until I do. How could I ever move on if I didn’t find out if it was you in that tunnel?

Besides, how could I know it was you? After all, we are in Universe City. The sound could have easily been another one of those dreaded cyborgs.

If it’s you, February, I am willing to hear you out, always. But you must emerge from the shadows and take a step into my light. You have to show me.

Perhaps if I cannot see you, I should stop trying to contact you. Am I latching onto a rotting idea that I should just let die? Is that what we are?

How am I ever supposed to get over this if I continue talking to you? I wake up in dread and heartache every day, knowing you’re not here. And, although the City is not a great alternative, I either live my life here or continue to do so with that ache… That dread.

This is no way to live. Any level-headed person would agree… If I can’t hear from you, February, perhaps you shouldn’t hear from me.

[...]

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 11 months ago

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Not sure if this is the right place to ask this but I gotta start somewhere. I've been learning a lot about indigenous history and activism as I work on deconstruction, and a sentiment I come across a lot is bitterness towards Christianity. I cannot emphasize enough how much I fully understand. The rough bit is that sometimes when I read their work, I get the implication that there's nothing worth saving in the Church/Christianity- that to hold on to it is to hold on to all the colonialism and white supremacy and yuck.

As a disabled trans Christian, I get that, but it still hurts. I love God and am a Christian despite everything. I want to be an ally to indigenous people, but I want to follow God this way too. I know those aren't mutually exclusive, but it feels that way sometimes. Do you have any insight for me to find peace in this regard?

Thank you.

Hey there, thanks for the question, sorry for the delay!

This is something I've also wrestled with — a question I ask myself over and over, and probably always will. I cannot offer you peace, because as Jeremiah 6:14 says, "There is no peace!" — not while our faith continues to be wielded as a weapon against so many peoples. What I can offer you are some of the thoughts that have allowed me to continue to be Christian with hope that this faith can be better than what it's long been misused for, and the resolve to do my part to make it so.

First, that Christianity isn't unique in being co-opted by colonialist powers.

Any belief system can be twisted for violence, and many have been. If Christianity didn't exist, white supremacy still would — colonialist powers would have found a different belief system to twist into justifying their evils.

That absolutely does not absolve us from reckoning with the evils that have been done in Christianity's name! This isn't about shutting down critiques of Christianity with "uh well it could have been any religion" — as things played out, Christianity is the religion responsible for so much harm, and we need to acknowledge that and listen to groups who tell us how we can make some form of reparations.

But for me at least, there is some comfort in understanding that Christianity isn't, like, inherently evil or something. Recognizing that it isn't unique even in its flaws helps me look at the problem with clearer eyes, rather than wallowing in guilt and shame, if that makes sense.

Next, that there are Indigenous Christians, and Black Christians, and other Christians of color — that oppressed peoples have found things worth cultivating within Christianity! If they can find something worthwhile in this faith, it would be arrogance for me to deny it.

For instance, even when white slaveholders edited Bibles to remove too much discussion of liberation, even when white preachers emphasized verses about slaves being obedient to their masters, many enslaved people recognized how Christian faith actually affirms their equality and the holiness of their desire for liberation.

Black Theologian Howard Thurman opens his 1949 book Jesus and the Disinherited with a question asked to him by a Hindu man who knew the harms white Christianity had done to both their peoples: “How can you, a black man, be Christian?” The long and short of Thurman’s answer is that, in spite of the pain and exploitation too often inflicted by Christians in positions of power, the oppressed have always been able to see past that misuse of the Christian message to the true message lived out by Jesus Christ: a message of liberation for all.

For more thoughts on why and how to keep being Christian in spite, in spite, in spite...I invite you to look through my #why we stay tag.

___

How I wish that Christianity had never gotten tangled up in Empire! but it did, and it still is, and because for good or ill I cannot help that my spirit is stubbornly drawn towards the Triune understanding of the Divine, the best I can do is to use my privilege and what small influence I have within Christian institutions to move us towards decolonization. What some of that's looked like on the level of my personal beliefs:

I am firmly against any form of proselytizing. I don't support evangelism financially, I speak out against it, I don't platform it. (If someone wants to hear about my faith, they'll come to me — I don't run after them. And if someone does want to have that conversation, I aim to make it a dialogue, where we are learning from each other.)

I continuously work to recognize and uproot Christian supremacy within myself — the beliefs I didn't even realize where there until I started digging. That has included challenging any inkling within myself that Christianity is the "best" or "most right" religion. (One book that's helped a lot with that is Holy Envy by Barbara Brown Taylor.)

I seek wisdom from and relationship with Christians of color. Their insights are vital to our faith, and I try to use what small influence I have to uplift them.

On that last note, here are some resources I recommend as you continue to explore these questions:

This First Nations Version of the Christian Bible is gorgeously written, and a great way to explore scripture through a Native lens.

Native by Kaitlin B. Curtice is a lovely poetic memoir that explores how one person has sought to hold both her Christian faith and Potawatomi identity within herself. (She also has a new book out that I haven't read yet but really want to!)

God is Red: A Native View of Religion by Vine Deloria Jr.

Rescuing the Gospel from the Cowboys by Richard Twiss

I haven't read any of these 4 books but they look good too

This video with advice to non-Indigenous Christians

If anyone has any resources to add, please do!

#why we stay #issues in christianity

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currently-tired · 11 months ago

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Something, something, crazy about how deeply Jekyll and Hyde resounds with so many transgender people

being discontented with the life you’ve built up for yourself. looking back, and feeling like you’ve failed. like you’re filled with regrets, and hidden secrets that no one can ever know.

They can never know; because it’d fuck up everything you’ve spent years building. they’d never look at you in the same adoring way. ever again.

and you love being looked at that way…

but still, deep, deep inside wanting to express those things. to the point of making some highly illogical decisions. ((You cannot tell me that making a <very questionable and debatable…> theory about good and evil, and making a potion to test it, is an even remotely logical course of action…))

What else do you have to lose? Everything? Nothing? Life would be relieved of all that was unbearable!

What would not be worth that!

Death? Damn death! DAMN an overdose! The lure of fixing that problem that’s plagued you for years; discovering something so amazing, so profound to you, wins out over any sort of alarm.

you’ve had it ready for days. weeks. months. you were debating it. It was just taking that one step forward

Seeing that new (but is it truly new?) version of yourself in the mirror; warped and shadowed. contorted by evil and decay; but alive! More alive than you’ve ever been in your entire life! and liking it. loving it!

that built up desire to go apeshit; to take out all of your years of built up anger and repression on others. finally able to be released.

tge siren song of being able to do whatever the fuck you want. what you’ev been wanting for years. And no one will know? will they?

who would dare compare the dogooder and celebrated Henry Jekyll, to the horrible little freak, Edward Hyde, who steps on kids and ignores their screams, faces death with an indifferent mask, and does shameful, Unspeakable things?

Things that would make all of their usual company gasp, and pale.

A thing who laughs in the face of danger. Eats shit. Beats the shit out of people. (someone pissed you off earlier? hmm…) creeps the fuck out of people, and laughs in their faces. laughs at the repulsion and disgust they all show in reaction to their very face. Fucks whoever they want. Wears whatever they want. Is selfish, and cares for themself only (vs a doctor, who cares for others!!!)

It’s illegal. Hmm. Is it? Is it truly? If I don’t face consequences, is it really? A sharp, bitter, taunting laugh.

Living vicariously, through that version of yourself, that no one knows you are.

and that desire, at least to me, rings clearer than a bell.

#jekyll and hyde #honk shoo posting #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #edward hyde #henry jekyll #piece of shit everyone hates. and they love it

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dangermousie · 6 months ago

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Because I am a glutton for punishment, I skipped from ep 4 all the way to ep 36 and the break up.

I really really REALLY love that scene so much because it is so in character and shows how much work Xiao Yao and Tushan Jing both have to do to get to lasting happiness.

I remember at the time it aired, I saw people understandably lose their marbles going "did she just dump her boyfriend for being sexually assaulted?!" and I get where they were coming from, but this isn't really how it read to me. The situation is designed to hit at her issues.

The novel makes it clearer than the drama does than the aphrodisiac is something one can fight through the effects of with strong enough determination but it's not really that. After all, whether it was unfightable or barely fightable, even by the story as presented by creepy fam, man got sexually assaulted with the assistance of his family (literally, granny, fiancee, and brother all teamed up - that was about the only bodily autonomy that hasn't been taken from him at that point!) by any definition and there is no blame to be placed on him. Of course it wasn't right to dump him for what happened to him but also of course it makes sense with all her issues.

The thing is, Xiao Yao means it when she says she doesn't hate him. It's not that she wrongly views sexual assault as cheating (well, sort of, but it ties to her other issues about which more below.) It's that her standards are so impossible (about which more later) and her desire to fight for him is nonexistent - oh she will fight in terms of healing him or protecting him or w/e, but she will not wade into emotional messes. Ultimately, regardless of how it came to be, he now has a woman pregnant with his child (it looks like) that he can't put aside and a family that is dead set against XY. That is vvvvv messy. And he can't fight against all of that by himself but she won't wade into the muck. It was huge enough she was willing to wait for him to disentangle his family mess but that was passive waiting doing nothing. Actively getting into a Jerry Springer situation? No way.

And that is where her standards come in. She wants someone impossibly perfect. I don't mean in body - Jing is cut up and sewn up more than a sample dress pattern and she finds him physically desirable as hell. She wants someone impossibly perfect in fitting to her needs and standards and tests. If you think, the bulk of their relationship in s1 is her setting a series of tests (some consciously and some not) and he has to keep passing one after the other for the relationship to continue. And this is a test he fails for her - yes it may be expecting an insanely high standard to have him overcome the powerful aphrodisiac given him by a trusted family member to boot so he didn't expect it but she wants perfect, however impossible, or nothing. If the score is not 100, she's gonna return it back to the store.

And that's the thing - Tushan Jing rebuilt himself around her - he tailored himself to her to a crazy degree. But yet it's still not enough ultimately because no actual human being can live up to her standard; sooner or later something was going to break. Nobody can be perfect all the time in everything. Everyone who wants to be in some form of relationship needs to figure out what they will tolerate and what they won't. XY is within her rights to decide she won't tolerate giving her heart to someone who is not 100% perfect to whatever she wants BUT the outcome becomes that then she cannot have a loving romantic relationship with anyone, since people are not robots.

The interesting thing is her standards for him are the highest out of anyone in her circle - Cang Xuan fed her hands to worms and Xiang Liu is a gorgeous disaster. And it's fine for her. I think because CX she slotted as family so the issue isn't what he does but what he is (brother) and with XL they aren't in any relationship where there are any expectations.

But with Jing, she admitted to herself she loves him and there is no backstop of him being blood - so she is terrified, and the more she loves him and the more she trusts him, the more terrified she is about being hurt and so the more she loves him, the higher her standards become and the more skittish she becomes.

It's a mess. It is, as I said, not sustainable in long term - we see he spends so much of the season terrified she'll ditch and she spends so much of it skittish. A relationship with such an emotional power imbalance is doomed.

The thing that I love about post breakup is that she gets a salutary shock. She clearly thought she could cut and run - she could break up with him and move on cleanly. And then she finds out she can't. She still loves him, she still misses him, she still grieves him.

And that is so necessary - her reaction to any kind of trouble is to cut and run and it's so ingrained and so a self-protective instinct that she NEEDS to have the running not work, not protect her, so as to realize not just how important Jing is to her, but that it's worth to forgive humanity, to fight for him in messy situations, to deal with complications - because that is the only way she can be happy, that escape doesn't solve things. She needs to realize that abandoning doesn't work, that he's important enough to her life to stick around and fight for him.

And of course Jing needs to realize that kindness is great and retiring is great and all that but bad people will NOT leave you alone, will not leave those you love alone, so you need to fight.

It's an interesting and telling gender reversal.

#cdrama #lost you forever #deng wei #yang zi

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plzfeedmebread · 2 years ago

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Revenant - Chapter 1

word count: 4392

Pairing: Colonel Miles Quaritch x Female! Wife! Reader Warnings/Tags: None

Chapter Summary: You discuss the mission a bit more in depth, and visit someone very important to you.

[Masterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

In Tenebra Fidemus - In darkness we trust. In Luce Vigemus - In light we thrive.

---

“Do you have any questions, [Y/N]?” James throws the last file into the fire. He assures you information will be clearer and more readily available once you touch down moon side.

“What of communication? How long is the delay to reach Earth?”

“Ah. You’ll be pleased to know that the Superluminal Communications used by the RDA allow for instantaneous interstellar communication between worlds. And naturally, we have set up our own private networks.”

Your eyes widen slightly at this. You had thought communication took as long as the commute; 6 years. You are happy to be wrong.

“There is a drawback, however, in that you can only send three bits of information per hour, and at the cost of $7,500 per bit. So do keep it as concise as possible, won’t you? And only when necessary.”

“Of course, James. Who shall be my contact on world? What of supplies? Gear?”

“Your on-world Handler shall be a woman by the name of Paz Socorro; a pilot with SecOps. She will be responsible for meeting any and all of your needs. Now in regards to your cover…”

James retrieves a thin black folder from his desk, handing it to you.

“You have two options. One – you will arrive as a Magistrate of the Interplanetary Commerce Administration. It is by their hand that the RDA has a monopoly on Pandora and the export of her resources. You will be there to oversee that the RDA adheres to the strict rules set by the ICA, less their monopoly be revoked. You will be given complete authority over the entire base in this instance; thus you shall be able to move about unhindered. We will also assign Miss Socorro as your personal pilot for the duration of your stay. The downside here is that, by being in such a position of authority, you will have eyes on you constantly. You may also encounter resistance from some personnel in both SciOps and SecOps.”

You nod quietly as he explains further.

“Two – you will be a bioengineer, sent at the behest of the RDA to work alongside Grace’s team. You will be researching ways to utilise the planets flora and fauna to combat disease, prolong human life, perhaps chemical warfare if you feel so inclined. We will forge the necessary scholarly documents as required. In this position, you will be far more inconspicuous; just another member of the SciOps team. However your interactions with Miss Socorro will be lessened, as we cannot guarantee she will always be your designated pilot in the field.”

You nod, crossing your arms as you consider the two options.

“What would you suggest, James?”

“Honestly? Option one. I believe it will make your life easier. No one will question your decisions, and even if they perhaps did, you may simply ask them under who’s authority do they operate. Anything you do, can be under the guise of the ICA’s interests, and never will you have to explain your reasonings. Conversely, you may use your position as a bioengineer to gain access to invaluable research on deadly fauna and how it could be used to eliminate your target. Either way worry not; you needn’t give your answer just yet. You have until tomorrow night to come up with the decision.”

“Tomorrow evening. A shuttle will collect you from your apartment at 2300 hours.”

‘That soon?!’ That left you barely any time at all to tie up any loose ends here on Earth. Without any true way to estimate the length of time you’d spend away, you wanted to make sure you left nothing behind undone.

“Time is of the essence my dear. Here, some light reading for you before your long slumber.” He hands you a book detailing the Na’vi language; aptly named the same.

“It’ll be lonely without you here…Try and come back in one piece won’t you? In Tenebra Fidemus.” He half bows with a hand flat on his heart.

“In Luce Vigemus.” You mimic his gesture. “Thank you James, for all you have done for me and mine. I will not disappoint.”

“I know...Good luck, [Y/N], and stay safe.” He places a firm hand on your shoulders, and you look up. Your eyes meet piercing silver. You commit his face to memory; the thick grey mop of hair he keeps styled back, the wrinkles strewn on his face, the crookedness of his mouth and the crease in his eyes when he smiles. Time has been unrelenting, aging him like fine wine.

He is old, you realise, and you suddenly ponder if he’ll be there to greet you upon your return. A round trip would be over a decade, and that’s without factoring in time spent planet side. The realisation sits heavy on your heart, for you now are certain this is perhaps the last time you shall see your father figure. Although he was the one to pull you into his dark world of blood and shadow, he still did more for you than your birth parents ever did.

You jump at him, wrapping your arms around his mid, burying your face into his chest. By sheer force of will you do not cry, but your shoulders shake still.

Words remain unspoken, unneeded, as he wraps his arms around you in turn. He knows precisely what you’re thinking. He holds you for a moment not yet long enough.

“Go. Before I try and change your mind.” He gently pushes you from him. You take his hand, squeezing the back of it to your cheek. Your eyes meet once more, and with a final determined nod, you turn and briskly walk out of the suite.

You don’t look back.

---

Descension was no less easier.

Your new mission weighs heavily upon your mind. You have faced dangers untold and hardships unnumbered in your pursuit of betterment. But to be pulled nearly 4 and a half light years away? Unthinkable. Inconsiderable.

But of course you had agreed; in actuality, there was little choice to be made. Denying would look poorly upon both you and your handler for a start, and you were not about to tarnish the reputation of the man that essentially raised you. More importantly, you thought of your dear brother, Tom.

As smart as he was, he was not built for combat. He was decidedly the smarter twin. Academically gifted , the man was inundated with PhD honours. He deserved the safety of his books, the certainty of walls and structure. What kind of sister would you be then, if you let his gentle soul venture into these uncharted wilds, leaving him at the mercy of this xenosanctuary?

Thus your choice was clear; you must accept the contract. You gave yourself a secondary mission then; eliminate all who would threaten the safety of your brother. From the lowest grunt, to The Director themself; no one would be spared your golden stiletto blades.

Family above all else.

---

A shuttle awaits you as you exit the premises after a quick shower and wardrobe change. You inform the AI of your destination, and with monotone acceptance, you’re off into the skies.

A song you don’t recognise plays, but you enjoy the feeling of the dark bass as it pulses through your bones.

Far off in the distance, thick grey clouds reach up towards an unseen sky. Deep orange cuts through the effervescent neon sea; the remnants of your last mission set ablaze.

You peel your eyes from the scene, dragging your gaze over the city below. Flashing lights, dancing holograms. The people move as one; a single living organism splintering itself into every nook and cranny, invading the dark crevices below.

And somewhere in this hell of concrete spires and minds of metal, your two brothers reside.

---

Tom’s apartment complex resides somewhere in the nicer part of town; if you can even call it that. The shuttle drops you off at a designated landing zone, several floors above where you need to be.

The moment your heel touches down, you’re off in a hurried gait. You become one with the crowd, pirouetting through the sea of warm bodies, avoiding their touch as you weave through. The air is thick, laden with the stench of garbage, street food, and something sickly sweet.

You pay no mind to the AI holos that vie for your attention, their faux voices disappear into the background as you press forward. Advertisements in a language you don’t understand lick at your ears from all directions, drowned only by the sound of the locals around you; drunks arguing with any who look at them wrong, the not so sound of mind and their unintelligible ramblings, users openly abusing on the streets, even the faint moans wafting on the air from dark corners unseen.

You hate this cesspool of debauchery and sin. But time and time again, your brother refuses your offers to live with you. Your apartment is high in the clouds, far away from the lower dregs of society. It would be much safer you insisted, pleaded, but your brother is as stubborn as you are deadly. He doesn’t want to rely on you, wants to be able to stand on his own two feet. An intellectual prodigy, you often wonder if common sense was perhaps lost on him. Never the matter, you had him under constant surveillance. Thanks to your connections, the criminals operating in this sector know the resident of this apartment is off limits – no exceptions.

You arrive to his front door. With your knuckles, you perform a rhythmic set of taps; a secret signal to let him know it was safe to open, and whom to expect. You hear hurried footsteps from inside, a loud thump followed by muffled cursing. There is the distinct sound of things being knocked over, followed by more footsteps, and the fumbling of several locks. The door is wrenched open, and you are greeted with the flushed face of your beloved brother.

“[Y/N]!!!” He exclaims, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you into a hug. You return it with equal enthusiasm.

“Tommy! Sorry, did I come at a bad time? I hope I didn’t wake you.” You step into the apartment, closing the door and reengaging the multitude of locks.

“No not at all! I’ve just been going through some of my notes from my dissertation.” He busies himself with picking up scattered papers and books strewn along the floor; no doubt the result of the scuffling you heard before. You make yourself comfortable on the couch.

“Don’t you already have a PhD?”

“Yeeeeees, but one can never be over prepared! Grace Augustine is a world renowned Xenobotanist and Xenolinguist. I have to cover all my bases if I want to impress her!” Your heart melts and your expression softens when you see the twinkle in his eye, and hear the fire in his voice.

“Tommy – you’ve already impressed her. You start training next year! I’m sure she’s just as excited for you to get there, as you are.”

“Maybe you’re right…” He gives you a shy smile, a small huff of a laugh leaves him as he rubs the back of his head. His expression morphs to confusion though as he gives you a thoughtful look.

“Hey, it is pretty late...What did you come by for? Not that you’re unwelcome or anything! It’s just, you know, later than usual…”

You cover your mouth as you giggle at his fumbling.

“Nothing bad, don’t worry! It’s good news actually!”

Tommy ceases his cleaning, and comes to sit beside you. He faces you, giving you his undivided attention.

“Soooo you know how I have that government job that I’m under strict contractual obligation to not divulge, under any circumstance, to anyone, ever?”

“You mean the very suspicious career that Jake and I are both convinced is actually you working as a high-class escort for the billionaires that run the world? Yes, please do go on.”

You make an offended gasp, but laugh as you playfully punch him in the arm.

“AAH! No! Stop! I’m sorry! I bruise easily!”

The two of you are in a fit of giggles as you continue to shove each other, which then devolves into the two of you grabbing couch cushions and start wailing on one another.

Tom holds up his hands in surrender, yielding to your superior strength. The conversation resumes once the two of you become calm once more and the laughter dies down.

“As I was saying—I’m being shipped off-world for my next big project.”

“Oh? Which colony are off to? Somewhere in the Zeta quadrant?”

You shake your head. You let him fire off a few more guesses, enjoying the frustrated look slowly developing on his face as he wracks his brain for an answer.

“Try something a little closer to home. Something you might one day be, intimately familiar with, as it were.”

He stares at you, brow furrowed with confusion.

Realisation then hits him, eyes widening.

“Noooooo…”

“Yeeeeees,” there is a tease in the tone of your voice as you nod with a widening smile.

“[Y/N]! Are you serious?! This is amazing!” Without warning he has you trapped in another hug, vigorously swaying side to side.

“I have so many questions! When are you going? What will you be doing? Will we be at the same RDA base? Is the government giving you your own Avatar? Have you been practising the Na’vi language? Have you even started? Would learning it even be beneficial to whatever it is you’re doing there?! What—”

“Tom!” Both of your hands are immediately cradling his head. It shuts him up instantly.

“Breathe bro. You know damn well I can’t answer, ANY of those questions! Ah well, except I’m actually getting flown out tomorrow night…”

“Tomorrow?! That’s so soon…” Tom grabs your hands in his, slowly lowering them to his lap. His eyes are cast downward. You can see his pupils shifting rapidly as his mind races with unknown thoughts.

Quickly his on his feet, releasing your hands. He sprints off into his room without a word. You call after him.

“Tom…?”

“One sec!”

After a few minutes, he’s right back in front of you, cradling a small black box.

“I was gonna wait till your birthday to give this to you—but seeing as I won’t see you for a few years…” He holds the box out to you.

The material is soft velvet, smooth under your skin. You let out a faint gasp when your eyes see the contents within.

A small pendant of silver, fashioned into the shape of a rose, with a ruby fastened into the centre; tied to a thin silver chain.

“Tom, it’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.” He gives you a self-assured smile, clearly quite pleased with himself. You turn around and he helps fasten it around your neck. It sits comfortably just below your clavicle.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to do this.”

“I know…But I wanted to give you something special, now that I can afford to. It’s made of platinum by the way, so it’s nice and durable.” You wordlessly nod, putting the small black box into your jacket pocket. Tom grabs both your hands in his, holding them up in the space between you two.

“…Listen. You always took good care of Jake and I, ever since…Well you’ve acted not only as our big sister, but also filled the shoes of mom and dad. And you know what? I’m happy it was you there, and not them. Seeing you work hard, coming home at ridiculous hours, but still finding time to spend with us? It must’ve been hard, having to grow up so fast…But you were always smiling—Hell I don’t remember you ever complaining, even when we were being brats for no reason…You’re one of, if not, the strongest person I know.”

There comes a painful throb in your chest, the soft silk of his words wraps itself around you, squeezing. Your eyes glisten with the promise of tears, but you hold steadfast to your emotions.

“Look, all I’m trying to say is, thank you. Thank you, for taking care of me. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten all those scholarships, wouldn’t have had the drive to get my PhDs, and probably wouldn’t be sitting in front of you right now. So, my beloved big sister [Y/N], thank you for being my family. I love you.”

And the dam breaks.

You crash into him, hugging him with all your might. Tears flow freely down your face as you wail uncontrollably. Hearing him say those things, suddenly makes everything you have done, everything you have sacrificed, worth it all. There is an almost indescribable feeling that washes over and through you. It brings about a peace you hadn’t known you needed. It was a reassurance that your brother was going to be okay—his future was secure, thanks you both yours and his efforts; all in spite of the rough start you had in life.

“TOOOOOM!!! IT’S OKAY!!! I’D DO IT ALL AGAIN FOR YOU GUYS!!! I LOVE YOU TOOOOO!!!” You bawl out, still crying.

Tom laughs as he pats your back.

---

“Here, just TAKE it. It’ll give me peace of mind!” You hold out your spare apartment keycard. He sighs at your antics.

Some time after you had finally calmed down, you brought up the idea that he should live in your apartment while you are away; look after the place as it were. He wouldn’t have to pay rent, as that was covered by your job, and it would be in a safer neighbourhood. Still he fights you on this. You pout at him, puffing your cheeks.

“You owe me for making me cry!”

“Oh my GOD fine! Give it here!” He grabs the card, and immediately you face turns to a victorious smile.

“Good. I’ll be gone by tomorrow, so you can start moving your stuff in the day after.”

Tom nods but stifles a yawn at the same time. You cast a glance at the clock on the wall, realising the time.

“I should probably head off then, it’s getting rather late, and you clearly need your beauty sleep.”

He swats your arm playfully, and calls you something in a language you don’t recognise as the two of you make your way to the door.

“What did you just call me?”

“Ha! It’s Na’vi for ‘moron’. Even if you don’t need to learn the language for your job, I suggest you do. Because even if we’re not at the same base, you better believe I’m going to annoy you every chance I get! Even if it has to be over comms.”

You roll your eyes at him as you undo the various locks. With the door open, you turn to your brother once more. You pull him into one final hug. This time the two of you remain quiet as you embrace.

Your stomach flips, an uncomfortableness settles deep within. This goodbye feels far too final, and you do not like that.

Hesitantly do you remove yourself from his embrace, taking a small step back and out into the cold.

“I’d say goodbye, but that doesn’t feel right. So, I’ll see you later?”

He gives you a confident smile.

“Yeah…See ya later [Y/N]. Have a safe trip home. And a safe journey too. Keep Pandora warm for me.”

With a tiny wave, you turn and slowly start the ascent to the shuttle bay. Before you disappear behind the next flight of stairs, you turn to meet his gaze once more. The two of you share one final wave and an exchange of smiles.

He knows you won’t move first, and so you watch him disappear safely behind his apartment door.

---

The penthouse is dark when you arrive. You remove your shoes, leaving them in the entryway. Your hands glide over the walls as you meander into the living room, collapsing on the couch.

You lay there for a few moments, idly playing with the pedant on your chest. You can feel sleep tugging at the recesses of your mind, threatening to take you in a moments notice. With a grunt you sit yourself up. You know you have to call Jake now; you’ll be far too busy tomorrow.

You heart feels heavy in your chest as you think of him. He was deployed into active service in Venezuela a few months back, and contact with him is few and far between. The odds of him picking up are unlikely, but you attempt to establish a connection anyway.

It rings and rings, but there is no answer. The AI offers for you to record a video message.

You sigh in defeat, saddened that you would not be able to speak with him before you leave. For you it would feel like days, maybe weeks till you spoke with him next. But for him, he’d have to wait 6 years before he hears from you again. Guilt gnaws away at you, but the situation is out of your hands. Despite your pleas, he was insistent on joining the marines. He was more adamant than ever once he was accepted and started their rigorous training.

Often he would call you all hours of the night, once he retired with his fellow recruits to their bunkers. And even though he looked battered and bruised, his smile was toothy and genuine. The comradery of his fellows made known as they always invaded his personal space when he was chatting with you.

“Yooo Sully!!! Aye, bro! Is that your missus?!” The face of a stranger pushes against Jake’s as they try and get a better look at you on the comm pad in his hands.

“No you dick—that’s my sister! Urgh, [Y/N] this is Waitara. Waitara, this [Y/N] my SISTER.” You hide your mouth behind your hand as you let out a soft giggle.

“Hiiii Waitara. I hope you guys are taking good care of my baby brother?”

“Ayyyye, I promise, we’re taking good care of this one!” He puts one arm around Jake, giving him a noogie in the process. You once again laugh at your brother’s annoyed reaction as he tries to swat the other man away.

“Well then you have my deepest thanks Waitara.”

“Aww Miss! You can just call me Matiu, means ‘Gift of God’—”

“OKAY Romeo that’s enough! Stop trying to flirt with my sister!” Jake interrupts Matiu with a hard shove to the side. You can hear him laughing at Jake’s expense off camera. You faintly hear him call out to the others, Jake rolling his eyes, and before you know it, you’re being introduced to the others; much to Jake’s annoyance.

You on the other hand are all smiles and laughter as they inundate you with embarrassing stories of Jake, plus variations of “Miss Sully! Look what I can do!”

You smile at the memory, but remind yourself you need to record this now lest you fall asleep.

You hit the button to begin the recording, and your image appears on the screen.

You give an enthusiastic wave to the camera and a wide smile.

“Hi Jake! How are you doing? I hope everything is uhh, as good as it can be…” Your smile falters when you realise the man is in active duty, not training. He could very well be on the battlefield right now, under enemy fire. You bite your lip to stop yourself from over-thinking. Unlike Tom, Jake was always a fighter. Where Tom excelled academically, Jake excelled physically. His confidence was easily backed by the strength of his heart, and the strength of his fist. You shake your head and continue.

“Urgh sorry. I know you’re on active duty right now and it probably sucks…But I have some good news! Uhh, though whether you think it’s good remains to be seen…Anyway! You know my job, government, classified, NDA yadda yadda. Well! I have been given a big new assignment to take on…And for it, they’re going to be shipping me off-world! It’s gonna take me 6 years to get there cuz it's about four and a half light years away…I was hoping to speak with you before I leave, but I guess the universe has other plans huh? I’d tell you where, but, ya know. NDA and all that…”

Unfortunately you couldn’t really speak of where you going, nor elude to what you were doing. Tom was also under restrictions in regards to his future work with the Avatar Program. The only reason he spoke of it to you was, one, you are his big sister and he was always going to spill the beans to you, risks be damned. But two, your ‘government job’ meant you were well entitled to be privy to such information. At least that’s how you spun it to him.

“Oh! I just came back from seeing Tom, look what he gave me, isn’t it pretty?” You lean in closer to the camera, showing off the pendant.

“Said it was for my upcoming birthday…” You go quiet again, but only for moment.

“Listen Jake. I don’t know how often, if at all, I’ll be able to get in contact with you once I touch down. It’s a pretty remote place, and the work I’m doing…Look I don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you here on Earth while I go, chasing the stars or whatever. Everything I do, I do for you and Tommy. I love you guys, so, SO much. You’re my precious baby brother, and there isn’t anything in the entire God damn galaxy I wouldn’t do for you. I hope you know that… I love you Jake. Please stay safe out there. Come back to me in one piece? Love you, and I’ll see you later…”

You hit stop on the recording, sending it in one go.

There is so much more you want to say, so much more you feel you should say. But your emotions are running high, and you feel so utterly drained from everything that has happened, compounded with your worries for the future.

With conscious effort you drag yourself to the bedroom, changing into you usual sleep attire.

You move to throw yourself onto the bed.

You’re asleep before your head even hits the pillow.

---

[Masterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

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Author's Notes: And so the adventure begins. Thank you to @mechformers for her constant support and feedback! <3 Apologies for grammatical errors, hope you all enjoy this first step.

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Fic Tag List: @sofiebstar @winxschester @yhern05 @an0th3rsss @gamerxpfighter @to-earth-from-the-sun @exulqnsisxthoughts @sweetirilly @wolfgirl497 @thebeckyjolene @goddesslilithmoriarty @the-anjos @bitchykittenconnoisseur

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Perma Tag List: [Interactive Post] alternatively reply below if you want to be tagged just for the story

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lovebunnie · 10 months ago

Text

The words wash over Hawk and fills his lungs like putrid water. In a moment everything seems clearer than it has in years, plants greener than ever before and Tim still looks so calm.

His older features seem more relaxed, more grey in his hair than Hawk’s own. It is obvious the disease is aging Tim faster than normal and the army may have made a man out of his Skippy, but the years after Fire Island made him Tim.

It occurs to Hawk then that Tim has been living with this knowledge for some time, was not even going to tell Hawk the truth. This was Tim collected, this was Tim accepting. This was Tim on borrowed time, and Hawk imagines his Skippy holding a live grenade to spare him from any hurt.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Hawk asks in a tight voice after a moment of silence.

Tim says yes, and Hawk is on his way as though running from the truth. Skippy is dying.

The bathroom is a garish yellow and Hawk cannot stand the remnants of this person he does not know; he is used to picking up Tim’s small trinkets and being treated to the origin story with boyish glee. This Tim, however, is unknowable to Hawk. He wonders when Tim started using cinnamon toothpaste over spearmint.

Hawk looks into the mirror and splashes water on his face to bring him back to reality. There is no time to know this Tim, not like he once had. Gone were the days of lounging in bed and trading stories. There was no more time because Skippy was dying.

The world turns and Hawk sits on the toilet.

The last time the world had spun so violently, Hawk had been asked to identify his son’s body at the morgue.

Yes, that’s… Hawk had said before clearing his throat. That’s my son, that’s my boy.

Jackson had been so still and looked freezing and it took everything in Hawk to not climb next to his son and cradle his frigid body. There was in fact nothing left for Hawk to do for Jackson, his duties as his father were absolved. Father of one, officially. Losing his child had damn near killed him.

And Hawk had tried to die, hoping maybe falling into drugs would somehow make him closer to Jackson. This is how he felt when he felt free, Hawk thought as the powder burned his nose; it was the closest they ever got to father-son bonding.

Hawk would have died if it had not been for Tim. No two ways about it.

Now Tim is dying and Hawk cannot return the favor.

He lost one of his boys and another was on the way out next. Jackson and Tim, was there truly no sanctuary for the kind? Were they doomed the minute they opened their hearts to the bitter world?

Hawk cannot imagine losing Skippy, not again, not like this. Soon the world would be without Tim and Hawk could not bear to live through this death again.

Don’t you need me, Skippy? Hawk had asked long ago with cheeks sticky with tears.

I have you, Tim said with all the certainty in the world.

Hawk crumples forward with his face in his hands, tears stubbornly at bay. He never had Tim at all and it was no one’s fault but his own.

He looks up from his hands to the shelf of medication and notices the prescription has a refill available for pick up.

Skippy is dying, Hawk thinks. But he’s not dead yet.

#space.txt #space drabbles #fellow travelers #idk man im just saying shit at this point lol #idk what message i wanted to convey I just wanted to write about Hawk realizing tim is dying #usually writing comes easy but this was a bitch and a half to type and process #space snips

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saltpepperbeard · 7 months ago

Note

What are your top 5 Ed x Stede moments? 😊 I’m curiously asking several blogs to see how many of us share favorites!

MAN, anon! I tried to give this one some thought to see if the choosing would get any easier/become any clearer. Spoiler alert: IT DID NOT HSDLKS I AM STILL JUST AS TORN AS I WAS BEFORE. But let me see if I can at least ~*~attempt this~*~. My first three were easy but then the LAST TWO HAD ME PACING SHDLKS:

So okay, obviously have to put their first kiss in the ranking because it's so iconic and it's the thing that got me into the show in the first place! Like, literally the FIRST scene I laid eyes upon. And it had me crying full blown tears at work because I was just so floored that we weren't queer baited and that it was so sweet and tentative and cautious and just,,, The rest was history of course lol!

Like really, the Power it has. Didn't even know the characters or the story that much at all, and was already crying LMAO.

Then of course I have to put the second beach kiss(es) because good god lol GOOD GOD!!! I think I adore it so so much mainly because Ed and Stede are finally on the same page. No more doubts, no more worries, no more anxieties, no more questioning if they have the same feelings or are going too slow/fast. Just them and their strong, solid love--their good bones.

Not to mention Ed dropping the double "I love you" ??? I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am that we heard a legitimate "I love you." And Ed being the one to say it after all the hurt, all the pain in feeling unlovable, all the fear that he'd die completely alone, all the worry that his strong feelings were too much...Man. MAN.

And thennnnn the reunion scene because yeah. Yeah. I've said this before and I'll say it again: watching this at like 4:30am for the first time almost gave me an out of body experience HSLDSHS. Like, I think there's just something about the fact that we were all going through so many different iterations of possible reunions during the s1-s2 gap. We envisioned angsty, silly, romantic, and everything in between.

But this lol THIS,,,

I feel like it just surpassed expectations in such a beautiful, fantastical way. Like genuinely, I never EVER anticipated Ed being stuck in purgatory about to die and Stede coming to him as a mermaid because the real Stede is sitting with his body begging him not to succumb.

Also, Stede begging and screaming at Ed not to die/to wake up/to come back to him always makes me feel some sort of way. Something something he's normally so silly and so theatrical but he's so choked up and so serious in that moment that it PUNCHES ME IN THE KIDNEYS. Like it really just goes to show how utterly desperate he is. And that last, whispered, strained, "come back to me..." ??? Homie............

ALSO also, obligatory "This Woman's Work" mention because I knew that song and nothing else for like two months straight HSKLDS. Or two months gay, rather.

...

see this is where i start Dying because i'm being pulled in so many different directions lol DO I GO FOR ROMANTIC, OR SILLY, OR EARNEST, OR,,, SKLDJHLDJKDKDA

Okay okay I think I'm going to have to go earnest because I adore that they actually talked things through together. FLEETING LMAO, BUT STILL GLAD THEY DID, EVEN IF IT WAS JUST FOR A BIT. I just love that they actually expressed some frustrations, that Stede actually talked about his fears/his panic, that Ed set a boundary, and that Stede respected it. And then Stede gently navigated around and expressed his love in different ways and it folded Ed in half almost immediately hsdkljs YOU LOVE TO SEE IT.

But yeah no--if me rolling around Atticus' fics and me writing my own stories is any indication, I really REALLY LIKE IT WHEN THESE TWO ACTUALLY TALK LMAO. BECAUSE THEY HAVE SO SO MUCH BOTTLED UP, BOTH INDIVIDUALLY AND AS A COUPLE, SO IT'S JUST HSLDKS TALK IT THROUGH AS A CREW OF TWO MY BELOVED!!!

......

oh god oh god what do i pick for the last one lol WHAT DO I PICK FOR THE LAST ONE,,,

mmmMMmmmMMMM,,,,,,

SUCCUMBED TO MORE TALKING IT THROUGH LMAO.

I love so many of their other moments, and honestly, so many things could have made this list. But the bathtub scene...man. Taika saying it's more vulnerable and even more romantic than their first kiss is shdljks yeah. YEAH. LIKE HE'S COOKING A BIT WITH THAT BECAUSE IT'S JUST,,,

I feel like it's such a pivotal and important step in their relationship. Ed has literally never told that secret to anyone else, but he entrusted it with Stede. He feels safe enough around Stede to expose the darkest parts of his past, and he's entirely right to do so, because Stede doesn't view him any differently at all. Stede is right there, wanting to be his friend--loving him still.

And I think it's also good for Stede because of that vulnerability. He gets to see how much Ed trusts him and feels safe around him. He's getting to see Ed and Ed alone, which can't be said for so many other people.

It's just the two of them in that moment and I adore it so much.

...I just adore THEM so much, anon, so thank you for spreading this sweet little ask around! It was super fun to consider, aLBEIT SLIGHTLY RGGHGHGHH INDUCING BECAUSE I COULD INCLUDE SO MUCH LMAO. But thank you kindly! <3

Also, for the record, if I had to rank them from most favorite to still favorite but not AS favorite, I'd go Double Beach Kiss, Reunion, First Kiss, Love Everything About You, and Bathtub.

#Answered #Gentlebeard #Blackbonnet #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet #OFMD #OFMD Season 2 #This was delightful #AND GOT ME YAPPIN' UNSURPRISINGLY HSDJKLS

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emry-stars-art · 1 year ago

Note

please can u tell us more of ur thoughts on branding.

can u tell us ALL ur thoughts on branding.

can u tell us all your thoughts.

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST

Why yes I CAN tell you my thoughts! but this post will stay pretty much about the branding, even tho there will be other points you can notice below; unfortunately I have limited space and time on these posts. One thing at a time for my brainnn 🙏

Also. This is another “there’s too much going on here for me to cover it all” concept, so this is actually in two parts just to make sure it doesn’t get too ungodly long 😂 and one day there’s a bunch of stuff I want so badly to write about it! For now, I’ll put the link to the second post [here] as well as at the very end for your reading convenience

Find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕

(This was supposed to be for showing the brands; it turned into an explanation of some of the physical effects of things that happened in Evermore and the direct aftermath.)

Ahem. So Riko’s pretty determined to make it as difficult as possible for Abram to sneak away again, blend into other places. The best way to do that, obviously, is to brand him to his court as he had the rest.

Abram expects that. He’s completely prepared to have this done, it’s all but inevitable. He’d been dodging his number III for far too long now. Even Day has the II still on his own cheek - Abram can deal with it. Riko’s too proud not to let it heal nicely. He needs his court to look as neat and uniform as possible.

Still hurts like hell.

But after, when Abram wants nothing more than to be completely alone until he can see properly out of that eye, Riko orders him to strip down. Abram doesn’t - his time in Palmetto and with Prince Andrew took away Abram’s only survival technique. He’s known good people now, he knows how a person is supposed to be treated and he’s learned at least some degree of self-respect. Nathaniel relied on a day-to-day understanding that he could die in any terrible, inhuman way at another’s whim. Abram knows better. (It ruins him.)

Of course, Riko gets his demands met anyway. They have to hold Nathaniel down to get the second brand on him. This one isn’t for show, though perhaps that was a thought in Riko’s mind - branded cattle is hard to steal and easy to identify. Mostly it’s the beginning of pushing onto Abram that he isn’t more than property, he’s a work animal and he’s expected to act like it. And Riko doesn’t care that this one heals as neatly. Since it’s not going to be for the public eye, Riko can let it fester and infect as long as it stays recognizable. As long as Abram can look at it and remember what it is and what it’s there for.

When Abram is brought back, when Day is with him in that cart, it’s another thing he begs for the prince not to see. The muzzle and the brand. At first Day is confused; “The prince will want to see your face, Abram. You know he won’t care. It’s just like mine.”

But Abram shakes his head. Says no. No, the other one. Please don’t let him see.

Maybe Day doesn’t fully realize what that means until he forces that bath on Abram. Abram doesn’t try to hide it; he’s already told Day about it, and if there’s anyone that will take Evermore cruelty in stride it will be Day. (That doesn’t mean Day isn’t enraged to see it. Healed ugly, even still a little inflamed from rough fabrics and no care. He knew Riko was always mad with power; this was something else entirely.)

So Day heeds Abram’s pleas and doesn’t let Andrew see the brand. It’s always covered in bandages. When Andrew begins to help with Abram’s care, Day tells him he shouldn’t remove that bandage. It would cause Abram a lot of pain. Andrew tries to ask about it, but Day gives him the same answer as with the strange little punctures in Abram’s face: he will tell you if and when he wants to. And again, Andrew cannot argue.

By this point I think Andrew and Day have reached an agreement. Abram’s eyesight is getting clearer by the day, and Andrew understands how serious Day is about both his and Abram’s safety. But Day agreed that as long as Abram can confirm he recognizes Andrew, Andrew is allowed to help when Day is unavailable.

So when Andrew is sent for, told that Abram has reopened some wounds or torn some bandages and won’t let any of the medics touch him, Andrew goes.

Abram is calm enough by the time he arrives. He lets the prince check the wounds, nodding allowances between each article of clothing and bandage that Andrew removes. And by then they may as well shower too, while Andrew is there. He’d like to try and do what he can for Abram’s hair.

Even then Andrew doesn’t remove the bandage. It falls off on its own under the stream of water. Andrew feels the slight tensing of Abram’s stomach, the way he pauses. For a second, Andrew can only stare, struck dumb with anger. Then, slowly and very carefully, he pushes the bandage back over the brand. Hardly breathing.

“Abram. What is that.”

And Abram tenses more. He can see enough now to place a good guess as to where Andrew’s eyes would be, himself wide eyed and suddenly fearful. (For a moment, the prince’s apparent calm response made Abram think that he’d somehow already seen the brand, which wasn’t impossible considering the circumstances. But his tone now, the ice in his voice as he confronts Abram on it - it feels like all of Abram’s worst fears have materialized there in front of him. Of course Andrew would be disgusted. Princes deserve better than damaged goods. Andrew deserves better.)

“I’m sorry,” Abram says automatically, which is the last thing Andrew wants to hear. “I’ll - you don’t have to anymore, just get Day -”

“Abram,” Andrew says again sharply, which is not the right thing because Abram flinches and pushes Andrew’s hands from him. He’s up and away from the hole-riddled bucket that serves as the infirmary’s makeshift shower almost immediately and finds his things half by memory and half blurry sight. Andrew wouldn’t want someone like him around, even as a guard. Especially in this state, when he can’t perform his duties at all.

Abram finds his way to Day’s room. Even with Andrew’s voice after him as he leaves the bath and infirmary altogether. Thankfully, it isn’t long before Day has returned from a routine check of the outer walls - Abram cannot handle being seen by the prince again, he’s shaking and slipping further from reality by the minute. Day takes one look at Abram in the hall and brings him into his room, trying to calm Abram enough to tell him what’s happened. Eventually, he pieces it together when Abram apologizes for making Day’s work for naught. You kept it from him this long time and I ruined it. Don’t let him be angry with you, it was my fault, just let him do what he wants and -

But Day won’t hear it. He figures out what it’s about, he tries to reassure Abram that it was a misunderstanding. Day knows for a fact, like any sane person and then as a person that knows Andrew, that the prince is not angry with Abram for having a brand or anything it was supposed to represent. He had been angry like anyone was angry to see it. Like Day had been. Day had just been much better about hiding it.

Abram isn’t in a state for rational thought or explanations. The panic and crying exhausts him, but nothing Day offers can comfort him. He won’t take the bed or couch or even the chair, too far in his head about Andrew finally seeing him for an animal. He ends up curled on the carpet near the fireplace, asleep by the time Andrew manages to find him. (He’d gone looking out by the gate, along any path Abram might have taken to run. It was either good or very bad that he didn’t find him there.)

Day answers the door and Andrew opens his mouth at the same time he scans the room, then stops. He sees Abram and tries to come in, but Day stands firmly in his way.

“Is he all right?” Andrew asks before he can stop himself. He messed up, this is his fault. He needs to be sure he hasn’t caused any real harm.

“Physically, yes,” Day says tersely. “But he’s asleep, and I will not be waking him yet. Out, in the hall. I need to speak with you.”

[part2 here]

#BIG BROTHER KEVIN DAY #he gave Andrew the wildest most unexpected ‘if you hurt my brother I’ll destroy you’ talk in history #and I love that for everyone involved #(even tho it was mostly Kevin doing some culture translation re: brands)#(and what abram is and isn’t apparently comfortable with and scared of)#I just think usually Andrew would be INCREDIBLY unimpressed and bored with Kevin’s long talks #but when it comes to Abram at this exact moment #he has no choice but to listen to whatever Kevin says #it’s not like Andrew is the person abram first thinks of when he needs comfort about evermore (yet at least)#day still knows better than anyone else in palmetto #hm are my strong emotions about kevin and Neil sibling vibes coming through yet #nah I’d better do more with it #ANYWAY #fan art #my art #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #royal au #asks #anon #my writing #hmm might have to make the brand bigger in consequent drawings #cows beeg #Abram is small

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sakuraharuno156 · 3 months ago

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"I'm a feminist, that's why i hate a fictional character for not fitting into my idea of what a woman should be instead of the real existing male author who wrote her"

Woah, hold your horses!

It's all so wrong that I don't know where to start....

1) You should NEVER hate on real people for their creative freedom ✨️

You can hate Danzo or Hinata - you can't hate M.Kishimoto.

You can hate Moriarty - you can't hate A.C.Doyle.

You can hate Gale - you can't hate S. Collins.

You can hate any piece of fiction, but no, you cannot hate the author for creating something.

It's the exact reason people are scared to be creative. It's the exact reason why people do not post their art or fanfiction - because people like you can't separate art from the artist.

It's not like Kishimoto glorified r*ape, or i*cest, or p*dophilia. It's not like he hurt anyone. It's not like all of his female characters are shitty.

Kishimoto gave us feminist icons like:

Konan - a strong, important character who gave a run for his money to one of the strongest guys in the series. She had a real backstory. She is a fictional character who portrays a lifelike woman.

Tsunade - a god damn Hokage, the strongest woman of her generation. A real fighter with a real trauma. She had her problems, yet still she is everything. She is a fictional character who portrays a lifelike woman.

Temari - a strong person. She always called everyone on their bs. She grew up scared for her life and still went into the world to be great. She is a fictional character who portrays a lifelike woman.

Sakura - the best female character in Naruto. Realistic and important. Born to nothing, self-made junnin. Made her biggest insecurity into her biggest weapon. She is a fictional character who portrays a lifelike woman.

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

Kishimoto made a strong female cast, so he, himself is not a women hater. He just made a shit character.

He is an author who made a piece of fiction that has parts that deserve some criticism.

He does NOT deserve any hate. You can joke about it like "omg I hate him for not making this happend 😭" and it's a character design that is not up to your liking, because "I wanted her to have long hair after time skip", but real hate?!

2) It's ok to critique something or even someone, BUT it's not ok to send hate to real people. Never. ✨️

"You hate wearing that exact pair of high heels? HOW ABOUT HATING ON THE DESIGNER INSTEAD?"

You see how nuclear it is?

How about making a review and warning people that it's an uncomfortable pair of shoes, BUT NOT BEING A D*CK ABOUT IT? 🤷‍♀️

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

It's a childish and frankly disgusting behavior that I really DO hate (see? You can hate behavior, but you can't hate people).

Like those people (mainly Hinata fans - see which type of behavior that character perpetuates in real people?) hating on Jun Esaka for writing a novel.

FOR WRITING A NOVEL.

To the point she felt a need to ask them TO STOP.

That's disgusting. No.

You can hate a piece of fiction, you can hate a behavior, you can hate what it does to the world, BUT you can't hate real people.

3) Why in your mind, it would be feminism to hate on a real human being?

Feminism is not about hating people, it never was, never will be. There is no hate for real people in feminism. The end.

4) Hating a shitty fictional character for being pathetic and a sad excuse of a "woman" is true feminism. ✨️

Feminism is about wanting more for women. If there ever was the antichrist equivalent for feminism, like the "antifeminist" - it would be literally Hinata Hyuga 🤷‍♀️

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

I'm not gonna repeat myself further because if you weren't able to understand it twice, there are two possible explanations:

You are incapable of understanding it in the way i'm explaining, and if that's the case - im sorry. I can't think of a way to explain it even clearer. You can always ask questions about things you don't understand or ask for clarification for certain phrases or examples that you don't understand. There is no shame in being too young to understand or something. BUT you have to ask for help instead of making false assumptions and trying to achieve... What?

You intentionally try not to understand so I can't help you. If you want to live in ignorance and your false narrative of what you want feminism to be - I'm sorry for you 🤷‍♀️

I hope you are just a young person, so you have time to grow out of this mindset because this one is ugly.

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

Hating real people is awful, trying to make others hate on a real person is an incredibly ugly mindset 🤷‍♀️

#anti hinata #naruto #anti studio pierrot #pro sakura #anti hinata hyuga #anti hinata fandom #pro sakura haruno #anti filler #konan #tsunade senju #feminism #no hate #jun esaka #temari nara

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rayan12sworld · 10 months ago

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💙A Thousand Things

By:tickertape

Summary:

Wei Ying can’t find his words. “What would I do in Gusu?”

The man’s mouth quirks in what Wei Ying cannot interpret as anything but a tiny, smug smirk. “Learn.”

Wei Ying has made a fine life for himself. He’s got his jiejies and his talismans; he doesn’t need anyone’s charity. But spending a whole year in Gusu? That’s hard to turn down.

Chapter:11/11

Words:108,237

Status:completed

(Wei Ying isn't adopted by Jiangs)

...Lan Qiren has been a teacher for many years; he’s seen his share of naturally gifted students. Wei Ying, the scruffy, arrogant, waspish boy from the marketplace, is something altogether different. He watches from a distance as his nephew and Wei Ying sit together at a table in the library, discussing a text on advanced meditation techniques. Wei Ying is slovenly, completely slouched over the book, gesticulating wildly. The end of his brush is gnawed on, his fingers ink-stained. His words are rapid, too loud. His hair is a mess. Wangji is watching him like he hung the moon. Despite himself, Lan Qiren also finds his gaze gravitating repeatedly towards the bright spark that has the usual Cloud Recesses balance spinning off-kilter. There’s something about him that’s difficult to look away from. Something familiar. His smile, his laugh, and something in the way he moves his hands as he writes. It sparks something deep in Lan Qiren’s memory. It isn’t until he watches him spar that suddenly things click into clearer focus. His quicksilver motions, instinctive and foxlike. Cangse Sanren.

he will know of his parents one day; Lan Qiren could not deprive him of that. But just for this year, he wants to watch and see. He could not articulate it if he tried, but he watched his brother be destroyed by their sect’s rules and agendas. He has seen good men dig their own righteous graves, and callous men abuse the integrity of others. Wei Ying has come from nothing, as far as he or the world knows, and to go from that to bearing the weight of all that came before him is more than Lan Qiren would wish on anybody. So when Jiang Fengmian visits to discuss trade treaties, Lan Qiren does not tell him. When he marvels at their new disciple’s capabilities in the field, Lan Qiren does not tell him. When he mentions blithely over dinner that the boy seems almost familiar, Lan Qiren does not tell him. He has a sense that, no matter how much his old friend may think himself balanced and impartial, the desire to guard and guide Cangse Sanren’s son would prove too much for him. It would just lock Wei Ying in the same cage of well-intended but misplaced expectations. Lan Qiren has been a teacher for many years; he’s seen his share of naturally gifted students, and he’s seen his share of tragedies, both the preventable and the inexorable. Wei Ying, the scruffy, arrogant, remarkable boy with too many ideas and too much heart, has the potential to be something altogether different. To watch how high he can soar without a tether, if just for the moment— it might be something to behold.

~~~ wow he really didn't tell him

Wei Ying makes it all the way to Destroy the five poisons before he can’t concentrate any more. He drops his brush onto the table with a clatter, exhaling loudly. “Trouble with the precepts, Lan Zhan?” Lan Zhan freezes, his eyes still cut towards Wei Ying. He gently lowers his brush onto the stand and adjusts his sleeves. “You… seem upset.” Wei Ying fights the urge to just punch himself in the face. “I’m tired.” This just sends Lan Zhan’s brows furrowing lower. “You didn’t come to the jingshi.” “I was out.” “Are you having difficulty sleeping due to nightma—” “No.” Wei Ying jolts the table, sending his brush tumbling to the floor. “And even if I was, it’s not your job to— to make me sleep, or whatever.” He breathes out hard through his nose, aiming for ‘calm’ and probably missing by about a thousand lǐ. Lan Zhan’s properly frowning now. “Wei Ying—” “Drop it, Lan Zhan. Finish your work.” But he doesn’t return to his text. “Wei Ying, whatever is upsetting you—” Yesterday’s hurt flares up in him in a burst. Lan Zhan’s words; It’s not about his conduct. It is about him. He does not belong here. Wei Ying grips the wooden table in front of him, trying not to raise his voice. “—is my business.” He finishes for him through gritted teeth. Lan Zhan reaches for him; too close, too much, too little, and that’s the last straw. Wei Ying slaps his hand away, the smack resounding loud and sharp in the stiff silence of the library.

~~ 🫠

“Wei Ying.” Ah, there he is. Wei Ying is pretty sure he’s heard his name spoken more times today than ever before. “Lan Zhan.” He responds dryly. There’s no response for a few breaths, and Wei Ying risks a glance. Lan Zhan’s dark hair is damp, curling at the ends, and there are tiny droplets of shining water caught on his eyelashes. He really seems like a jade sculpture. Unfairly beautiful. Lan Zhan worries at his lip, and Wei Ying watches that, too. “I have upset you.” He says, finally. Wei Ying exhales, breath furling out before him like dragon smoke. He wants to be angry. There’s so much burning up in him, but...Maybe Lingxin is right. “Yeah. Yes. You have.”

Lan Zhan nods, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the water between them. “I... admit that I do not know what I did, or have done. But I am sorry.” Wei Ying doesn’t know what to say— how much to say. “Thanks,” feels safest. Because no matter how good the advice was, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He just wants Lan Zhan to unsay it, unfeel it. Cold, fierce tension runs through him in jitters, locking his jaw painfully tight. Wanting is pointless. Lan Zhan did say those things. No amount of misinterpretation can make that an untruth. He turns away to hide his face, which he can feel contorting with emotion. He doesn’t want to think about this any more. But then Lan Zhan’s voice comes from beside him, painfully tentative. “Was— was it our conversation at the inn? Did I misspeak about your intentions towards cultivation?” Fuck. Lan Zhan had been so gentle with him on the balcony, more than he had needed to be towards someone putting such unnecessary strain on his life. Wei Ying shakes his head, feeling the corners of his mouth wobble. The cold is beginning to feel stifling. He needs to go to bed. “Was it about coming home?” Wei Ying’s heart clenches in his chest. He whips around, furious tears welling in his eyes. “Home?” He says, voice strained. “What home, Lan Zhan? You said I didn’t belong here.” Lan Zhan looks stricken. His eyes go wide. “I—” “I heard you speaking to your brother. Wei Ying is not a Lan. He will never be one. He doesn’t belong here. I heard you.” Lan Zhan stares, mouth agape. Wei Ying can’t stop. “It’s only until the conference, Wangji! I can’t— why? It’s one thing to feel like that, but to— to—?” He flails his arms, trying to find his point. “Just tell me that you think I’m worthless, that you hate me. It would have been easier.” His words break off with a crack, and he slams a fist into the water. Icy droplets splash miserably onto his face. He sniffs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. The night sits still and frigid and still around them. It drains the last of Wei Ying’s anger, and he sinks into himself, feeling hollow and… sad. He’s sad. Hurt. He wants things to go back to the way they were.

~~~😭😭

“You kissed me.” In a whisper, barely leaving his tongue: “We kissed.” Lan Zhan freezes, and Wei Ying can hear the way his breath catches in his chest. The way the hand resting over his tenses. Shit. Shit, he’s ruined it. He has to backtrack— “It was silly, I—” “No.” Wei Ying bites his tongue with how hard his jaw snaps shut. “Not silly.” Lan Zhan says, and it comes out a bit choked. He seems to be scrabbling for words. His Lan Zhan, scrabbling. “I— I had thought I dreamt it.” Wei Ying feels time stop. Feels his world tilt a little bit, as Lan Zhan gazes imploringly at him. “It would not have been the first time.” And then, all in one breath, like it takes everything in him: “Kissing you is all I have ever wished to do, since we first met.” The air seems to leave the room in one big rush, taking the breath from Wei Ying’s lungs with it. Lan Zhan wanted to… kiss him? Lan Zhan wanted to kiss him. Has been wanting. Just like Wei Ying has been wanting. Except longer. Longer, Wei Ying realises as he watches the tense line of his brow and mouth, the dark intensity of his golden eyes as they search his face. Lan Zhan wanted to kiss him the night of the festival. And before. “All this time?” He whispers. Lan Zhan gives the faintest nod. He’s so beautiful. Even nervous, even when he’s radiating apprehension. Lan Zhan has been wanting. He’s been staring at Wei Ying’s mouth right back. Like Wei Ying, he’s been wondering how the wine would taste shared between their tongues, how his hands would feel reaching underneath Wei Ying’s robe, touching his bared skin. Heat rushes through him; a dam bursting over shallow fields, dancing over his body in goosebumps. Wei Ying parts his lips to call out for him, but Lan Zhan is already there, barely a breath away. He’s there and his face is so close that Wei Ying can smell him. Sandalwood and cool, clean linen. And a new note; deeper, muskier.

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thecat-inthehat · 3 months ago

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1. Steer

Dunno how much I'll do for this year, considering all my other projects and also job hunting, but! Here we are.

(1100 words)

“Emet-Selch. With me.” Shining’s sonorous voice rang out across the clearing, even through the static nature of the Tower’s scrying systems.

“Oh? And to what do I owe the pleasure, Lady Warrior?” The Ascians’ waspish, breathy voice grating to the Crystal Exarch’s hooded ears. He did nothing as she stepped up to him and took his arm in her own, merely lifted a brow in surprise.

“Come.” Shining said, and her sculpted lips curved up into a smile. “I wish to speak with you in private.”

The Crystal Exarch drew his staff in a half circle, and the image zoomed out once more to show the two of them walking sedately through the forest of Rak’tika. The Light dappled through the trees in slow moving waves that always seemed so sinfully lazy; even nigh on a century of the golden waves it never stopped being so tempting to simply curl up underneath a beam that stretched through the canopy.

Emet-Selch had his hand tucked in her arm as demurely as any gentle noblewoman, his other hand lifting up the hem of his robes, and it was with some surprise that the Exarch realized how careful he was to step around the blue flowers that lay along the path to Fannow.

“Yes, my dear?” Emet-Selch asked. “You know, if you wished to get me alone for more, hm, intimate purposes, you should’ve asked me sooner.”

Shining laughed softly, a tinkling sound that buzzed through the Tower’s systems. “Hardly. You are not my type, Emet-Selch. Though I do appreciate your love of theater.”

“Like recognizes like,” Emet chuckled. “Two peas in a pod we are, are we not?”

“Debatable, but I shall let you have this,” Shining said, with a devious twist to her lips. “Now, as to why I wished to speak with you…”

“I take it this is about your sister?” Emet-Selch asked politely.

“Oh, look at you, you do have a brain somewhere in those coiffed locks of yours,” Shining chuckled, and stopped them in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by wildflowers. “Do you prefer to lead or follow?”

The Ascian was quiet for just a touch too long, and the Exarch wished once again for a clearer picture, if only to see the expression that must have been flitting across Emet’s face. He really needed to upgrade the Tower’s systems if he was to keep spying on the Warriors Three in such a way.

“This isn’t a test, Emet,” she said with no small amusement. “I’m not about to analyze you on your dancing habits.”

“Yet that is precisely what someone who would analyze me would say,” Emet sighed, but assumed a follower’s position among the two of them, with Shining’s hand resting lightly on his waist.

The Exarch ruthlessly squashed down the feeble feeling that niggled in his chest at the sight.

The two of them, Warrior and Ascian, stepped into a fluid dance that kicked up petals among the flowers with the hems of their clothing. It was a waltz of some kind that the Exarch didn’t recognize, but he set the Tower to record as Shining twirled Emet around with ease, and did not react to the soft smile flitting across Emet’s lips. There was no music, which surprised the Exarch, given Shining’s predilection for such things, but it meant that he could hear their conversation clearly.

“So, my sister,” Shining said pleasantly.

“Which one?” Emet replied, just as genial.

“Don’t play coy with me, Solus, you’re not cute,” Shining said, and her voice was just shy of being sharp. “You look at Nive as if she were a diamond in some pigsty. Enticing, yet you cannot bring yourself to get close. Who was she to you?”

“Bold,” Emet said, but did not deny the accusation. “And why should I tell you? Can a man not keep secrets close to his chest?”

“You can,” Shining agreed pleasantly, and when she twirled Emet around once more she dipped him.

There was a flash of light that short circuited the Tower’s recording magic, yet the sound of Emet’s pained gasp was all too loud in the void.

“But I will not let you entice her away from her duty,” Shining’s sibilant cadence slithered through the woods, undercut by birdsong and the omnipresent sound of the Light. “And you know this, you’re a smart man. You would not have lived so long otherwise. So why is it, Emet-Selch, that you are so dead set on leading her astray?”

The scrying spell slowly repaired itself, pixel by distorted pixel, and another half circle of the Exarch’s staff zoomed in on the conversation. She held him under her power, dipped towards the forest floor and the blooming blue blossoms, his hair a haphazard disarray as he panted for breath. It almost looked scandalous, with how his chest heaved and the way her larger hand cradled the arch of his back. But the glimmering Light from her palm, the way her eyes flashed and distorted the image, twas anything but.

“... I knew her.” He said, finally. “A color such as that stands out, does it not?”

“... That it does,” Shining agreed, and spun them to be upright once more, with him collapsing against her chest at the sudden movement. She made no move to dislodge him and simply waited for him to catch his breath, her fingers gently smoothing his hair back from his face. The scrying panel flickered once more, and the Exarch could see how her nail traced a line of Light from Emet’s temple to his jaw. A jaw that flexed dangerously under her touch.

“You are quite bold,” Emet-Selch repeated, and sounded almost bored.

“I am what I need to be,” Shining responded. “Consider this your only warning. Nive and Helisent might think that your overtures of friendship and cooperation could be genuine, but will not be swayed. Are we clear?”

“You wish me to stop,” Emet-Selch chuckled.

“Hardly,” Shining said, and her Light-burning eyes squinted in mirth. “Merely be prepared for the consequences.”

“Very well. I do so enjoy a challenge,” Emet-Selch said, and pulled back to place his hand on her shoulder once more. “Shall we continue? It’s been many years since I’ve had the pleasure.”

“But of course.” The Warrior of Light said, and did not bother to hide her bell like laugh.

The Exarch tapped his staff against the floor, and the image went dark. He did not afford himself jealousy. It would not aid him.

But he could not get the image of their dance out of his head for hours.

#ffxivwrite2024 #the daedalus project #shadowbringers #Shining Comet #Emet-Selch #Crystal Exarch #creator writes

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dailycharacteroption · 8 months ago

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Junk Technomancy Technomancer (Technomancer Alternate Class Feature)

(art by David Bonilla on Artstation)

Perhaps one of my very, very favorite things about the Starfinder technomancer class and their spells is how well they integrated technology and magic together, (in the spells at least, the magical hacks are kinda hit and miss for me) and nowhere else is this clearer than in the “junk” spells. Junk spells include those that either transmute nearby junk into a form usable by the mage, conjure junk usable for the former as their primary function or as a side effect, or that utilize already transmuted junk in a new way.

It began in the core book with the various junkbot spells, which were a stand-in for summoning until they perfected that with Alien Archive, but as more books came out, we got junk armor, junk swords, barricades, grenades, extradimensional shelters, and even the ability to detonate junk or transmuted creations!

It only makes sense, then, that there would be technomancers that specialize in these sorts of spells. They might be self-taught mystical tinkerers using the most readily available resource they know of in low-income neighborhoods, or they might be enthusiasts that see the ruined beauty and functionality in what others deem worthless.

Regardless of where they come from or how they feel about these things, only a fool would underestimate a junk technomancer just because their arsenal is all secondhand. It may not look pretty or be as sturdy, but they can squeeze surprising amounts of power out of what others cast off.

In exchange for having a cache and cache capacitor, these techno-mages specialize in junk spells, learning junk armor and junksword immediately in addition to their normal spell allotment, as well as upgrading to higher level versions of junksword as they gain levels (the text suggests that junk armor upgrades as well, but that spell doesn’t have variable level. It’s just a first level spell. A mistake on the author’s part?) Additionally, they can cast either one of these spells once a day without expending any energy.

Their junk spells also prove just a little bit better, their armor becoming tougher, and their transmuted creations lasting longer.

Given their focus on cobbling together contraptions than programming, they also focus on engineering rather than computers.

Finally, they improve their junksword and junk armor to allow for upgrades, their armor gaining an armor slot which they can install an upgrade into, and their junkswords able to incorporate a fusion seal the technomancer has on hand into their design.

The junk spells of a technomancer are versatile, ranging from defense to attack to utility, but they all require scrap electronics to work, which is why spells that conjure junk, be it the junk shards attack spell or the fabricate junk cantrip are very important for when you venture beyond junkyards, broken-down slums, or easily-smashable tech labs. That being said, you also still have all your other spell slots to diversify for those times when junk is not available and conjuring some would waste precious seconds. In any case, the focus on junksword and junk armor does mean the build expects you to be at least partially a melee build, so your spell and feat selection could probably do with options that tilt melee combat in your favor, such as debuffs and battlefield control options, to say nothing of enhancing your own combat prowess.

The versatility of junk spells cannot be denied, but one must also remember that no only are these creations temporary, but they render the junk used in them inert to any more castings of the spell, valuable only for their use as scrap. As such, I imagine that many of these technomancers also enjoy making longer-lasting creations as well, possibly from the junk they’ve spent on previous castings of their magic, incorporating components harmlessly into the whole of a project.

Strange attacks have been happening in the upper city, with people being slain by beams of light from invisible foes. The culprits are a group of lurkers-in-light, led by a lightweaver. However, confronting the fey in the upper city will be nearly impossible without first causing a blackout. The simpler option would be to track them to their dark undercity lair, home to junkers of all descriptions.

Most would consider Visak’s Folly, a debris field of derelict ships left over from the last great war, to be a poor place to forge a community, but for the xulgaths that dwell there, it is a golden opportunity. So much salvage to recover and sell. Many of them take up technomancy as well, turning the scrap that surrounds them into tools and weapons, the latter especially one those that attempt to muscle in on their claim.

It wasn’t the plentiful resources or the verdant wildlife that attracted Polgan to the colony world of Pillar, it was the ancient superstructure that gave the planet its name. Attempts to explore or survey it have been met with disaster before, but the young technomancer is certain that with his junk magic and know-how he can make the attempt alone and self-sufficiently. Such is the foolishness of youth.

#starfinder #technomancer #alternate class option #junk technomancy #lurker in light #xulgath #troglodyte #Tech Revolution

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