#starcunning writes

[starcunning]

2. Bolt

Breath of Morning

For @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast's FFXIVWrite 2022. [AO3 mirror] References to adult situations/NSFW content. Not explicit.

She wakes with a start to unfamiliar environs.

This is not her ceiling—not the canopy of canvas hung over the bed in her cliffside waystop; not the stone facade that rises above Mor Dhona, giving a name to the likeliest place for her to lay her head. This is certainly not the gilt-tracery mosaic of some Amaurot apartment.

It’s warm.

She hears the rise and fall of breathing far too steady to be her own, and Shasi slowly turns her head.

The spill of his blonde hair is lank and damp from the shower—bells must have passed since then, and in Thanalan the desert air would have wrung them both out long since, but … she strains to listen past Eros’s breathing, and yes; there is the distant rush of waves.

La Noscea, then. With him—neither should be a surprise. How often had she returned to Limsa Lominsa simply for him? Her head hurts and her throat is dry. His arms are heavy, still wound around her.

One touches the small of her back, fingers splayed loosely over the branching, fern-like scar, twin to the one on her front. His other hand is between her legs, thick fingers not quite reaching inside her. Shasi shifts her weight and finds herself sore; his fingertips spark that sensation anew.

Not a surprise that she’d come here. An inevitability. She had found him dancing for money, stole him away for a drink, and turned his head by refraining to follow up with the usual proposition. In return he had poured out a measure of trust; had laid before her a banquet of secrets and suffering, speaking of things too long unspoken. This she was used to.

Then Eros van Aventis—no, Eros yae Galvus—had asked her to unburden herself before him in turn.

This was strange.

So too the fact that she had fallen asleep in this rented bed—she had meant to linger only so long as it took him to fall asleep, but perhaps she had succumbed first. It will take some doing to extricate herself from his grasp, and yet she must. With war-callused hands she grasps his wrists, marveling at the black and red whorls of ink that decorate his skin. Slowly—ever so slowly—she unwinds them from about her.

He stirs, and she freezes, ears trained forward to catch any hitch in his breathing. Her attention lingers upon his face; the fringe of his pale lashes hides those golden eyes, and with his face slack in sleep the resemblance to his kin is more obvious than ever. Awake, he is rather too animated—not given to Zenos’s apathetic anomie nor Varis’s dour mien, the relative he most resembles, she finds, is his grandsire Solus. But Eros’s smiles are more expressive than wry, and that dimple in his cheek is not of the Galvus canon. Something of his mother’s, she supposes.

He does not rouse as she lays his arms loosely atop his chest. Shasi finds the room far colder once she’s slipped from the bed; she gathers her discarded clothing, clutching it to herself. There comes the oddest impulse to stay—after all, he had invited her to, less with words than deeds when he had turned on its face the chronometer meant to keep the time she was allotted with him. No less so when they had washed in the wake of their coupling and he had not handed her those garments she now holds against her body, but tugged her back into the bed that still smelled of them both. But she had been lucky to wake silent once and would not be so again. His face is so peaceful in repose, she thinks. She will not be the one to steal the ease from that countenance.

If she does not go now, she will never make it out. Shasi creeps across the floor, and quiet as she can, puts a door between them, standing naked in the silent halls of the bawdyhouse that—however impossibly—hosts a prodigal prince of the Empire. The sky is pre-dawn grey outside the distant windows, and she hastens to dress, confident now that the sound of her footfalls should not give her away.

Knowing not what she flees, X’shasi Kilntreader steals away into the last of the night.

[valdiis]

Get to Know Me

Tagged by @briar-ffxiv. <3

LAST SONG: Too Sweet by Hozier. It's been on fucking repeat in my head for days. (Warning: there's close-ups of ants and earthworms in that video, if you're bug-averse.)

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Working my way through Good Omens (again) and Loki with friends, watching Sailor Moon Crystal on my own.

THREE SHIPS: Uh... You mean, like, not my own? @deathflare has given me horrible Erenville/Meteor brain. Then, I guess, Crowley/Aziraphale (look, I'm totally behind the idea that platonic ships don't get enough love, but you can't tell me they're not pining for each other). Aaaand... Eredis/Nancy, which is a ship no one but maybe @starcunning will know (other than the ship writer, of course); I love star-crossed lovers.

FAVORITE COLOR: Teal! I even dye a streak of teal hair at the nape of my neck.

CURRENTLY CONSUMING: Cherry Dr. Pepper. I'm actually totally off non-diet sodas, but I really wanted to try this, so I broke my rule to taste it. It's a bit too sweet, but all regular sodas are now. I'm about to head to a local custard place for a tasty chocolate treat because I'm feeling calorically irresponsible today.

FIRST SHIP: Oh gracious. Um. Gambit/Rogue, except I really wanted to be Rogue. I even grew a white streak in my hair in my twenties. (I was eight when I started watching X-Men on TV.)

PLACE OF BIRTH: Savannah, Georgia, USA.

CURRENT LOCATION: St. Louis, Misery, USA.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Happily married since October 2016, together since March 2010. @canalstreetbaker is my rock.

LAST MOVIE: I don't even remember. I think the last thing I watched, period, was the first episode of Bridgerton. Maybe the last movie was Sing 2? I don't know.

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: Other than this thing? I'm reading a cute merman romance novel on my Kindle, writing with a couple friends, and trying to get the motivation to pick back up my cross-stitch or my embroidery and actually finish something. Oh, and I've got some art to hang on the walls.

[castellankurze]

Finished book 1 of the Locked Tomb series last night after @starcunning insisted I read it. I enjoyed it well enough, although I think the best piece of writing comes at the very beginning.

For those unfamiliar, our main character Gideon Nav is attempting an escape from the dark planet home to the aristocratic Ninth House, something she's been plotting for months. She's done a careful circuit of the field where her shuttle is supposed to land to ensure there's no booby traps in place. All she has to do is stay put and get on that shuttle. So when the necromancer scion of said house, Harrowhark, shows up and the pair start snarking back and forth, Gideon naturally feels like she has the upper hand. Even when Harrow starts baiting her with a deal to fight her, Gideen keeps giving as good as she's getting.

And then the narrative calls attention to the way Harrowhark is idly popping her knuckles and stretching her fingers while they chat shit.

Aaaaand this is where you realize your viewpoint character is twenty pounds of dumbass in five pound box because Gideon. Sweetheart. The necromancer to whom you're talking shit knows your game and has already outplayed you and stop talking shit pick up the unstated warning.

She doesn't, of course, and predictably Gideon's face is promptly used as a shuttlepad mop, thus beginning the adventures of the unlikely Ninth House pair, one brilliant and stupid, the other one dumb and stupid, but with very appropriate reactions to very inappropriate situations.

[twelveswood]

“I almost lost you” kiss for dreyll and tertius, assuming that's ... a thing

A soft groan escaped Dreyll as firelight tinted the darkness behind her closed eyes. She ached, terribly so, but she couldn’t fight the feeling she needed to wake up, something important was happening, something dire–“Shhh, don’t move.” Tertius’s voice was softer than she was used to hearing it, and she blinked open her eyes to look at him, though her vision still blurred around the edges.“Tertius? What… happened, where’s the Lightwarden?” She tried to sit up clearly disregarding his gentle warning, wincing as she propped her weight on one elbow, realizing she was rather well bandaged in several locales.“Defeated,” his tone turned back to a more accustomed sternness, offering a careful hand between her shoulders, “You blacked out after you had taken the light from it. You…” he grit his teeth somewhat, holding a breath tight in his chest. “You’ve got to stop wearing yourself so thin, Dreyll.” With his help she managed to sit up and surveyed herself. She was a little worse for wear wasn’t she? Wounds that she had ignored for too long, wound that were fresh. Bloodstained bandages, visible bruises.“You can’t keep trying to protect everyone,” his tone was almost exasperated now, “You won’t be able to protect anyone if you do not first protect yourself.” Without thought his hands came to rest on either side of her face, drawing her gaze to his so that she might see the anguish he felt at seeing her beaten down like this.Her brows knit and she smiled a sad smile, leaning into one of his hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, guilt all too clear on her face. “You don’t have to be sorry just… be careful.” That softness returned to his voice, not entirely foreign but still it made her chest tighten and buzz to hear it. He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and exhaling a long held breath. “Don’t make me watch you kill yourself trying to save everyone.” One of his thumbs traced her lower lip, eyes opening his gaze following the movement. “I thought I might lose you,” his voice was barely a whisper, meant only for her, “I don’t want to feel that way again.” After a breath of silence he tilted his lips into hers, a chaste but lingering kiss. Dreyll smiled against his lips, returning a gentle kiss of her own, “I will be more careful, I promise.” Brushing some hair away from her face he leaned back, his expression soft and at least a little lovestruck. 

“I’ll see you keep that promise.”

[wolffyluna]

starcunning replied to your post: I’m being a wide-bottomed anarchist

weather, like anything else in a story, should absolutely be mentioned when it’s relevant, what the hell!

Yeah, I’ve never really understood the rule of ‘never describe the weather’. Like, fellow authors, have you ever been outside? What’s one of the first things you notice about The Outside?

(Also, I’m just, generally grumpy about the advice that my high school creative writing teacher gave me, and take a perverse pleasure in deliberately ignoring it.)

[canalstreetbaker]

Me reading fiction where I just know drama is going to happen.

(Pic by iguanamouth - Dragon that hoards uncomfortable situations.  I love this shot.  Thank you @comforthawk!)

[swampgallows]

not to like violate hipaa on main or w/e but i always really love reading my therapist’s notes and summaries on our sessions and wanted to share a short excerpt:

Feeling large loss of 2 main affiliation groups: 1) rave scene disabled by COVID, current iterations not responsible/safe 2) WOW game community recently rocked by lawsuits around sexual harrassment in workplace. In addition, a character with MH issues that patient strongly ID'd with for years was given a disturbing character arc and end.

i had originally written about my therapy session in starcunning’s ask but the power went out and id lost everything i wrote and couldnt really piece it back together. but one thing i had wanted to mention was that my therapist knows if i’m bringing up something in our session it’s because it’s affecting me mentally and emotionally, and so she understands the gravity of mentioning garrosh (even without his name) because id been upfront about saying “overall im doing well, but there are two situational issues im having, and one compounded upon the other (garrosh’s death -> blizzard lawsuit)”. 

my time with her is precious and i like to utilize every moment, so i take more care in reviewing my therapy notes before each session and writing down between sessions the issues that i want to address. with previous therapists i kind of just went in blind, or i had loose topics i wanted to discuss that never really seemed to come to any kind of relief or resolution throughout the meetings. even when id go in very prepared, id be met with silence/dead air or overall unhelpful advice, or things would take a more conversational direction. now i am very serious about how i am here to do work, even if it is uncomfortable work, and i’m really grateful i finally have a therapist who’s on the same wavelength with me on that. 

we certainly have laughed together and had riveting discussions on a number of topics, but they are all on the trajectory of my healing and self-improvement. both of us know we arent there to just shoot the breeze, and while ive worked more on my own discipline to be prepared for our sessions it has helped immensely to have an experienced therapist to keep me on track and guide me properly.

[rashkah]

Strengths and Flaws: Oseloth Izetasch

[bold what applies]

╳   FLAWS.

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling  | conceited | possessive | paranoid | lies | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power - hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive | self-degrading

♔   STRENGTHS.

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

🎨 SKILLS & HOBBIES.

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | beachcombing | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leatherworking | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading | collecting | shopping | socializing | storytelling | writing | traveling | exotic dancing | minor potion tricks/trinkets

Tagged by: @blue-hazewhite-light​

Tagging: @the-stoked-flame​ @streetgardener​ @tiergan-vashir​ @eorzean-capitalist​ @calleo-bricriu​ @lisjonok​ @starcunning​ @castellankurze​ Do your alts if you’ve done your mains, etc. Also if you’re not tagged but want to do the thing, do!!!

[s-udarshana]

Russian Aesthetics: Caelrin

BROTHERS KARAMAZOV: orthodox monasteries, deep woods, starry nights, the sound of paper being torn, dimly lit rooms, withered roses, an unfinished letter, piles of books, the sound of shattering glass, ticking of clocks in a silent house, heavy wooden furniture, the air before a storm, the smell of earth, a crowd of people dressed in black, distant murmurs, emptied streets, the fear of walking alone in dusk

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT: coldness of the skin against a blade, slender pale fingers &slightly shaking hands, a red stain blooming on white fabric, lonely steps in a corridor, the slow dripping of water, looking out of the window into the thickening darkness, a single dying candle on the table, listening to one’s breath & counting heartbeats, too many stairs, the desire to be invisible, a subtle memory of kind words

THE IDIOT: classical statues, wealth covered with dust, a dark house tainted with inherited madness, an unsettling feeling, long walks in a park, useless chatter, a silken ribbon forgotten on a bench, a melancholic face, an unexpected spring rain, the joy of reading one’s favorite book, the clarity of mind after fully perceiving the world around, looking at a cloudless sky

ANNA KARENINA:   fields of crops, flowers brought from an early morning walk, the wind caressing a girl’s hair, a bowl of fruit, the smell of ripe pears, the clatter of a spoon against porcelain when stirring tea, children’s laughter coming from the garden, soft sunlight & white curtains, the sensation of velvet against skin, pearls from a ripped necklace spilling on marble floor, a sudden silence in a room full of people

THE MASTER AND MARGARITA:   the chaos of a lively city, ambient jazz in an expensive restaurant, jumping on a moving tram, the sight of moscow from the roof of a house,yellow flowers in a vase, leaning out of the window, shelves stacked with books, a small tin box with old photographs, strange shapes in the night sky, laughing in the middle of the night on a balcony, colorful posters for a surreptitious magician’s show floating in the wind

WAR AND PEACE:   a glass of wine, the brightness of  a crystal chandelier, white lace, a raging snow storm, the sound of a door being gently closed, the moment of holding one’s breath before walking in a ball room, indulging in looking at a beautiful earring against light, closing one’s eyes for a moment while dancing, the sweet smell of strawberries, a pair of gloves left on an armchair, the light scent of powder, andrei nikolayevich bolkonsky,gunpowder stuck on skin, smoke inside a burning building, the silence upon returning home, an untranslatable distance, the desperate lure of glory

EUGENE ONEGIN:   a lonely mansion, reading a book in the parlour, a faint piano melody lingering in falling silence, long evenings, passing seasons, discussing french novels of the moment, unspoken thoughts, leaning against the door frame, a quickly averted glance, eating a peach absent-mindedly, bright mornings, footprints in snow, a loud gun-shot terrifying a flock of birds nearby

FATHERS AND SONS:   a birch grove, morning mist, moss-covered stones near a moor,scientific books, white roses, cheap champagne, a shabby pocket-watch, light-hearted irony, a maladroit cello sonata, freshly mowed grass, letting thoughts come & go, a slow yawn, picturesque plates & bowls filled with traditional dishes, drinking tea on the porch

DOCTOR ZHIVAGO: a strange feeling of loss, writing poems in a diary, traveling by train, the hesitation before touching someone’s hand, the gaze of one lost in thought, the warmth of cinnamon, a scarf brightly embellished with flowers, a glass of water, a threadbare jacket, the tempting void, the evanescent serenity of yesterday

CHERRY ORCHARD:   a lone chair in an empty room, falling blossoms, old samovar, the unsettling need for change, a mirror reflecting the full moon, the disappointment of a glossy object turning worthless after second glance, a piano out of tune

Tagged by: @mischiefandmystics, thank ya.

Tagging: @fatewalker, @manipurra, @scholarlostintime, @coeurlkin, @starcunning, @kukurubean, @aethernoise, @ayyymeric, @ahlis-xiv, @ishgard, @gal-the-violet fuckin uuuuuuuuuuuuh idk who else

[spotofmummery]

Year Begin/End Photo: Amon

Saw @scholarlostintime doing this thing, and was tagged by @starcunning so did it, too! 

January  2018: 

I wasn’t actually playing Amon in January -- I’d created him back in 2017, but didn’t do much with him until summer 2018. But this is what he looked like, long before he got his hat and glamours. I didn’t change him physically, though I’ve pondered changing his hair a few times... 

December 2018: 

Yep. Same goofy bard. Different hat. Makes all the difference, doesn’t it? Actually, he’s developed quite a bit since I took the leap and decided to revisit him as a character. Very glad that I tried! 

Anyhow, 2018 has been an adventure for me in role play and dusting off my writing skills for this blog. I’m so happy to have met you all, and I hope we have lots more fun to look forward to! 

If you want to do this thing, feel free! 

Happy New Year! 

[ophioneushound-blog]

Things your character can do: Regula van Hydrus

Tagged by: @bloodsworn-marshal @fated-fallacy, thank you two!

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive a submarine | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate  | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | sculpt | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back-flip | play chess | give cpr | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | read palms | use chopsticks | write in cursive/calligraphy | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | do sudoku puzzles | wrap a gift | give a good massage | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | magic tricks | yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read morse code | pick a lock

Tagging: @housefortempsknight @garlean-nonsense @kyrie-silverwings @ladyrivienne @ilsabard @starcunning @seinakurokiba @strengthhonorcompassion and everyone else interested!

[starcunning]

1. Cross

Streams of Time

For @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast's FFXIVWrite 2022. [AO3 mirror]

The meandering breeze carried with it the scent of sliced apples and pine needles, winnowing through silver hair that had grown long and shaggy. Like the First, Shasi reflected, Elpis seemed a place out of time. It was only the length of her hair that told her how long had passed. That and the depth of her husband’s tan, she amended, cracking one eye open to peer at him.

The apple she’d smelled, she discovered, was in Eros’s hand. With a pocket knife in the other, he had cut free a slice, and paused in the lifting of it to his lips, suddenly aware of the force of her gaze. He turned those golden eyes upon her, and Shasi found herself thinking their color was at that moment just the same as the gilt tracery of the windows in their villa.

“I had not meant to wake you,” he said, glancing away a moment. Shasi shook her head: “You didn’t,” she assured.

“Pleasant dreams?” He cut free another slice of apple and offered it to her. Shasi pushed herself up to a sitting position and took it, pale apple flesh sliding over silver steel. “I dreamed of Elidibus,” she said. “Themis.” “No,” Shasi insisted, “Elidibus. Our Elidibus.”

She did not like to think of the Crystal Tower; of its Ocular; of its keeper and of the entity that had been consigned to imprisonment in its spires until he spent the coin of his life fueling the spell which had first brought her to this place. And yet the picture would not go from her mind of her last visit—enclosed by walls the same blue as her eyes, the figment in white had appeared before her.

“I’ve been thinking about what he said,” Shasi continued. She scrubbed a hand over her face, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Motes of manifold color glimmered on the wind as it wandered over the isle, and Shasi found herself blinking again, because for the first time, the moon had risen above the horizon.

The trackless days she had spent here, investigating Pandaemonium—aided by Eros, Erichthonios, and Elidibus; the youth need not admit his identity for her to know him—had never been so marked before. The night skies over Elpis were rich with stars, but she had been born under two moons, and to find none at all appeared night after night had made her wonder …

Garlemald was only Allag writ anew—and it did not take much thought to connect Azys Lla with Elpis—but had Dalamud, too, been crafted in the image of an older prison? Perhaps Etheirys had known no moon until the Sundering. But no, there the evidence stared her in the face: the moon had been a convenience, not a creation, when it came time to bind Zodiark.

Why had it not appeared before now? She made a note to ask Erichthonios. If he did not know the answer, he could surely point the way to one who did.

“Shasi Galvus,” Eros said, with the sort of tone that implied it was not the first time. She allowed a crooked smile to tug at her lips, reaching out to wind her arms about his bicep, pressing her temple to the curve of his shoulder. Eros canted his head to one side to press his cheek to her hair in turn. “What did he say?” Eros prompted her. “A thousand things, for ten thousand purposes,” Shasi murmured. “I wish I could tell him his name,” she said then. The pity sat strange in her breast, where once she had held nothing for the man but rancor. That had not been true even when she and Eros had met—indeed, they had first chanced to cross paths not long after her final return from the First, and his very name had caught her ear, echoing as it did the appellation of one of her Lightwarden foes. And now they were wed, and Elidibus was gone, and Shasi lamented that loss.

She cleared her throat. “When he sent us here,” she said, “he told us that even if we were able to make ourselves seen and heard here, we could change nothing. Not as a warning, I think, but as a truism. But … he’s wrong.” “Oh?” Eros seemed amused. That dimple teased his cheek as it had not in some few moons, and Shasi tipped her head up to kiss it. “Well, wife,” he continued, “tell me the rest.” That made her laugh—and his smile broadened in response, like he cherished the sound. “The Exarch,” she said then. “’Tis true that, bereft a host, he will fade in time, as the Scions might have done, but … he should have disappeared the moment I turned back the Light for the first time. Or when Estinien destroyed the first Black Rose facility. Or at a thousand junctures before and since, when the river of time was diverted by the weirs and dams of my actions. You met G’raha Tia,” Shasi added, modulating her tone to blandness.

Eros extricated his arm from her grasp so that he could gather her against his side instead, stroking one broad hand down her bicep in turn. He sensed her agitation, then; she had little way of hiding it from his empathetic insight, and in truth she hoped she never learned the knack. “I did,” he said.

Of her many Echo-induced gifts, her husband’s manner of emotional insight had never numbered among them. But even she could tell he was hedging in like manner to her—though like as not it was more to do with the matter of their separation during that time, and whatever had found him in the rift between worlds as he pursued her to another shard.

“Well,” Shasi said, finding herself nuzzling against Eros’s side, “he cannot then be dormant in the tower for Cid to discover and awaken after a Calamity that will never come to pass.”

“Whatever it is you’re talking yourself around to, you can just tell me,” Eros reminded her.

“There’s absolutely nothing stopping us from changing the past,” Shasi said. “And then what? We live out our natural lives here? If you wanted to escape to paradise, I’m told Tataru bought us an island.” “No,” Shasi said, “we go back to Garlemald, as we planned, and finish the work we started there. Or … we spend our lives with the work, and hope our children’s children might finish it, more likely.” She looked up at Eros’s face—so like his grandsire’s, she found herself thinking for the thousandth time. As she often did, she hoped his brow would never grow so lined with worry as had Solus’s. “Tempting as it is to stay here—and maybe the only thing more tempting than watching your skin grow tan while we’re about our work here is watching you work on your tan deliberately on a remote isle where we should scarcely find ourselves interrupted—I can no more live a life of idleness than you can.” “Will that life still exist to return to?” Shasi pursed her lips, then nodded. “The tower could send us back to the time and place whence it came, if I but understood how to command it to,” she said. “I suspect we should still find a world to greet us, else the Exarch should have disappeared.

“It isn’t fair,” she said at last. “Very little is,” Eros murmured, and for three small words they bore too much weight. “It isn’t right; it isn’t just. It’s far too late for me to make right what went wrong so long ago in Ktisis Hyperborea. And that would create some other stream of causality, one which you and I could never see. Never visit, never cross to. But Amaurot could be saved—they could all be saved, if I could only make them see—” “See what, kitten?” Eros asked her. “That the end of the world was caused by one of their own?” “No,” Shasi said, looking up into those struck-coin eyes. So like his grandsire’s; so like those of her soul’s oldest friend. “The same thing you taught me to see. That they’re not alone.”

[ivorytowerblr]

NaNoWriMo 2017: June 5th

First, let me draw your attention to my new bicon, made by @starcunning (using art from Hearthstone), and second, to the fact that I am tired and full of delicious meat, so I can’t write for shit.

Word Count: 184 Monthly Word Count: 2464 Previous: November (Masterpost); December (Masterpost); January (Masterpost); February (Masterpost); March (Masterpost); April (Masterpost); May (Masterpost); June: 1st. 2nd. 3rd. 4th.

The notion rested heavily on Vachagan’s shoulders, and she tried to think of nothing at all as she drove to the jewelry store. It was open, thankfully, and Vachagan parked with some haste and hurried inside. There were a handful of customers within, pondering gifts or purchases to make.

Distantly, on Earth, it was closing in on an old holiday season in some places, though it was impossible to judge if Barbarus’ seasons even matched with those of the distant homeworld of humanity, even supposing that a date that was significant to a few cultures mattered to all of them.

His name started with J, Vachagan thought as she looked around the store anxiously. He spoke to the other man who was here, the one that might be Hekate’s father. If I can find him, maybe he’ll know more.

The man Vachagan had bought Hekate’s gift from was nowhere to be seen, and a pair of employees were on the floor, assisting customers; one, a fresh-faced blond man at the cash register, and the other an older, gentle-voiced gentleman assisting people with their purchases.

[castellankurze]

fulgrim (yours or theirs) makes/creates something

“Ferrus,” the voice came, and Ferrus Manus looked up to see Fulgrim standing at the entrance to his war-room.  With a smile he lifted one silver-skinned hand for his favorite brother to enter.  Curiously, Fulgrim did not return the expression, and instead stepped closer with the kind of careful poise Ferrus typically saw him reserve for diplomatic meetings.  A moment later and Fulgrim confirmed it “I wondered if I might ask a favor of you, Ferrus,” he said, his voice serious.

“Of course,” Ferrus said, dropping his light tone to match his brother’s gravitas.  “What can I do for you, brother?”

“Would you perchance be willing to delay your Legion’s departure for the foreseeable future?  I would call upon your talents for a project of mine.”  As he spoke Fulgrim lifted his hand, offering up a large, rolled paper.

Blinking in surprise, Ferrus reached out to take and unravel the proffered tube, looking over the schemata that had been painstakingly sketched there.  “Oh.  I could build this for you in a day or two,” he said.

“I have no doubt that you could, but that is not the favor I request today,” Fulgrim replied.  “What I ask is that you instruct me on how I might do it myself.”

Ferrus blinked in surprise for the second time.  “That will take a bit longer,” he said slowly.  “May I ask why the insistence on making it personally?”

Fulgrim nodded.  “Of late my Legion brought the world of Catalonia into compliance for the Imperium.  Several of their sons and daughters have joined the III Legion, and there is a particular one amongst them - I’d like you to meet her, actually,” the Phoenician said with a brief smile.  “She is a supremely talented swordswoman, of the type fine enough to harry even an Astartes, and I have brought her on to serve as an exemplar to the auxiliaries to the III Legion - but that is beside the point.  I also made an oath that she would have a blade fashioned by myself and I intend to make for her a set of armor to match.”

“I see,” Ferrus said, his face stony.  “And thanks to this reckless oath, you now set this promise to a mortal woman above the value placed upon the brotherhood of a fellow-JOKING!” he said suddenly, as he saw Fulgrim’s eyes beginning to widen in horror.  The X Primarch’s craggy features broke into a smile, and he reached out to squeeze his brother’s shoulder in reassurance.  “I am joking.  It would be my pleasure to aid you in this, Fulgrim.”

Fulgrim smiled, though it was a little weak.

———————

The technology was the easy part.  The Fist of Iron carried enough war materiel that even a set of top-line grav inducers and a combat shield were less than a rounding error, even though Ferrus would readily have pulled strings to reassign it to his brother’s Legion.  But Fulgrim had promised to craft the set himself, and that meant calling up raw material to craft the alloys which would form the armor’s core.

Ferrus did not care for the kind of open-forging used by Vulkan, though he deeply respected his brother’s talent.  But while Fulgrim was a talented craftsmen - as indeed any primarch could be, if they but set their mind to it - he lacked Ferrus’ innate ability to shape the metal with his own hands.  So they turned to the toolkits and crafting tables such as the X Primarch had accumulated in his years of experimentation.

And soon the primarch’s inner chambers rang with the sound of the hammer against metal, the buzz of a saw as it sliced through sheets of ceramite.  Fulgrim tied his long, luxurious hair back into a severe braid to keep it out of his way, and despite his preening reputation, the III Primarch did not hesitate to dirty his hands with metal shavings and the blackened remnants of sparks.  Some of the pieces had to be laser-cut, and his lines were as steady as any cogitator’s.

Ferrus patiently coached Fulgrim through the process, his silvered arms folded as if to demonstrate he was taking no direct hand - hah - in the process.  The great weaponsmith warned his brother away from easily-overlooked mistakes like the need for attachment points at the joints and talked Fulgrim down from several of his more complex designs which, while elegant, increased the risk of failure if they got knocked about.

Despite that, the result was no less than a work of art.  A pair of long metal tines attached to the backpack like abstract wings, housing the grav motors that would enable short-term flight.  The shield was incorporated into the left arm as a buckler, leaving the hand free.  In form it resembled the armor of an Astartes, with a smooth breastplate to deflect enemy fire, limbs rounded rather than angular.  It was finished with an eye-catching layer of gold.

The sword that accompanied the armor was not a traditional arming blade, but resembled more a duelist’s rapier, long and narrow, with a gilded basket to protect the hand housing a power field generator which would amplify the weapon’s stabbing power to pierce most forms of steel.  It nevertheless incorporated a sharp edge for slicing as well.

Despite Fulgrim’s determination to craft everything himself, Ferrus inevitably found a way to sneak in a contribution.  Pointing out that his brother had promised sword and armor, the X Primarch presented a plasma blaster, small enough to be wielded as a pistol and which could be mag-locked to the hip of the armor itself, without need for a holster.  Matching the blade of the sword, it was a silvered contrast to the rest of the golden finery.

Into the left shoulder was worked the wing-and-claw symbol of the Emperor’s Children, whilst the combat shield was incised with the image of a bird, its broad wings and body crackling with flame, marking the bearer as one of the Phoenix’s champions.  The remaining shoulder, Fulgrim decided, he would leave to the lady’s discretion.  

All in all, the project consumed the best part of a fortnight, but after cleansing himself of the labor, Fulgrim declared it fully worth every moment.  He was effusive in his thanks for Ferrus’ guidance, to which the latter gruffly replied that he had better meet this woman so that he could see how she put their creation to use.

That, it turned out, would come soon enough.

[twelveswood]

29. “It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” SOMEONE ROAST THANCRED PLS

”Ah, t’would seem like attracts like! Not one, but two exotic beauties, Dreyll, who is your lovely friend?”His voice was unmistakable to Dreyll, but she still looked surprised when she spun around and found Thancred approaching from behind. “Ah!” her eyes lit up as she moved to close the distance between the two of them, hugging her far-from-home friend tightly, “Thancred, whatever are you doing here in Doma?”“Oh, you know, the usual. I came to exchange some intelligence with our favorite shinobi, but I would be remiss not to seek you out to at least offer a hello.”The lovely friend who had previously been showing Dreyll some lesser known locales in Kugane looked wholly unimpressed by Dreyll’s wayward companion. The auri woman stood with her arms crossed over her chest, seeming perhaps impatient.“It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.”Dreyll seemed oblivious to her blatant rebuff, but Thancred straightened on instinct, lips parting as if to speak but nothing came quick enough before she continued.”You realize where you are don’t you? I am not exotic. This is my home. You are the foreigner here.”He cleared his throat, “My my, such a sharp wit she has. Pray forgive my choice of words then, I meant no offense.” Dreyll still seemed as though she was missing their conversation entirely, having unwound herself from Thancred’s arms still smiling brightly as if none-the-wiser. “Thancred, this is Tuyasa, Tuyasa, Thancred. I bumped into her–”“Literally,” Tuya interjected with an amused snort.“–while she was out running errands for her shop. She’s kindly taken it upon herself to show me around.””Yes, and that was what we were doing, if we might get back to it.”Too little too late Thancred got the impression perhaps this Tuyasa had much too much experience with gawking tourists and perhaps he had struck a tender nerve. So he relented. “Right, of course. Pardon me.” he leaned closer to Dreyll, speaking fondly to her directly, “I will seek you out before I leave. Do have fun now.”She smiled and nodded before turning back around to rejoin Tuya where she stood. ”Charming,” Tuya commented once Thancred was out of earshot, only softly sarcastic.”He means well,” she offered in his defense, laughing softly. Perhaps she hadn’t been so oblivious and instead simply took some amusement out of someone being unmoved by him, much to his surprise.

[wolffyluna]

jolly-plaguefather-redux replied to your post “I’m torn about whether I should be more opinionated/share my opinions...”

Speak your mind if you wanna get your thoughts out, homie. If you feel like you’re caging then in, set them free! Don’t gotta hold back for strangers online’s benefit, as you said; it’s your blog.

starcunning replied to your post  “I’m torn about whether I should be more opinionated/share my opinions...”

 Disengaging from fandom arguments was definitely a net positive for me but I still feel decently free to say some shit on the God Damn Inter Net and that’s cathartic too. Sometimes you just gotta write a rambly essay about a thing.                    

 Thanks peeps! I’m probably still going to keep the amount of opinionated grumbling low, but I’m gonna do it if the mood takes me. (I’ll probably keep following the guidelines of ‘no arguing about media you haven’t consumed, you’ll just look silly,’ ‘don’t reblog, make your own post,’ and ‘Let People Be Wrong On The Internet Sometimes.’)