#was a little hard to write this...

[eorzeanflowers]

FFXIV WRITE 2023 Prompt 5: Barbarous

(Character: Snapdragon, Tatiava Eir Arctah, Timeframe: Before the Seventh Umbral Calamity CW: Graphic Violence, Extreme cruelty)

“Agent Arctah, in position. Ready to receive orders.” Tatiava lowered her visor and lifted her rifle to her eye. The scope revealed a simple camp of the Order of the Twin Adder. The target in question was a rank and file soldier of the Adders. A runaway member of Castrum Oriens, a soldier with little military intelligence. A simple mission really. He wasn’t even trying to hide. Tatiava had her sights already leveled on the man. 

The linkpearl chimed. “Agent Arctah, you have been given clearance to execute. He is not worth bringing in. No witnesses either, Agent… And make it brutal.” the calm male voice ended the connection after that last word.

“Understood.” Tatiava frowned, shifting over to the Adder talking to the turncoat soldier, discharging the first ceruleum round into the soldier’s skull. Chambering the next round, she flicked her sights to the next soldier, eliminating him efficiently. 

Over the next thirty seconds, and fifteen rounds later, only the turncoat remained. The man was on the ground quivering in fear. Tatiava took two quick shots, kneecapping him. He screamed in pain and started to crawl away. Tatiava shouldered her rifle and slid down the hill she was on. A quick jog to the camp later, and the turncoat had crawled several fulms away from where she had left him. 

She sighed, and did not disguise her approach. The pleas started, but as she stepped on the crying man’s lower back, they quickly ended with a squeak. She then took one of her tonfas to lift his head up by his chin, arching his back in a painful contortion. He started to plead again, seemingly earnestly. It fell on deaf ears. Tatiava did not want to hear what he was saying. It made her role in this harder.

Tatiava took her other tonfa, slamming it into his right shoulder, breaking the shoulder blade and causing the man to flinch and scream in pain. Pressing deeper into his back with her boot, she dropped the man face down into the dirt. She spun her tonfas in her grip and slammed both down hard into both of his sides. He almost leapt forward in the pain, his left hand trying to grip the dirt and rock to pull him away from his pain. Tatiava pitied him. But a turncoat is a turncoat. And this barbarous act was over. The sniveling man was so broken and defeated. The brutality her superior had requested was done.

She stepped off the man, watched with disinterest as he redoubled his efforts to crawl away. She pulled out her small pistol and finished the job she had started. The man crumpled so quickly it was almost comical.

“The job’s done, sir. Should we leave this camp as a warning, sir?” Tatiava sounded her linkpearl as she left, the carnage now starting to stink of death.

“Leave it. The higher ups want the warning to be loud and clear to any other deserters.”

Tatiava ended the connection, looking one last time at the camp. Orders were orders. A sour taste in her mouth started to form and she turned away and started to make her way to Oriens. Maybe soon she could get that promotion she was seeking, the hidden agent in Eorzea’s heart. The role she felt she was born to play. Not this… barbarity.

They were supposed to be the civilized ones.

[ducktracy]

sharing a very sage bit of advice from The Simpsons' own John Swartzwelder that i've been trying to hamper down in my writing and drawing alike. let your inner crappy little elf do his worst

[makingshortstorieslong]

A little zine about how I (still) have trouble saying the word aromantic.

I've never made a zine before! I was inspired to try it because @queerliblib mentioned a zine making night in an email. That hasn't happened yet - its on June 26th - but once I had the idea, I couldn't wait, lol. It was nice to put something down on paper and have the finished product to hold onto.

Image descriptions under the cut:

Page 1: Three tiny speech bubbles say: "Do you have a bf? Do you like anyone? What's your type?" A big speech bubble says, "Oh, I don't date." The big speech bubble comes from a heart colored like the aromantic flag. 

Page 2 says: I could say: "Actually, I'm... ...aromantic." ...aro." ...aromantic asexual." ...aroace."

Page 3 says: But there are a few problems:

aromantic: Has been misheard as "A Romantic".

aro: Opaque if you don't already know the term.

aromantic asexual: A mouthful! And sounds...scientific?

aroace: shares The Big Problem: it may require a vocabulary lesson!

Page 4 says: It doesn't actually come up too often! Which is fine. My coworkers, my neighbors, and strangers don't need to know I'm aroace. I just wish I could say it sincerely when I do want someone to know. 

Page 5 says: I always have to smile - laugh - hedge. "Oh, well, actually, I'm kind of like, aromantic? Basically just not interested."

It's been more than 8 years since the first time I said it out loud!  I'm certain of it, but I still can't say it like I mean it!

Page 6 says: The most memorable time I said "I don't date" the guy I was talking to asked "Oh are you asexual?" and I said "Yeah, actually. And aromantic." And we moved on.

That was nice. 

Page 7 says:

The times I've lead with "I'm aromantic" -- well, there's only one I really remember:

"I didn't use to think that was a real thing." 

Other than that time -- even if I use the word, I always explain what it means first! 

Page 8 says: I just hope that one day I'll feel like I can say, simply, confidently: "I'm aromantic" and "I'm aroace."

The words "I'm aromantic" are big and dark green, the color of the top stripe of the aromantic flag. The words "I'm aroace" are big and bright orange, the color of the top stripe of the aroace flag. Three hearts below the words are colored to look like the aromantic, aroace, and asexual flags. 

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[gojoest]

the second you tell satoru you’re pregnant, he vanishes — like, literally teleport-level gone — and reappears hours later with bags. so many bags. you’re pretty sure he cleared out an entire mall. he crashes into the bedroom like a tornado, tossing baby clothes in the air like it’s confetti, yelling “LOOK HOW TINY THIS IS!” every five seconds.

he’s cutting tags with his teeth, trying to fold onesies that end up looking like abstract art, and humming this completely off-key, made-up song about being “papa gojo, coolest dad in the world!” he’s glowing. absolutely unhinged. but glowing.

but then — then — there’s this tiny shift in him. he’s folding a soft little sleeper set, lips still curled in a smile, but his hands move a little slower. more gentle. he runs a thumb across the tiny little sleeve like he’s imagining holding someone impossibly small. his voice drops to a soft hum, and the ridiculous song fades into something quieter. warmer.

“i can’t believe there’s going to be a whole person… half me, half you. that’s wild”, he says, like it’s finally sinking in. his lips quiver slightly, his eyes soft.

you sit next to him, nudging him on the arm. “our baby will have the most extra dad on the planet”

“well of course”, he grins, his eyes glassy now. “i’m going to be so annoying. they’re going to roll their eyes every time i show up to school wearing sunglasses and a #1 dad’s shirt”

you smirk. “you mean you’re not already planning matching outfits?”

“oh i already ordered them”, he says proudly. “we’re going to slay preschool drop-off”

you laugh, but you also reach out and lace your fingers with his, both of you surrounded by little shoes, tiny clothes, toys, pacifiers, and a whole lot of love wrapped in absolute chaos.

[dxckgrxsonx]

uhm. jason todd who absolutely needs to jerk off in his car after taking you out on a date and kissing you goodnight for the first time.

he can’t wait until he’s home to finish. too worked up by you. so hard it aches. hips pushing up into his hand. fucking his fist. gasping your name. mouth parted. eyes rolled into the back of his skull. he’s almost disgusted with himself. jerking off in his car outside your place. all from something so goddamn simple. but it hurts.

he can’t help himself. you have no idea what you do to him.

[ahopefulbromantic]

What do you find patriotic about the themes of In Stars and Time?

Yayayay thank you for this question anon! I have SO MANY THOUGHTS!!!

I hope this won't get too long sorry in advance for the whole huge essay heh

I think first we need to get into what patriotism actually is. Because what some seem to propose is that it is only “supporting the political interests of a country you're a citizen of” which is not actually true or “glorifying it to the point of warping into nationalism and chauvinism”, which is extrremely untrue and frankly bonkers??? No, patriotism is love for your country, for your nation, for your people. And by extension, for your culture, your language, your history (loving means admitting to the dark sides of it btw), your home, all of it. It doesn't mean your national food, music, etc. have to be your favorite in the world, but it does mean you find value in them, you want to preserve and remember them, you want what’s best for them. (I love my brother. He gets on my nerves so much i wanna strangle him sometimes. You get the idea) so sorry if it's all obvious to you but i thought it needed to be clarified just in case

ISAT as a whole but especially Odile, Siffrin, and the King’s character arcs pose a question: how much of yourself is influenced by your origins? This topic is explored in many various forms, woven into the flesh of the narrative, ever-present (the differences and customs between countries a recurring topic in the party’s conversations, for example). The cultural exploration is often what drives the plot forward.

(Also the use of national religions is so great, it adds a yet another perspective to the problem, but it’s a whole nother can of worms for a whole nother day!)

While the Country is used mainly as the vehicle for themes of loss and loneliness, the so-called "Homesickness" (“Mal du Pays”),

its national aspect is never undermined. This is, among other themes, a story about being denied the connection to your roots, after all. If you think about it, the whole plot happened because of it, is undivorceable from it, and arguably serves to show how horrible such a thing might be.

This is also a brilliant way to explore what being a “country” means - it's not just about some territorial politics or conservative history classes. It's the whole environment you grow in as a human being.

The King and Siffrin are juxtaposed here as narrative foils, the King acting as a fallen Siffrin: now this is especially interesting, because in every other story like this i'd expect the King to be a chauvinist. But… surprisingly, he’s not. He is a patriot, in a sense. He does love his country and he does love Vaugarde, his actions are not motivated by a political self-righteousness, they are motivated by a love warped into obsession by fear. Don’t get me wrong, he is an irredeemable villain, but he’s as much a victim here. He isn’t condemned by the narrative. He gets his wish granted in the end (wishcraft and the Universe? add it to the aforementioned can of worms, not today but boy do i have things to say), he gets to remember his homeland. He gets justice, both in the form of punishment and compensation.

Siffrin nearly ends up like him, but doesn’t - not because he decides to abandon and forget his country forever! but because in being loved by his family he finds strength to conquer the fear of losing everything again. It’s a fine line, but i think insertdisc5 navigated it masterfully. Check out how Sif's internal monologue changes in regards to the Island. He has a history of running away from the painful things and thus not working on his massive trauma (one could make a case that the rewinds when he remembered his past weren't actually caused by the Universe but by him but again, worms. in a can.). But now in act 6 he finally stops looking away:

and you might even imagine a fondness in his eyes.

By the way, here's a tiny personal digression: i 100% believe that there are some nationalities that will inevitably be hit harder by this narrative than others - one of those being Polish. Which i happen to be! Now lemme tell you, at some point in act 3 i thought: "huh. i, too, am from a country that disappeared once". But it didn't really disappear now, did it. So then i thought, what if it had, and i were the only one left and i, too, couldn't remember anything? And then my heart weeped, and i grieved inside a little, and made a fanart, and didn't feel better afterwards. Yay!

But you know what? There's a cool quote from Shang-Chi saying: "you are a product of all who came before you" - and your own unique characteristics, one should add after Odile. Your past, and i mean the generations upon generations before you as well, is a part of who you are, whether you like it or not. We see it in Siffrin. No matter how the wishcraft tries to erase it, it can't. Because one way or another, he will remember. He will love the stars and know basic astronomy, he will be able to use wishcraft, he will dress in his ethnic clothes, he will love malanga and cheese samosas, he will instinctively swear in his language. It's a part of him:

And maybe that's what's actually the most patriotic aspect of ISAT's narrative - that you can't erase it. As much as you try, you will never be able to fully succeed. Because there are people who love it, still. Even if they will never remember it. After all:

[erraticprocrastinator]

A reminder to all my lovely fellow writers: progress is progress, even when it isn't. Writing four thousand words in a session is progress. Writing a hundred words in a session is progress. Removing an entire scene because it doesn't flow well is progress. Rethinking your plan for the plot in order to get unstuck is progress. Development looks different for every writer and every story.

[fynori]

me when im in a yearning competition and my opponent is kris dreemurr

[gunstellations]

home cook

[barefeet-only]

Say Shawarma Right Now

It was a rainy August afternoon when Talia arrived in Gotham. It wasn’t a shock that it was raining, it always rained in Gotham. A depressing city with a depressing atmosphere. Why her love and son were so obsessed with it she would never know. So while Talia was prepared with her umbrella as she walked through the streets, waiting for her son’s compatriots to notice she was in town, she did not expect the humidity. This city always found a way to make her miserable. 

While she waited for her son to come find her, Talia made her way to her favorite local street vendor. A wonderful immigrant woman from Iran who had married a Turkish man and moved to the United States with hopes of grandeur. She had a talent for seasonings unheard of on this side of the Atlantic and it always made suffering through her chattering worth it. 

Talia noticed him as she made her way down the international market. A tall man with broad shoulders and a fit build. Not too muscular but enough to prove he went to the gym regularly. He was laughing loudly as he talked to the shawarma lady while she made his food. The cook was talking about how her son had finally gotten a girlfriend but forgot her birthday and was desperately trying to make it up to her. 

“Say wallah right now!” He jokingly exclaimed. 

“Wallah! Now I have a moping son and a no good husband stinking up the house right now. What I wouldn’t give to have a good boy like you as my child!”

Talia was on edge, something about this man was familiar to her. She couldn’t place where, but instinctually the assassin knew she knew this man. In her line of work, being able to place a face was the difference between life and death.

Talia took a seat at a nearby bench and began studying his side profile. He had thick black hair with an undercut and longer bangs on the front, a black stud on his lower lobe, and lightly tanned skin that would allow him to pass as white as long as he stayed out of the sun. While his piercing blue eyes should have been the first thing anyone would notice about him, it was the small curving scar behind his ear that instantly clued Talia in on his identity. 

“How much longer do you plan on staying in Gothman Danyal?” The cook asked. 

“Ah, I'm only here for another week now. Looks like we are closing the deal and I’ll be heading home.”

Danyal gave a cheerful smile to the lady as she handed him his food. 

“It’s partly why I came here to visit you, Mina. No one back home knows how to season like you do.” 

He leaned in and spoke low, “Or give me as good a discount.”

Mina tsked and smacked the man, “What a beggar! Got yourself a big fancy job and you’re still here asking for money off!”

Danyal winked at her and took a bite of his food, groaning in appreciation. 

Mina smiled, “Well I’m going to miss you dear boy. Please come visit some time.” 

“Boy?! How many times do I have to tell you I’m thirty!”

Danyal smiled genuinely and handed her a bright green business card, “But of course I’m going to visit. Here, this has my number on it, remind me to come visit in a couple months when you realize your best customer needs to help you pay your bills.”

She took the card and giggled. 

“Green? Really Danyal, you ought to be more professional with the job you have, this is why I call you boy. That and you barely look a day past twenty-three.” 

Danyal giggled and walked away, taking his meal with him. Talia was no longer hungry anymore. After a few moments she stood up and slowly followed him. She needed to know why he was in Gotham, she needed to know why he was alive. 

As they walked through the streets Talia noticed that Danyal was dry, the rain hadn’t stopped the entire time she had been in Gotham yet somehow Danyal had not a drop of moisture on him. He must have some device on him that allowed him to stay dry, there was no natural explanation. Dangerous she thought. Yet the moment the thought occurred to her, she recoiled at the idea. Danyal was a pathetic assassin, he had no talent for the craft at all and after all this time he finally instilled caution in her? Something was wrong, and Talia was determined to figure out what. If nothing else, she would finally achieve her greatest regret and kill Danyal herself. 

<- prev | next ->

[stiltonbasket]

Short crack Prompt:

Wei Wuxian inherited many things from his mother, but he got his father's hair, thick, long, lustrous and silky. His hair has always been longer than most and darker than midnight. He doesn't want to cut it, but hates it coming onto his face, on his hands on his sword while he's doing anything, THUS, ✨he braids it✨.

It's a long thick braid, reaching below his thighs and sitting on his shoulders without his permission. Whenever he turns around or is sword drilling, it swishes behind him like it has a life of it's own.

Bonus: wwx in braid is many people's gay / straight awakening. Jc and yzh has to keep away suiters (and creeps) behind wwx , cuz he's oblivious to other's crush on him. As he's busy looking at lwj 🙃

"Lan-xiong," Nie Huaisang says one afternoon, while Lan Wangji is trying to meditate in the courtyard behind the Yashi. "There's something you ought to know before the guest disciples get here."

Lan Wangji squints at him.

"What is it?" he says flatly. Knowing Nie Huaisang as he does, he guesses that Huaisang intends to relay some piece of gossip; but as telling tales about others is strictly forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang ought to know better than to attempt such a thing before the clan's Head of Discipline.

"It's about Yunmeng Jiang," Nie Huaisang says.

"What about Yunmeng Jiang?" Lan Wangji has had little to do with the cultivators of Yunmeng Jiang, but he doubts that a class of their most talented disciples could cause much trouble at the lectures. "Have Jiang-zongzhu's daughter and her shidimei decided not to come?"

Nie Huaisang waves his fan in dismissal. "Oh, nothing so serious as that. It's only—well, have you heard of Wei Wuxian?"

"Briefly. He is Jiang-zongzhu's head disciple, is he not?"

The aforementioned Wei Wuxian's instatement as head disciple was an occasion of some note in the Jianghu, Lan Wangji remembers. For one thing, Wei Wuxian is not a bloodline member of the clan: though this is not so uncommon amongst the latest generation of head disciples, especially in sects where clan disciples are not the majority. For another, Wei Wuxian was apparently disfavored by his shimu from the day Jiang Fengmian first brought him to Lotus Pier at the age of five—and when the news of his appointment reached Lanling Jin last year, there was a great deal of murmuring about how Yu Ziyuan had taken it.

"He is the head disciple," Nie Huaisang says gravely, "but that is of no importance here. The trouble is—oh, it's just a word, don't look like that—is that Wei-gongzi is a calamitous beauty, and his shidimen wrote to me asking whether the Cloud Recesses would be willing to assist in his protection during the lectures."

He holds out a letter and passes it to Lan Wangji. "Here. Jiang-xiong explained everything."

Much to Lan Wangji's regret, the letter's contents are exactly as Nie Huaisang described them. Apparently, Wei Wuxian—referred to in the letter as da-shixiong, as it had been penned by Jiang Wanyin and his biaodi Yu Zhenhong—is both too handsome for his own good and dangerously charming; and as a result, Jiang Wanyin professes, his shixiong leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes.

The last time we visited Lanling—which we would not have done if we had any choice, but the fact of my sister's betrothal ensured that we had precious little say in the matter—five of Jin Zixuan's cousins came to blows at the sight of my shige, each insisting that she and no other would be engaged to him in the future, Jiang Wanyin writes. One of the girls jilted her intended on the spot, vowing that she no longer wished to see him again as long as Wei Wuxian walked the earth; and her intended tore off the yaopei she had gifted him and flung it into the nearest koi pond before declaring that she need not worry about keeping their engagement, for he no longer had any love for her and now wished to bring our da-shixiong into his clan as a bride.

Lan Wangji looks up in dismay. "What?"

"Read on," Nie Huaisang advises grimly. "It gets worse."

Yesterday, he stole a flower from a local bun-girl and went to market with the bloom behind his ear; and later, we received news that the sight of him caused six carriages, nine produce wagons, and two riders on horseback to crash when he stopped to cross the street. He returned home after buying all the ruined produce and helping the women who were bruised in the melee, without the slightest idea that it only occurred because the driver of the first carriage was blinded by the sunlight reflected upon his hair; and the next morning, Fuqin received so many petitioners asking for Wei Wuxian's hand in marriage that he hung a sign at the gates to announce that he would entertain no suitors until after Wei Wuxian comes of age.

"Guanyin in heaven," Lan Wangji hears himself croak, stunned. "How—?"

Nie Huaisang shrugs. "If you ask me, it's the hair."

Lan Wangji shakes his head and looks back down at the letter in disbelief.

Thus, it is my hope that you will inform the second Young Master Lan about the two latest incidents, and impress upon him the importance of restraint in the Lan disciples—and in all the others who will come to study under Lan-laoshi—well before we arrive. (This passage is written in a more graceful hand, likely Yu Zhenhong's.) Our seventh shimei once fell off the pier and into the lake because da-shixiong smiled at her, and no trouble came of it because Lingxi-shimei is a strong swimmer; but if Lan-laoshi's disciples keep falling down the mountain because da-shixiong braided his hair instead of putting it up, someone might truly end up coming to harm.

"This beggars belief," Lan Wangji says doubtfully. "Can one man truly...?"

"I've seen him," Nie Huaisang replies. "And yes. Keep reading."

"'And if it would not be too much trouble,'" Lan Wangji reads aloud, "'please also consult Lan-er-gongzi or Zewu-jun on the subject of da-shixiong's safety.' Safety?"

Nie Huaisang winces. "Wei-xiong is very lovely to look upon," he offers, "and from his dress, it is not always clear that he has the backing of a great sect. Some men do not take well to being told no by a beauty."

"And by some men, you mean the men of Lanling Jin?"

"One never knows where such dangers may come from," Nie Huaisang tells him. "But if you ask me, you ought to keep an eye on the Jins anyway. Apart from Jin Zixuan, I doubt there's a single man in this year's course who doesn't hate Wei Wuxian for enchanting all the Jin girls."

Lan Wangji nods and rises to his feet. "I will handle this matter," he says decisively, turning towards the open door to the Lanshi. "You write back to Jiang-gongzi, and inform him that the Cloud Recesses will be duly prepared for his shige's arrival."

The Lan disciples are prepared accordingly; for over the next week, Lan Wangji orders all the male disciples between fifteen and twenty-five to copy the sect precepts concerning restraint, and ensures that none of the maiden disciples over the age of twelve will have cause to meet Wei Wuxian save for his own sect sisters. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Wei-gongzi is said to be twice as brilliant as he is beautiful: which means that Shufu is easily persuaded to place him in the advanced lectures reserved for disciples who would be hampered by study with the rest of their age-mates. Lan Wangji is the sole male disciple allowed to attend those lectures; so for much of his time at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian's only classmates will be a pair of married women and Lan Wangji himself.

Lan Wangji thinks better of the arrangement three weeks later, when he is carried to the infirmary after meeting Wei Wuxian on the mountain path and falling thirty feet into a copse of trees below.

"I'm so sorry. Lan-er-gongzi, I'm really sorry," Wei Wuxian gasps, gripping Lan Wangji's clenched fists as Xiongzhang and one of the healers set his broken legs at the other end of the bed. "You can hold on as tightly as you like, all right? Zewu-jun is nearly finished."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes tightly.

"What have I done?" he hears Wei Wuxian mutter to himself. "I'm so clumsy. I'll look after you until you're better again, second Young Master, just say the word and I—"

"Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji feels his brother's fingers twitch against his knee.

"What?"

"Not—not Lan-er-gongzi," Lan Wangji wheezes. "You may call me Lan Zhan."

Wei Wuxian beams at him with tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "You're not angry?"

"No."

His eyes fall shut again, provoking a sound of utter desolation from Wei Wuxian. "Here, I'll take that ribbon off," Wei Wuxian says soothingly, his rough hands stroking Lan Wangji's hot forehead. "Your ears are burning up. You'll feel better as soon as it's gone."

At the foot of the bed, Lan Xichen makes a choking sound: but Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to care.

"Mm," Lan Wangji sighs, smiling. "Thank you, Young Master Wei."

[namisweatheria]

I feel like we don't discuss Nami's relationship with gender enough. Her entire character is so deeply informed by being a girl in a male-dominated pirate world and it's so interesting and so worth talking about.

The background creepiness of Bad pirate crews, which are most of them, how they tend to not have any female crew members at all, how they beckon any pretty young woman around to come play with them and join them. It's real bad. It's also like, a totally 2 dimensional portrayal of evil that is reserved for the most background of background characters.

However I think their ubiquity says a lot about how piracy is meant to be perceived by the public in One Piece, and is one of the strongest indicators of how prevalent misogyny is in-world.

It's very normal in One Piece for regular island inhabitants to have never met a Different class of pirate in their life. There's no reason for them to withhold judgement that maybe these pirates won't be like every crew that attacked before, and to wait and judge them by their actions. I mean frankly that would be irrationally weak self-preservation.

There are people who live peacefully under the flags of Yonkos who protect them, and feel loyalty and gratitude to them for it, but that seems to only be thing with very big name pirates. The East Blue, being the weakest and least populated, has no such plethora of powerful people and resulting turf wars.

So. Nami. Is very clearly implied to have never met any Different pirates before. I'm thinking about what that means. About how every group of pirates she stole from were creepy, dangerous men. How she started going out stealing when she was still a young child. How she didn't have a mother anymore to guide her or comfort her. How Arlong would grab her chin inappropriately, talk about her as a "human female", as property, and god knows what else.

How all the men in Arlong's crew treated her patronizingly, pretending they're all friends, teasing her and playing at respect when really not a single one of them ever stuck up for her or hesitated to accuse her of betrayal. Who were always ready to kill her if she refused to cooperate. Who grabbed her and intimidated her when they felt like it.

That's what she had to come back to after a close call with stealing from other predatory men, instead of the relief of home there was a dark, cramped room filled with endless hours of misery and isolation and blood. Where any one of her captors could barge in and demand new maps, work faster, where did you go, you took too long again this time. Endless threats and incursions.

I'm thinking about that her fight scene in Alabasta, where she tumbles and rips off her cape and uses it to catch her enemy's spikes, before leaping to her feet and running out the back door, all in one moment. How it makes her enemy reconsider her and think, "so the girl's not a total novice at fighting after all." What that implies about her experiences as a young thief. The times she wasn't fast or clever enough and had to fight and claw her way out. Why she always carried a staff and a knife. Why she was the only one before Chopper who had any medical knowledge or experience.

You know she was stitching herself up. And the weapons, how do you think she learned to use those? If any of the Arlong Pirates helped her it wasn't out of kindness and it wasn't gentle.

Then I think about Nojiko, and Bellemere's memory, and the only softness in a hard life. How easily Nami connects to every young woman experiencing hardship that she meets. How completely she dismisses the struggles of men unless they mean something to her and are going through something terrible. The way that Nami only has sympathy for women and children is easily noticeable in-text, but it's also something confirmed in those words by the author. And it's clearly because of the life she lived, the men who had all the power and only abused it, who saw her as nothing but a girl to take advantage of, without anyone aside from her sister clearly knowing and caring about any of it.

Nami clearly isn't bitter, she doesn't think the world owes her recompense, on the contrary she knows she is far from the only person in the world to suffer the things she has suffered. She is endlessly reaching out and kind, but only to those that she isn't sure would get help without her. Certainly, before Luffy, Usopp, and Zoro, no man ever reached out a hand to her without an ulterior motive.

I think when she sees a girl in trouble, a girl biting her lip to hold in a scream of grief, a girl running in the woods away from a monster, a girl captured by pirates, she sees someone who no one is coming for. Who no one will stick up for. A person without allies in a world against her. Whether it's actually true in this case or not, she runs straight for that girl anyways every single time.

[mamawasatesttube]

i keep thinking to myself, god we have got to put tim drake in a time loop. but also time loops just feel so perfectly like speedster bullshit, yknow? therefore lemme just smash these thoughts together like particles at cern aaannddd--

let's put tim in a time loop that bart accidentally caused. a tim loop, if you will :) specifically, tim loop where kon dies at the end and bart just kind of subconsciously went nope! and "if anyone can fix it it's tim right?" bc bart has. a normal amount of faith in his friends but also a normal amount of feelings about himself being useless to save kon bc he couldn't in infinite crisis.

and bam suddenly tim is having the worst tuesday of his life like 20 times in a row. yippee! it's bart-powered but he doesn't even know. he did it on accident. bart in the loop doesn't know what's going on. it just resets every time the ending is something bart can't accept (kon dies again). tim tries to sacrifice himself to save kon once but somehow that doesn't break the loop either (bart refuses to accept that). how long can tim go through a time loop before he goes completely bonkers bananas insane? only tim(e) will tell.

and, worse: how many times can tim watch kon die? how many times can he beg kon to value his own life, to get it through his head that being a hero doesn't mean he needs to die for the world, that there must be another way? how many times can he watch kon sacrifice himself to save others and know that if he stops kon, those people might die?

how fucked up would he be if he ever actually found out just how suicidal kon has been his entire life?

extra fun: cassie takes one look at him every time and instantly clocks that he's feeling like shit, but every time she forgets why, because the loop resets. tim is being perceived but it never lasts. this will drive him crazy so fast. he's gonna start acting out and snapping at her for being concerned because what's the POINT of talking about his feelings if everything resets ANYWAY. this will definitely not come back to bite him in the end or anything, right?

(kon-el dead wife giggling in the sunshine and playing under the sheets montage plays over and over for both tim and bart. this probably means nothing.)

[devilry-revelry]

At the start of Veilguard, if you run with a female Rook, it’s girl squad right up until you recruit Lucanis.

Once he’s picked up, there is chatter about how Harding is a terrible cook, how Bellara is usually making meals, and there is almost immediately a grocery list posted in the kitchen, written by Lucanis.

Then he goes shopping for the ladies.

I know this can’t be a new take, but I love the idea of these ladies surviving off of girl dinner, and Lucanis is just… horrified.

Bellara just snuck in to the pantry to grab her fourth apple of the day.

Neve had a handful of almonds and coffee for dinner.

Harding just made… something that no one else could stomach. She barely even ate her portion before eating a stale heel of bread.

Rook was in the kitchen at midnight eating a cucumber, and only a cucumber. No oil, no vinegar, or salt, pepper. She didn’t even chop the damn thing up.

Fresh from the Ossuary, and immediately on a new job, Lucanis decides the best way to success is making sure the ladies of the Lighthouse are properly fueled to save the world. It starts with a grocery list, and a new house rule: everyone comes to dinner. No exceptions.

[tylidae]

A I L U R A N T H R O P Y 1 0 1