#not even be able to give your entire support in negotiations and stuff

[escapedaudios]

So you're tired of making boyfriend ASMR and you want to move on to making cinematic audio roleplays huh? You came to the right place hot stuff, here's a crucial tip. If you want to make cinematic audios, you have to collab. This is non-negotiable. You need multiple voices to make your story feel cinematic and grand in scale.

"But Escaped!" you say, "I'm too embarrassed to ask, who would want to collab with me? I'm nobody".

Shut the fuck up you sexy-voiced SON OF A BITCH. You are somebody! You are a creative person with a unique vision. If you show passion for your own creativity, your passion will spread to other people and they will enthusiasticaly join.

"But collabs take longer, the algorithm will cut my reach if I don't upload 3 times a week!" you say.

Fuck the algorithm. Also that's not even true, just get good engagement early on from your core fanbase and the algorithm will give you reach. The problem is that you'll never get a core fanbase in the first place if your audios fucking suck. Make audios that don't suck and you'll get reach. Desmond ASMR uploads once a century and still gets reach because his audios are actually worth getting excited for.

"But Escaped, I don't need to collab! I can do lots of voices!" you say, "Also, why are you in my house with a bag of frozen lemons?"

"DELUSION!" I shout, as I beat the shit out of you with a bag of frozen lemons for five minutes. You might be able to do multiple voices, but you should only voice multiple characters when they have radically different voices, and even then limit it to one or two additional characters. People will pick up on the common denominators in your voice's pitch and timbre. Eventually it will always sound like you are a mad man talking to himself. Your audience won't envision the scene, they will envision you sweating inside of a cramped sound booth. I promise, people can tell when you are talking to a different version of yourself with a whacky accent. It's confusing and sounds cheap.

"But Escaped! I feel bad asking for other VAs to voice all those lines!" you protest. Fucking why? Kill that mindset with a gun. Voice actors love to voice act, most find it refreshing and fun to be able to act without the added responsibility of having to write, edit, and promote the audio. People especially love to play villains, losers, and other characters that they can play free of the pressure of having to be likable or endearing to the audience.

"BUT ESCAPED!" you say, nervously eying my lemon bag "I... I don't need to write supporting character dialogue, I can just leave pauses for implied dialogue like with the Listener character right?"

My fury reaches its apotheosis. I swing the lemon bag with the strength of twenty-seven demigods. When you wake up from your coma a month later, I spit in your face. Implied dialogue is there for the audience to self-insert, it is for Listeners only. What the fuck are you doing using it for supporting characters? I should kill you. It makes you sound like you're talking to invisible, silent ghosts. It makes the listener feel like they're a prisoner, being spoken to by their deranged captor. It makes you look like a lonely dweeb loser who couldn't get anyone to come to his birthday party. And in fight scenes? Forget about it. Swinging your fists at silent, invisible enemies? Being like "Oh yeah, you think you're tough? Take this!" at no one? Motherfucker who are you talking to?

I promise, having just one or two additional voices give a handful of lines will elevate your story far beyond what it would have been without them. You listeners will feel like they are part of a much bigger, living world rather than a strange hollow world where only one human being in the entire universe has the ability to speak.

Anyway have fun! Mwah mwah mwah, I love you, go make some kick ass audios.

[iolaussharpe-24]

Hiii, love your header ^^ anyways once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool!!)

Aw! Thank you! There's actually a pretty funny story behind that. I initially set up this blog to read more fanfiction and to support my favorite blogs. It was blank and was going to stay blank. Then, one of the ones at the top of my list blocked me because it was a blank blog. Cue panic mode. Now I post stuff and that blog unblocked me. However, I do think "scarily obsessive" is a perfect way to describe how I am with their fics. (I don't know if I should name them or not, because I love this person, but I don't know if this would be rude or not.) Their @ is in the comments of my pinned post with a bunch of other wonderful blogs I love; so please give those guys a look!

I have this game that I like to play with myself where I put in a dvd and the old previews then try to guess what movie's being advertised before it says. This game also works when channel surfing or coming into a room behind somebody else. Just walk into the room, look at the screen, and try to guess what's on before you can be told. Sometimes I can get it just from audio without looking at the screen in a couple of seconds.

When I was in kindergarten, a lot of people thought I was really smart (joke's on them) because I was HUGE into dinosaurs. There was a time when I was really little (before school) and I was in a Toys R Us looking at dinosaurs. An older kid came up to me and started talking to me and I just start naming things. Like, the crazy names I shouldn't have been able to pronounce. I'd go on rants identifying different types of ceratopsians on sight: triceratops, styracosaurus, protoceratops, centrosaurus and other things. I knew all of my sauropods and pterosaurs, and ichthyosaurs. In the second grade I had a grasp on the theory of evolution that rivaled my teacher's (but she was kind of dumb about a lot of things; I liked her but she had the entire grade level on her one time because she asked our class "Do you see the moon during the day? Of course not!"). Back in those days I wanted to be a paleontologist and I dressed up as one for career day. No one knew what I was supposed to be. Not even the teachers. Even though I was holding a real fossil and walking around with a picture of myself with Dr. Robert T. Bakker; an actual paleontologist I had the pleasure of meeting when I was young. He signed a few books of his I had, and I won a drawing of a deinonychus he did right there in that room while he was doing a lecture. I was so into dinosaurs that I made a book full of printouts from the internet. Kept it up for a few years and the binder is like two inches thick and FULL. I'm not into it all anymore, but I do still love dinosaur movies and shows and I did keep a lot of that information in my head. (I love the Jurassic Park/Jurassic World franchise, I loved 65, I grew up with Dino Riders and Dino Squad holds a very special place in my heart; just to name a few.)

I'm really good at REMEMBERING stuff. Not stuff you told me five minutes ago, I'll forget that in a heartbeat. But you ask me about my birthday fifteen years ago, I can tell you things people said to me word for word. Ask me about what I did when I was in school, I can tell you the classes I liked and hated. I can tell you what teachers made me feel like I mattered and which ones made me feel like the dirt under dirt BY NAME.

I love singing. I was in choir from fifth grade all the way through my senior year of high school. I did solos for a few concerts and events, and I can't not listen to music when I'm not talking to someone. I don't like silence. Even in the car, I'll be talking to someone and I'll cut myself off mid-word to start singing if the radio plays a song I like. I've been told that I would be good at Name That Tune.

Double edged sword: I'm very creative. My mind is always coming up with new scenarios and characters and worlds. BUT I'm not a good enough writer to put everything down so it all just rattles around in my skull like a maraca forever. Plus, because these things come to mind all the time, I tend to zone out a lot. When I say I think of stuff all the time, I mean ALL THE TIME. If you'd ever wondered why my blog is so chaotic, this is why. My train of thought is a rubber bouncy ball. An accurate representation of my brain is in Sharkboy and Lavagirl:

Thank you for sending me this! I'll admit, I'm pretty negative towards myself most times, so this took me forever to answer. I've been on it all day.

Plus, I accidentally misread the ask and wrote five very different answers because my eyes did not read "Five things you like about yourself" they read "five things about yourself" and I didn't catch the mistake until I started proofreading. So I had to start from scratch.

[less-than-three-3]

my shin megami tensei retrospective (after nocturne)

For the past 2 years I’ve gotten into and fallen in love with SMT, starting with Nocturne (yes I did start with the remaster I know I’m a sinner) and pretty much playing every game available on the 3DS and Switch (besides Devil Survivor). I don’t aim to do a like armchair dev game design analysis thing here, but I do want to just talk about and think about what sucked me into these games, what didn’t really land, and why I would or wouldn’t recommend them. There will probably be spoilers so this is the warning, but I’ll keep it fairly lean since there are so many different endings of all these games anyways.

What I’ll just get out of the way first is that I have not played (nor do I really have the desire to) persona, but I’ve watched plenty of people play them from my friends to internet funnymen. I know there’s like some beef between persona and smt fans for some reasons or another and I just like am not interested in that either. I really don’t care for social sim/visual novel stuff and high school tropes and all that jazz, so I know I will not really enjoy the parts of the game that are not the combat. But it’s just not for me, I got nothing really that much against persona. Just a disclaimer for the rest of this piece.

The combat and constant evolution and team building is probably the main aspect of SMT that keeps me drawn in. This is an entirely uncontroversial take as I know plenty of people go “you play SMT for the master class gameplay and just accept the rest as ok”. I’ll come back to that claim specifically in a bit, but I want to really emphasize about how great the gameplay loop is.

First and foremost is demon fusion and negotiation. You like pokemon evolution? You like the constant feeling of growth and strength? You like little mothmen calling you a dipshit? The persistent cycle of leveling up, fusing demons, and learning new skills makes for incredibly addicting progression as you power up. At every step of the way I would be looking at my compendium and planning my next fusions and how to fuse them or who I am willing to turn into fodder for the new guy. Demons naturally falling off and being harder to level is a genius way to encourage that kind of loop, even though later in the game you usually can unlock a power to just keep up your old demons stat-wise (especially useful for support abilities). It does usually slow down by the endgame as leveling becomes a little harder and demons become more sparse but I never really find that to be much of a hindrance because at that point I am just trying to get to the finish line anyways. Negotiations are a great mechanic for giving each demon personality and silly bits, even though it can sometimes sort of be a crapshoot for what the right answer is, but I never feel bad for missing out a recruitment because you lose nothing and can just try again in the next encounter. 

The pace of the game fits this very well, you’re never stopped in your tracks for particularly extended periods of time usually, and even if you are I never felt like it was nearly as grueling as in, say, some other games. This does mean that many people won’t really find the plot and characters particularly mindblowing since, though that doesn’t mean the stories are generally put on the backburner, there just isn’t that much time spent building it all explicitly. In a post-souls, botw, etc. world, I think people can generally accept that a game’s world and characters can be pretty well built even if they don’t have a movie’s worth of cutscenes. The plots of the games aren’t or shouldn’t be barebones or minimal in any way, I just mean that not having 30 minutes of cutscenes between dungeons and 10 different activities to do before the next combat segment really helps make the gameplay loop shine.

And what good is the teambuilding if the combat doesn’t work? Luckily, Press Turn is an insanely satisfying and punishing combat mechanic rewarding knowledge and strategy while also being able to severely punish thoughtless or mashing (or unlucky) players. It’s slightly deeper than type advantages in like Pokemon or a weapon triangle or something because you can not only gain turns but very easily lose turns, but still simple enough that you can brute force your way through many encounters and some bosses. But some bosses can be very mean, in good ways and bad ways, and having that extra little aspect to play with means boss design can get really interesting. Or they can Almighty spam. 

It doesn’t really seem like it adds that much but I think Press Turn (or rather, the lack thereof) is pretty much the reason I really didn’t get into Soul Hackers and thus didn’t finish it though I gave it a good shot. Even if the overall strategy might be similar, I felt that the lack of Press Turn (in addition to the rest of the game being a little antiquated) was really noticeable, even if I couldn’t exactly articulate why. Strange Journey Redux is a similar kind of example, though it does have Demon Co-Op which was an acceptable change of pace to me, though I definitely still would have just preferred a Press Turn game.

The dungeon crawling is another pretty well known aspect of these games, and I can totally get why. They aren’t like “puzzles at literally every turn” kind of dungeons, but they are generally pretty interesting to explore and map out. Some puzzles can go fuck themselves (teleporters and the wind puzzle from 5...) but overall they are incredibly well designed. They just weren’t what drew me into the game per se. Just a neat aspect that I think easily gets really overlooked in the era of open world games and hallways. If you want interesting areas to scope out in a dungeon crawler, SMT is pretty good for that.

SMT, of course, has also a reputation for being hard as nails. And I agree, there’s a lot of really fucking tough bosses and dungeons to get through no matter which game. But, unless you are SMT4 Minotaur/Medusa or Mem Aleph or SMT5 Shiva (ok that one’s a superboss but still), it never felt like a bad kind of challenge. You can figure out what you’re doing wrong, what you’re lacking either in terms of strategy, team comp/moves, or equipment. And if you’re around the level you should be you can get through it. I wouldn’t really say it’s casual-unfriendly, though it is sort of why I can hesitate to recommend the series to those less familiar with turn based combat, just demanding of your full attention and proper planning. 

The little changes between the games do a lot to keep these aspects fresh too. The Magatamas in 3 and the Aogami essences in 5 give you a lot of freedom for building the protag, for example. Smirk is possibly the best addition (and worst removal?) to the series in my opinion though, even if it was a little overtuned in 4, but in both 4 and Apocalypse it not only made hitting weaknesses/crits even more satisfying, but with Smirk’s immunity to crits and statuses there is an extra layer to planning when to do your big damage turns instead of just wailing on the opponent every single turn. It also makes some bosses fucking tough (looking at you, Minotaur), and can very very easily turn the tides of a battle one way or the other. It’s such a cool mechanic that I am a little sad that it is locked on the 3DS when they didn’t bring it back for 5. 

Another thing that I think 4 and Apocalypse excelled at was actually the story. Yeah, the thing that everyone says is mid. I know a lot of true diehard SMT fans say Nocturne is the best but I don’t really get it. I think in Nocturne, the Reasons are interesting moreso than the Law and Chaos dichotomy that is usually present but at the same time all of the alignment reps are just kind of psycho (which, sure, understandable given the circumstances) and I just feel like siding with the sane person who wants to make the world back to normal is really the thing that makes most sense. I felt like maybe people just consider the Nocturne story as the best philosophically but I didn’t really care for it as a device for driving my decisions and investment in the plot. Strange Journey Redux was fine? Nothing too much to write home about it’s pretty much even more straightforward than Nocturne. 

4′s Law/Chaos/Neutral may not have been exactly the deepest things in the world, but I felt like the characters were all at least charming, and it has by far the most unique setting and worldbuilding out of the bunch. Its incorporation into Apocalypse is what really sets it apart. Playing the events from an entirely different point of view, as someone living in wasted Tokyo instead of the Samurai coming down from above to save the world, on top of having some of the best characters, genuinely tense, emotional, and interesting scenes and plot points easily makes the duology my favorite of the bunch. YHVH being the most creative and interesting boss out of them all also helped.

On the other side of the pond is 5 which, I mean, sure is a plot? I never really ever cared for any of the school portion, and actively felt like a specific major plot point at school and the resulting events were absolutely absurd and avoidable and just... fucking stupid. But I kind of like the alignment reps a little? More than most people online, I think. I don’t really know how to say it but I just never really felt wowed by a lot of the plot points even towards the end, and like I said above the entire first like third was just pointless. So if this was your first or 2nd SMT game I can totally get why you would be like “yeah the story is just ok but...”

And this is kind of why I find it hard to actively recommend this series to everyone I know. It’s a series that sucks me in for so long and I just want to keep going back, but it’s also a series that I think has some aspects that can turn people off. It just so happens to hit all my buttons and avoids all the bullshit I actually don’t like (and also I have 3DS so I can play the best one). In the end, if you’re a JRPG fan I could not recommend SMT enough. If you liked Persona, I will hesitate before mentioning it, because it is missing some parts that you probably liked from those games? And even the games that are trying to be more like Persona just kind of end up being like... SMT5. But hey, maybe you’ll fall in love with the pace of the gameplay loop more than in Persona. Just maybe get a 3DS with those games before eshop fully shuts down.

[ducktracy]

Are you going to be alright?

if this is in regards to the WB Discovery stuff (since the ask before this in my inbox was asking about that), yeah, i work for Nickelodeon and not WB so i’m not directly affected (at least right now, who knows what could happen in the future—this isn’t just an issue limited to WB) but it’s very heartbreaking and scary watching the work of my friends and colleagues get thrown away into oblivion or uncertain purgatory. yeah i know the stuff that got taken off of HBO Max can be pirated but what about the target audience who’s too young to know how to do that or their parents who are too oblivious? not everyone knows how to do that/that it’s an option to begin with. and don’t even get me started on the projects getting killed in development or finishing up but never seeing the light of day. it‘s an awful awful awful feeling being powerless in your own industry, but i’m hoping this inspires a lot of change and momentum because animation workers and fans alike are pissed off

[writerbuddha]

Hey

Your blog is interesting. I do see where you're coming from in regards to Buddhism attachment and the Jedi and stuff. I do agree about them having no choice but to enter the war because of the implications. Although the Clones are legally slaves as they are considered possessions of the State. The Jedi might have respected them and not persoanlly enslaved them, but neither fact changes their status. However, I can see the other side as well. I understand why people have an issue with the whole "attachment" thing and how its applied. I mean the Jedi are in the right for joining the Clone Wars, despite the status of Clones, yet Anakin is bad and wicked and selfish and greedy for wanting to help his enslaved mom. The implication that leaving her to rot in slavery or die alone, scared and in agony at the hands of the Tuskens was the more "moral" or Jedi thing to do is very problematic for a lot of people. Or, the idea that he should have left his 14 year old Padawan to suffocate under rubble because rescuing her means he's "selfish and greedy" is similarly problematic. I think that both run contrary to the ethical code that many of us are raised with. The idea that you should help people, especially children, no matter what and never turn your back on a friend.

Sorry if this is a long ask and I don't mean to offend anyone.

Hey!

You said nothing offensive. I hear you.

That’s run contrary to my ethical code as well.

Anakin wasn’t bad, wicked or selfish or greedy for wanting to help his mom, leaving her in slavery wasn’t a moral or a Jedi thing to do at all. Nor that he should have left Ahsoka to die, wanting to rescue he wasn’t made him selfish. What you described is, at full extent, falls into the category of compassion, non-attached love. And that is genuine love, wanting others to be happy and free from suffering, covering what you described, helping people, especially children, no matter what and never turn your back on a friend.

I firmly believe the “attachment” thing is problematic because the majority of fans are not fully aware of the meaning of the concept. Attachment as George Lucas described it is inability to let go, possession, owning, having, getting, grasping, holding on. This is identical to the Buddhist use of the term. Because reality is temporary, things will come, things will go, everything is temporary. People, beauty, youth, money, everything will slide, at one time, they are in your life, and in the other time they move away from you. While they are in your life, love them. But you can’t attach to them in the other meaning of the word: “fastening” and an “external part attached to perform a particular function.” You must learn to let go, because if you can’t do it, you and your loved one both going to suffer. And the problem with attachment is that it’s always about you, it’s more the love of the self than the love of the beloved. You want to keep people around, because they make you happy. You won’t lose them because then you will suffer from you not having them. And this is why it is selfish and greedy. And because we all want everlasting joy, if you are attached, you will become afraid of losing your attachments, and it will lead you on a very dark path, ending in hate. And you will suffer, because you will spend your life being afraid, being angry, hateful. And that’s what Yoda was talking about, and that’s what they sensed in him about Shmi: “You afraid of losing her.” And that’s what Luminara said to him in that Clone Wars episode: “It’s not that I gave up, Skywalker, but unlike you, when the time comes, I am prepared to let my student go. Can you say the same?”

Listen to how Lars and Anakin say their final goodbye to Shmi: Lars last words to her: “Thank you.” Anakin’s last words to her: “I miss you so much.”

Whereas Shmi had non-attached love: her love for Anakin wasn’t how happy he makes her, but how happy Anakin is. And that’s why she was able to let him go. I’m always saying, Shmi is a “lay Jedi”.

Luminara is “at ease” when Barriss life is in danger, but I think it’s very important to notice that she always saying, she didn’t want Barriss to die, or she doesn’t care or she gave up. That’s why I don’t like Dave Filioni’s take on that episode, but he said it’s his personal reading, so I respect it. But I disagree. The problem is that many of us were almost encouraged to panic or fall to atoms in times like this, and the majority of movies and tv shows are outright glorifying hysteria as a measure of love. Ahsoka and Barriss wasn’t saved because Anakin started to run around in full panic mode, but because Ahsoka was able to come up with a plan. Luminara wasn’t giving up, nor she didn’t care that much about Barriss, but she accepted the fact that they might be too late, so she started to prepare herself for the worst. “If my Padawan has perished, I will mourn her, but I will celebrate her as well through her memory.”

The Jedi are trained to love people, but not to get attached to them, which is non-attachment – compassion. When you are compassionate, your love for your loved one, their happiness, their freedom from suffering gives you the feeling of being complete, gives you joy. And this is everlasting, because death can interrupt having, but not love. So it’s saying, I love you, so I want you to be free from suffering and I want you to be happy.” It’s genuine concern for others, manifesting itself in active engagement. But there is no fear of you losing, because you don’t have. When you love people, you won’t be afraid. You will be concerned for them, but that’s entirely focused on them, not on yourself. You can’t fear of the pain you will experience when you losing them. That’s a selfish desire for you keeping things and people who bring you joy. Attachment will make you afraid, what will make you hate and suffer.

And this kind of love can extend to all beings, even to their enemies. "don't lose a thousand lives just to save one" however, doesn't mean you must sacrifice your loved ones for the sake of others. The key is always that you should act out of compassion. Not out of fear of losing, the fear of not having.

Why the Jedi didn’t go to Tatooine to liberate slaves, that’s another question, but not because Anakin wasn’t allowed to care about his mother. A Jedi is a negotiator, ambassador, who is not going to war. They were not going to war until Attack of the Clones, as Lucas said, because they are not aggressive force. I always saw that their logic is that If they would go to Tatooine and liberate all slaves, they would have to fight a war against Jabba, pirates, the hutts, the crime empires etc. That’s not what they do. They did it once with Zygerria, but back then they weren’t alone, the Republic actually wanted to uphold its values, they made Zygerria to comply. But with the Republic corrupted, the Jedi wasn’t enough at all to uphold peace and justice. If the Republic would have function properly, they would enforce their laws on Tatooine, but the Republic didn’t care about them, so they didn’t have the support to function, too. They were overwhelmed, and they are not super people. Without the Republic, they go to Tatooine, defeat Jabba, then leave to help others. When they come back, there is a new Jabba, because free people on Tatooine didn’t really care and the Republic didn’t really care. All what happens is that they lose lives. But with the Clone Wars, all the galaxy caught fire, so they had to go to war anyway.

I am more than willing to accept that the Jedi wasn’t perfect, and I have to admit, I am glad to see that when people believe they advocated abandoning friends or family, they reject them so fiercely. But I can't help but think, their morals, choices and situations are often misunderstood. For example, I can't find any good reason why the Jedi wouldn't want to pursue the Senate to give the clones citizenship when the war was over. On the contrary. Their portrayal requires them to do so. Like Lucas said, they had good intentions, and they are going to war to save as many as they can. In the Clone Wars, you can see they care about clones as much as they care for non-clones.

Sorry for the even longer reply! XD I hope it's useful.

[killerskillercaptain]

Embarrassing moments w/ Levi Ackerman BOOK II

I only put one incident in this one because inspiration was running wild and things got out of hand, so enjoy !

You can read BOOK ONE here

word count : 1,9K

warnings : implicit seggsual themes, slight angst.

The client incident

Erwin had put you and Levi on a special mission; both of you received one letter from the commander urging you to go meet Balkus Adomas, a businessman whom Erwin was used to work with to get funds for the SC, and god knows the Survey Corps needed that financial support lately. With all the casualties, injured horses and used up equipment you lost in your encounter with the female titan, you could definitely use some help, any help actually.

The letter instructed Levi to tie up the negotiations, as Erwin had already sent a letter to Balkus, stating the nature of the visit; the letter also instructed Levi to take you with him to officialize everything on legal documents.

Levi sent one letter back to Erwin asking the commander about the nature of the business this man held. Three days later, the response consisted of a short sentence that wasn’t very helpful, and its vagueness didn’t make Levi happy; he hated being kept in the dark about the people he needed to work with.

The letter only said « « You’ll know when you get there »

The next morning, right after dawn, you and Levi were already on your horses, heading to the small town situated in the west, where the businessman was to be found. It was a good four hours ride, but you were accustomed by now to even longer distances.

Reaching your destination, Levi followed Erwin’s instructions, it didn’t take long for you two to find the location. Heading towards the main entrance, you couldn’t help but notice the frowning faces locals threw at you while passing you by. The place was an old, seemingly neglected property, it didn’t look like a business run by a rich businessman who could land money to the military, and you could sense that levi was thinking the same. You stood there studying the poorly maintained building for a moment until the main door suddenly flew open and a little round man, probably in his forties appeared with a dangling woman at his arm, the woman was laughing uncontrollably while planting kisses alongside the man’s neck, both of them completely ignoring the accusing stares being directed towards them.

Is this a tavern ?

Wait no.

You felt your legs tremble a little, and you suddenly felt embarrassed at the realization : it was a brothel. And the cheap kind by the looks of it.This Balkus Adomas runs a freaking brothel. Slightly alarmed, as this was completely out of your comfort zone, you glanced nervously at Levi who didn’t show any sign of tension. But little did you know, the short man was infuriated and boiling under the surface.

You on the other hand, were visibly stressed out. In a moment of hesitation you wanted to grab Levi’s hand like a child lost in an adult place but you managed to hold your composure, and decided to follow him by staying as close as possible to him. Levi headed rapidly to a broad bearded man, he looked like he was the receptionist or something of the sort, Levi asked if he could see Adomas.

" You should have been notified we were coming, we’re sent by Erwin Smith "

" Yes, yes this good old’ Erwin Smith, he said he’ll send someone ! "

The way the man said « good old’ Erwin Smith » made it look somewhat suspicious, and you wondered if the commander was fond of such places as it hardly seemed so to you.

" Well Lord Adomas is not here now, but you can wait for him, he comes early in the morning to do some accounting, as you see, the business is running wild lately "

" You can spend the night here if you want " he added.

You felt Levi tense up.

" Erwin will hear me about it, making us stay the night, not even being able to get an appointment correctly " you heard Levi mumble to himself between greeted teeth. You could clearly see now that this place is stressing him just as much.

" Don’t worry, Erwin Smith has always been good to us, intervening for us every time something threatened to close this place, and get Lord Adomas out of business, so we owe him big time "

You somehow got reassured that this was the nature of their connection to Erwin.

" I’m gonna give you a room to stay in for the night for free, it’s on the house "

He dangled a golden key in front of us, but when levi reached out to take it, the man retracted his hand behind the counter, a mischievous smile contorting his lips.

" Unless you want to spend the night as a customer Captain Levi ? "

Levi snatched the key from the man who now turned to you, completely ignoring the short captain.

" Hey miss, you’re not bad either, have you ever thought about leaving the army ? We could get you a job here, you’ll see, Lord Adomas treats his employees with extra care " he ended his speech with a nasty tone that had you both in such discomfort that you could almost feel Levi’s anger and you shivered at the way he said extra care. Dragging you by the collar of your military jacket, Levi headed with you towards the stairs, in search for the right bedroom while you followed him closely. As you were afraid of; the walls were incredibly thin in this place, and discernible sounds could be heard from each door. A series of thuds, creaks and lewd voices which you did your best to ignore, while you and the captain hurried to find the right door. Being here with Levi made this whole situation so much more uncomfortable, and right now, you cursed yourself for being the only person capable (and available) to do the paperwork, you hated that you were in charge, you hated that your signature was required, you-

" Here’s the shitty door "

You looked at the door, it was situated at a fair distance from the others, but didn’t look as damaged, maybe it didn’t get used a lot, or at least you hoped.

A demanding and urgent female voice erupted suddenly, close enough that both of you could hear it clearly. You tried to ignore how shaky your legs were now, you tried to focus on Levi opening the door but your eyes met a trembling Levi having difficulties opening the door, his hand too shaky to insert the key right, obviously he was just as startled as you were. When both of you finally heard a reassuring click, he slammed open the door with a "Tch"!

" Can’t believe this mess Erwin put us in, he’ll hear me about it ! "

You followed him inside. The room seemed fairly in order, didn’t seem to be too dusty, you sighed in relief, but your relief was short-lived, it sure wasn’t dusty but it did look completely unsanitary, no wonder this place gets threatened to be closed so often.

" Tch ! I’m taking fifty showers after this, and i’m gonna scrub my feet with Erwin’s- "

" Um Captain ? "

" WHAT ? " he asked harshly, getting you a bit startled by his tone.

Hey don’t lash out at me, it’s not my fault we’re in this mess.

" There’s only one bed "

" You can have it, i’m not sleeping in this filth "

" Neither do i , Captain " you said picking up a long strand of hair from the pillow and studying it before tossing it aside. The place was filthy.

But to both your consolation, there were two chairs made out of wicker that seemed not too risky to use.

You took the one on the left, Levi took the one on the right before looking at you.

" We’ll wait here until this Adomas piss of shit shows up so we can get it done with the paperwork and get out of this filthy hell " and those were the only words he spoke to you for the rest of night.

You were already feeling a bit sleepy, all the exhaustion caused by the trip creeping back to you. You had dozed off for what seemed like half an hour before you were awaken by new sounds rising abruptly from the next room. You jolted in your seat, the unsettling sounds of moans and boastful voices filling the room quickly, followed by a string of giggles, then another string of incomprehensible moany gibberish. You couldn’t make up a single word but you understood all too well the activities taking place in the other room. Still trying to compose yourself and get rid of the embarrassment sucking you in you right now, you suddenly remembered that you weren’t alone in the room, and turned quickly to look for the captain.

Levi was still sitting in his chair, you realized he had moved it away from you, almost placing himself at the other corner of the room, his fists tightening on his knees, he had the most irritated expression you’ve ever seen on his face, he looked like he was ready to snap a neck in half. Was it possible that he has been awake the entire time while you were sleeping ? Having to listen to the most indecent events going on next door ?

He was staring right in front of him, he looked as if he was trying to avert your gaze, afraid that a single stare shared between you two at this moment would aggravate the discomfort, and he was spot on.

Now the lewd voices were joined by the most obscene of sounds. You could feel your face, your hands and everything in between grow hot, you tried your best to keep a steady composure and not look at Levi who was incredibly silent at the other end of the room. Damn it, the smutty opera next door got you so alert you couldn’t even hope to sleep it off so you don’t have to endure this unbearable atmosphere.

You stayed like this until dawn. You and the captain, sitting stiff with both your hands glued to your thighs like two Egyptian statues while the auditory nuisance went on, all fucking night.

For a brief moment you heard Levi mutter something that you deciphered as « Erwin you piss of shit, you’re gonna pay for this»

--

You did get to Balkus Adomas the next day at the crack of dawn, he did accept to continue supporting the Scouts, you did go through the administration stuff you were dragged in here for. You even had Adomas make the same suggestion to you as the bearded receptionist; offering you to leave your uncomfortable scouting uniform for something else, vaunting about how much you can get paid in one night here, nothing like you meager salary at the Scouts for sure ! At one point you literally had to forcefully take off his hand that he sneakily placed on the small of your back. At the sight of it, Levi snatched the documents, handed a copy to Adomas and hurried you and himself out of the place.

Back to HQ, you were happy to reunite with your bed, ready to recover from last night. You shared your quarters with Petra, laying on your mattress, you filled her in about what happened to you with the captain as she bursted with laughter at every detail you gave her.

The next day, Levi was nowhere to be found as you went to his office as usual. You asked one of the soldiers where if he'd seen the captain and he just shrugged his shoulders, saying that Levi left a message for you as the soldier gave you a folded piece of paper.

« Going to see Erwin for a special meeting ».

[the-last-kenobi]

Oh my gosh, are you taking new promtps? If you are and if you want to write this, may I request "Setting a broken bone" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi? But only if you have the time to write and like this particular prompt. And, of course, if you are still taking prompts. Thank you!

Yay!! Love getting your requests! 🤍 And stars do I love writing these two. I am a complete sucker. Did I go completely overboard on this one? Yes. Yes I did.

I’m not kidding this was way longer than I intended.

(Note for anyone who is interested in making a request: I already have prompts for Tampering with Food/Drink and Public Execution/Torture.)

—

On Florrum, they crashed.

Their ship had reached its intended destination, but their sublight engines malfunctioned as they entered orbit, and there was the clang of metal and a cloud of dust after the fall.

Qui-Gon emerged first, his boots thudding in the hard desert, his blue eyes scanning the horizon cautiously even as he stretched out his senses into the Force. When he was sure, he turned back and proffered his hand into the crooked opening of the broken door, and Obi-Wan leaned into the light, squinting as if the light were blinding.

Qui-Gon frowned and raised his other hand, and though his young Padawan made a noise of protest, he plucked the boy out from the ruined ship and lowered him gently to stand beside him. Obi-Wan shifted slightly, leaning his head toward his Master, and Qui-Gon raised his arm higher, concealing his Padawan from view beneath his billowing sleeve. “Hold on,” he said quietly. “We’ll find shelter.”

“Skalder,” said Obi-Wan, and the hint of red beneath his hair turned into a small trickle down the side of his face.

“What?” Qui-Gon asked him.

The boy stiffened, clinging to his robes in an effort to stay upright. One pale hand emerged from his Master’s shielding arms and gestured into the distance. “Range hills,” he said softly. “Skalder. Can cross the geyser plains safely with…with them.”

Qui-Gon looked, and saw in the middle distance a range of low rises, and moving around them, large lumbering creatures with their heads down low, sniffing out flora to eat. “Skalder,” he repeated. “How do you know this?”

Looking down, he caught a glimpse of a pale face and the flicker of a grin. “I read, Master.”

Qui-Gon laughed and drew his arm higher again, hiding the boy’s concussion-pained eyes from the flat sunlight.

That afternoon, Obi-Wan tied his sash around his eyes and raised himself onto a skalder’s back, blind physically but trusting in the Force, and gestured for his Master to follow suit. The skalder lowed and grunted, but after a few moments of unsteady swaying, the entire herd began to move across the plains. Geysers shot up all around them, but not once did they come close to touching the creatures or the two Jedi.

“Instinct,” said Obi-Wan, his blindfolded eyes gazing ahead into the setting sun.

Qui-Gon watched his Padawan carefully, but Obi-Wan seemed perfectly at ease as he was, as if riding an unfamiliar creature over deserts and sulfuric geysers without the aid of his eyesight was only to be expected in the course of life.

“Let me check your head,” he said.

Obi-Wan did not turn. “It’s fine,” he answered. “I know what I’m doing. Resting my eyes is already helping.”

When they settled in a rock formation with a crevice almost large enough to be considered a cave, Obi-Wan settled himself down in the opening, facing away from their fire, his still-covered eyes towards the night.

Qui-Gon woke two hours after they had lain down to sleep and reached a hand towards the boy’s shoulder, but before he could make contact Obi-Wan spoke, still gazing sightlessly out over Florrum. “I’ve already checked. I’m still fine. Thank you, Master.”

On Akiva, they were led astray into the jungles and abandoned for dead by their so-called guide.

Qui-Gon studied their surroundings, pressing a hand to the moist, auburn bark of the tree beside him, closing his eyes and listening. The Force hummed back at him, so rich and alive in this place that was teeming with natural life, a clean energy untainted even by the cruelty of the people who had deceived them. There were other, kinder people here who still needed their help. They must make it through the jungle.

Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open as a loud rustling crash disturbed his meditation— he blinked at the sight of Obi-Wan, fifteen and scrawny and ridiculous, standing before him with a thoughtful expression as he studied the creature in his hands.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, startled. “Did you kill it?”

The boy looked up at him. “I did, yes. Fenglas are easily startled but they make for good eating. Many of the natives consider them their primary source of sustenance. There is also fruit, but not here. Closer to one of the rivers, there are trees.” He glanced around them with a humored expression, still holding his hunted prize. “Well. The right trees.”

The amusement faded as he caught his Master’s eye again. “Did I…? I’m sorry, I should have asked what you thought first. I was only thinking, the guide stole our bags, all our rations and supplies.”

Qui-Gon lifted a hand to still the rambling explanation, and Obi-Wan dropped his gaze, chastised and red-faced. “Very well, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said after a moment. “You found a problem and then a solution, which is good. But you would do well to consult me first before you hunt for food in unknown territory.”

“It’s not unknown,” said Obi-Wan, and he began gathering dry wood for a fire.

They ate in silence. The jungle creature was not luxury dining, but it was hearty and full of rather more meat than the thing had seemed to have, and had a savory tang that smelled like the wood they had cooked it over.

Qui-Gon rose to douse the fire, but Obi-Wan stopped him quickly with a hand on his shoulder. “The smoke will help protect us,” he said, as if that explained anything, and then he reached into his left boot and pulled out a small folded something that he held up and shook loose. It was fabric — no, a fine mesh netting, so fine that the small bundle turned out to be several square meters of the stuff. The Padawan swirled it through the air and then let it fall, sliding himself onto the ground where he had lain his folded cloak. The net settled over him like a strange sort of shroud.

Qui-Gon stared, bewildered, and Obi-Wan lifted the edge of the netting and gestured to him. “Move your cloak closer, Master, so we can both fit underneath.”

“But why?” Qui-Gon asked.

A crease appeared between the boy’s brows. “The ya-ya flies, Master. They’re venomous. You’re full-grown and healthy so they’d only really make you sick, but it’s better to be safe. The smoke and the net will keep them away.”

Qui-Gon slid beneath the net, his makeshift bed a few inches from Obi-Wan’s. “Did our guide give you this?”

“No,” said Obi-Wan. “I brought it just in case. I’m glad there wasn’t room in my pack, or it would be stolen and we wouldn’t have it at all anyway.”

“What do the natives do about the flies?” Qui-Gon asked next, studying the boy’s features as they flickered in the firelight. He looked unbearably young, still, but tired.

Obi-Wan breathed for a moment, staring upwards through the film of the net at the jungle all around them. “They keep fires burning, sometimes with oils that kill the flies,” he said. “And they weave nets to cover their beds.” He turned his eyes to his Master and added, “If we hunt enough tomorrow, we may be able to trade for another net. Or just maize.”

“The crop they grow here,” Qui-Gon recalled.

His Padawan nodded. “When we find the nearest river, we can collect water in my pouch. It should hold liquid for awhile.”

“And if the water isn’t clean?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “If we can’t reach civilization in time, the risk of unclean water will have to do.”

On Arkanis, it drizzled 60% of the time. On another 39%, it rained in torrential downpours that would have flooded the streets and drowned the population had they not long ago learned to control the water flow, to build stronger than the rain.

And every so often, just once in a long while, the sun came out and lit up the planet in warmth and golden hue.

But it had not been one of those days when Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi had arrived to mediate on export negotiations. Rain had fallen so heavily from the skies that it felt more like swimming than walking — a sensation that turned from hyperbole into frightening reality when the supports beneath a walking bridge gave way.

Qui-Gon reached out and took hold of a screaming entrepreneur, dragging him safely to stable ground.

Obi-Wan slipped and plunged into the waters seething below and did not climb back up.

“Where do the water ways go from here?” Qui-Gon demanded over the roar of the storm. “Where do they go?”

“Out to sea!” the businessman cried back, a look of pained sympathy on his face. “There’s too much water moving too quickly, nobody could swim in that!”

Qui-Gon gazed down into the thundering rivers below, imagining the crushing weight they must bring, the incalculable strength of the waters, and felt the first slivers of grief begin to gouge into his heart like shards of broken glass.

Of all the things to lose the boy to — rain. Or, that he, the Master, had not been aware enough of their surroundings, or that he had reached for the civilian instead of the boy.

Qui-Gon’s eyes burned in the lash of the storm, but he hurried to his feet and shepherded the others inside to warmth and safety. They were immediately bombarded by a rescue team that passed them by to begin repairing the bridge, and by people offering them warm drinks and soft towels and dry clothing. Qui-Gon helped the others first, and then himself, the movements mechanical.

The next few hours passed in a daze. The negotiations were postponed as the city dealt with the crisis, and Qui-Gon was politely escorted to his rooms — the rooms with two beds, where he ought to have been with his apprentice, safe and dry and alive. But Obi-Wan, he thought, the truth slicing into him slowly, a delicate and perfect cut of a knife, had drowned hours ago. Tossed about in water that raged fifteen meters deep, funneled from all over the city and then out, out to the sea. A pale, fragile figure trapped inside. Suffocated. Qui-Gon covered his eyes with one hand and sank onto his bed. He did not remember climbing beneath the sheets, but he woke the next morning tangled in them, still exhausted.

The next day he dragged himself through the opening discussions, his words as sharp and his gaze as penetrating as ever, but his mind constantly distracted by the memory of the boy falling into the water. Obi-Wan had screamed, he remembered that now, although he wished he didn’t. Then he had tumbled in the air, trying to control his descent, and entered the water feet first.

For the following two days, that same image played over and over in his mind, and yet in those two days he still oversaw the mission, and departed the table on his last evening with a mingling feeling of both quiet satisfaction and unrelenting shame. The mission. The boy. The negotiations. His boy.

Hardly able to breathe, the Jedi Master wheeled around and marched up to the nearest aide. “I need to stay another week,” he said. “Please. To be sure.”

The aide concealed her pitying expression flawlessly, but her presence in the Force was brimming with it and he did not want it. He waited just long enough to hear his request confirmed and then fled.

For three days he stayed in the city, exploring the now much calmer waterways, talking to the mechanics and attendants that kept an eye on the entire system. All of them apologized, but no boy had been seen in the waters that night, and no body had been found on the shore.

“It’s been a while since we’ve lost someone to the floods,” one attendant said heavily. “And it’s been even longer since someone has survived that. I’m sorry, Jedi.”

Qui-Gon walked slowly back to his rooms late that night, his shoulders slightly slumped, the only visible sign of his defeat. The idea of staying another night in the half-empty room and then departing for Coruscant alone was unbearable, horrific.

A turbolift chimed, and the door opened.

Qui-Gon froze.

Obi-Wan emerged from the lift, dripping rain water and carrying all of his clothes except for his cloak, which seemed to be missing, and his trousers, which he was still wearing. The boy searched the room for a moment with tired, puffy eyes, and then he saw Qui-Gon.

“You’re still here,” he said, in disbelief. “You’re still here.”

Qui-Gon didn’t answer. In three strides he had covered the space between them and pulled the boy close, feeling cold water beginning to settle into his own clothing. He only held Obi-Wan tighter, dropping his chin to rest on the damp hair, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to remember how to speak and breathe.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, in a strangled voice. “Obi-Wan, where have you been? I thought— oh, Padawan, where in the galaxy have you been?”

The boy made a small sound of surprise at the fierce embrace, but he didn’t pull away. “I was in the tunnels, Master. I’m sorry.”

“The tunnels?” Qui-Gon asked blankly.

Obi-Wan nodded against his chest. “There are older waterways beneath the current ones. They’re sealed off, but you can open them if you really try. I knew what to do when I fell into the water; I got rid of my cloak and boots, and I floated as best I could and let my feet face forward. I crashed into a support beam, and I couldn’t climb up and out, and I kept falling asleep holding onto it and just trying to keep my head above water.”

Obi-Wan paused and yawned hugely. “So I swam down, using the pillar as a buffer. It wasn’t easy. I nearly messed it up. But I got down there and found an old access hatch, just like I’d hoped, so I climbed into the old tunnels. And then I got trapped in there, and I’ve been trying to find my way out ever since.”

Before Qui-Gon could even begin to process all of this madness, the boy added, almost as an afterthought, “I had no idea I’d find you. I heard the negotiations ended last week, and knew you must have left.”

Qui-Gon’s arms tightened around Obi-Wan’s small frame. “Not without you,” he said, the words coming out shuddering on an exhale. “I wanted to be sure.”

“Oh,” said Obi-Wan. “I’m sorry.”

On Baraan-Fa, they fell from a roof, flung over the edge by the force of an explosion.

Debris rained around them, cracking sickeningly on the ground, and Qui-Gon crouched over his apprentice, shielding him with his body and shielding both of them with the Force. Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force brushed against his, bright but somewhat timid, a newborn flame still learning just how far it could spread.

The din ceased, and they raised their heads slowly. The building was burning, the top of it utterly demolished, and people were beginning to flood the streets, screaming, bleeding, calling for help and offering assistance to one another. Sirens wailed.

Obi-Wan waited for his Master to stand up and turn towards the chaos before he climbed to his feet, and in this way, focused on the tragedy blossoming around them, Qui-Gon did not notice the way the boy swayed on his feet, white to the lips.

He did, however, notice when he turned around to give the boy instructions and found him gone.

For a moment, irrational fear swept over him — images of debris striking flesh and unfriendly hands dragging the boy away swarmed through him.

But these unlikely possibilities were firmly swept aside like the pestering insects they were; the Jedi Master closed his eyes for a moment to center himself, and found to his faint surprise that Obi-Wan was only just around the corner. He followed what his senses were telling him, and scanned the next alleyway carefully, searching.

There. Concealed in a crumbling alcove, half-hidden by a fallen support beam and clouds of dust. A small red-haired figure was struggling with something, his back braced against the wall, head bowed.

A small whimper reached Qui-Gon’s ears.

Obi-Wan’s hands shifted, and through the haze and debris, the unnatural angle of his left leg became visible, and the position of the boy’s hands and the look of pained determination on his young face suddenly made sense.

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon said sharply. He was already moving by the time the boy’s head jerked up to stare at him, his hands still clenched around his leg.

“Master?” asked the boy. “What are you doing here?”

Qui-Gon stopped beside him, dropping to a kneeling position to avoid cracking his head on the crumbling ceiling. “I would ask you the same, but I think I know exactly what you’re doing. So, a new question — why are you here?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Is that… not often the same thing?” Sweat glistened on his brow, even through the layer of smoke and grime.

“Not usually,” replied the Master. “For instance, I know that what you are doing is setting your broken leg. I would like to know why, however, you did not tell me you were injured, and why your first solution was to set the bone by yourself.”

The blue-green eyes blinked rapidly. There were flakes of stone dust clinging to the eyelashes, and tears rose up unbidden as the eyes began to sting. “I… there was a bombing, Master. Somebody has to help, and that somebody is usually us. I hurt my leg, so I doubled back to fix it while you went on ahead.”

“And did it occur to you that I would prefer to see you taken care of first?”

A bewildered expression clouded the boy’s face. “I… we’re in the middle of an emergency.”

“Exactly.” Qui-Gon gently raised his hands and settled them over the boy’s much smaller ones, easing them away from the damaged leg. “And I cannot focus if you’re inexplicably missing, or suffering alone on a broken limb.”

“But I can fix it!” Obi-Wan insisted. “I know how. I’ve done it before, many times!”

Qui-Gon’s hands, still holding Obi-Wan’s, tightened their grip. His voice, however, remained steady. “Oh? Do you go breaking limbs on every mission we’ve been on and gone through the healing process without my noticing?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze slid from his. A look of mingled shame and wariness crossed his pale features, and the Master noted that it was not the first time he had seen this expression on the boy. He had certainly seen it on Arkanis, on Akiva, on Florrum. And other times and places, too — this look of mingled guilt and mistrust.

“No,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I broke bones a few times on Melida/Daan. Broken bones were common. I learned how to set my own and other people’s pretty quickly. And I’m grateful,” he added quickly, as if worried he would be interrupted or reprimanded. “It’s a valuable skill.”

Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment.

“Yes, it is,” he said eventually. “Like memorizing waterways on a planet known for flooding, or practicing how to survive falling into fast-moving waters. Or, perhaps, like preparing defenses against mildly venomous insects, or learning how to hunt creatures you’ve never seen before. Or navigate a desert full of geysers.”

The boy did not seem to see a connection. He stared down at his kneeling Master, his hands still trapped gently in his teacher’s, and said nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said softly. “I am not going to leave you.”

The Padawan’s brow furrowed. Still he said nothing.

“Melida/Daan was not an experience you should ever have had,” the Master continued gently. “You have developed many skills as a Padawan, and I do not deny that learning to set broken bones is one of them. But I think you also learned something that you should never have been taught, and now I must unteach it.”

“What is it, Master?” Obi-Wan asked. His back slid a few inches down the rough wall as his good leg began to collapse beneath him, and Qui-Gon released the boy’s hands to catch him around the waist and under one arm, keeping his broken leg off the ground.

“You learned to handle everything on your own,” said the Master, walking them both slowly back out into the sunlight. “To expect yourself to do things alone, for fear of slowing others down.”

They reached a flat pavement stone free of debris, and Qui-Gon set the boy down gently, careful of the injured leg, watching as Obi-Wan clenched his jaw against the pain. He knelt down beside him again and put one hand at the boy’s back, encouraging him to sit upright, leaning on his palms.

“But you’re part of a team, Obi-Wan. And more than that, you are my student. You are not expected to do everything alone, or care for all of your injuries without assistance, or prepare to survive alone on a strange planet.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but Qui-Gon shook his head and raised a finger to silence him.

“Listen to me, Obi-Wan. There will be times when we are separated, that is true. And there is broken trust between us. But Padawan, please understand me when I say this— I will never leave you, and I will always help you.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, tears and dust still clinging to his eyelashes, breath shuddering with pain and perhaps the threat of tears. His Master smiled slightly, running a hand up and down the boy’s back as if to soothe an illness, and for a few moments they simply stayed that way, waiting.

“Master?” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Can you help me with my leg?”

Qui-Gon nodded. He placed his hands gently where they needed to go, his expression calm. “Hold on to my shoulder, Padawan. When I set your leg, I want you to squeeze my arm as tightly as you can.”

“But that will hurt you,” the boy protested.

Qui-Gon’s lips quirked in a slight smile. “As I said, Obi-Wan, we are a team. Now. Hold on as tightly as you can. I’ve got you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered from the broken leg to his Master’s patient, open expression.

He smiled. “I know, Master.”

fin.

[noa-nightingale]

Gay Oars Donation Project

It is happening!

The Gay Oars Donation Project is officially starting.

I am excited! :D Please don’t be intimidated by all these “rules” - personally, I like to know exactly how things work before I do them and I want to give you a clear idea of this project. <3

What is the Gay Oars Donation Project?

It is pretty simple: You request fan art from me, I draw it for you and in exchange, you donate some money to a cause of my choice.

What do you draw?

Anything Watcher and Buzzfeed Unsolved. I specialize in puppets and anthropomorphic foodstuff but I will accept other requests too. Keep it clean, though!

I don’t only draw the gay oars, I just needed an at least mildly catchy project name and, apparently, that was the best I could come up with. (I also used them because I draw them a lot and because they got me into drawing more.)

I draw traditional and digital.

Where are the donations going to and how much do I donate?

Right now, these are the options:

Tonya Kay’s GoFundMe

Hate Is A Virus

GoFundMe for @queerunsolved​‘s mom (I hope it is okay to include this here, I saw that it is still open and that it has not reached its goal yet.)

I will probably add more options in the future.

The amount of money is flexible. I picked 15$ to give you an idea of the range BUT a) if you want to donate more, you are more than welcome and I encourage you to do so and b) I will draw stuff for you for less too - not everybody can afford 15$. So, the amount of money is VERY negotiable.

If you use another currency, it will be in the same price range after being converted, of course.

How will you know that I really donated?

I would like to think of this as a gentlemen’s agreement, so to speak. I don’t want to ask for excessive proof. When you get a confirmation email for your donation (or similar), a screenshot will be okay (with your personal info blocked out, of course). I really don’t want to make this more complicated than it needs to be.

Is there a minimum age I have to be?

Apologies in advance but you have to be at least 18.

Art first or donation first?

Please don’t donate right away! I probably won’t be able to tell you exactly how long I will take with drawing your request - I don’t want anyone to donate and then have to wait for their art.

I will let you know when the art is done, please don’t donate beforehand. Once you donated, you will get your art. (If you are not entirely comfortable with doing it like this, we can talk about it. Again, i don’t want to make this too complicated.)

What happens with the art work?

I will post it on my tumblr, twitter and insta, and you will have permission to re-post it on your own social media (with credit!). Other people do not have permission to re-post it.

Why are you doing this?

I want to help people, and I can’t give a lot of money on my own. The idea here is that we come together to support others.

If you have questions, ask me! I want to keep this as barrier-free and informal as possible. I am not a professional artist and this is not meant to be a big scary thing, just a little project to help some people out.

And after all, this is meant to be fun! I get to draw! You get to help some people in this big cold world and you will get a little drawing out of it! That’s neat, if you ask me. :)

Thanks for reading. Reblogs are very appreciated! 💖

But wait! What kind of art will I even get?

Here is my art tag.

And here are some examples (three digital, one traditional):

[bestworstcase]

What are your opinions on the whole Rapunzel-Varian drama in S1 post Queen For A Day, especially with the whole "Rapunzel should've checked on Varian after the snowstorm" or whose fault it was for their conflict?

tbh… if i had to pick one single representative example of the tts fandom’s general inability to handle nuance in fictional conflict, it’d be the QFAD discourse™

because! while this isn’t to rag on anyone, if you pick a random person with an opinion on this question, chances are they will fall into one of two camps. either: 1) corona’s treatment of varian was horrifically unjust and everyone involved except him is a terrible person, or 2) rapunzel did what she had to do and varian’s anger is irrational, unfounded, and fundamentally unfair.

people in camp #1 tend to believe that rapunzel was simply being selfish and acting like a sulky child when she failed to check up on varian after the storm. people in camp #2 tend to point out that rapunzel was traumatized by the events of QFAD too, and believe that this justifies her failure to check up on varian.

but the thing is imo the conflict in QFAD + the rest of s1 is just as complex and messy as the argument cassandra and rapunzel have in RATGT, in that there is no One True Right Answer and no person who is one hundred percent “at fault.” the question of blame is… honestly sort of beside the point if you ask me. to break this down:

#1: rapunzel is a sheltered teenager with minimal social skills dealing with a national emergency halfway through her first unsupervised couple days on the job.

the girl has had like eight months tops of training for the monumental task of ruling a country. she grew up in a situation where the only choice available to her was how she would wile away her free time inside her tower; gothel exerted total control over every other facet of her life. and while she has a little more wiggle room now that she’s out of the tower, she is still basically living her life with all the big, consequential choices made for her.

QFAD was intended to be her first taste of true authority, while still being ultimately inconsequential. if all had gone according to plan, corona would have ticked along more or less on autopilot—just as frederic left it—while rapunzel got in a little practice making judgment calls about minor, unimportant things, like mediating small interpersonal disputes between her subjects.

nobody expected, and rapunzel was absolutely not prepared for, a legitimate national crisis to explode in her face out of nowhere. this was supposed to be pedaling by herself for the first time with training wheels and what she got instead is careening down the freeway on a motorbike at 95mph with zero warning. it is a miracle that she held things together as well as she did.

#2: varian is a child with an emotionally distant, unsupportive father who sets him up for failure.

he’s smart but he’s also fourteen. he has little if any formal training in alchemy, he’s figuring stuff out by trial and error, and he has zero adult supervision. his efforts have caused significant levels of destruction twice in only a few months—the exploding boilers in WTH, and his invention going haywire (with a little help from st. croix) in GE—and it’s implied that this is a fairly regular occurrence with him.

and yet quirin does nothing. he shouts at varian, shuts him down, and at several points orders him point blank to stop messing with alchemy… but he makes no effort to connect with his son or understand where he’s coming from; he doesn’t try to impose reasonable restrictions (like “don’t mess with volatile chemicals unless i’m there to help”) that would allow varian to pursue his passion while minimizing the danger; and he doesn’t create an environment where varian feels able to turn to his father for help. and then with the black rocks, he lets varian come along to see the king, but refuses to explain why he “lied” (/spoke in code) to the king, destroying any credibility he had in varian’s eyes and making varian panicky and desperate because it seemed like no one else cared.

so the end result is that varian feels like he has no choice but to sneak around behind quirin’s back. he can’t rely on his dad for help if anything goes wrong, but the situation is so dire that doing nothing also isn’t an option. he tries his best to be careful (before quirin barges in on him, varian is attempting to put just one drop of the amber serum on the rock) but even if quirin hadn’t startled him, a terrible accident was bound to happen sooner or later, and the responsibility for that lays just as much if not more on quirin’s shoulders—the adult in this situation—as on varian’s. the kid is FOURTEEN.

(i think a neat argument could be made for varian as a deconstruction of the teen/YA fantasy trope of the hyper-competent teenager with absentee parents whose absence allows the teen to get on with the important work of the high-stakes fantasy plot; but that’s a whole different post)

#3: rapunzel did the right thing, but lost control over the situation due to lack of experience.

it would have been wrong to abandon everybody in corona to run off into the blizzard with varian, and frankly it wouldn’t have helped quirin anyway. he was already encased in amber by the time varian got back to old corona, and rapunzel couldn’t have done anything in the moment had she been with varian then. the only benefit to her presence would have been to comfort varian—which is not a small thing, obviously, but it’s not in any way a reasonable exchange for the hundreds or thousands of lives that would have been lost if she left corona completely without a leader in the middle of a crisis. so broadly speaking, staying in corona was the right call.

however.

rapunzel was not in control during that scene in the palace. varian bursts in, panicking, explains his situation and begs for her help—and rapunzel just says, basically, “i can’t help you, there’s an emergency.” then nigel comes in and reinforces that, which makes varian freak out; he grabs rapunzel and shakes her, nigel signals for the guards in response, and varian gets dragged out of the palace while rapunzel pleads with the guards not to hurt him.

(sidebar: the hate nigel gets for describing varian as “attacking” rapunzel is unfounded. varian grabs her and shakes her roughly back and forth and that is, in fact, assault. nigel is not wrong to describe it as such.)

anyway, notice two the things that DON’T happen here:

1) rapunzel doesn’t offer up any alternative solutions. a more experienced or better prepared leader could have responded to varian’s plea with a plan of action, like: i need to stay in corona to oversee the evacuation, so we can’t leave right this minute, but cassandra will take you to ask xavier for advice right now and the minute it’s safe to leave we’ll go together to help your father. or whatever—the point is to engage proactively with varian’s problem, make him feel heard, and give him something productive to do so he isn’t just sitting around fretting in the palace or struggling back home by himself in the middle of a blizzard.

2) raps doesn’t challenge nigel’s decision when he summons the guards to throw varian out of the palace, which is something she absolutely could have done. she could have said no, i can’t go to old corona right this minute to help him, but we are not throwing him out into the storm again, he stays here with me. this is, again, a sign of her inexperience; she’s not used to being an authority, she’s never been in a situation like this before, and she’s under a ton of pressure—so when an older adult whom she sees as an authority (he’s her father’s advisor!) makes a judgment call, it probably doesn’t even occur to her that she can challenge it.

this is why i say that rapunzel lost control over the situation—because even though she made the Right Decision, she got a kind of awful outcome, ie varian being tossed out into the blizzard to struggle home by himself to deal with his problem without any support, and rapunzel inadvertently breaking her promise from earlier.

#4: rapunzel doesn’t immediately go to check on varian after the storm because she’s traumatized, busy, and trusts her father.

painter’s block is all about how the trauma rapunzel feels as a direct result of her decisions during the storm destroys her ability to choose anything. she feels so debilitated by the fear that she will make the wrong choice—because she worries that she chose wrong when she allowed varian to be sent away—that she can’t do anything at all, let alone find the emotional strength to go to old corona and confront her mistakes. and while she tries to process and move past this trauma, mrs sugarby exploits it in an attempt to force her to free zhan tiri.

the next episode, not in the mood, involves rapunzel being put under enormous pressure to entertain an irascible ally of corona’s while he and her father negotiate a trade deal with the threat of a war breaking out if they fail. NITM is a silly episode, but it has the highest non-magical stakes of any episode in the entire series. this isn’t an event rapunzel could have reasonably skipped out on for the sake of one person, no matter how much she cares. she’s slammed. she’s still being forced to prioritize just like she was in QFAD.

and in the third episode after QFAD, rapunzel is tormented by nightmares about varian and what happened to his father, so she presses frederic for information about the rocks and varian’s safety. and frederic assures her that everything is fine. he lies to her face about the rocks having been removed, and rapunzel has no reason to doubt him, so she relaxes… until varian contacts her directly, and she immediately jumps to help him.

#5: at the same time, varian has been forced into hiding because frederic is attempting to cover up the rock problem.

what happens to varian after QFAD is plainly unfair and unjust. his father is trapped in amber, the rocks have completely destroyed old corona, most of the villagers have presumably moved to the new land frederic set aside for them, and frederic’s secret police are crawling all over the village trying to suppress information about the rocks (and fred’s role in creating them). the blame for this lies squarely at frederic’s feet, and varian is right to be angry.

i believe that varian interprets rapunzel’s absence as a sign that she’s complicit in what frederic is doing, making his anger at her justified as well. he doesn’t have access to the information we do about why rapunzel doesn’t seek varian out immediately—he doesn’t see how distraught and shattered she is after the storm, or the high-stakes political nonsense she has to deal with, and he certainly doesn’t see her trying to pursue the matter of the rocks and varian’s safety with her father and being flatly lied to to convince her to stay put in corona. all he knows is that rapunzel kicked him out and now she’s ignoring him and her father’s agents keep chasing him away from his home, and he draws the conclusion that makes the most sense to him, ie rapunzel must be okay with all of this because otherwise she would be here.

and once he has that idea in his head, the fact that rapunzel immediately jumps to help him when he contacts her isn’t enough to dislodge it. he’s a scared, lonely fourteen year old boy looking at this situation through a purely interpersonal lens while rapunzel is an overwhelmed eighteen year old doing the best she can while juggling about a million things at once and putting varian low on her priority list because she’s been told by a trusted source that varian is fine.

they both make mistakes, they’re both missing important contextual information, and neither of them handles this situation in the best possible way. but neither of them is “at fault” in the sense of being purely in the wrong, and—imo—frederic and quirin hold the lion’s share of the blame here, because they had all the information, and they refused and refused and refused to deal with the black rock problem until it overwhelmed them both. varian and rapunzel are both just kids scrambling to deal with something that should not be their problem to solve, and both of them fuck up! (and even then—the best fred and quirin could’ve done was just be honest and upfront about what the problem was. neither of them had the means to fix anything, and neither of them was responsible for the very unfortunate timing of the blizzard. so it’s not as clear cut as everything bad in s1 happens because fred and quirin stuck their heads in the sand. a lot of it honestly was just sheer bad luck.)

a n y w a y, i think by s3 and after a lot of introspection, varian has figured a lot of this out, and that’s why he’s so quick to let go of his lingering grudge against rapunzel. he’s realized that at the end of the day, rapunzel was just as unprepared and lost in that situation as he was, that she’s not responsible for (and wasn’t complicit in) her father’s decisions, etc, etc.

[publiccollectors]

From the discussion “Towards A Self Sustaining Publishing Model” hosted by Printed Matter.

Some things I have learned in over 30 years of publishing since my teenage days as a zine maker, administrating my project Public Collectors, and from working in the group Temporary Services and our publishing imprint Half Letter Press.

I have just ten minutes to speak. If only one or two things that I share are useful, that’s plenty! It took me decades to understand some of this stuff.

Use every exhibition invitation with a budget to print something. Use the whole budget to print something. Make something in a large enough print run so that you have something to give away and surplus that you can sell. Your publication can be a folded sheet of paper, a booklet, a newspaper, a poster, a book, or anything in between.

Be able to print at least something at home. Buy a cheap laser printer or inkjet printer, find a used copy machine, buy a RISO or some other duplicator, carve something into a potato or a piece of foam and print it. Being able to do at least some of the printing and production at home—even if it’s on a tiny scale—will compel you to print things that you might have convinced yourself not to send out or bring to a professional printer. Hopefully the ability to print impulsively and compulsively will result in good work. Figure out how to keep making things on every scale. Look for cheap used printing equipment on Craigslist. Team up with friends and buy equipment together that you can share. Start a printing collective in your basement.

Ideally your publication should cost 1/5th or 1/6th of the retail price to make. If you sell a $10.00 publication through a store, you are probably only going to make $6.00 or less after the store takes its cut. So ideally your $10.00 book costs $2.00 or less to make. Don’t aim to just break even. Aim to make a profit so you can keep making more publications and pay for your life. Publishing will probably never be your sole income but don’t lose money on purpose. Make things that are priced fairly and look like they justify what they cost to buy. The fact that you didn’t find a more affordable way to print something is not an excuse to sell something that feels cheap and shitty for a ridiculous sum of money. Good cheap printing is easier to find than ever before. Do your homework.

Figure out the cheapest and least wasteful ways to do everything. Ask other publishers where they get their work printed. Look for local printers so you can avoid shipping fees. Ask local printers if you can pay in cash for a discount. Ask printers if there is a cheaper way to do what you want to do by adjusting the size of your paper or the paper stock or some other small shift in form. If you print things yourself, buy the paper that is on sale. Design a publication around the paper that you found for cheap. Discount warehouses sometimes have good paper. Even dollar stores sometimes have good paper. I’ve even bought paper at flea markets. Costco sells an 800 sheet ream of 24 lb paper for $6.99. I use it all the time. It rules. I also recommend getting your jugs of organic olive oil there, but you can’t print with that.

Free printing is good printing. If you have access to free printing, use it. Free printing is like free food at art openings and conference receptions. It is one of those pleasures in life that never gets old. Come up with an idea that is based around the aesthetics of whatever free printing you have access to and make the publication that way. Eat the cheese and bread. Drink the wine. Make the copies at work.

Buy bulk shipping mailers on eBay. Find bubble wrap and other packing materials in the trash. Look out for neighbors who just bought new furniture—it’s usually wrapped in miles of packing material you can use for shipping books. Boycott terrible right wing fuckers like ULINE. Seriously, they give money to everyone horrible. Trump? Check. Ted Cruz? Check. Scott Walker? Check. ROY FUCKING MOORE? CHECK FUCKING CHECK! Tear up their catalogs and use them as packing material to protect your books. Make publications that have a consistent size so you can purchase cardboard mailers in bulk and get a discount on them. Buy packing tape in bulk. Buy everything in bulk. You can store your extra reams of paper under your bed or on top of your kitchen cabinets if necessary. Be like a wacko survivalist prepper, but for office supplies. Go to estate sales and look for the home office in the house. Buy the dead person’s extra tape and staples and rulers and scissors. I’ve been using some random dead person’s staples for years because I bought their staple hoard. Staples aren’t like meat and milk. They don’t expire.

I’m against competition. Try to avoid competing with other artists for resources. If you don’t truly need the money, don’t ask for it. Artists should have a section on their CV where they list grants they could have easily gotten but didn’t apply for because they are privileged enough that they don’t need the money as much as someone else. I almost never apply for anything but the one thing I do apply for and get every year is a part-time faculty development grant from Columbia College Chicago where I teach. It pays adjuncts up to $2,500 a year to fund their projects and seems to be completely non-competitive. My union negotiated to get us more money. I have used that grant to make over a dozen publications. The value of the publications I make and sell with each grant is about three or four times the value of the grant itself. Some years I make more from the grant than I do from the limited number of classes I teach. But I don’t depend on this grant to be a publisher and I’d still be able to make things without it.

Make things in different price ranges so everyone can afford your work, but also so that you can sustain your practice. Make a publication that costs $2.00, that costs $6.00, that costs $20.00, and make something special for the fancy ass institutional libraries that have a lot of money to spare and can buy something that costs $300.00. Likewise, make things in all different size print runs. Is there something you can print 1,000 of that you can keep selling and giving away for years, to enjoy that quantity discount that comes with offset printing a large number of publications?

Collaborate with people and pay them with publications (if they are cool with that) that they can sell on their own. Sometimes this ends up being better pay and more useful than an honorarium, and it helps justify a larger print run. But see what they need—don’t assume. Barter with other publishers and sell each other’s work and let each other keep the money. This helps with distribution. Sometimes it’s easier to sell their work than it is to sell your own. Help others expand the audience for their publications.

Fund your publishing practice by asking your friends who teach to invite you to talk to their college classes about your work. Use those guest speaker fees to print something. I sometimes tell people on social media: If three or four people will invite me to speak to their class, it could fund the entire next issue of X booklet series that you like so much. This has often worked. Also, sometimes their students end up ordering publications. Sometimes lectures about publications generate more income than the publications themselves.

Have an emailing list and write newsletters to announce new publications. Stay in touch with people who like what you do. Expect to spend a ton of time corresponding with people. Have some cheap things and cool ephemera on hand that you can send people for free when they mail order your publications. Reward people who support you directly with something nice that they didn’t expect. People like handwritten notes. It’s okay if they are very short but sign the packing slip and at least write “Thank you!”

Above all, know that publishing is a life journey and not a get rich quick scheme, or even a make very much money scheme. Enjoy the experience of meeting and working with others, trade your publications with other publishers and build up an amazing library of small press, hard to find artist books. Get vaccinated and travel and sleep on each other’s couches. Be generous with your time, knowledge, resources, and work. Tell Jeff Bezos to fuck off by never selling anything you make through Amazon. Find the bookstores that you love and work with them forever. It’s nicer to have deeper relationships with fewer bookstores than surface level interactions with dozens of shops run by people you don’t know.

Think about your publishing family. Bookstore people are your family. People that organize book fairs and zine fests are your publishing family. Other publishers are your family. People who follow your work for years on end are your family. Printers and binderies are your family. The postal workers that know you by name and that you know by name are your family. The person who doesn’t care if you make the free copies at work is your family. Over thirty years later, I’m still in contact with people I exchanged zines with through the mail when I was a teenager. In some cases I still haven’t met them in person. It’s fine! They are my family. Your students are your family—particularly once they graduate or drop out, as long as they continue making books and zines. Your family is your family, particularly if they value and support your publishing practice. And for this reason, this talk is dedicated to my late father Bruce Fischer, who let me use the company copier and postage meter when I was in high school, and to my mom who sat on the floor with me and helped me hand collate and staple my zines.

That’s what I’ve got for now. Stay in touch and with luck, and enough vaccines and masks and hand sanitizer, maybe I’ll see you at a book fair. – Marc Fischer • Thank you to Be Oakley of GenderFail for the invitation to present, to the other presenters Vivian Sming, Yuri Ogita, and Devin Troy Strother, and to the wonderful people at Printed Matter for hosting this! You should be able to find the video archived on Printed Matter’s YouTube Channel.  Presented on April 2, 2021

[bellaireland1981]

New Beginnings: Ch 3

Characters: Andy Barber x Single Mom! Briella James (Named Reader), Jacob Barber, Ava James

Summary: Briella James is a HS teacher and has Jacob in her class. Jacob meets Briella’s 5 year old daughter and they form a bond. Andy is interested in Briella but her ex (and Ava’s dad) is becoming a problem!

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some angst, jerk of an ex that harasses Briella… will update in future chapters.

word count: 1922

A/N: I do Not own Andy Barber or Jacob Barber, they are fictional characters. I do not give permission for anyone to repost my work or translate it to another site. Reblogs always welcome!   This is my FIRST EVER attempt at writing for Andy…or any character, so be gentle!  THANK YOU to my friends for supporting me and encouraging me! I’m my own worst critic so I love their feedback! @denisemarieangelina​ @fluffymisha97​ @jamielea81​

Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3 (?)

Ava had gone to bed without any complaint the night before. Spending all day at the zoo and getting ice cream had worn her out. After she went to bed you’d had time to sit and think about what Andy had said. You knew he was probably right about you ex, you were just scared to further set him off. Up to this point, he’d pretty much left you alone. You worried that if you pressed the issue, he’d make trouble for you or worse, for Ava.

You also had to admit that you’d very much enjoyed spending the day with Andy. He was easy to talk to and fun to be around. He was an amazing dad to Jacob and was sweet in his interactions with Ava. While you definitely enjoyed his company, you were still unsure whether or not he would be interested in anything other than just being friends, and if he was, was dating the father of one of your student’s a good idea?

With everything running through your head, you didn’t get much sleep. You dragged yourself out of bed when you heard Ava get up, slowly making your way to the kitchen. She was already on the couch watching cartoons, so you decided to take advantage and start the coffee before getting her some breakfast.

After your coffee was ready, you poured yourself a cup and then set to making Ava some French Toast and Scrambled eggs. While you were cooking, you heard your phone ping with new messages but decided they could wait, assuming it was just your ex again.

“Ava, come eat breakfast,” You called her once the food was done. “You have to eat and get ready, Papa will be picking you up soon.”

“Yay! I can’t wait to tell Papa about the zoo! And Jacob and his daddy!” She said excitedly. She came in and sat down at the counter and started eating her breakfast.

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear all about the zoo, Monkey.” You confirmed. And later, you were sure to get the third degree about Andy and Jacob. Sometimes you wished your brother and sister in law lived closer so that your parents could fuss over them once in a while.

“Mommy?” Ave asked, swallowing a mouthful of her French toast, “When can I see Jacob and his daddy again?”

“I don’t know, Babygirl” You replied, “I’m glad you had fun with them though.”

“I did!” She said, “I wish Jacob was my brother. Katie, at school, always talks about her brother and they do fun stuff together.”

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Your heart broke that she didn’t have a sibling. You knew how nice it was growing up with your own brother. Ava didn’t even have cousins that lived close. Thankfully, your dad arrived, which saved you from having to come up with a response.

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” Your dad said, entering the kitchen, “Morning, Ava Bug! Are you ready to go out on the boat?”

“Yup!” She said, happily, “I’m ready!”

“Go grab your jacket and put your shoes on, Monkey.” You instructed her.

While Ava got her jacket and shoes on, you placed her plate in the dishwasher and wiped down the counter.

“What are your plans today?” Your dad asked.

“I’m going to go get groceries and then come back and get some stuff done around the house.” You replied, “I’ve got some grading I should catch up too.”

“Try to do something that’s just for you, Sweetheart,” He said, hugging you, “It’s ok, to do things for yourself too, doesn’t make you a bad mom, teacher, or daughter.”

“Thanks, Dad.” You replied smiling, “I will try to squeeze some me time in there as well.”

“We’re happy to keep Ava Bug overnight, if you want to get out with other adults and paint the town red.”

“I’m not in my twenties anymore dad” You laughed, “No need to go out drinking or partying with friends. The recovery takes too long now.”

“The offer still stands” He insisted, “Being the only grandchild in the state, we’re more than happy to spoil her.”

“She’s more than happy to let you!” You said, shaking your head.

Ava came bounding back into the room, declaring she was ready and all but dragged your dad out the door. After quick hugs and a reminder to her to listen, they were off for their adventure.

Once they were out the door, you grabbed your phone to look at the missed text messages and phone calls.

You read through the texts, seeing that they were all from your ex. You were starting to get worried with the increase in calls and texts from him. He was clearly escalating. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves.

You decided to go get dressed and try to clear your head before making a decision on what to do about the texts and calls. You’d promised Andy you’d think about taking actions to get your ex to stop harassing you, and you had to admit he was probably right.  

By the time you got dressed and brushed through your hair, you’d made the decision to go about your day as planned, and you would reach out to Andy in an email on Monday.

You grabbed your car keys and purse, tucking your phone in your pocket and made your way out to your car. You blasted your upbeat playlist, hoping it would work to calm the remaining nerves before you got to the grocery store.

You were able to get the shopping done in record time without having to negotiate all the treats with Ava. You had a feeling she’d make a great lawyer someday. With the shopping done, you decided to reward yourself and grab a coffee from the small coffee shop around the corner from the grocery store.

As you stood in line, you heard your phone ding several times, alerting you to new messages. You pulled your phone out to check, and felt your anxiety increase again. You sent a text back asking to be left alone, knowing he’d ignore it.

“Fancy running into you here” A voice sounded behind you, startling you and causing you to flinch. “Woah, Brielle, are you ok?”

Finally recognizing the voice, you turned around, taking a deep breath and trying to calm your racing heart.

“Andy,” You replied, quietly, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that, I wasn’t paying attention so missed when you came in.”

“You do realize I’m a lawyer, and can see right through that right?” He said gently, “You’re showing all the classic signs of distress. How about you have a seat while I get us coffees and then you can tell me what’s causing that distress.”

“I appreciate the offer,” You replied, “I have groceries in the car though, and wasn’t planning on staying.”

“I don’t think driving when you’re upset is a great idea either,” He reasoned, “It’s cool enough, the groceries should be fine while you have one cup of coffee.”

“Ok,” You smiled, softly, “You’re pretty good at bargaining.”

“Professional hazard” he joked, “What would you like? And before you argue, I’m buying the coffee and you’re going to sit and breathe.”

“Yes, Sir,” you smiled, “Mocha Latte, please.”

“Coming right up” He said, smiling warmly, “Grab us a table.”  

You quickly found a table in one of the corners, figuring Andy would be grilling you over why you were upset, you didn’t want the rest of the cafe to hear the conversation.

Andy set your coffee down in front of you and took a seat in the chair next to you.

“Thank you” You said, placing your hands around the warm up.

“You’re welcome” He replied, “How many more messages have you gotten from him?”

“Today? Or since you read the messages yesterday?” You asked to clarify, but mostly to stall.

“Sweetheart, if you have to ask that, it’s time to put a stop to it.” He said gently. Your heart fluttered at the endearment.

“I’ve gotten 9 more texts and 4 voicemails just since this morning.” You admitted, “I sent a text back asking him to stop, but I’m guessing that’s not going to be effective.”

“Probably not,” He agreed, “But it’s a good first step. Are the texts the same as yesterday or more aggressive?”

“They’re the same, just more frequent.” You said, “Honestly, I just want him to leave me alone. I don’t want to have to worry about him suddenly popping up or worry about if he’s going to demand to see Ava.”

“Are you willing to let me help you?” He asked gently.

“If you’re sure it’s not a bother…” You said, giving in, “I would very much appreciate the help.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to help,” He assured you, “Besides, my motives are purely selfish.”

“How so?” You asked, smiling.

“It gives me a reason to see more of you, which hopefully leads to us getting to know one another more, and in the interest of full disclosure, once this is all cleared up, I’m going to ask you for a date.” He admitted, smiling.

“In the interest of full disclosure,” You replied, “once this is all cleared up, I’ll probably say yes.”

“Probably?” He asked, laughing, “I can work with that.”

“You may have to run it by the boss…” you teased, “She’ll probably grill you on your knowledge of Disney Princesses.”

“I better do some research then.” He said, “I want to make sure I can pass with flying colors.”

“Ava was asking this morning when she can see Jacob again.” You said, “Seems she is very taken with him.” You left out the part about her wishing he was her brother.

“How would you feel about Jake and I coming to your house tomorrow?” He suggested, “He can keep Ava occupied while we sort through paperwork so I can get it done and filed with the court on Monday?”

“The only way I will agree to be the reason you have to work on a Sunday is if you at least let me cook you and Jacob dinner.” You bargained.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he joked, “I will happily accept those terms.”

“Any food allergies or aversions” You asked, “I was thinking about making lasagna tomorrow.”

“Jake and I eat pretty much anything.” he confirmed, “And lasagna sounds like Heaven.”

“I’ll plan on dinner then for around 5:30, but you are welcome to come any time.” You said, “And really, I cannot thank you enough for this.”

“No thanks are needed,” He said, “I’ve already admitted this is purely selfish on my part. Jake and I will come around 3:30, we’ll want to make sure Miss. Ava gets enough hang out time with Jake.”

“You’ll be her new favorite person.” You teased, “3:30 is perfect.”

“I’ve heard she’s the one I need to impress anyway in order to gain approval to ask her mom out.” He winked. “In the meantime, try not to look at messages from your ex or stress over the calls. We’ll get it all worked out soon. And do not say ‘thank you’ again!” he laughed, see you opening your mouth to do just that.

Andy walked you out to your car and you said your goodbyes before heading home to get groceries put away and laundry sorted. You were very much looking forward to dinner the next day.  

@waywardodysseys​ @nickysurfer28​

[kieraelieson]

Centaur AU 5

To say Thomas worried the rest of the day would be an understatement. He tried to keep it to himself, but it must have been palpable, since Roman came into the stable bright and happy, and his smile dropped immediately. His eyes went wide, clearly sending messages to the others, but he didn’t say a word until his jockey was gone.

“What happened?!”

“It’s not that much to be concerned about,” Logan said. “My legs are hurting, nothing more.”

“The vet has been called at least!” Roman said, a flash of anger in his eyes. “If—“ his words fizzled out as he turned to see Thomas.

“No, no, Thomas called the vet. She’s coming tonight to help,” Patton said, his tone calming.

“Well,” Roman looked like the wind had been taken out of him. “Good.”

And that somehow reminded Thomas. The very visit probably wouldn’t be over in a few minutes, he would be late to get home again. He was now Extremely glad he’d gotten a cell phone for Remy. Perhaps after a month or so he could afford one for Emile too.

He went to the phone, ignoring the quiet talking from the others.

Remy didn’t pick up right away, and Thomas called a second time.

“Look, I don’t know who you are—“

“Remy, it’s Thomas.”

“Oh. Sorry, this is a weird number. Wait—- don’t tell me you got lost this time!” Remy laughed. “Emile! You’ve got to hear this!”

“No, no, Remy, I’m not lost, I’m still at work. I just called to say I’ll probably have to stay late again.”

There was a vague, displeased grunt. “What, overtime twice in a row? You did negotiate for overtime pay, right?”

Thomas sighed. “No, I’m not sure I’m even getting paid at all for it.”

“What?!” Remy yelled. “Thomas, you are A Doormat!” The sound went a little fainter. “Emile, tell him! He’s not even getting paid for staying late!”

“Really, Thomas, you do need to stand up for yourself in terms of fair payment,” Emile said.

Thomas chuckled slightly, sighing. “I know. I really do. This is just more important than that. I’ll explain when I get home, and I’ll even try to figure out a way to renegotiate.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Remy promised.

“Be safe and reasonable,” Emile said. “If you get very tired, it may be better to quit before your task is complete or to stay the night there.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” Thomas said. “Love you guys.”

“Yeah, yeah, all the mushy ‘we love you too’,” Remy said distantly before hanging up.

Thomas smiled a bit. He really missed them, even though it’d only been a few days, they seemed really long.

And then he heard a car stop and a door shut. Hopefully that was the vet.

He turned to offer his most reassuring smile to the centaurs before going out to meet her.

“Oh, hello, are you Thomas?”

“I am, yes, and I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Dr. Avery. Would you help me carry some things?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not surprised something finally happened,” Dr. Avery said, her tone rather annoyed. “I’ve been saying all you recent grooms are lazy and uneducated.”

Thomas tried not to take offense, but really, he was undereducated. He hadn’t had barely an idea of what to do.

“For a centaur like that one you need to be applying liniment all the time, and keep support for his legs between, and he really ought not to be sleeping standing.”

Thomas nodded, extremely glad for the information, though a part of him grated against the tone it was delivered in.

“And he really needs some kinds of exercise other than those competitions. Without the variety, eventually he’ll be unable to do anything else. Maybe it’s even too late already.”

Thomas nodded again.

They entered the stable, and the silence was almost oppressive. All four centaurs stared intently at them, very still, and not making a single sound, not even in response to Thomas’s small smile.

Dr. Avery went right into Logan’s stall, and he narrowed his eyes at her slightly before moving into the middle of the stall, crossing his arms and staring firmly at the wall. It somehow cut into Thomas to see it. As if the vet visiting was something that had happened long ago, and ended very unpleasantly, and this was some sort of unpleasant truce. But he didn’t know what to do about it. He, they all needed a vet, and he strongly doubted he would be able to call his vet. There would be so much paperwork, even just to begin, and Logan was hurt now. Not to mention that the owners might well hate the idea of switching vets.

Dr. Avery unwrapped Logan’s legs and ran her hands carefully over them, making small displeased noises as she found… whatever she was finding.

“Thomas, go out to my truck, there’s a portable x-ray machine. Bring it here.”

Thomas ran to obey quickly.

The vet examined each of Logan’s legs very carefully, and then studied the x-rays, frowning intently, but not saying much. Thomas felt like his breath was held the entire time, waiting on the professional judgement.

“Well, first of all,” she said, still staring at the papers.

Thomas nodded quickly. “Yes?”

“This is going to be expensive to treat,” she said, her tone sour. “There are a number of faint cracks in the cannon bones. I’m quite frankly shocked he hasn’t broken his legs. He needs to stay off his feet as much as possible, and his legs need support, as well as dietary supplements to build up the bones again. He will not be able to participate in any of those competitions whatsoever for 12 weeks at the very least.”

Thomas nodded firmly. He was sure… well, he was desperately hopeful that the Authiers would pay for it.

“But on top of that the mental aspect cannot be discounted. I’ve known this centaur for quite a few years. It will be a long, and painful recovery, if it’s handled just right. I don’t think he’ll pull through it. Centaurs are finicky like that once injured.”

Thomas felt as though she’d managed to slap them all in the face, and Logan at least twice. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked or angry.

“Add all that to the likelihood that he won’t be able to do many competitions afterwards even if he did somehow pull through it, and from the inactivity his muscles will be atrophied, he won’t be the same for… perhaps six months or more. I don’t know that you’ll, or rather, that the Authiers would find it worthwhile to keep him around anymore.”

Thomas felt like he might fall over. His voice came out squeaky and faint. “Are-- are you seriously suggesting that---”

“Putting him down. Yes.”

There was a choked sound from Patton, who looked both absolutely terrified and like he might throw up. Thomas wondered if he looked the same way. There was suddenly a scream.

“NO!” Virgil had reared up and kicked the door, hard.

Dr. Avery paled. “Why is he loose like that?! That is a violent centaur!”

Thomas, in what was probably a powerful move Emile would berate him for later, managed to shove everything down all at once and put on a conciliatory smile.

“Thank you so much for coming. I will talk to the Authiers, and call you again with their decision. If you leave, it will be easier to get him under control again.”

Virgil was still screaming, the sound more animal than human, and the stall door would not hold much longer.

“That’s at least a three man job! I’ll get the tranquilizers.”

“No.” Thomas said firmly. “Please leave. Now.”

Dr. Avery shook her head like he was crazy, but grabbed her stuff and left.

Thomas shut the stable door, and then heard a cracking of wood. In seconds Virgil was in front of him, rearing up threateningly. If he hadn’t already so far detached himself from the situation, Thomas might have screamed. And then he would have most assuredly died. But he didn’t, he raised his hands slowly and silently in surrender.

“You won’t touch him!” Virgil screamed.

“Virgil, please. I swear to you I will never let anything like that happen to Logan. I swear. I will do everything I possibly can, and if that doesn’t work I’d kidnap him before I let someone kill him. I promise Virgil, everything I can, I will do to make him safe. I promise. Please. Please walk back to your stall. Or to Logan’s. I’m sure he would appreciate you with him.”

It was as if dark clouds started to be blown away as Virgil stood down, taking a step back and turning to look at Logan.

Thomas collapsed to his knees, suddenly sobbing.

Something was going on, but he didn’t know what, only that his breath was coming short and he couldn’t stop himself, nearly curled up in a ball, heavy sobs wracking his body. And then strong arms picking him up and holding him in a hug.

“It’s alright. Everyone’s safe for now.” Someone said. “You did the best you could.”

Thomas tried hard to stop crying. He needed to be the strong one. He needed to fix everything. “I’m so-sorry, I’m trying.”

“It’s alright. We’re all alright for now. Let it out now.”

Thomas slowly managed to regain some kind of composure, and realized that Roman was holding him, knelt down on the floor with him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. You- you shouldn’t have to--”

He was cut off and surprised by Roman squeezing him in a tight hug. “Thomas, you’re giving us the best you have. Thank you. It’s enough.”

And somehow that made him want to cry all over again. Not the same desperate sobs, but it still made him sniff, and quite a few more tears ran down his face. “Thank you, Roman.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, his voice quiet and low. “Did-- did you mean what you said?”

Thomas nodded firmly. “I’ll never just stand by while they kill someone. Especially not for being hurt.”

Patton burst into tears, which, judging by his wet face, were not the first by far.

“Is Logan ok?” Thomas asked.

Virgil looked up at Logan’s face, which he could see from his place snugged up against his side. “He’s out.”

It took Thomas a second while his brain screamed ‘he passed out???’ to realize Virgil probably meant he was heavily dissociated. Thomas couldn’t blame him. But… this was probably what the vet meant about centaur’s and their minds once they got injured. It wasn’t their fault, it was a whole life long of trauma. But for Logan to get well again he would have to be present.

But not yet. He deserved to calmly make his way back. He deserved… anything, after being talked about like that. Someone literally threatened to kill him while he stood there listening! Thomas felt anger rising up in him, bringing with it a rush of heat and energy. He was calling the Authiers. And he was not taking no for an answer.

He took the phone with him into the closet, where he couldn’t be so easily overheard. None of them deserved any more bad news.

“Hello?” A familiar voice asked, with loud music in the background. It was the woman who had hired him, and he felt bad to say, he didn’t remember her first name.

“Hello, Mrs. Authier, it’s Thomas Sanders.”

“Oh, Thomas! Do you need something?”

He was going to have to phrase this right if he had much hope. “I’ve been looking into the things that the other grooms did, and I’ve found several problems.”

“Uh huh. Well give me the quick version, I’m a bit busy.”

Thomas took a deep breath. “One of the centaurs needs medical care, and I need more time here. I’d like to be hired full-time, and be able to bring things over here to stay.”

“Oh, that was excellently quick. Is that everything?”

“Um, yes?”

“Great. I’ll give you an empty check for the medical care, and send my lawyer to talk with you in the morning about rearranging the schedule. Are we good now?”

“I… yes. I think so.”

“Great! There’s a party up at the main house, and it’ll go most of the night if you want to join.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“Call anytime, you’re a good summarizer!”

And then she hung up. Thomas was dumbfounded. It was entirely not how he’d expected it to go at all. He was wondering more and more what kind of crazy people he was working for.

He called Dr. Avery, and went to voicemail, which he preferred quite a bit. “Mrs. Authier approved the medical treatment. If you can come in the morning and give me care instructions, I’ll do my best to be sure they’re followed.”

And then Thomas let out a long, relieved sigh. He came out of the closet to many tense faces.

“She said yes. We’re going to treat Logan, and help him the best we can.”

Roman and Virgil sighed in relief, and Patton nearly cried again. “Oh, thank goodness!”

“And,” Thomas said, and suddenly had all eyes fixed on him again. “I think, I might be moving to stay here. Would that be alright with you guys?”

There was a strange silence.

“Well, what we think about it wouldn’t really change anything,” Roman said.

“Of course we’d love to have you!” Patton said, overlapping Roman’s words.

Thomas nodded solemnly. He could understand if they didn’t want him here. They barely knew him, and it’d take away the privacy they had at nighttime.

“Well, for tonight then, I need to wrap up Logan’s legs again, and probably after all that mess Virgil at least could use a brushing down. Would that be alright?”

Thomas looked mostly at Virgil, who nodded, but reluctantly, and didn’t meet his gaze.

And Thomas had to admit, even with the exhausted numbness settling over him, he was scared to be between Logan and Virgil, even though he knew, and they knew too, that he was only trying to help. Logan was still almost frozen, a glazed look in his eyes as he turned lazily to watch Thomas.

Thomas ran a hand gently over Logan’s flank, and over again. He didn’t know if Logan would appreciate petting or if he’d be annoyed or insulted by it. He just wanted to find some way to help, and to perhaps comfort and reassure a bit.

“I’m really sorry. If I’d known what she was going to say I would’ve had her outside to talk.”

Logan didn’t respond at all.

Thomas tried giving a rather wry smile, but it fell a bit flat.

“If you’d come out of this stall, Virgil, it’d be easier for me to brush you,” Thomas said, turning and going back to the closet to get a curry comb.

Virgil was standing in his own stall when Thomas came back out, and he was standing stiffly, his eyes darting around a bit, though he turned his head away to make it less obvious. Thomas wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he didn’t blame him. He felt antsy and jittery himself, and just wanted to get done and get home.

But as he entered the stall Virgil stepped away from him. “I’m sorry. F-for earlier. I-I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s alright,” Thomas said, raising the brush. “Just stand still now and we’ll be good.”

Virgil flinched back and away, holding his arms close to his chest, a wide-eyed scared look on his face. It finally registered to Thomas that something more was wrong than just fading adrenaline.

“Virgil, I’m tired and kinda crashing, it’s making me kind of dumb, and I’m gonna need you to communicate here with me, ok? What’s wrong?”

Virgil’s eyes flicked to the curry comb, but he didn’t say anything. A tremor started and ran over his body.

Patton came to the rescue, leaning over the walls.

“Virgil doesn’t like that brush.”

Thomas frowned down at the innocent curry comb. “It’s no worse than any other brush, Virgil.”

“It hurts! Especially when you’re mad or tired.” Virgil blurted out, shutting his mouth immediately after as if he’d said something bad.

The only way this kind of brush would hurt was if it was practically slapped against…. who was Thomas kidding, with the rampant abuse, it was incredibly likely that exactly that had happened.

“It wouldn’t hurt if it’s done properly,” Thomas promised. “Would you let me try? If it hurts you I promise I’ll go back and get your favorite one instead.”

“You promise?”

Thomas nodded firmly. “I promise.”

Virgil shook his head, a tremor running down his whole body. “Promises break.”

Thomas thought about it for a minute, and then went out and grabbed a lead rope, tying one end around his wrist.

“Do you trust Patton? The whole time I’m brushing you he can hold the other end of this rope, and the instant it hurts you he can pull my hand back.”

Virgil looked to Patton, who seemed more than a little nervous about the idea, but still nodded and accepted the end of the rope.

“O-ok.”

Thomas gently set the brush against Virgil’s side, waiting for the flinch and shiver to die down a little before he moved the brush at all. Virgil was all covered in sweat, and Thomas tried to move just right to get it off without moving too quickly and startling him.

He was a little surprised, but also a little not, that by the time he’d finished one side Virgil was relaxing into it. It must feel good to finally reach through all the hair and get properly brushed, and to get really clean.

He’d just wanted to get home a bit ago, but this was more important. It wasn’t just brushing down a centaur, it was getting Virgil to trust him, to trust brushes. It was healthy for Virgil’s coat too. And probably it was helping relax a lot of stressors for him. He needed it, far more that Thomas needed to get home. So he took his time, did it the best way, which also happened to take a long time.

And once he was done Virgil was so relaxed his eyes were drifting shut.

“There. You did very well, Virgil. And thank you for helping, Patton.”

Patton smiled and yawned. “You’re welcome, Thomas.”

“I’ll probably head home now. Is there anything else any of you need?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” Logan said, startling Thomas by speaking.

“Yes?”

Logan just gave a small nod, as if that meant something to him. “Thank you.”

Thomas nodded. “You’re welcome.”

He closed stall doors and turned off all the lights but one, finally leaving. When he got home, for some reason, he didn’t go into the house, he went into the stable. Only barely awake, he dropped onto the hay next to where Emile was stretched out, laying prone.

“Thomas?”

Thomas gave a weak grunt in acknowledgement before falling asleep.

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Prince Thomas - My Princess Pt. 11

*Zendaya x Reader

*Summary: Prince Thomas gets a PoV.

*Warnings: Awkwardness, trying to navigate feelings, failed attempts at flirting, swearing (idk this is just in case). Let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: The amount of times I would just stand up and talk through Prince Thomas’s stuff while writing this was insane.

Tip Jar

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven

**********

This entire process was nothing new to Tom. He’d known for years that he was expected to court and marry some princess for stronger alliances for his kingdom, and he’d even gone through the courting process a couple times before something or the other happened and they’d go their separate ways. There was always something that bothered him about it; it just seemed like they were a distraction from him being able to live his life for the moment. Tom was still young - there would be time before he would have to step up and take the throne, he just wanted to enjoy life before then.

He should have known it wouldn’t last for long. He got his teen years to spend with Harrison, getting into more trouble than he should have, but now he was approaching his mid-twenties and he’d be expected to stop all of that. It wasn’t considered acceptable that he hasn’t courted anyone since he’d become of age, and he could tell that even his parents were getting antsy about it at this point. His parents didn’t tell him until the day before they were set to visit Xaya, leaving him with no room for objection.

His parents left Harrison’s father in charge, and off they went with their trunks packed in a separate carriage. The trip was going to take a few days - with stops along the way - and the silence that fell over the group was already deafening. Prince Thomas knew nothing about Xaya, other than the fact that his kingdom had some form of an alliance with them. He knew he’d have to learn something about them if he was expected to marry their princess, but that could wait until later into the engagement.

It didn’t take long for Prince Thomas’s father to hand him a bundle of papers. As soon as the bundle landed in his lap, Prince Thomas looked away from the carriage window. “What’s this?”

“It’s some information about our friends in Xaya. Adviser Osterfield put together a crash course for you,” the King explained. “We have enough time until we get there for you to familiarize yourself.”

“Why do I have to know about Xaya? Wouldn’t the Princess be coming back home with me?” Thomas asked. He watched as his mother put her hand on his father’s knee before speaking.

“She’s the sole heir to the throne in Xerin, I don’t expect she’ll want to leave so easily. Especially with her family’s reputation of service to their people,” she explained. “Show that you care for her land, and she may consider you as a genuine candidate.”

“I thought her hand was guaranteed.” His mother shook her head.

“We’re going to officially ask for a betrothal, but she may be allowed to dissolve the engagement at any point.” Prince Thomas didn’t know that was allowed, but he just nodded in understanding. There must have been a reason his parents were insisting on this woman, and he didn’t want to ruin the work they’d put into setting this entire thing up. “We also put the terms of the betrothal in there. We should be the ones handling it, but we want you to know what’s going on too.”

Now that was the interesting part. Prince Thomas started rifling through the papers given to him, hoping there would be something that was obvious as the terms of the betrothal. He caught brief glimpses of other information - a map of the kingdom, what appeared to be a list of alliances, normal diplomatic relations stuff - until he saw a document with his family’s official seal. It listed out what Xerin would provide following the engagement - a large monetary gift to Xaya after the wedding, free travel between the two kingdoms, typical things - and the expectations of Xaya - military support should it be needed, the princess to come to Xerin following the wedding, access to the diplomatic resources Xaya had. As far as Prince Thomas was concerned, everything seemed standard for an arranged marriage.

The trip to Xaya would take a couple days, so there would be time for Prince Thomas to go through the packet and memorize things, especially when they stopped to rest at night. Even as he combed through the packet, there was nothing really about the Princess herself. Then again, that wasn’t really important in arranged marriages; they’d both do what was best for their kingdoms.

**********

It seemed as though the world was out to get him. As the royals relaxed for the night and prepared for the next day’s travels, a messenger rode up to the cabin. He wasn’t allowed into the room while his parents talked to the messenger, but he had an idea that their plans would have to change. On other diplomatic trips he’d taken with his parents, they normally weren’t bothered with small details; Harrison’s father and the other advisors were trusted to handle the small things while they were gone. If a messenger was sent, something must have happened (and perhaps Thomas would be allowed to live as a single man for a while longer). 

Of course that wasn’t how things would work. His parents called him into the room, both looking more serious than they had the entire day. His father was the first to break the silence. “Thomas, there’s been a change of plans.”

“Aw, really? What a shame, I guess we’ll have to visit Xaya some other day,” Prince Thomas tried to brush it off. His mother furrowed her brow.

“You talk about this trip as though it’s a leisure trip,” she said. “However, the trip will go as planned for you. Your father and I are going to take a carriage back to the kingdom and you will proceed ahead to Xaya.”

“Wait, what? Aren’t you guys supposed to handle all of this?” Thomas asked, panicking slightly.

“You know the terms of the betrothal, you will be able to handle this. After all, you’ll have to negotiate the terms of betrothal for your own children one day. Consider it as practice,” she replied. “You will be fine.”

Thomas wanted to tell her just how wrong she was, but he would never tell his mother that. If his parents trusted him enough to handle this entire thing on his own, then he would do his best to not let them down. He simply nodded.

“Please give the King and Queen our apologies. We will try to join you as soon as we can, but we’re not sure when that will be,” his father said.

**********

Traveling alone was not as fun as he thought it’d be. He’d always had dreams of traveling the world on his own, but when he was forced to travel to another kingdom on official business on his own, he only found nerves and no enjoyment at all. The day he arrived to Xaya, he would have to present the request in front of the royal family. Of course there had been preliminary talks, so this request would not come out of the blue, but it was still a request nonetheless.

As soon as he was announced for his audience in front of the royal family, his mind went blank. His body moved on autopilot, the training he’d had for years providing him the chance to just try to restart his mind. The second he saw her, the one who was supposed to be his betrothed (if only he could actually get through this meeting), he could’ve sworn he heard angels singing as his breath was taken from his lungs. She looked bored, and like she’d rather be anywhere than sitting at the front of the room, but she was still stunning. He needed to do this right. 

As her mother introduced the Princess, she reached out her hand. He stepped forward, taking it and brushing a kiss against her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure.”

Though she gave him a kind smile, he could tell there was something else behind her eyes. He didn’t expect her to be completely comfortable with him seconds after meeting him, but he expected it would come in time. As he stepped back to discuss the terms of betrothal with the King and Queen - though they’d received the terms in written form - his eyes kept wandering to the Princess. She wasn’t completely present in the conversation, but she was watching him. Perhaps she was sizing him up, maybe just taking in his appearance, but her attention was enough to send a shiver up his spine. There was a moment of silence after he explained the terms of the betrothal and the King and Queen took in the proposal.

“Then it is settled,” her father said. “You and my daughter will be wed before the year is finished.”

Prince Thomas had to stop himself from showing his excitement, instead opting to smile at the royals. “Thank you, sir. I’ll write my parents in the morning to let them know the good news.”

When he looked over at the Princess, her shock was evident. Had her parents not let her know the betrothal was a possibility? She was looking across the room, and as he stepped to the side to allow the audiences to end, he saw she had locked eyes with a guard on the other side of the room. The other woman looked like she was trying not to look bothered, but her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes gave her away. As audiences ended, the Princess tried making her exit, but the Queen directed her to him instead.

He could feel the heat in his face as he tried his best to just talk normally to the Princess. Well, as normally as he could in front of her parents. Of course her beauty was what caught his attention, but he wanted to see if he’d truly be compatible with his future bride. While actual feelings weren’t a necessity for arranged marriages, he could see himself falling for the Princess. 

**********

Prince Thomas sent the letter to his parents in the morning, asking for permission to stay in Xaya for the duration of the engagement. It might be a long shot, but he wanted the chance to get to know his future bride as well as he could. With how shocked she seemed by the betrothal, he could tell it might take a while for her to warm up to him. All he could do was try to make himself familiar to the Princess and hope her fondness would grow for him.

He could tell she was simply being polite at first, but he didn’t want to hold that against her. Polite was supposed to be the default for royals, especially around others they didn’t know. There were moments when he could see her really bring down her walls, but even those were fleeting at first - walking through the gardens, when she teased him for not knowing his way around the castle at first, the moment on the balcony as they overlooked the kingdom. That moment on the balcony, just talking to her and seeing the love she held for her people, he realized his mother was right. She didn’t want to leave her land, but he would have to lead his with her.

As he tried spending more time with the Princess, there was one clear barrier in his way: her guard dog, Lady Zendaya. At first he tried making jokes about it, but he was quickly shot down by (y/n). After all, Lady Zendaya was her best friend and she would not hear anything ill of the other woman. He could understand; if someone were to try talking ill about Harrison, he wouldn’t entertain it either. However, his frustrations just continued. Every time he tried spending time alone with the Princess - having tea, taking walks, having dinner - Lady Zendaya was only a few feet away, watching him like a hawk.

Whenever he had the chance to actually be alone with her - or even just with a different guard - he took the opportunity. She was warming up to him, she really was, and Thomas figured it wouldn’t be long for feelings to actually grow. He received word from Harrison that he’d be coming to Xaya in the coming days, and he felt like he needed to have some sort of progress to show for all the time he’d spent away from his kingdom. Prince Thomas asked her to dinner when she returned to the castle after having spent the day away, and he was ecstatic when Lady Zendaya didn’t join them.

Then he messed up. He escorted her back to her chambers - as he tended to do if they had dinner together - and stalled for time as they were in front of her door. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”

“Of course, it was a nice dinner,” she said with a soft smile.

“It was nice to get some proper time alone with you. I always enjoy getting to see who you are outside of the expectations of our roles,” he said, taking her hands in his. Thomas rubbed his thumb over the side of her hand, trying to figure out how to make his next move. “You’re really an amazing person, I want to be able to spend more time alone with you.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in with eyes closed. The hand on his chest, gently pushing him away, brought him back to the reality. She set her terms, requiring a chaperone on any potential future outings, and he wasn’t going to argue with her about that. He made her uncomfortable, and he was going to have to deal with the consequences. Thomas wished her a goodnight, not even fully around the corner before he allowed a swear to escape him. He really messed that up.

**********

Harrison coming to Xaya seemed to be exactly the thing he needed. Trying to figure out all of this on his own, sending letters back home occasionally for advice, wasn’t exactly working in his favor. Prince Thomas had been moping after the rejection, trying to figure out how to make things better.

“Tom, mate, why don’t you just talk to her?” Harrison asked, reclining on the Prince’s bed as Thomas paced around the room.

“She doesn’t wanna see me.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No, but why would she want to? I really made her uncomfortable, Haz,” Thomas whined as he continued his pacing.

“Just go and apologize to her, she’ll probably appreciate you admitting you were wrong,” Harrison said. “I’m gonna get dizzy if you keep pacing in circles like that.”

“I don’t know, then I’ll have to apologize in front of a guard, and if it’s her guard dog then Lord help me I’ll probably end up dead.”

“I thought she didn’t like you calling her guard a guard dog?”

“Well, yes, but you should see the way Lady Zendaya glares at me whenever we’re in the same room.”

“They take shifts, right? Just go when it’s not Lady Zendaya’s shift and apologize to her.” That made Thomas completely pause in his pacing and just look at his friend. It was really that easy, and he couldn’t believe he never thought of it in the days he’d been avoiding the situation. Maybe then things could go back to the way they were developing, and he could slowly work towards the intimacy he craved with her.

“Haz, you might just be a genius,” Thomas said, rushing to the side of the bed just to clasp a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Harrison jumped at the sudden contact.

“Christ, man! Why’d you have to rush me like that?” Harrison exclaimed. Thomas didn’t acknowledge the protest, instead focused on how to get his relationship back on track. 

With this new plan, Thomas needed to apologize as soon as possible. He already figured he’d lost valuable time by avoiding her for these past few days, but if he was sincere enough, then maybe she’d be willing to forgive him. Thomas talked to a few people around the castle, finding out where the Princess was. He spoke to the guard outside the library doors briefly, and he was actually surprised when the guard didn’t put up much argument against him. As soon as he was inside the library, he could tell he was walking on thin ice with her. He didn’t plan out the apology, instead opting to go in with a vague idea on what he wanted to say to her. After all, the best apologies came from the heart.

**********

Every day he thanked the heavens she accepted his apology. She had every right to refuse him, but as long as he stuck to her boundaries, she was willing to give him another chance. However, he had to admit that having Harrison there to hang out with allowed for him to relax a bit. She seemed to really get along with Harrison, and he saw her becoming more open with the both of them. What had been polite smiles before turned genuine, her laughter became one of his favorite sounds, the shine in her eyes as he told stories from his teen years made him want to tell more, even if he embarrassed himself. Though he’d fallen for her beauty at first, he could say that she was definitely more than just a pretty face, and he’d be truly honored to have her ruling beside him.

The festival that Harrison brought up was the perfect chance to show off for her. He’d been to a few festivals in Xerin with Harrison, and he saw the way other men would win things for the women they were courting (or trying to). He knew there was something about festivals that held a romantic air, and he hoped (y/n) would feel the same. When the Princess agreed to going with them, he knew this would be his big chance.

Thomas didn’t plan for Lady Zendaya to go with them, though now it made sense to him. However, he truly didn’t plan for the Princess to first look at Lady Zendaya to win prizes for her. He didn’t expect to end up in a semi-joking competition with Lady Zendaya to win the most prizes for the Princess, but he would say he held his own fairly well. Even though this obstacle was present, he couldn’t deny the pure enjoyment in his heart. The Princess was finally calling him by his name rather than his title, she looked like she was having an amazing time, gifting him with things he loved - her smile, her laughter, that gleam in her eyes that could only come from having the time of her life.

When the Princess brought up staying for the fireworks, Prince Thomas knew this was his chance. Lady Zendaya stepped away for a bit, and he couldn’t believe the heavens aligned for him like this. Once their small group found somewhere to watch the fireworks, Thomas turned to the Princess to make small talk. He just wanted to make sure she was enjoying this night as much as he was. He was rewarded with her bright smile, taking his breath away as it tended to do.

“I’m glad you had fun,” he told her. He took a second, stealing his nerves for what he wanted to say next, but he was interrupted by the sound of the first fireworks firing into the air. She looked away from him, awe on her face as she watched the colors explode in the sky. He looked up to watch the display as well, but he had to try something, so he brushed his fingers against hers, wanting to take her hand in his. She must not have noticed, not with the way she gasped at the new colors in the sky and held her hands over her heart. His pride was slightly wounded, but the way she watched the sky was enough to make it okay.

Lady Zendaya returned soon after the first set of fireworks, taking her place by the Princess’s side. As the colorful display in the sky continued, Prince Thomas couldn’t help but steal glances at the Princess. The way she watched the sky - eyes bright and lips slightly parted in awe - was enough to make his heart race. It didn’t take long for her to become the focus of his gaze, but when his gaze traveled only a few inches to the side, he could feel his breath catch in his throat. Lady Zendaya was also watching the Princess, eyes soft and a small smile threatening to break the cold demeanor she usually held. It was fonder than two friends, even if they were best friends. It was the way he looked at the Princess.  

Harrison warned them that the ten minutes was up, and Thomas was forced into his thoughts as they walked back to the High Priestess’s house. The words he’d wanted to tell the Princess earlier played at the back of his mind, but they now had a new piece of information. I’ve fallen in love with you, but I think she has too.

**********

Tag List: @uncookspaget​, @ddesert-rosee, @gangganggg

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness, @laic2299, @delaber

[rudystree]

If you’re trying to defend someone that hasn’t spoken up or did the bare minimum to be an advocate about the Israel-Palestine conflict then your post is kind of ... Not It i mean it’s literally everywhere, so many carrds and infographics have been made to explain it concisely. Maybe “just 5 minutes” is a little unrealistic but how hard is it to understand that ethnic cleansing isn’t something people should just turn a blind eye to?

you’re not wrong, but you missed my point entirely (maybe bc my post was a bit vague). i’ll elaborate, but i’d much rather not get into it too much on here

i don’t want anyone to turn a blind eye to global issues. it’s literally my field of study. i would love for everyone to educate themselves on these topics, read the news, make their voices heard.

but celebrities are not news reporters. there are journalists, scholars, researchers, diplomats and activists who dedicate their lives to help inform us properly. an instagram story by zayn or ariana grande will not help solve religious/ethnic/national identity tensions that have been escalating for 70 years and couldn’t even be solved by the UN or multilateral peace negotiations

specifically, the post i made was in reaction to seeing comment sections flooded with “israel deserves to be bombed” or “i won’t watch this show if the cast doesn’t proclaim their support for palestine”. it’s ridiculous and disgusting. civilian lives are at stake, on both sides. imagine how the usa would react if an internationally recognized terror organization, the palestinian hamas, sent 1500+ rockets a day toward washington. the entire middle east would get annihilated in a second.

just because an actor or musician or influencer or fan page or whoever isn’t posting about it, doesn’t mean they don’t care about human rights violations or colonialism. but there is a lot of misleading information online and it takes a lot of effort to properly filter through it and engage with the topic. i would argue most people screaming about freeing palestine wouldn’t have been able to point out gaza or the west bank on a map last week. and if we’re pushing people to talk about palestine, then we should also talk about india, russia, colombia, mexico, syria, yemen, and a million other currently ongoing crises. some people just don’t have the emotional capacity for that right now, and that’s fine. global politics are a heavy subject and sometimes it’s just best to take a step back and focus on our own health and sanity first.

in my opinion, it’s not helpful right now to say one side is clearly right and the other wrong. and please don’t give me that “neutrality is choosing the side of the oppressor” stuff, polarization only adds fuel to the fire. this specific escalation of the last few days is not israelis versus palestinians, or jews versus muslims, this is netanyahu’s shitty right wing administration versus the hamas, national extremists. what needs to happen right now is de-escalation, holding the international community accountable to step in and stop the fighting. that’s the only way to protect civilian lives. but it’s easier said than done, and if you think anyone can understand the complexity of that in five minutes, then i’m sorry but you misunderstood.

[sirpoley]

On the Four Table Legs of Traveller, Leg 1: Mortgages

Mongoose Traveller's starship mortgage-payment-system is the most brilliant game mechanic I've ever encountered, as a DM. It's also the first rule I'd ignore if I wasn't consciously trying to play the game exactly how it's described in the book.

A Bit of Background

I've been involved in two Traveller campaigns in the past as a player (both with the same DM), and am currently DMing a third. All of them are using Mongoose's first edition. I've never played any other edition of traveller, and know almost nothing about the history of the game. I don't know which mechanics are unique to this edition of Traveller and which have been around for decades.

In the campaigns in which I was a player, I think the DM was continually frustrated with the rules of the game. He wanted to run a tight, story-focused campaign and picked up Traveller assuming it would be, essentially, D&D in space. For his second campaign, he chopped out huge chunks of the ruleset and replaced it with homebrew ones, removing space travel and Traveller's quirky character creation entirely. This worked for the game he wanted to run (he's an extraordinarily talented DM), but I think we all came away feeling pretty lukewarm about the actual rules.

Bored out of my mind in lockdown, desperate for anything to shake up the daily routine, I picked up the copy of Traveller that had been sitting on my bookshelf, untouched, and skimmed through it. In a mood of "I'll humour this weird rulebook," I followed the random subsector creation chapter to the letter, creating a surprisingly-well fleshed out chunk of space to play around in.

It was then that I realized I'd never actually played Traveller. So I dragged my partner along in an experiment: let's play Traveller, exactly how it is described in the book, no matter how flat-out insane the rules seem to be. I will only consider houseruling or changing a rule once we've both figured out what it's for. I learned a ton in this experiment, so, during my kid's naps (oh, right, I have a daughter now, that's where I disappeared to, Internet), I'll write about what I've learned.

(The Carlia Subsector. Not pictured: along with this map is a LONG word document describing the atmosphere, gravity, population, tech level, cultural quirks, government, etc. of the main world in each of these systems, plus a huge table of the price of dozens of trade goods on each planet. These, it turns out, are crucial game aids. I'll get into them later.)

Traveller, I've learned, is a table held up by four legs: Finances, Character Creation, Patrons, and Random Encounters. If you remove any of these legs, the rest of the game stops working. Following them, as described, gives you a rip-roaring swashbuckling adventure of fighting pirates, escaping bounty hunters, smuggling, jailbreaks, and all that good stuff you want in a campaign—but it happens spontaneously. I'll get into it more in detail, but for now, we're going to talk about finances in Traveller.

Yes, the Game Is About Mortgage Payments

The central driving mechanic of Traveller is making mortgage payments for your starship. The assumption is that the player characters are part-owners of an FTL-capable starship that's more expensive than any one person, or any ten people, could ever afford outright. The game (thankfully) provides a quick way to calculate your starship's mortgage payments (something like the value of the ship/240 per month), and for all of the example ships in the book, gives them to you pre-calculated. In the case of my solo campaign, my partner owed the bank a whopping 500,000 credits a month for her Corsair. For scale, that's the exact same price as the single most powerful gun in the game (the "Fusion Gun, Man Portable"), owed monthly. In D&D terms, she had to raise the equivalent of a +5 Longsword every. Single. Month.

(In addition to mortgage payments are smaller fees: life support (i.e., food and water), crew salaries, fuel, and ship maintenance, but the mortgage is by far the largest single expense, so that's what I'll focus on).

I started my partner out with a fueled up and fully-crewed ship (we used pre-generated NPC stats from the middle of the book for her crew, plus an NPC who was generated during her character creation, which I'll get into later). Character creation started her with 10,000 credits, and I told her she had until the end of the month to multiply that by fifty times.

Debt Leads to Trade

The fastest way by far in Traveller to make money is to interact with the very well fleshed-out trade rules. Each spaceship has a certain amount of tons of cargo it can carry, and each world has a list of trade goods for sale at various prices. So the clear way to raise that 500 grand was to speculatively buy trade goods, pick up passengers and freight, deliver mail, and so on. These rules are generous; by stacking modifiers, it's possible to reliably quadruple your principal every time you reach a new planet (which happens every week).

I think my old DM severely nerfed the trade rules (he also didn't enforce mortgage payments, leaving them on the cutting room floor like D&D's Encumbrance rules) due to this seemingly-unbalanced generosity. Again: the best gun in the game is 500,000 credits—so how on earth can a system that lets you make hundreds, even millions, of credits by trading stand?

Well, it turns out, the bank simply taking 95% of your player's earnings every month severely dampens potentially-snowballing nonlinear growth, so my partner and I never saw the kind of wealth explosion that looks inevitable from the rules as written, despite her scraping together everything she could do maximize profits. In all the time we've been playing, despite having already made millions of credits, she actually hasn't been able to buy a gun better than her starting laser pistol, or, in fact, any armour at all. I'll get to why in a moment, because the most important thing about the trade system is that…

Trade Leads to Travel

Garden worlds sell cheap food. High-population worlds buy food for a high price. High-population worlds sell manufactured goods that are in high-demand on non-industrial worlds, and so on. In a quest to maximize profits, the party was locked into a continual tour of the subsector I generated earlier, constantly moving from place to place. Staying put for any length of time meant letting time trickle away (time that could be spent raking in cash for crippling mortgage payments), so that wasn't an option. What wound up happening was that the party went on a self-guided tour of the subsector, stopping in at colourful worlds I'd generated earlier. This happened entirely without me, as DM, having to dangle bait in front of the party the way that I always have to in D&D. Travel is good, because…

Travel Leads to Conflict

I've already spoken at length on the subject of random encounters here, but Traveller really builds the game around random tables in an elegant way. Every time the party jumps from one world to another, there's a chance they'll get waylaid by pirates (the rulebook has a fun, albeit hidden, 'pirate table' that describes different tricks and hijinks that pirates use to attack). 'Pirates' in Traveller are spaceship owners unable to pay their mortgages by legitimate means, so turn to piracy. The fact that the party is always carrying their life savings in trade commodities whenever they travel around makes them a prime target for piracy, and leads to combat with stakes beyond "fight till everyone's dead." The pirates aren't orcs, and don't want to kill the players for no reason. They want to take their cargo and get away as quickly as possible, suffering the least damage as possible, and the players want the opposite. Thus: pre-combat negotiations, tricks, hijinks (my partner, carrying a cargo of "domestic goods," chose to have her crew throw individual toasters out of the cargo bay each in different directions to ensure that the pirates had to engage in lengthy EVA-missions to catch them each, thus allowing her ship to escape without suffering damage).

Traveller's starship battle rules are fun (and integrate into boarding actions that results in player-scale combat), and are triggered primarily just by moving around. Conflict is fun by itself (that's why combat rules are most of the rules in most games), but in this context, have the added advantage, as…

Conflict Leads to Tradeoffs

It became clear to my partner after her first run-in with pirates that her ship and crew were under-gunned. While buying powerful weapons and armour is trivially cheap compared to the amount of money she was raking in through trade (most weapons cap out at a few thousand credits, and she was moving hundreds of thousands a week), actually getting her hands on some was another matter.

Good weapons in Traveller are advanced ones, which have a high-TL (tech level) rating. These weapons are only available on high-TL worlds (each world has a TL rating generated in subsector generation). Making a detour from trading to buy 'adventuring equipment' wound up being an extremely costly endeavour, taking the party weeks out of the way of the most profitable trade route. The closest world in which these weapons exist also outlaws all weapons (various laws are generated procedurally as well) which means engaging in black market smuggling (which is fleshed out in the rules) and risks run-ins with the law.

Compounding this problem was that her Corsair took minor damage in the combat with the pirates, and the nearest world with a shipyard capable of repairing the ship was different from, and out of the way of, the high tech world with fancy fusion guns. Also, getting the ship repaired meant that it would be in drydock for days or even weeks, which incurs an opportunity cost of almost a million credits that could have been made during trade…

Tradeoffs lead to Debt

In her case, she wound up getting her ship repaired, forgoing arming herself and her crew, and skirting dangerously close to bankruptcy kicking her heels as her ship was patched up. There isn't an easy answer to what she 'ought' to have done, which was fun as hell. Further, as a DM, I wasn't annoyed that she was 'messing up the plot' by staying put (or frustrated that she wasn't going to my elaborately-plotted narrative that would occur when she tried to buy black market weapons) because there was no plot. Everything that came about emerged procedurally.

The 'Loop'

The beating heart of a Traveller sandbox campaign is this loop:

Without DM intervention (or Patrons, which are sort of procedurally-generated adventure hooks), this loop can sustain a campaign pretty much indefinitely. What this means as a DM is that any DM-interventions (i.e., adding in pre-written adventure hooks or encounters or whatever) can be attached to any of these steps to allow it to come about during play. It also means that if you don't have any pre-scripted content (to choose an example completely at random, let's just say your hypothetical one-year-old threw your notes in a toilet) you can just sit back and let the loop above take care of providing entertainment.

To bring this back to mortgages, if your players don't have the threat of having their spaceship repossessed by the bank hanging over them like the Doom of Damocles, then the whole system breaks down, and the DM has to do all the heavy lifting of providing character motivation to go explore new planets.

Next, we'll talk about how Traveller's patron system ties into all of this.

[novantinuum]

Crack the Paragon, Chapter 11

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (I have upped the rating in consideration of sensitive topics I aim to depict later on.)

Words: 3000~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which Lapis is a flight risk, and Steven begins to doubt himself.

You can find the AO3 link in the reblogs! (I have to omit them from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well.

-

Chapter 10: Beta, Part 2

When your life has become a continually evolving string of heart pounding adventures linked together by the odd few days off, you quickly learn to fixate on the fine details no matter what the circumstance, as you never know when one of those details could be used to save everyone’s butts. Sure, it’s not like this outlook did him any favors back in the forge, but his point still stands: a Steven who isn’t constantly paying close attention to his surroundings is a Steven who can’t properly help his friends. If he’s not innately aware of everything around him, he can’t raise his shield in time. He won’t be able to pull the right tool out of his cheeseburger backpack. He can’t give a perfectly worded response to a soul in need. This is a non-negotiable fact, and the reality of what happened with Bismuth merely cements it ever more solid. Which is why— deep beyond the wandering disorientation of his current surface thoughts— he can’t help but wonder why he’s unable to pay attention to the details that actually matter right now. The individual threads of all his friends’ panic, confusion, and attempted explanation overlap and intertwine, weaving an audible tapestry of emotions. Their precise words, however, may as well have died in the wind. Mentally, he is not here. Instead, the fragmented remains of his focus choose to zero in on the wood grain pattern spread across every beam and board of the barn’s rustic infrastructure. Wholly enamored, his eyes trace a path between the dark ridges as if traversing a maze. Tree rings are super pretty, huh. He absolutely doesn’t give them the love and admiration they deserve. But as is evident from the slight musty smell and the dainty mushrooms beginning to sprout by the floor in one of the corners, some of the boards are beginning to rot. His mouth falls slightly ajar, and he stares at these fruiting bodies with such stubborn commitment that for a moment he forgets anything else was ever a priority. Have Peridot and Lapis noticed? Do they even know what wood rot is? Upon that thought, he frowns pensively, balling his fist at his chin. Hmm. Given their relative inexperience with Earth stuff, the most likely answer to that is no. He’ll have to call Dad about fixing the boards before this grows into an even bigger problem. It’d be awful if their home became unsafe to live in because he didn’t do his part to help. But then again... “What do you mean, none of you know why she did it? That just makes it worse!” “Lapis! Lapis, wait! They said she’s—“ “Let go of me!” she says, struggling in Peridot’s grasp, her water wings flaring outwards at the ready. “Don’t you get it? I can’t live here on Earth anymore, it’s not safe! None of us are safe!” Is he already too late?

Lapis’s impassioned cries continue to echo at the edge of his awareness— something paranoid about shapeshifted disguises, about the Diamonds— but his feet are still anchored to the boards below, his body all but stagnant in shock of the current maelstrom of emotions. And yet, it’s strange... while a sum of him dimly recognizes he’s still attached to reality, it’s almost as if he’s watching all of this from above himself, stuck as a passive observer to his failure. Helpless. ( C-cracked, I’m- I’m cracked, I’m split I, I can’t... feel... need... I-I need to —) Slimy tendrils of guilt slither around his heart. He wasn’t paying close enough attention to the mood. He wasn’t careful. He wasn’t convincing. He was scared that everyone would devolve into petty argument, and look what happened! He ran his mouth when he should’ve stayed silent. He caused his own nightmare. His family’s splintering apart once more, and it’s all his fault. “But it’s not like that,” Ruby hastily interjects, “I’m sure it’s not like that!” “Really? You’re seriously jumping to defend Rose, after all the lies she fed us?” Amethyst spits back. “N- no! I’m just saying, why would—“ The constant chirping chorus emanating from the birds of the nearby woods steals his fragmented focus next, and he can’t help the sense of relief that bubbles up from within as he willfully sinks into the distraction. The birds, their songs are beautiful. He wonders what they’re saying to each other... if they’re arguing about territory, warning friends about predators, or simply having a friendly conversation. Maybe his dad might be able to distinguish the difference. When he was still living in the van, they used to lay on that ratty old mattress side-by-side late at night, listening to the crashing tides and the distant squalls of birds picking at trashed food on the boardwalk. Because one of his relatives was big into birding when they were kids, Dad was always able to stake a reasonable guess on the species class based on call alone. And honestly, that’s a pretty amazing power to have. As he related earlier, it’s important to fixate on the fine details. Attention to detail can save lives. It can soften hearts. It can make or break friendships. But as he’s grown to fear, it can’t fix everything. He can’t fix everything. The blue Gem’s features twist with simmering fury. “Peridot, I told you to let me go!” she hollers, and in a single jerk rips herself away from the shorter Gem’s desperate embrace. Her wings swing like a whip behind her as her body follows the motion through. It’s enough of a shock to the system that his sense of awareness comes rushing back. He ducks, the water swishing right over his head. Something behind him snaps and clatters to the ground. Ruby presses a bejeweled hand to her face, muttering something he can’t distinguish. “‘Kay, I’m out,” Amethyst cuts in through the chaos, throwing her hands up. “Y’all are whack, this whole convo is whack, and I can’t deal with any of this right now.” Not wasting a single second, she tucks herself into a ball and super-speeds it out of the barn. Mouth caught in a tiny, helpless ‘o,’ Steven whisks around, only barely catching a glimpse of her retreat before he spots the damage. It’s one of Lapis’s morps, that wooden hanger displaying all the baseball paraphernalia. Now it lies rejected on the floorboards, one of the strings broken and the bat rolling towards Peridot’s feet. He watches, feeling lambasted with regret for his role in sparking this argument, as the green Gem’s face cripples much like the structural integrity of that meep-morp. She blinks away the threat of tears and quickly averts her gaze from the group, bending to pick up the bat before clutching it to her chest in a protective manner. The water Gem huffs and storms out of the barn as well, fists unyielding at her side. Heart pounding amidst all the uncertainty of this fraught situation, Steven scuttles after her. Come on, think! he snaps at himself, chewing pensively at his lip. There has to be a way he can still save this, a way he can stop his family from splintering apart yet again... “Lapis,” Ruby begins, delicately edging towards her. “No, stop,” she holds up a hand. Her expression— as nebulous and hard to ascertain as always— is caught at some weird nexus between blinding anger, terror, and... is that guilt he spies? “Stop talking! I’m not asking any of you to change my mind. I’m leaving, and all of you should be too!” Turning on her heels, she squares her stance and flares her wings to their full width in preparation for her flight. Just before those watery wings can beat downwards, propelling her lithe form away from his world forever, he leaps forward. Dares to grab her wrist. She sharply inhales, briefly tugging against him before she notices who the hand belongs to and falls slack in his hold. Static assails his mind as he assesses every angle of this jerk-moment decision. What on earth is he doing? (He can practically feel Ruby and Peridot’s anxious, curious gaze drilling into him from behind, and they’re not even in his line of sight. No matter what happens, this is all on him. No one else.) “I-I, um,” he stammers at first, desperately scouring his brain for the right words to say. “Please, I’m... You don’t have to be scared like this. I may have her gem, but I’m not her!” Lapis gives a shaky sigh. Her wings droop right along with her shoulders, the persistent burden of thousands of years of captivity evident within her posture. Waiting in the shadow of her silence, his focus falls on the gemstone adoring her back, that smooth, glossy teardrop. Golly, somehow it doesn’t feel that long ago at all that her gem was cracked, and— scared, angered, and confused— she lashed out in much a similar way. “I’ve always known you’re not your mom, Steven,” she says lowly, still not meeting his gaze. “This- this isn’t about that!” “Then... what is it about?” She growls in frustration, clenching her fists as she yanks her wrist away from his grip. “Have none of you been listening to me?” “Have you been listening to us?” Peridot mutters flatly from behind him.

Lapis shoots her a sour look, but continues, pacing across the grass as she speaks. “If one diamond was able to fool an entire empire into thinking she was a quartz for thousands of years,” she says, gesticulating to emphasize her words, “then- then how do we know the other Diamonds aren’t already here doing the same, already watching from a distance, just waiting to shatter us for everything we’ve done??” The sharpened words echo across the fields, familiar bird calls cut short as even nature falls silent in their sway. Steven stands motionless, her paranoia-tinted prophecy sinking in through his flesh despite all efforts otherwise, sowing roots in the darkest corners of his mind that he dare not peep into. When no one responds, the blue Gem exhales, lowering her face to the ground. “I’ve let my guard down too much here, I’ve let myself grow soft. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He swears he hears a note of disappointment laced between the layers of her uneven breath, or perhaps it’s heartbreak. He can’t tell. Despite his usual aptitude at interpreting others’ feelings, Lapis is consistently hard to read. And it’s this very thought, this subtle dissonance from the expected in her intentions, that encourages him to reach out one last time. Her wings flare out again. Blood and hard light thrum at an almost dizzying pace through his parallel veins. It’s now or never.

“Lapis, wait!” he calls, palm open wide. “Please, please don’t leave! Not now, not like this.” Their world crystallizes into ice as he vies to meet her fears head on. There’s no sunlight, no bird calls, no wind, no Ruby and Peridot behind him. No more untimely distractions. Only Lapis, desperate and hurting amid the heart of the storm she created. She holds her wings taut, ready for flight, hovering at the edge of her metaphoric tower. Breath trembling, she glances behind. The sheer complexity of emotion Steven discovers in those sea blue irises almost makes his eyes water. Cautiously, he steps forward.

“Maybe you’re right,” he begins, fidgeting with his shirt’s bottom hemline. His fingers briefly brush against the edge of his gem as he does so, and he jerks them away in blind rebellion of this reminder. “Maybe this planet never will be completely safe. Maybe nothing ever goes to plan. But the Crystal Gems have survived this long because they stood together instead of breaking apart. A-and... I know you don’t think of yourself as a Crystal Gem,” he cuts in quickly with a placating gesture, noticing the question forming on her lips, “but please-! With everything else that’s happening, I really, really still want you in my life.”

Tightly, she wrings her fingers around her opposite arm, face dipping dolefully towards the soft soil squishing up between her bare toes. “Steven, I...” “I can’t promise you’ll be safe on Earth, but I can promise you won’t have to be alone,” he says, voice thick. “Please.” Stay, he mouths, his body nearly shaking in fear of how she’ll respond, of all the inner thoughts flooding through her mind he’ll never wholly decipher. Their gaze locks, souls laid bare to each other as they engage in a rapid-fire dialogue no other creature of this world will ever be privy to.

If you can't stay for yourself, he cries silently, can’t you stay for me?

The seconds are punctuated only by the reverberant tremor of his heartbeat, as he stands upon a precipice in wait of her pivotal, defining answer.

Eventually, her expression softens. She folds her wings, standing down.

“Fine,” she spits. “I’ll wait and see what happens... for now. But if I ever find out any of the Diamonds are inbound, or worse? I’m out of here.”

A stiff gust of wind rushes past, threading through her hair and causing her dress to undulate like mid-ocean waves. Shadow obscures her face.

“I’m not getting pulled into another war.” Giving no further explanation, she turns tail and storms past the tent, past the rickety fence bordering her and Peridot’s barn, and into the overgrown wildflower field beyond. Once she’s reached a far enough distance, she extends her wings and begins to fly, hastily disappearing beyond the tree-line. Everyone stares at the thick swath of forest she escaped to with dumbfounded shock at first, no one quite sure how to proceed after that bomb of a conversation stopper. Ruby mutters something under her breath, clear frustration coloring her voice. Behind him, he hears Peridot reverently set the bat down on the barn’s floor.

“I’m... gonna go find her, and help her calm down,” she says. Clutching her hands close to her chest, she passes him and Ruby and begins her long, flightless trek into the Beach City woods. Steven himself migrates towards the grassy patch beyond the pool, and falls to his knees amongst the dandelions growing there. Most of them are still flowering, their lithe golden yellow petals fanning out from the head. A few on a separate plant are white and puffy, though, ready to disperse seeds. He’s drawn to one in particular, a seedhead that’s already missing half of its progeny. Biologically, he knows it’s a good thing that those seeds have flown away and might get a chance to germinate elsewhere, but regardless the sight of this lonely, barren dandelion strikes a dour note. Was he wrong, asking Lapis to stay? Could she eventually heal and become happier, leaving the burden of this place? He swallows hard, gripping the balding seedhead between two fingers and decisively plucking it off the stem. A few more seeds blow off with the disturbance, their feathery parachutes falling into the arms of the wind.

Lapis...

What if his selfishness is only holding her back?

And then there’s Amethyst to worry about. There’s no point overextending the sad dandelion metaphor to fit her situation, because hers is something entirely unique. She’s still in his life, just emotionally closed-off. Bitter. Avoidant. Unfairly antagonistic to others. By inviting her out here he hoped she might take the opportunity to kick back and blow off some steam, but now, after watching her abruptly leave the group a few minutes ago, he’s worried this trip only succeeded in further stressing her out.

A gem adorned hand falls upon his shoulder then, pulling him to the present. With a startled yelp, he tosses the dandelion into the grass as he flinches away. His heart drums uncontrollably, so much so that his cheeks burn with embarrassment when it dawns on him who this hand belongs to. He sucks in a shaky breath to calm himself down before allowing himself to sink into her comfort, glancing behind to meet Ruby’s tired, kind eyes. “Hey. Are you okay?” she asks. His tongue suddenly feeling as limp and dry as all the fallen leaves beginning to sprinkle the ground, he nods his head yes. In an overt betrayal of his response, his big, stupid, puffy eyes begin to water. Hurriedly, he wipes the burgeoning tears away with the butt of his palm. Frustration bubbles at his core. Since when was he such a crybaby? He’s cried far too much lately, and he’s sick of it. He rubs harder as the tears begin to fall anyways, his bottom lip quivering as he vies with every last ounce of control he still has to not look entirely pathetic. The skin around his eyes, sensitive and raw, begins to sting from the friction. Wordlessly, Ruby wraps her hands around his wrists and leads them away from his face. His chest tightens. He fails to choke back a sob as she pulls him into her embrace, his own arms trapped between them. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, and it’s then that he realizes with a shock of surprise that she’s crying too. Her quiet tears dampen his collar; her fingers clutch at the back of his shirt. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong for us all the time,” she says softly. “I wanna be here for you too, okay? It’s just like you said... no matter what, we stand together.” “But I- I have to go find her,” he chokes out, the words sticking in his throat in the most pathetic manner. “Who, Lapis? Peridot‘s prolly fine handling her on her own.” “No, I mean Amethyst. I saw her run off, an, and she’s been so upset today, and...” “Steven,” she says, leaning away and gently lifting his chin so he can’t avoid her compassionate gaze. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and honestly? A lot of it’s been our fault. You should take a moment to rest, okay?” Grinning, she ruffles his hair. “Enjoy the breeze! Climb a tree! Kick back for once. I’ll check on Amethyst this time.”

He hoarsely whispers an ‘okay’ as he sits back on his heels in the sun and watches her run off, allowing the wind to whip through his curls. Sighing, he splays his fingers just above the grass, allowing their tips to gently tickle his palm as they brush back and forth, and futilely tries to convince himself he’s cultivated enough good into the world today to deserve this break.