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inkskinned · 1 year

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one of the things that i think we should pay attention to, socially, about the disney v. desantis thing is that it is really highlighting the importance of remembering nuance.

in a purely neutral sense, if you engage in something problematic, that does not mean you are necessarily agreeing with what makes it problematic. and i am worried that we have become... so afraid of any form of nuance.

disney isn't my friend, they're a corporate monopoly that bastardized copyright laws for their own benefit, ruin the environment, and abuse their workers (... and many other things). this isn't a hypothetical for me - i grew up in florida. i also worked for the actual Walt Disney World; like, in the parks. i am keenly aware of the ways they hurt people, because they hurt me. i fully believe that part of the reason florida is so conservative is because it's been an "open secret" for years now that disney lobbies the government to keep minimum wage down, and i know they worked hard to keep the parks unmasked and open during the worst parts of Covid. they purposefully keep their employees in poverty. they are in part responsible for the way the floridian government works.

desantis is still, by a margin that is frankly daunting, way worse. the alternative here isn't just "republicans win", it's actual fascism.

in a case like this, where the alternative is to allow actual fascism into united states legislation - where, if desantis wins, there are huge and legal ramifications - it's tempting to minimize the harm disney is also doing, because... well, it's not fascism. but disney isn't the good guy, either, which means republicans are having a field day asking activists oh, so you think their treatment of their employees is okay?

we have been trained there is a right answer. you're right! you're in the good group, and you're winning at having an opinion.

except i have the Internet Prophecy that in 2-3 months, even left-wing people will be ripping apart activists for having "taken disney's side". aren't i an anti-capitalist? aren't i pro-union? aren't i one of the good ones? removed from context and nuance (that in this particular situation i am forced to side with disney, until an other option reveals itself), my act of being like "i hope they have goofy rip his throat out onstage, shaking his lifeless body like a dog toy" - how quickly does that seem like i actually do support disney?

and what about you! at home, reading this. are you experiencing the Thought Crime of... actually liking some of the things disney has made? your memories of days at the parks, or of good movies, or of your favorite show growing up. maybe you are also evil, if you ever enjoyed anything, ever, at all.

to some degree, the binary idealization/vilification of individual motive and meaning already exists in the desantis case. i have seen people saying not to go to the disney pride events because they're cash grabs (they are). i've seen people saying you have to go because they're a way to protest. there isn't a lot of internet understanding of nuance. instead it's just "good show of support" or "evil bootlicking."

this binary understanding is how you can become radicalized. when we fear nuance and disorder, we're allowing ourselves the safety of assuming that the world must exist in binary - good or bad, problematic or "not" problematic. and unfortunately, bigots want you to see the world in this binary ideal. they want you to get mad at me because "disney is taking a risk for our community but you won't sing their praises" and they want me to get mad at you for not respecting the legit personal trauma that disney forced me through.

in a grander scheme outside of disney: what happens is a horrific splintering within activist groups. we bicker with each other about minimal-harm minimal-impact ideologies, like which depiction of bisexuality is the most-true. we gratuitously analyze the personal lives of activists for any sign they might be "problematic". we get spooked because someone was in a dog collar at pride. we wring our hands about setting an empty shopping mall on fire. we tell each other what words we may identify ourselves by. we get fuckin steven universe disk horse when in reality it is a waste of our collective time.

the bigots want you to spend all your time focusing on how pristine and pretty you and your interests are. they want us at each other's throats instead of hand in hand. they want to say see? nothing is ever fucking good enough for these people.

and they want their followers to think in binary as well - a binary that's much easier to follow. see, in our spaces, we attack each other over "proper" behavior. but in bigoted groups? they attack outwards. they have someone they hate, and it is us. they hate you, specifically, and you are why they have problems - not the other people in their group. and that's a part of how they fucking keep winning.

some of the things that are beloved to you have a backbone in something terrible. the music industry is a wasteland. the publishing industry is a bastion of white supremacy. video games run off of unpaid labor and abuse.

the point of activism was always to bring to light that abuse and try to stop it from happening, not to condemn those who engage in the content that comes from those industries. "there is no ethical consumption under late capitalism" also applies to media. your childhood (and maybe current!) love of the little mermaid isn't something you should now flinch from, worried you'll be a "disney adult". wanting the music industry to change for the better does not require that you reject all popular music until that change occurs. you can acknowledge the harm something might cause - and celebrate the love that it has brought into your life.

we must detach an acknowledgment of nuance from a sense of shame and disgust. we must. punishing individual people for their harmless passions is not doing good work. encouraging more thoughtful, empathetic consumption does not mean people should feel ashamed of their basic human capacities and desires. it should never have even been about the individual when the corporation is so obviously the actual evil. this sense that we must live in shame and dread of our personal nuances - it just makes people bitter and hopeless. do you have any idea how scared i am to post this? to just acknowledge the idea of nuance? that i might like something nuanced, and engage in it joyfully? and, at the same time, that i'm brutally aware of the harm that they're doing?

"so what do i do?" ... well, often there isn't a right answer. i mean in this case, i hope mickey chops off ron's head and then does a little giggle. but truth be told, often our opinions on nuanced subjects will differ. you might be able to engage in things that i can't because the nuance doesn't sit right with me. i might think taylor swift is a great performer and a lot of fun, and you might be like "raquel, the jet fuel emissions". we are both correct; neither of us have any actual sway in this. and i think it's important to remember that - the actual scope of individual responsibility. like, i also love going to the parks. Thunder Mountain is so fun. you (just a person) are not responsible for the harm that Disney (the billion dollar corporation) caused me. i don't know. i think it's possible to both enjoy your memories and interrogate the current state of their employment policies.

there is no right way to interrogate or engage with nuance - i just hope you embrace it readily.

#does this make sense #to do be deleted probably yikes #(takes a swing at a wasp's nest)#like i think ppl have started to just be really quiet when they like something 'problematic'#and im like... u can be like -#girl tswift NEEDS to just TAKE A BUS . LIKE?????????????????????#while also being like.#''she's a lot of fun''#if ur personal policy is that u don't support her for that reason that's great #but it's like. eating meat???#like yeah some people won't bc the environment. but the fact i eat meat doesn't mean i hate the earth #like i can say that i think the meat industry is HORRIFIC and also downright cruel to its employees #but like. still enjoy a chicken nugget....#there are people who choose otherwise. it's okay . we are people. i make like no money. u probably don't either #us fighting about whether or not it's Right To Eat The Chicken Tender just distracts from like.#actually turning your ire on the corporation #i hope it's clear what i'm saying here is like. when we fight each other for Purity Reasons #we are just doing the work of corporations . for free. like they WANT us to be doing this lol #it's the fucking DREAM of the upperclass that now ALL forms of responsibility fall on the individual

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wen-kexing-apologist · 4 months

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Hey, are y'all seeing this shit?

Phaya and Tharn in reality:

gif by @firstmix

Phaya and Tharn in fantasy:

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Clearly Phaya had a very informative morning.

#phaya...I know what you are #and this is why I can't pay complete attention to what I am watching if I am going to attempt to be normal about the show #because if I actually spend some time looking I see shit like this and immediately turn into a feral dog #chomping at the bit. foaming at the mouth. tattooing 'HOMO' on Phaya and Tharn's foreheads.#billybabe #tharn x phaya #phaya x tharn #tharnphaya #phayatharn #the sign #the sign the series #I just really fucking love all the work they are doing with physicality in that there is such an unconscious tenderness #that is immediately activated when phaya and tharn have physical contact #because they can't shake those reincarnated lovers bullshit babyyyyyy

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ruporas · 11 months

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only human

[ID: Two page comic in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The first page has a black background and the upper half, behind the panels, is splattered with stylized red blood, scattered bullets, and lifeless hands. In the first panel, it focuses on Vash's boots, showing him stepping through the panel and into the bloody scene. The second panel shows his bloody footprints and the third panel shows his face, his down-turned eyes looking downwards. It's a neutral, vague expression with confliction. At the bottom of the page, the back of Wolfwood's head and shoulder is seen, blood dirtying the white color of his shirt and side of his face. Vash's hand reaches out to him from the right side of the page.

The second page shows the entire scene in full, half the page in light and the other in solid black. At the center, Vash leans down onto his knees as he wraps his arms around Wolfwood's shoulders into a hug. Wolfwood's back is turned away from the viewer, his left arm holds onto his bloodied punisher and his right hand sits on his lap. Light casts from the left side of the page, showing the bloodied surrounding, but the held up punisher casts a shadow on the both of them, shielding them from the light. END ID]

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #tw blood #<-- should i add that to the original post... if it's effective?#anyway this was a direct sequel to the previous post... i had a lot of thoughts when i drew it but my brain is failing me rn #something something about being granted that bit of mundanity and then running into some situation that whiplashes u back into the identity #u were built and trained to be. that at the end of the day its not possible to just be without dirtying your hands again #he's used to it but ww will forever be someone too kind too tender hearted to really be eased out of the cold lifestyle he's forced to live #and i personally dont think trimax vash could look at wolfwood with disdain or disappointment when catching him after the fact #he knows where wolfwood's heart lies he's seen the way wolfwood killed to protect and he thanked him for it too. i think him understanding #ww deeper in that way would just make his heart wretch so all he can offer is a comfort and arms to return to.#to reassure that he can still be loved even with the blood on his hands #i also think i drew an illustration when i first got into trigun depicting this same ish message....#i'm just very particular about this Subject. i need ww to be loved i need him to be reassured even if he'll still refuse to believe he's #worthy of it like AUGHHH. ok.#ruporas art

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alexa-crowe · 7 months

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#Tav: *adds “make Gale a father” to their list of things to do when they get back to Waterdeep* - [5/∞]

#bg3edit #gamingedit #vgedit #dailygaming #gameplaydaily #mine #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate #baldur's gate iii #bgiii #he's a mama's boy with a daddy's girl if i have anything to say about it. and i do.#prolly gonna be a fic one day even if it just sits unfinished in my google docs but writing it will be fun!!#also if u haven't heard tim's inflection on the mol line u HAVE to okay like i said (tenderly) but like #he's SO tender but it's not patronizing at all and his love of lanceboard comes through w/o being overpowering like. WAH!!!

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rikkivoid · 1 year

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winter kiss

#bakudeku #LAST NIGHT i had a dream that bkdk went on a first date and it was so cute #it made me wanna write a fic BUT IDK HOW JFHDJHF #SO I WILL JUST TALK ABOUT IT HERE #(also i rlly wanted to draw deku in fluffy warm clothes)#ANYWAY the concept of deku asking bkg on a date and them both just indulging in a moment of normalcy that's just.. simple and tender..#MAKES ME RLLY EMOTIONAL #bc they never really get the chance to just be normal teenagers #and the world they live in has become so dangerous and so chaotic #SO BOTH OF THEM GO ON THIS DATE and they have a nice time #but it's bittersweet too because they know they might not get another moment like this #bc they never know what tomorrow will bring #SO IT'S A HAPPY MOMENT but one that is fleeting #like snow :)#ANYWAY if u read all of that thank u JFHJFHF #rikkivoid #mystuff

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kaladinkholins · 3 months

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"why would you ship mizu and taigen together they're sooooo toxic ugh taigen is AWFUL and mizu should be with ME instead!!!"

of course they're toxic they're both deranged and terrible and that's why they're perfect for each other.

cuz like omg you think mizu would treat you well? mizu would abandon you. look at how she left ringo multiple times. ringo who treats her so well and is nothing but patient and caring and loyal. if you are insecure she will laugh at you because she has no social tact. look at how mikio said "it's a stupid dream" talking about his ambitions of regaining his honour and mizu straight up chuckles and tells him he's right because it IS a stupid dream. and at this point their relationship was cordial and she was even warming up to him!

like. arguably, taigen would be a better romantic partner (per the ideals of his time and culture of course), or at least he would be on paper. cuz i mean as a husband, as he is now, i think he'd be awful. but i'm talking about if you and him were dating or courting or just seeing each other romantically, he would be good to you. like we saw how he behaved with akemi and he was nothing but sweet and gentle. the very reason akemi wanted to marry him so bad was because she KNOWS without a doubt that he respects women and would treat her well. "oh but he cheated on her with the prostitutes while celebrating his engagement!" yeah but per the norms of the time and place, it was not considered cheating and akemi (as well as any wife or romantic partner of that period) would not have minded or even cared.

and yes taigen IS an asshole and he IS obnoxious but come on. so is mizu, if she is allowed to act like herself around you. mizu will tease you and mock you and challenge you and even poke at your insecurities (see:her goading mikio on even though he clearly did not view her teasing as light-hearted banter and took it all very personally). she would tell you to your face if she thinks you're being annoying (see:mizu rolling her eyes and telling akemi to straight up just "shut up" when she'd believed mizu had killed taigen).

mizu is not merely a hot and talented badass with a sword and the insane hyperfocus on her desire for revenge which literally drives her to withstand like, extreme amounts of damage and survive it. mizu is also flawed and the show does a good job at showcasing this, and showing us that she's not merely a victim but also a multilayered person. we see throughout that mizu is blunt and sarcastic and prideful.

oh what's that? oh right, very similar to taigen, who is also hot and talented with a sword and with insane hyperfocus on his desire to duel mizu and regain his honour. taigen who is also flawed (though, arguably, more so) as he is blunt and sarcastic and prideful.

the only thing that sets mizu and taigen apart is the fact that taigen is a man and is not mixed race, which thus affects their positions in society and how people perceive them. these are external factors. taigen being a boy who is not blue-eyed allowed him to easily mingle with the other kids in the village, all of whom were similarly fed the same prejudiced values which led them to gang up against mizu and bully her.

but take all that away. strip them down to the bare essentials. suddenly it's like they are the same person copy and pasted.

and that's what makes them even more interesting. yes absolutely they would be toxic. whatever souls are made of, mizu's and taigen's are the same (derogatory). and we literally see them fight all the time!!!! but the thing is they are both deranged when it comes to this.

do you get me. they both literally get turned on by sparring. mizu's whole spar with mikio was her way of flirting. just look at how she smirked at him and said "unsheathe it" like it's clear that this is an innuendo of not just unsheathing his weapon but also what's in his pants. then during the chopsticks fight with taigen in the snow, despite mizu literally being injured and taigen trying to attack her, mizu gets attracted to him. meanwhile taigen got a boner after wrestling with her in the forge.

taigen goes around saying he wants to kill mizu to regain his honour but he still literally risks life and limb for her constantly. mizu gives ringo stomach ulcers by going around flinging herself into near-death situations 24/7. she ups and leaves her beloved swordfather with barely a goodbye twice to pursue her batshit far-fetched quest for revenge (against people she doesn't even KNOW btw because she literally starts off with practically No Leads and not even knowing the NAMES of the white men who are her maybe-fathers).

these bitches are crazy and you know what good for them. that shit needs to be contained and quarantined though and that's why in that sense they would be good together.

i want to put them both in a jar and shake it very hard and see what happens. personally i think they will argue and insult each other while working perfectly in sync with each other to break out of the jar and then proceed to kill me and make out sloppy style over my dead body while they're both covered in blood.

like that's it that's the dynamic. send post.

#this is written half in jest btw dont take it too seriously. ppl can dislike what they want and ship x reader if they like #what annoys me is just when ppl are being rude about other ppl's ships like. unprovoked. like girl....#taimizu #taigen x mizu #mizu x taigen #blue eye samurai #im active on twitter again and the algorithm keeps putting bad takes on my tl against my will !!!#also yes i am aware im saying all this while writinf a tender yearning-filled slowburn fic of them #bcs i DO want them to be gentle. definitely i do. but that comes muuuuuuch later after they both wear each other's edges down ykwim #bcs if they get together any time soon they will literally be a flaming hot mess #sexy hot mess tho #but a mess nonetheless #they have the range! love them for that #fandom.rtf #shut up haydar #wank.mp3 #kinda #might delete later

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canisalbus · 6 months

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Is that canon!?! Was Machete just really naive/didn't really understand the implications of his relationship to Vasco? Did his mentor ever find out about them or discuss such things with him? I assume bc he didn't have parents, he kinda didn't get educated on sex or anything. Was it a big shock to realize he was "sinning"?

#eh I was just exaggerating it for comedy because the page was so unintentionally funny and fitting #he might've been a little bit naive but was painfully aware he was in a relationship with a man and that it was forbidden #his mentor was all about asceticism and mortification and extreme self-denial #and had drilled it into his head that practically all romantic feelings let alone sex were foolish and sinful and should be shunned #so his feelings about the whole thing were complicated but in the end Vasco was more important #not to sound corny #but there was a hole in his heart that he had desperately tried to fill with god that never seemed to care about him #and once he got some of that love he had been aching for #from another living person #he had to do what it takes to make room for that in his belief system #how could such a tender fulfilling and healing thing be wrong #answered #anonymous #his mentor did eventually find out about them and wasn't very happy about it #to put it mildly #but by that point Machete had managed to mostly inch his way out from under his heel #he was graduating and getting ordained and wouldn't be going back to Naples #if it were up to him he'd never want to see him again

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flowercrowngods · 2 months

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okay due to popular demand (3 people mwah!), here's all i have on prisoners ranger!steve, bard!eddie, and the royal entourage accompanying the diplomatic mission that went so horribly wrong

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess.

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory.

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is.

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery.

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when—

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.”

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore.

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain.

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak.

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then.

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now.

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now.

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.”

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much?

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?”

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much.

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to do is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful.

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off.

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter.

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.”

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.”

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile.

“Not with my friends, no.”

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft.

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.”

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.”

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders.

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

———

Steve wakes to something cold touching his forehead, moving to his temple where suddenly a jarring pain wrecks his body and he can’t quite suppress the flinch.

“Forgive me,” comes a quiet voice from above and Steve opens his eyes to the darkness of a cell, only faintly illuminated by the flickering light of a torch somewhere and the redness of the setting sun. “But I am glad to see you awake.”

The voice belongs to Eddie, who is looking down at him, a piece of cloth in his hand. Gently, he presses it to Steve’s forehead again and the cool sensation comes back, gentler this time. It takes a moment for Steve’s tired and frayed mind to catch up with reality, but when it does, he realises that the bard is washing away the dried blood and cleaning his wounds.

What an odd picture they must make.

“Tell me,” he says before he has time to consider his words. “Is it normal for a bard of Northlands to take care of wounded Rangers?”

“No,” Eddie says and there’s something to his voice Steve can’t quite identify. He’s not sure he likes it, not sure what it does to his insides. “There are never any Rangers there.”

Even through the dim light, Steve can see the mirth in his eyes and it makes him laugh – if only briefly, for his body is quick to remind him that any sort of movement is a bad, terrible, truly horrid idea. He just barely manages to suppress a groan, but nothing could get past the bard’s eyes, and his hand moves from Steve’s forehead to his cheek almost immediately.

“Careful, my friend. You shouldn’t be laughing.”

“Stop making me laugh, then. That would make it all so much easier.” There’s no heat behind his words and he doesn’t even try not to lean into the touch.

Eddie hums but stays quiet otherwise and keeps wiping Steve’s face clean, watching his every reaction. A frown slowly forms between those brows and Steve wonders what that is for. Did something happen while he was out of it? Time passes differently in the desert, yes, the sun and moon following different paths, but he can’t have been unconscious for more than three hours. It is barely yet nightfall, their cell colder than before.

Three hours. And Eddie still sits cross-legged with Steve’s head on his thigh.

Guilt and embarrassment shoot through him and he wants to move, wants to get up and release the bard from his demeaning task of playing nurse to a wounded Ranger, but his ribs protest and his head pulses with white-hot pain before it sends his world spinning again and Steve sags back into the warmth of Theodore.

“I must be painting the most pathetic picture of her Majesty’s Rangers. I swear, most of us are better than this.”

It comes out light hearted as always, despite the pain it leaves inside his chest to be presenting himself like this. Representing all Rangers to the kingdoms of the South with his weakness. All that on top of losing Will. Again.

He closes his eyes against the pity he is bound to see in Eddie’s eyes.

“You paint a picture of bravery such as I scarcely saw it before. Never in my life did I see a man move so slowly, so unseen unless as I was looking right at you. You are excellent with the sword and the bow, and even the weapons of the desert folk are natural to you. I can imagine the pain and suffering you have seen, some of which you must have caused in the name of justice, yet you carry inside yourself a light-heartedness that is refreshing to say the least.”

Steve swallows, has never been good at taking compliments, and luckily hasn’t been in the position to accept them in quite a while.

“Light-hearted?” he rasps. “You can’t be talking about the same Rangers I know, surely.”

“I was talking about you, Steven,” Eddie admits quietly, and his voice is so tender when he says his name that it makes Steve’s breath hitch.

“Oh,” he says intelligently. Swallows. “Then the head injury must be severe.”

“Admirable of you to hide a concussion for so many days. I think healers of all kingdoms would have a lot of questions for you if they knew.”

Steve huffs and smiles through the pain of his undoubtedly broken ribs protesting. “My apologies, Eddie. Queen Joyce of the West and Sir James himself would both have my head if I taught you our concussion-hiding ways.”

“A pity,” Eddie says and there’s that smile in his voice again that doesn’t show on his lips, at least in this light. Steve doesn’t care, though, as he smiles up at him.

This moment in time belongs to the both of them as Steve finds he can’t quite look away, and it’s not the pain that keeps him.

Eddie opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again. The frown reappears between his brows and Steve wants to reach out and smoothen the creased skin above his nose. If only moving his arm didn’t require such strength that keeps evading him, the night weighing heavy on his limbs.

After another minute, Eddie does find his words, though they are quiet this time. “I worried.”

“About what?” Steve asks when he doesn’t continue.

Eddie resumes his endeavour of washing the crusted blood from his hair and face, the sensation soothing his skin but not his nerves. Steve does reach up this time to still his hand, and the bard meets his eyes again.

“That you wouldn’t wake up.” It comes out small, void of that usual easy confidence.

Steve swallows every comment on the tip of his tongue about how the rest of their group could easily keep Eddie entertained without any concussions bothering them. It’s not often that he has control over his tongue, but in the face of such open worry and vulnerability, his heart aches and he wants to say the right thing.

“I’m awake, Theodore Munson. It takes far more to put me out for good.”

It’s a lie, he knows. It would not have taken that much more, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that.

“Don’t let them hear that, they will take that as a challenge.”

Steve only gives a non-committal hum and closes his eyes again. If he didn’t, the darkness of the cell and the kindness in Eddie’s eyes would have made him say stupid things like, Let them, if that means everyone else is safe. That would surely dim the light in those black eyes and very likely make Jim throw a boot at him. And Steve really doesn’t want to have to deal with either of those things.

Eddie resumes his task of gently cleaning him, and Steve gets the feeling that the bard must be doing it for himself just as much as for him. It’s something to keep himself occupied, and the way he talks betrays his intentions in turn of keeping Steve awake and occupied, too.

A gesture that is almost too kind to bear, as dusk turns into night and the silver light of the full moon illuminates their cell.

———

Jim lies just a few feet beside them, and now that his eyes have had the chance to adjust to the darkness properly, the concussion already weaker than it was earlier, Steve can see that his eyes are open. Or, one eye is; the other is swollen too badly. Another wave of guilt and shame clouds his senses for a moment and he has the urge to ask forgiveness. He feels responsible, even though he knows Jim would hit him over the head if Steve so much as mentioned that.

His eyes cut back to Eddie above him when a yawn interrupts the bard’s steady movements with the cloth that is barely wet anymore.

“You never got any rest, did you?” he asks – stupidly, because the moment the words leave his lips Steve remembers the very reason for Eddie’s wakefulness. He winces before the other man even gets the chance to answer. “Right, my fault. Forgive me.”

If the ground beneath him could open now, he would have a banquet in its honour. With a groan, he moves to sit up and free Eddie of his dead weight, the motion pulling on his cuts and bruises, irritating his broken and burning ribs in a way so sudden it steals his breath for a second. Steve is well acquainted with pain, but the all-encompassing nature of it right now is thoroughly unwelcome.

Hands come up to steady him, guiding him to sit up and lean against the stone wall, his own shoulder coming to rest against Eddie’s, who only slowly lets go of him.

“Thank you,” Steve breathes, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“It’s hardly a question of fault,” Eddie says in that calm, soothing way of his that keeps making Steve want to reach out and hold on. Hold him. “And it was no hardship to stay and… be gentle.”

Something in the back of his mind wants to tell him something but it’s too foggy to grasp.

“Gentle,” he says, inquiring, as though saying the word out loud would tell him its meaning.

“Even Rangers of the Kingdom deserve gentle hands and smiles. Even if they are too badly beaten and concussed to recall their request.”

Eddie’s words aren’t making sense, but what they do is make his heart beat faster for some reason other than shame and embarrassment. He presses his lips together and tries to find his voice.

When he finds it again, it’s barely more than a whisper hidden in the moonlight. “Allow me to return the favour, then. Rest, Eddie. Find some sleep while I ensure it is safe.”

Something shifts in those black eyes and Steve wants to chase it. Eddie cast in silver light of the moon is different than the golden figure of the past days. Less imposing and more… fragile. Gone is the teasing, replaced with something more… More. It suits him, the light of the moon, as much as it makes Steve’s heart and mind race.

“Will you smile at me still?” Eddie asks at last, and even the darkness cannot veil the quiver in his voice.

Steve is reminded of something he must have dreamed of earlier, but he cannot focus on that, not with the way the moonlight catches in those dark curls that have managed to slip out of the band keeping his hair bound at the back of his skull. Not with the way it illuminates the twitch of his lip or the impossible way he is looking at Steve still.

“Always,” he says before he can even think about it. Always, he thinks. However long that may yet be.

Another smile twitches and tugs at the bard’s lips, lingering in its nature as he closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall behind them. It can’t be comfortable, and Steve has half a mind to offer his own lap, but there is something about seeing Eddie so calm. He doesn’t dare to interrupt him.

He waits until Eddie’s breathing has evened out before he gives in to the urge to brush the treacherous curl behind his ear. It leaves his fingertips with a tingling sensation that makes him want to do it again, so he does. Sitting there, trying to breathe through his broken ribs and his fluttering heart, Steve doesn’t dare to do it a third time, as much as he yearns for it.

He rests his own head against the wall, too, and watches the bard, because watching him is easier than letting his gaze wander and be reminded of the situation they’re all in.

The moonlight guides his gaze towards Eddie even as he tries to look away, and Steve watches as it caresses the bard’s features in such a way as though that is what it has been sent here to do.

It makes Steve smile even as the ache in his chest grows stronger. He is starting to realise what this is, and he’s too weak to fight it. Not in this prison cell, not in this foreign country where the sun is out to kill you and the moon will watch you shiver helplessly.

How could he fight the moonlight and its tender caress, the world tinged in silver as he lets it work its magic on him? Only a fool would be able to resist.

“Steve.”

He just barely manages not to flinch as Jim’s rasping voice rips him away from his musing – no, his yearning. Turning his head, he finds his eyes in the dark, though he can’t make out any question or command in them. Has Jim caught him? Does his old mentor know his thoughts regarding the bard, has he seen the twitch in Steve’s fingers as he refused to let them reach out and touch?

Jim’s silence is as good a command as any, and summoning all his might not to let his face betray the pain shooting through his body, Steve gets up with a suppressed groan and walks over to his old mentor.

As slowly as possible without giving away the pain that feels like his ribcage is being both torn apart and pressed together, he sits down beside Jim, guiltily thanking the swollen eye and the darkness, for he seems none the wiser to Steve’s injury.

“Don’t do that again.”

Steve freezes, his thoughts tumbling over themselves trying to figure out what exactly Jim refers to — the guilt still warring inside him insists that there are many things he should not have done.

“What do you mean?” he asks, feeling like he is but a green student again, getting berated by his mentor after he did something wrong.

“Take a beating for me. I understand why you would do it for the others, but—”

“Jim,” he tries to interrupt him with a gentle sigh, but the old man won’t have it.

“No, Steve. They hate me more than you, we don’t need you riling them up and making things worse for yourself.”

“I will not let them break your arms and ribs, James. I can take it, I’m—”

“If you say you’re younger, Steven, I’m going to throw you out of the window..”

An innocent grin spreads his lips and he inclines his head, meeting Jim’s good eye. “But I am.”

He sees the hand coming, shooting out from below, but his range of motion and reflexes are still heavily impacted by his injuries that he can’t manage to get out of Jim’s reach in time. Before he knows it, Steve loses his balance and falls flat on his back without any grace but with all the more agonising pain.

Nobody would have been able to hide broken ribs and a nearly split skull like this, but Steve still mentally kicks himself as the wheezing groan of pain leaves his lips.

All traces of mirth leave Jim’s expression and everything turns into worry as he, too, sits up with a groan to check over his former apprentice.

“By the Gods, Steve, are you okay?”

Another groan that is supposed to be somewhere between “Just peachy” and “Fuck off”, but even that sound is pathetic with the way the air has been pushed out of his lungs at the impact. All he manages is a whimper, and he doesn’t try to open his lips for more than that.

He doesn’t even attempt to sit up this time, can only try to catch his breath and breathe through the agony with more wheezing, rattling whimpers. Hands hover over him in the dark, but he shakes his head rapidly, scared that Jim would try to touch and feel the injury, only to find a broken rib or two. Or five, at this point.

His lungs don’t work right and he can’t quite catch his breath. It is only experience that tells him this is normal, this will pass, he will breathe right again. Hopefully.

“For God’s sake, why would you hide an injury like that, Steve? Why would you… You idiot!”

There is movement around him in the cell, the others waking up from Jim’s anger and worry and guilt, but Steve keeps his eyes closed lest the tears fall.

“Breathe,” Jim tells him, and Steve finds that to be a wonderful idea, actually, so he tries. And he tries again. “Yes, good. Breathe, Steve. It’s all going to be fine, you’ll get through this.”

“Have to,” he presses, barely any sound to his wheezing. “So you can throw me out of the window.”

“Fucking moron,” Jim mutters, though Steve can hear the emotion in these two words. It makes him smile despite the situation.

“S–sorry,” he wheezes again, and trusts that Jim understands that he means more than his sarcastic retorts or the hiding of the wounds. Sorry for losing Will again. Sorry for not saving Elanor in time. Sorry for failing the mission. Sorry for being weaker than you need me to be. Sorry for—

“It’s alright, Steve,” Jim promises and there are fingers in his hair again, wetness running down his cheek. Did the fall open his head injury again? The situation must truly be dire if Jim is being outright gentle and worried. “Just don’t do it again. Let me take them next time.”

He wheezes again, but won’t make that promise. If their captors come back, he knows he won’t sit and watch them hurt his friends, won’t sit and watch them treat Jim the same way they treated him on the journey here.

It takes a moment for the world to right itself again and for the cell to become quiet, but somehow Steve manages to get his breathing under control and the pain subsides from agonising to miserable, like before. He rolls his head and looks at Jim through a blurriness in his eyes that he has to blink away.

“You think we’ll make it out of this alive?”

Maybe it’s the pain clouding his mind, maybe it’s the darkness that has always made it easier to ask such questions, but Steve finds the words falling from his lips easier than they should have.

Jim’s expression that just a moment ago has been filled with worry and anger sobers now, and Steve doesn’t quite like what he sees.

“Will is still out there,” he says, evading the question and answering it in the same moment.

“Yeah. He is,” Steve says, not sure if he believes it or not. Not sure if it changes anything. “You’re right.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the moonlight catching Jim’s eyes in a way that highlights the emotions in them. The desperate hope that Will is out there, alive, and reunited with his sister — they have their ways of finding each other against all odds. Always have. Steve likes to believe that they won’t stop now, that a desert can’t keep them apart. That they found friendly faces who won’t betray them, and bring them home.

Bring them home even when Steve and Jim can’t follow them. And Maxine. Princess Elanor would turn the desert into an ocean before she left Maxine to die. But down in their cell, the ocean would leave them to drown all the same.

Jim has hope, though, and Steve decides to follow his mentor again. Just for tonight, when all he feels is pain, when his head is being split open, his chest crushed and bursting, his limbs bloodied and bruised. Just for tonight, he will allow himself not to think, not to worry, and to trust Jim blindly like he did all those years ago.

“Sleep, Steve,” Jim says then, and only now does Steve realise how tired he is, his eyes closed long ago.

He spends a brief moment thinking about Eddie and the promise he made the bard to be there when he wakes up. It’s silly, because he’s merely a few feet away, but it still hurts to have abandoned him to lie there by himself while everyone else has company. When he never moved while Steve himself was asleep.

“You should sleep, too, Ranger.” A sudden wave of warmth washes over him when he hears that voice with its foreign inflections. “You both need your rest, I can stay awake for some time to keep watch and wake you up at the first sign of danger.”

“Eddie, I really don’t mind—“

“I insist, Ranger James. You two have taken the most of their hatred and displays of power, it’s the least I can do.”

Jim seems to hesitate for a moment, but Steve doesn’t open his eyes to look. His lids have become far too heavy, even heavier still when a certain hand is back in his hair to comb through it in even movements, mindful of his wounds. He doesn’t fight the secret smile this time.

“Well, if you insist, bard,” Jim finally concedes, never one to really pass up an opportunity for sleep. “Good night to you, then.”

“Goodnight, my friend,” Eddie says in that calm, kind manner of his that is still new to them, and Steve feels as though he breathes easier for it. “And you, Steven,” he lowers his voice, appearing closer now, “truly are a fool.”

“Oh?” he says, wishing that it wouldn’t hurt to laugh or even just to huff. “What happened to brave, kind-hearted, and whatever else you said earlier?”

“You can have those back when you stop lying about being injured.”

“Keep them then,” he says, and it’s meant in jest, but that doesn’t translate well when you barely have enough strength left for a voice, he finds.

“Sleep,” Eddie repeats, gentler this time, though he sighs long and hard after. “You impossible man.”

It makes Steve smile again, even as an impenetrable darkness wraps around him.

He’s sure that the hum and the whispered, “I see you’re keeping your promise still,” are figments of his imagination, his tired mind playing tricks on him. But it’s a dream he likes to sink into, filled with moonlit skin, gentle hands, and kind words.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) and also @ashipwreckcoast and @universal-gay and @marismorar bc you asked me to post the thing (and also b!)

#steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #this isn't really anything but also it's everything to me rn like it's literally what keeps me sane i go about my day and think of them #and all the tenderness and angst in that prison cell #this is a ranger's apprentice inspired au if you will but nobody knows what that is in my experience lmaoo #dio words #sorry tag list gang this aint really a thing you don't have to look at this i'm really just posting this for three (3) people who asked

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bellamysgriffin · 3 months

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ULTIMATE SHIPS CHALLENGE - Face-Touching Scenes [2/5]

#sciraedit #scottmccalledit #kirayukimuraedit #twedit #teenwolfedit #*#*usc #usercharisse #userabs #usermoonchild #userhann #tuserjen #usernare #userarry #usercera #so many thoughts about. thisbut #mostly i just luv how it compares to his previous reveal with allison #like she looks at him with such tenderness and curiousity and wonder and awe #like she's enchanted by him not scared at all its lovely

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hwaitham · 22 days

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⸝⸝ ˙˳ ⑅ first piece of marginalia ( of many , hopefully :3 ) about eremite!al haitham && akademiya student!reader ♥︎ f!reader + not proofread + subtly implied trauma on both reader n haitham's end

you first meet the eremite who's to serve as your bodyguard throughout your research expedition on the day of your departure, at your designated meeting spot under the pavilion in pardis dhyai. its stone pillars cascade with vines of sumeru roses that shine a sweet lavender hue under the morning sun— one of which you've plucked and tucked into your hair earlier, leaning over the railing to gaze at your reflection in the pond and smile at the beauty of it.

(and a petal which has unknowingly slipped off and fallen to rest ever so delicately within the dip of your clavicle.)

“al haitham, yes? um, hello!” you greet the eremite as he walks into the pavilion with a quiet waver to your voice, bow respectfully, try to still the timid pitter-patters of your heart that only seem to worsen the longer you're in his presence.

because this man standing before you is large— tall, broad, as stunning as the pale blue moon. his upper body is strapped with tough sinew and yet his waist remains lean, torso mostly bare save for the pashmina shawl draped about his neck and the worn leather holster slung across his chest.

and he's silent. offering you only a small bow in return before giving you a quick once over, gait unhurried as he takes one, two long strides to stand by your side. it's an arduous task to bring yourself to look up at his face, but you do— lips parting in awe when you realise he's unlike any other desert eremite you've met before.

the trimmed red silk tied around his head shelters only one of his eyes.

how interesting, you think to yourself, for what you know of desert eremites is that they are convinced all things betray, even their own sight.

you bite your tongue to stop the questions that bubble and ebb at the forefront of your throat from tumbling past your lips, the innate scholarly need to learn and dissect and digest and know. a surprised little squeak escapes you instead when he turns his head and catches you staring, meeting your curious eyes with technicoloured cyan.

“is something the matter?”

“no, not at all! i'm sorry, i didn't mean to stare,” you flush hot under the intensity of his gaze, play with the flouncy sleeve of your blouse while you giggle nervously. you're unsure whether it's his size, or his beauty, or his quiet dominance that makes you feel much more shy than you'd like to feel, far too giddy— as if you're a little girl back in grade school.

“alright. shall we get going then? we're losing daylight with each second that passes.” al haitham holds a hand out in front of you, waiting expectantly.

you tilt your head in confusion and pout. what's he asking for? a tip? your hand?

“your bags?” he heaves a sigh, rests his other hand on his hip. you feel a hint of irritation in his words, and your heart wilts a little, “did you want me to carry them?”

“oh!” you exclaim in realisation before hoisting your travel bags further up your shoulders, force a reassuring smile on your lips. “it's okay, i couldn't possibly ask that of you. i can handle it myself, really!”

that couldn't be further from the truth, and al haitham sees right through it, with your shoulders hunched forward from the leaden weight of your bags slung atop them, the wince in your step as you walk towards the pathway, how you nearly topple over when you lose the slightest bit of balance.

“hey,” he pinches his brow, a certain roughness in his voice when he calls out to you that withers into something more gentle, tender after you turn to look at him. sweet and innocent and dewy-eyed. like a flower too frail, one whose stem may snap clean off if looked at the wrong way. “let me take them.”

al haitham doesn't allow you to protest, swiftly lifting your bags from your shoulders and holding onto them with ease, their weight nothing compared to what he's had to endure throughout the entirety of his life.

“it's my job to take care of you these next few weeks, and i intend to do it well.” he walks ahead of you, the longer mint strands of his hair swaying with the wind, the air around him lifting into something lighter— even if it's only by the most minute amount. “besides, you'll tip me generously if i do, won't you?"

his voice lilts mischievously, and you can only bring yourself to watch on in awe. nerves melting into excitement, cheeks warming not from timidness, but anticipation of what lies ahead in the next month— for your research, yes, but also for something closer to your heart.

a companion, a friend.

you smile a smile that reaches far past your eyes, bounding up to him with those clumsy fawn legs as you try to match his pace. two of your steps for one of his own. “of course i will, thank you so, so much! and i'll do my best to keep from making trouble for you— it'll make your job easier too, i hope!”

al haitham hesitates for a brief moment when you thank him so earnestly, so wholeheartedly, so unlike any of the other scholars he'd been commissioned to act as a guard for. with your smile so cloyingly sweet and your kindness so childishly naive, he can't help but feel a bit grim.

how much violence did it take for you to become this gentle?

the faintest of smiles— honeysuckle soft— curls up on his lips and he gives your head a single pat, sweeps the spare rose petal off of your clavicle, quietly wonders what he's gotten himself into by accepting this commission.

“silly girl. come, let's get going.”

#haitham ❤︎#&(*^&@)*(&& hieeee ! ! omgeeb so 🥺 this is how i imagine reader n haitham to meet in this au . .#i rllie like imagining alhaitham w someone who is more . . . gentle n naive n almost timid ?? like despite all The Horrors they are still #not worn down by it all ( or so it seems C; ) n remain tender towards the world #bcos . as we know . alhaitham is . . not exactly that . he is much more guarded n cautious after experiences frm his own life #+ also seeing what happens to others #so putting him with his ' diametric antithesis ' jus sounds rllie precious in my eyes 🥺🥺#how they cn learn frm each other ! show each other something they've never seen before 🥺#maybe fall a little in love in the process . . . WAAAH #anws :3 anywhosies :3 this is what this au is all about :3 n i hope ! ! ! i hope #if / when i continue to post lil blurbs about it #this is what u envision too :3 #WAH !#um um um ! ! 🥺 if u like this au or wnt to see more of it . . . then may i selfishly ask u to interact with this post ??#even a like is fine ! ! or u can tell me too !#'s just to gauge interest bcos rn i dont weally knowwww if anyone is interested in this besides like .#Me ><

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