#torrefie

[jadie0]

summer

summer strings you out and stretches you

leaves you to dry like meat on a wire

frayed thin, tendons close to snapping

nothing but hot skin and buzzing flies

rough sheets and restless nights

summer is seamless and raw

leaves you prickly and itching all over

flushed cheeks and peeling skin,

tantalizing and torrefied

like something shaped for burning,

like something waiting to be set alight

[shgraki-archive]

"   GOT  A  LIGHT?   "      it's  only  somewhat  sarcastically  asked,    delivered  as  mother's  hand  is  taken  from  his  face  —   and  instead  placed  upon  the  back  of  its  head.   two  fingers  then  pinch  a  lone  cigarette  in  his  pocket.   the   mountain  spring breeze  wisps  through  white  hair.   below  them,   a  growing  empire  where  the  league  sits  on  top.    "   be  honest,   when  you  started  following  stain's ideaology,   did  you  think  you'd  find  a  saving  point  here?   —   of  all  places?    " / @torrefy

[enjomo-arch]

The  silence  between  them  was  becoming  increasingly  unbearable.  It  was  hard  to  say  what  could  really  be  sitting  in  the  cook's  head  right  now,  Ace  could  only  add  up  different  options  for  himself  when  his  brown  irises  watched  the  concentration  that  reigned  on  his  face.  Eyes  completely  focused  on  how  best  to  secure  the  wound  on  his  chest.  Even  the  rough  texture  of  the  bandage  didn't  bother  him  when  it  rubbed  against  his  skin  in  a  rather  unpleasant  way.  Ace  was  lost  with  his  gaze  looking  at  the  hands  of  the  cook  which  to  him  were  like  a  sacred  thing.  

The  touch  of  them  against  his  warm  flesh  while  wrapping  the  bandages  around  his  frame,  the  skillful  movement  of  the  slender  fingers  when  he  tied  the  bandage.  It  was  almost  hypnotizing  to  look  at.  Not  only  were  these  hands  able  to  prepare  amazing  dishes  in  the  kitchen,  but  they  could  nimbly  handle  first  aid.  All  in  all,  he  had  completely  forgotten  about  his  wound.  He  had  already  managed  to  wean  himself  from  the  fact  that  people  were  nevertheless  capable  of  doing  him  harm.  Body  of  the  Logia  couldn't  just  protect  him  from  a  blade  or  bullets  reinforced  with  Sea  Stone  so  the  end  of  the  day  he  didn't  anticipate  that  something  like  this  could  happen.  He  leaned  back  in  his  seat  and  a  curious  smile  bloomed  along  his  lips.  ❝  Thanks  for  the  help  by  the  way.  ❞  It  felt  right  to  say  that  especially  that  Sanji  probably  had  other  things  on  his  head  than  taking  care  of  his  wounds.  

Ace  scooped  closer,  unexpectedly  taking  the  cook's  hand  in  his  own.  It  was  a  little  smaller,  but  the  skin  was  soft  to  the  touch.  Rough  fingers  run  along  the  length  of  it,  turning  to  brush  the  soft  palm's  inside.  Curiosity  was  visible  in  his  eyes,  which  were  now  only  focused  on  Sanji's  hand.  He  felt  how  slender  his  fingers  were  as  the  tips  of  the  fire  fist's  digits  explored  the  length  of  them  with  care,  gently  parting  them  with  Ace's  own.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  was  worshipping  a  god's  body  part,  a  salvation  for  starving  souls.  A  sacred  tool  to  bring  peace  for  the  stomach.

He  never  expected  them  to  be  this  pleasing  when  his  own  were  hard,  rough,  covered  in  little  scars  he  got  years  ago  and  they  stayed  with  him  until  this  day.  Pupils  blown  wide  with  excitement  about  the  exploration  of  such  a  delicate  skin  against  his  own.  A  new  situation,  feeling.  ❝  Y'know,  you  have  really  nice  hands.  They  feel  great  to  touch,  which  is  not  surprisin'  given  that  you  are  a  cook'n  all.  ❞  When  he  let  go  of  Sanji's  hand  and  leaned  back  in  his  own seat,  he  bared  a  grin  with  pearly  teeth.

@torrefier gambled : [  bandage  ]  sender  helps  bandage  up  receiver’s  wounds. yargh

[swordince]

@torrefier​  sent  :     when i choose to see the bright side of things, i'm not being naïve. it's strategic and necessary.

❛     does  it  have  to  be  about   “ strategy ”  ??     can  it  not  just  be  hope ??    ❜          adam  is,  frankly,  getting  tired  of  pragmatism.     he  believes,  to  his  core,  that  there  is  good  to  be  found  in  even  the  most  corrupt  marine,  even  the  cruelest  of  pirates,  that  all  this  ridiculous  fighting  across  the  line  can  be  ended  without  costing  thousands  of  lives ...     someone  needs  to  believe  that.          ❛     which —     hope’s  not  naive.     it  just   ...   is.     ❜

[biomass01]

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[cnigiri]

@torrefier

It’s sweet . Why is it sweet , he glances in disgust as he almost vomits the coffee he had been given . This had to be on purpose , Sanji knew he liked bitter , hell he was allergic to that processed sugary crap . Yet this one felt like it was way too sweet . And this wasn’t the first thing today was he being goaded for a fight ? Well , he got it in the afternoon , patience was a virtue Zoro had been attempting to work on , meditation despite his stomach giving slight cramps due to the small ingestions of sugar all day was one thing .  But being given spaghetti for the afternoon rush , and his tasted like someone had poured maple syrup into the sauce and that was it .  He ate it , every last bite without saying a word , glaring daggers at Sanji and hoping that would make him shrink away . After lunch though , he barked out “Cook , outside . “ Not giving him time to explain or even ask why he stomped out doors. Poison , fine . Sharp objects in his food ? He can digest it . But sugar was going too far . He waits before pulling back and yanking that dumb tie of his so that they’re face to face .  “ What is the big deal with my food today , huh? You trying to poison me you fucking pervert brow?? “

[ingolds]

@torrefier / sc.

     as much as they have grown and aged and separated themselves fro the atrocities committed at their hands, the memories still filter in every now and then, stubbornly taking root and refusing to budge. they do their best to ignore them or push them back into the dark place they crawled from. it rarely works, though, and it draws theo into an introspective mood, chin tilted down and hands curled loosely in their pockets. they don't turn to look at their companion, instead speaking loud enough to be heard and quiet enough to fake that they were only talking to themselves.

     “ i'm just trying to find some redemption. ” the confession is bitter, burning their throat on the way out. “ but i'm not sure i deserve it, after everything. ”

redemption / hurts

[strwcptn]

@torrefier​ asked:

what is it about you that makes people think we enjoy being in harm’s way?

           “it’s almost like you’re trying to say you don’t like adventuring with me, sanji,” for what else would luffy think ‘being in harms way’ was other than sailing on the open ocean, enjoying a small thrill every once in a while?

[sogekyng-a]

@torrefier​ asked:

😳 tbh.

           “it’s the hair, isn’t it? maybe it’s the soul patch?” either way, usopp had a smirk on his face because of it. it was a rise in confidence, that’s for sure.

[enjomo-arch]

❝  Lemme  see  where  are  we  exactly  cus'  I  ain't  good  with  this  part  of  the  island.  ❞  Depending  on  whether  he  meant  the  contacts  he  had  with  nearby  residents  or  simply  the  route  they  should  take  was  not  discovered  in  his  words.  After  all,  not  in  all  corners  of  the  Grand  Line  was  he  welcome.  A  hum  in  his  throat,  studying  the  map  in  his  hands  and  finger  tracing  the  worn  out  paper  to  stop  at  one  direction  that  curled  the  corners  of  his  mouth  into  a  rather  threatening  smirk.  ❝  There's  a  place  I  gotta  visit,  care  to  join  me  @torrefier  ?  ❞  The  question  thrown  like  a  gauntlet  on  the  ground.  He  usually  didn't  take  others  when  it  came  to  gambling  in  which  Ace  was  becoming  invincible.  No  one  had  any  idea  what  cards  had  yet  to  be  revealed  about  him,  but  leaving  the  cook  alone  didn't  resonate  with  him  either.  It  would  be  awfully  rude. / ♠️

[phantombs]

@torrefier asked: "i’m not used to being loved. i wouldn’t know what to do." / 𝐟. 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. (still accepting).

“You make it sound like there’s only one way to be loved. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you believed it.” That wonder hangs between them. The room quakes with doubt.

Oh. Cường, from over the heads of his mid-bloom lavender, slips his guest his all-too curious gaze. It is -- unearthing, is perhaps the word for it. It’s gentler than knife, not as unforgiving scalpel, but it’s like their skin’s peeling back to show Cường his insides, his insecurities and wants and their heart’s every pulse. That’s his effect, so he’s heard, but people are dramatic. No, he isn’t so intrusive. He only dares to care. “Well, this might surprise you,” he drawls thickly, head craning down again, “but there’s a thousand ways you can handle someone’s love. You can cook them dinner, or you can see them in your sappy little daydreams. They can share with you a joke, and you can laugh until it hurts. A million ways, in fact. But small or little, the how shouldn't matter. They’ll love it because they’ll see it. And they’ll love that it came from you.” Right. What a thought. Cường, star-seer, this wretched death-gazer preparing his medicine, knows. Hopes. And had frighteningly loved. Anyway... “Has someone caught your eye to be wondering silly questions like that?”

[swordince]

@torrefier sent : sender kisses receiver's knuckles. 4 da pwince

it's  every other  day  that  a  pirate  crew  stirs  some  form  of  chaos  in  eternia,  but  it  is  rare  that  it's  an  unfamiliar  crew.     the  kingdom  have  a ... slightly  tenuous  relationship  with  the  marines these days,  so  they're  left  out  of  such  matters where possible.     not  to  say  the  kingdom's  forces  are  shabby  by  any  means,  but  this  does  mean  that  the  people,  &  particularly  the  royal  palace,  are  a  little  high  strung,  to  say  the  least.

with  the  less  paranoia - led  aid  of  the  queen  &  the  prince,  the  strawhat  pirate  crew  has been  accepted  for  temporary  stay,  while  they  restock  &  figure out their next direction,  through  negotiations  in  royal  audience.     adam,  for  one,  took  one  look  at  the  crew's  captain  &  saw  no  reason  to  worry.     cringer  fled  the  throne  room  the  second  he  saw  a  walking  skeleton.     fair  enough.

the  poor tiger's  still  absent  when  adam's  been  left  to  " handle  the  rest " .     maybe  that's  for  the  best.

❛  i  know  the  king  &  queen  already  said  as  much,  but  really,  don't  take  the  rough  handling  too  personally.     i'm  pretty  sure  you've  actually  received  the  best  welcome  a  pirate's  ever  gotten  in  the  past  ten  years !!  so  —  bright  side !!  but  allow  me  to  unofficially  welcome  you  with  a  little  less  " no  funny  bussiness " ing.     ❜

here,  the  prince  does  a  pass  across  the  room,  shaking  hands  with  each  of  the  pirate  crew  as  he  goes  (  or,  attempting  to,  in  case  of  the  crossarmed  swordsman  —   that  one  he  pauses  at  for  a  second  before  sighing  in  " what  can  you  do "   &  settling  for  a  nod  ) . ❛  i  personally  would  like  to  ensure  your  temporary  stay  is  as  pleasant  as  possible,  so,  please,  anything  your  crew  needs,  get  it  run  it  by  me  &  i  guarantee  it'll  be  seen  to.     or  at  least  compromised  with.     ❜

&  at  the  last  of  the  sort - of  line - up  he  must  stall,  because  before  adam  has  the  chance  to  step  away,  the  hand  in  hand  is  turned  &  a  kiss  placed  upon  its  back.     the  words  of  gratitude  around  the  room  &  from  the  other  blond  himself  are  little  muddled  on  the  prince,  pure  delight  crashing  onto  him,  &  it  shows  in  his  brightened  grin.     oh,  he  can't  remember  the  last  time  he  got  to  be  on  the  receiving  end  of  one  of  those ... !!     if  teela  were  there,  she'd  remind  to  not  get  caught  in  any  charms,  or  " tricks "   as  she'd  prefer  to  call  them.     but,  teela  isn't  there,  so  her  hypothetical  warning  can  go  swim  with  a  sea king.

hand  retracted,  it  joins  the  other  in  resting  behind  his  back,  though  not  before  a  loose  fist  covers  him  clearing  his  throat.     ❛  blackleg  sanji,  right ??  i  believe  you,  for  one,  already  mentioned  something  about  seeing  our  kitchens  during  stay  negotiations ??  i'd  be  happy  to  show  the  way  after  seeing  all  of  you  to  the  guest  rooms.     ❜

[biomass01]

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[leahnardo-da-veggie]

False-Moon

So the publishers rejected my short story, but I figured yall might like it haha! Here:

The shining spectre of the holy sun dipped behind the clouds, and I watched it go. When the last ember of gold was dashed, I sparked my lantern and raised it up on its stick, twelve and a half men high. 

Night bloomed around me, darkness without the respite of a moon. Ours had fallen many springs ago, when the Dryads warred with the Harpies, who stole the moon to spite us. The gods had punished them, and there are no Harpies now, but no man nor god had been able to find the moon again. So we made do with my lantern.

Its post was carved living birch, taken from the corpses of fallen Dryad Warriors, each strip from a different corpse, held together by metal inlay. Under the flickering lamp-light, its runes were more serpent than silver, glinting and shifting slyly. It was a comfort, a stave against the weight on my duty.

The wind was bitter on the moors tonight, tall grass whipping at my ankles, chilling me through the layers of bark I bore. It would not hurt me, any more than the winter could kill an ancient oak, but I hated it all the same, for I had not the fortitude of my sleeping siblings, and it meant the night would be an even more unpleasant one.

I walked through the moor, lantern held high. it illuminated me in a too-small circle of gold. I was but a little sapling when the moon fell, of course, but I remembered the moon's blessing on me. It felt nothing like the thin lantern-light. 

The light had been silver, like my mother's greying hair, like the wolves that guarded our forest, like safety and wisdom. All I felt here was exhaustion. That, and fear. We did not venture out of the forest at night, and nothing separated me from the endless darkness. Nothing, except my false-moon.

I stopped in the middle of the field and looked up. I was not quite sure why I did as such, for there was nothing up there. I remembered a story my grandmother's grandmother told me, of a time when her grandmother had been a little girl, when there were stars in the sky, little shining dots like the freckles on a Human's skin, and when night was but an icy day, so perhaps it was a ghost of a memory. It was all gone now, in any case.

I wondered how long it would be ‘til the sun was gone too.

My steady feet carried me to the edge of the moor. Water rushed there, slick pebbles hard against the wood of my soles. I stepped into the stream, letting the flow part itself around my calves as I moved. My hands never faltered, never dropped low. They were aching, now, just a little.

Under my golden lantern, the river might well have been blood, the blood of all the wars we had held over the millennia. I could only catch the faintest glimpses of silver amidst the dark river, and that could have just been the moon's blood. 

I crossed the stream with no fuss, and stood on the ancient battlefield. Charred ground crumbled beneath my feet, a steady path made by my predecessors leading me forth. From within the tiny circle of illumination, I saw stumps of torrefied wood, my sleeping siblings dead from an agonising blaze. The elders had called it their due, for the dead-wood had sheltered our mortal enemies. I could only call it a sham, a shame, a horrible thing out of my nightmares. Treason, my elders would remind me, but true nonetheless.

The very air itself resisted my movements, as though the darkness did not want to be lit here, that the horrors that had occurred should not be revealed. In the daylight, perhaps, it would not have been quite so grim. The sun would have warmed the dead dirt, and I could have pretended not to feel the life-destroying salt beneath me.

Closing my eyes, I shook the unease off. It would find no mantle within me. Five years I had trained for this day, to do my people proud, to set the night alight. Yet, here I was, on the boundary between my people and our long-dead enemy, and I felt nothing but loss.

The ground was not burnt here, not yet. Grass still poked up between my toes, friendly and curious. My sleeping siblings, great oaks, smiled down at me, in the way they had done at home. I looked up at my little sphere of fire. It danced and gleamed within its cage of metal and glass, eager to unmake. 

I should have done what all my predecessors did, and broke that sphere, letting our wrath blaze, sending the Harpy-forest alight. It would please my elders, and brighten the endless darkness, returning that which the Harpies took from us for a brief night. 

I could have done what a few did, and walked away, returning my lantern unbroken and the forest unburnt. It would make the elders rage, and they would cast me out of their ranks, but at least I would not be a part of this travesty.

I did not do either of those things.

Instead, I set my stick firmly into the growing grass, where it stood tall. I got on one knee before my people's nemesis, and I bowed, the way I would have done at home, before my forest and my gods. My nose brushed against the dark earth, and I inhaled it. The scent was strange, with its char, yet familiar. It had once been a part of our forest too, once.

I knelt there, and I whispered a prayer. “Great old ones, my fallen brethren, my people's old enemies, hear me. I bring an apology. Forgive us, for our senseless violence. Forgive us, for making a farce of the moon's light with our fire. Forgive us, for we must end this cycle. The stars have all fallen. The moon is spirited away. When the sun is lost too, what hope will there be for any of our peoples? So— I take the first step and make amends. I am Entarai, daughter of warriors Jerai and Ilkoi, who were felled in the same battle that took your lives. I offer this lantern, and the fire within, and I beg you, with all my heart, forgive us and return our moon,” I said, not expecting a response.

There was none, of course. I had not the sensitivity of a druid, to hear the whispers of the dead, nor the skills of a necromancer to call them to me, so even if they had reached out, I would never know.

I got up, brushed the dirt out of the cracks on my bark. I pressed my cheekbones in a final orison, then turned and began the walk home. My miniature moon, the little lantern on its stick, disappeared behind me as I left the woods behind. 

Strangely, the darkness did not hold the same terror it once did.

My path back was marked by the indents of my feet, the path walked by me and every other lantern bearer for a hundred thousand moonless nights. Blind as I was, I could follow it back to my lands. I navigated the riverbank through its pebbles, my feet feeling blindly for the smooth slippery stone and the water that would follow. Whence I found it, I crawled on my hands and knees through the river, its coolness washing over me, soaking me to the core. 

Perhaps it was just a trick of my mind, but the stream no longer felt like blood.

[ingolds]

@torrefier. — “ a little blood never never hurt anyone. ”

     a bold statement for someone to make, theo thinks. bloodshed always hurts someone, whether it be the person losing their vitality or the individual striking the blow. for them, especially, every wound inflicted and death drawn out had pained them deeply, as if they had lived it themselves. perhaps they had, in a way - theo had felt the specific moment a soul departed countless times, life bleeding out of the body, the brain, with their hands hopelessly pressed to a gash oozing crimson that smelled like pennies. FEAR of the unknown. PAIN lighting up their neurons. terrible, empty silence when a heart gave out. even today, they are unsure which one hurt more: when they bled, or when someone else did.

     their ears ring with the memory of a sword sparking off their teeth, blood splattering across their chest. it isn't one they're glad to revisit, and when their gaze lands on sanji's, it's heavy. dark.

     “ agree to disagree? ” theo proposes, and when they smile to soften the blow, it doesn't quite reach their eyes. they don't fault him his opinion, but it is a truth they do not hold themselves. “ my past is steeped in blood. i don't know that more would be painless for me. ”

blood related prompts / accepting

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

I'm kind of brewing up a headcanon for engine aging where they have two ways they can age, and they're mutually additive. With time they age normally and at about the human rate give or take how hard they've been worked and chance and all those variables, up until they look about 50, no graying besides some slight tinges.

Then, they can also age, including their hairs going gray, as a measure of how conventionally obsolesced they are (for their power source -- all steam engines didn't instantly go gray once diesels were made practical in the 1940s, and diesels didn't come out of the shops gray seeing as electrics were quite popular in the late 19th century).

This is how the Iron Duke replica came out gray, and why Tornado didn't. However, she did still come out looking like an adult woman, and so will 84030; Beachy Head looks in his forties. In order for a new steam engine to come out baby-faced like high tech ones of the 1920s and 1930s did, you'd need to throw the ASTT book at them.

That kind of leads to a fight between various interests in the preservation/broader steam community. It would make running costs, maintenance, and emissions lower, but the fleet that wasn't retrofitted would age even further than they have since 1968, let alone their service days in the 1950s (kinda ruining the immersion during photo ops), while the academics who want to study fluid dynamics and fringe who just want steam of any sort in regular use with alternative fuels as a sustainability thing to replace all oil-dependent diesel traction (of course, renewable diesel does exist, but those of them that know about it would counter that we shouldn't be divesting foodstock to make fuels, when we have plenty of waste offgas and invasive plants to torrefy and burn instead) don't really care about the aesthetics of the locomotives of preserved lines in the middle of nowhere.`

I really the idea of their human features showing age relative to their technological obsolescence.