#and we will assume all of them have a capable crew | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eff4freddie · 1 month

Text

Touch | Part Five

You struggle to re-establish a purpose in Jackson. But the Miller brothers will always keep you on your toes.

Words: 5.2k

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Warnings: smutty smut smut, oral (m receiving), kind of subby Joel maybe?, like shades of subby, whimpers and groans, carpentry

Minors DNI

You envied people who didn’t remember their dreams. Yours lingered with you, so much accumulated horror for your brain to draw upon. The crunching of dried-out fungus under boot. The squelch of blood running over clenched fist. The screams of your sister, reverberating with the screams of your dad, of your mum, of yourself. Formless and vacant of hope, a belligerent and unrelenting slideshow.

You woke with a start in your own bed, alone and trying to piece together how you got there. After Joel had taken care of you on the coffee table you had slumped towards him, head on his shoulder, and took in all the air your lungs could get. The exhaustion was overwhelming and you had felt yourself go limp in his arms, dimly aware of him lifting you, carrying you up the stairs. You’d had enough presence of mind to worry he was going to hurt his shoulder before he had you wrapped up in your blanket. You didn’t hear him leave.

You supposed you should be happy, but you had long started to suspect that it wasn’t really an emotion you were capable of. Even before outbreak day you’d had too much to worry about. You had already come to terms with the fact that happiness just wasn’t something your mind could do. Terror, though. That was your speciality.

At the bottom of the stairs, you peered through the front window at the rest of Jackson going about their day. Ordinarily, you would have been setting up for your first client, but you’d already cancelled them. You couldn’t bring yourself to look into the treatment room, hadn’t been in there since your table collapsed. The excitement of Maria delivering, the thrill of being somewhat useful, had allowed you to forget for a second that your vocation, the one thing that had got you into Jackson and probably saved your life in the process, was over. Without the table you were limited to straddling grumpy men in your kitchen, and that was a whole different job.

You glanced in at the living room, eyeing the coffee table suspiciously. You were running out of safe rooms in your house.

—

You kept your eyes down at the mess hall, only glancing up once or twice to ensure that the coast was clear. You weren’t surprised to see that Ray wasn’t there, assuming that he was manning the radio with Simon trying to scout any danger for Marla and the crew. The expedition was expected to take several days, longer if the weather turned. There was no cause for alarm, no reason to assume anything was amiss. But you knew Ray, and that that wouldn’t stop him.

Halfway through your porridge a tray dropped onto the table in front of you, and you startled, snapping your head up. You felt your stomach flip, the rolled oats no longer sitting comfortably beside the acid and bile in your stomach.

‘Mind if I sit?’ Ellie asked, already settling into the chair. You shook your head, swallowing heavily.

‘No, course,’ you said.

‘You looked lonely, you always look lonely.’

‘You’re very observant,’ you said, not sure if this was truly a compliment.

‘We just got back to Jackson,’ Ellie said, undeterred.

‘So I hear.’

‘I think we’re staying for a while,’ she went on largely without you. Her eyes had drifted to the middle distance, and you could see that she was thinking.

‘And how do you feel about that?’ you prompted. Her gaze shifted back to you, and she shook her head as if the thoughts were clinging to her clothes.

‘I’ve seen you around,’ she said, and you got the feeling she was starting the conversation over again, to see if she could improve it a second time. You let her.

‘Yup,’ you said.

‘You touch people,’ she said simply, and you blinked, had no idea what to make of it.

‘Umm…’ you started, and she interrupted you.

‘Dina says it helps people feel good,’ Ellie continued, as did your concerns.

‘What exactly did she day I do?’ you desperately tried to clarify.

‘You rub people and they feel good.’

Nope. Not better.

‘Massage,’ you spat out abruptly, ‘it’s a kind of therapy, physical therapy…but not like, it’s not…it’s good for your muscles, for your spine.’

‘Right,’ Ellie said, as if this was obvious, and you were very relieved to have got that sorted out at least.

‘You massaged Joel,’ she went on, and you wondered how hard it would be to jam your butter knife into your eye socket and remove yourself from the conversation, if not the planet, completely. ‘He told me it helped. Well he didn’t tell me, but he was all angry and sore…more than normal…then Tommy made him see you and he was better after that. He was his normal grumpy self, not his sore grumpy self.’

‘I’m happy to have helped,’ you said. You had given up trying to predict where the conversation was going, and now you were just tagging along behind her.

‘You did help,’ she said, leaning forward on her chair, up on her elbows on the table. ‘I want to help, too.’

‘You…do?’

‘Yeah I thought I could…I thought I was going to but, it didn’t…’ She looked around the room, flustered, and dipped her head lower to murmur underneath the sounds of the other tables. ‘I thought that I could help people one way, but it didn’t work out, and I just want to see if there’s another…fuck it actually, this is stupid.’

‘No, it’s not stupid,’ you said, and you reached out to put your hand on her arm, but she pulled it back like you had burned her.

‘You probably think I’m too young,’ she said, rolling her eyes but also really seeming to mean it.

‘I was your age who I started learning,’ you said, and watched as her eyes lit up, finally rising back to meet yours.

‘You were?’ she asked, and you nodded, grinning at her.

‘I think so, yeah. I mean, how old are you, Ellie?’

Like a shot her smile dropped, and she slunk backwards and away from you, receding into the chair and appearing to you to deflate to half her size. ‘What, what did I…’ and then you realised, cursed yourself and your remaining three brain cells. She hadn’t told you her name.

‘Who’s been talking about me?’ she asked, so quietly you only just heard. You swallowed. You remembered what it was like to be a teenager, to be relentlessly comparing yourself to your peers, to the women in magazines and on tv, to be relentlessly self-conscious, to be convinced everyone is talking about you and also worse, that no one is.

‘I asked Maria who you both were who you arrived,’ you said, deciding it was safer to talk about Maria then it was to talk about Joel. ‘I saw how Tommy reacted to Joel, and to you, and I didn’t understand what was happening so I asked.’

Ellie nodded, considering this, and you could see she had already worked out that it wasn’t the whole truth, but you hoped it was enough truth that she didn’t disappear on you.

‘What did she say?’ she asked, and you thought very hard and very fast to think of a good answer. You would have preferred a minefield.

‘Just that you were Joel’s kind of adopted daughter and that you’d been out of town for a while…and that she was super happy to have you back.’ You prayed the last part would ring true in some way, that it would be enough to reassure her. ‘Maria cares about you a lot.’

‘Maria doesn’t know me,’ Ellie replied. I don’t trust that he’s not keeping her in the dark.

‘She doesn’t need to, she just cares anyway,’ you said, and you meant it.

A loud group of teenagers, slightly older than Ellie if you had to guess, pushed into the mess hall and you watched as she pulled away from you even further, taking up residence about three centimetres back from her own skin. Her eyes were hard, vacant. You had seen the same look on Joel, and you knew then that she was a quick learner.

‘Ellie-‘ you started, but she was pushing her chair back.

‘Never mind,’ she said over her shoulder as she hurried away.

—

The mood in the town shifted over the next few days. Neither Marla nor any of the other crew had radioed in since reaching the third checkpoint, and there had been heavy, low-hanging clouds threatening the mountains. You had wondered about going in to see Ray, but you weren’t sure what you could say that would be any consolation. You worried, perhaps unfairly but also perhaps not, that you would say the wrong thing, that in your haphazard if well-intentioned way you would lose him, too. Instead, you stayed away.

You also avoided Joel. You felt the urge to keep a respectful distance, to try and pretend like it had never happened, like you hadn’t grasped his shoulders and come harder than you had in literal decades. You weren’t sure if you remembered ever having felt the way he had made you feel in an embarrassingly short period of time, but also you weren’t sure what it meant, if anything. If this was just something that Joel did, how he kept himself busy at the end of the world. You didn’t want to be his distraction, and you didn’t want him to distract you, especially when you had so much to pointlessly worry about.

You’d had boyfriends, one before outbreak day and two and a half in the years after. A lot of the time it was convenience, sometimes protection, but never passion. You’d read that during times of national crisis birth rates skyrocket and you’d never been able to understand why. Nothing about a brain-obliterating fungus was all that attractive to you. You wondered if what had happened with Joel was just about you finally feeling safe. If it was less Joel and more Jackson. You felt better about things, if that were true. You hoped it was.

You took the short walk to Maria’s, a tray of lasagne in your hands that you’d begged and borrowed at the mess to be able to make. There wasn’t any oregano or basil, so you just got generous with the salt and hoped for the best. You thought about your mum’s cooking, which wasn’t really all that great either. Her method was throwing Italian herb mix in to any pasta sauce in the hope that it would make it taste better than the sum of its parts. It rarely worked, but you couldn’t blame a girl for trying.

You stood on Maria’s porch, not sure if you should knock. You were worried about waking the baby, or waking Maria, or that the wrong Miller brother would be home. You worried that you wouldn’t be welcome, that you’d done too much at the birth, that you had overstepped in some way that you weren’t aware of but that would make it impossible for Maria to now be your friend.

Just as you were about to leave the lasagne on the front porch and make a break for it, the door swung open, and you were met with Tommy’s surprised face.

‘Umm, hi,’ you said, taking a step away from the doorstep without even noting. Tommy looked down at your hands, took the lasagne from you and put it gently on the console inside the door, then wrapped his arms tight around you and pushed all the air out of your lungs. You couldn’t even gasp in surprise.

‘You…’ he said, and he trailed off, and you felt the warmth and the comfort of his arms, and you suddenly thought you might cry. You pulled away, fast.

‘How are they?’ you asked, and Tommy beamed. Looking at him now, you realised he was absolutely exhausted, dark circles under his eyes.

‘Come see,’ he said, pulling you in and shutting the door behind you. You could hear humming, contented gurgling, and followed it into the lounge room. Maria was sitting up on the couch, son at her breast. She smiled when she saw you, and you looked down at the baby in her arms, and felt love physically enter your body.

‘Oh Maria,’ you whispered, and she grinned back at you.

‘I am so fucking tired,’ she stage-whispered, and you had to try hard not to laugh too loud. His little fist was balled up and resting on her chest, and you could see the tiny thumbnail, purple and deep red, and it was too small and too precious for the world around it.

‘I have to go…run an errand,’ Tommy said quietly from the doorway. ‘Will you two be OK?’

Maria waved him off.

‘I ran off the other night before I asked you his name,’ you said, coming to sit beside Maria so that she didn’t have to turn her head to talk to you. She leant into your shoulder, and it was peaceful and warm and the kind of thing you do with a good friend, and you wondered if she’d object to adopting you.

‘We were going to go with Joel Junior,’ she said, and you wrinkled your nose.

‘Too alliterative,’ you said, and she nodded.

‘Also still not convinced about him,’ she said, and you felt something shift in your belly.

‘He was good the other night, with Tommy.’

‘He saw a lot of me I never intended him to,’ Maria said, and your heart sank. Should you have got rid of him? He was there for Tommy, you realised, not Maria. Should you have objected, said something? Had Maria been trying to telepathically tell you to do something, and you missed it? ‘It’s OK,’ Maria said, sensing the way your body had tensed. ‘I wasn’t really paying much attention to him, in fairness.’

‘You were kind of busy,’ you agreed. You listened to the baby suckling quietly, little contented grunts coming from his throat. ‘So, it’s not Joel Junior,’ you prompted.

‘Robin,’ Maria said. ‘There are so many here in Spring, and I love their little songs.’

You reached a hand out to cup his head in your palm. ‘That’s perfect,’ you said. For a long moment you just watched him, the peace of him, so wrapped up and warm and safe in the arms of his mother. You ached for your own for a second, before you pushed the thought away, told yourself this wasn’t the time.

‘It feels different out there,’ Maria said. ‘I can even tell, and I haven’t left the house in days.’

‘Vibes aren’t great,’ you agreed.

‘Tommy’s worried, but he won’t tell me.’

‘The expedition is just taking longer than it should,’ you said. ‘If there was anything to tell I’m sure he would.’

Maria regarded you for a long moment, and you realised she wanted more answers, but you had none to give her.

‘He’s like Joel, like his big brother,’ Maria said eventually, and you felt heat up the back of your spine. ‘Protective,’ she added. ‘To the point of locking you out in the cold to save you from the monster under the bed.’

—

You kind of wished Maria would stop dropping truth bombs on you, then leave you to work through the rubble on your own. You walked the long way back to your place, down behind the hall and past the lake, just to see if you could push her words out of your body through your feet.

It meant that you arrived back on your front step just as the sun was setting, and you were surprised to see the lights in your house on. You were sure you wouldn’t have left them on in the daylight. You pushed the door open, trying to remember if you’d locked it. No one did in Jackson, but you liked to when you were going to bed, partly to believe that you could do anything that might prevent some kind of harm.

‘Hello?’ you called down your hallway, thereby alerting any potential attackers to your exact whereabouts. You rolled your eyes at yourself. Jackson had definitely made you soft.

There were no weapons in your entry way. You considered whether taking your boots off and throwing them would cause enough of a head injury to get away, but it would be harder in your socks. In Chicago you’d kept a baseball bat beside the door, and used it only once.

‘That you?’ you heard a voice call, and you paused. Were you ‘you’?

‘Maybe?’ you called back, and you heard two sets of laughs. One deep and huffy. You’d recognise it anywhere. Your feet moved all by themselves.

Joel and Tommy were standing in your treatment room. The broken table was gone, and in its place a brand new, clearly custom made, massage table stood. Thin enough so that you didn’t need to climb on top of it to rearrange the towels, and just the right shape to give a body a warm and safe place to rest.

Your hand flew to your mouth, and you felt tears pushing hot onto your cheeks. Tommy grinned at you while Joel watched, careful and reserved. You didn’t have words, could barely wrap your head around what you were seeing.

‘You helped so well with Maria, kept her going when anyone else would have quit,’ Tommy said, while you were trying hard to breathe. ‘You did so good, so we wanted to say thank you.’

You let out a gasping, gulping, tearful laugh, nodding your head at him. ‘That’s OK, you’re welcome,’ you said, but you were laughing and crying simultaneously, so it was hard to know if you’d made any sense.

‘It was Joel’s idea,’ Tommy said, smiling at his older brother, who promptly blushed and looked ready to murder him. ‘Come look,’ Tommy said, extending a hand towards you and pulling you by the arm further into the room.

The massage table had built-in padding under a leather cover, that was attached to the wood with studs along the edges. The leather had clearly been something else in a past life, the stitching haphazard and criss-crossing over the base, but you would cover it with towels anyway. You pushed a hand out and pressed down on it, finding it delightfully spongey, and soft. You wanted to lean down and put your nose to it, inhale the leather, the warm sunshine on swatches of yellow and green fields. Inhale a different life, an older one long passed.

‘And here, this is the headrest,’ Tommy said, continuing his tour. ‘It sits in its own little track carved in here, see? So you can remove it or slot it back into place. Maria said that’s what the proper tables used to have, so you could lie face down.’

You nodded, confirming that this was indeed true. You reached out and put your hands on it, let your fingers reach underneath to feel the joins in the wood. They were smooth, carefully crafted. You knew they were Joel’s, carried his strong but gentle touch, his precision, his care.

You gazed at him, completely blindsided by the craftmanship and the generosity. The moment hung in the air, the two of you watching each other. You wanted to tuck your head under his chin and cry into his chest, wanted to rip his shirt off him and shred it with your teeth so he could never wear anything ever again, wanted to hold his face in your hands and keep it, not let the moment pass, let your hands on his skin secure the warmth there, hold the look on his face, for eternity.

‘I should head back,’ Tommy said, and you pivoted immediately towards him and threw your arms around his neck. He laughed, wrapping his arms around you. ‘Now we’re square,’ he said, and you gurgled your acceptance.

After he left, you worried Joel would go, too. Worried that all of this had been obligation, had been at Tommy’s insistence, had been a way of winning Maria over. Worried at how badly you wanted him to stay, worried that it wasn’t just Jackson but that it was him, that it was always going to be him, and that right now every nerve ending was on fucking fire just because he was looking at you. You waited for him to grunt or nod at you and turn his back, but he stayed standing, his brows knitted together, one hand on his hip.

‘It’s beautiful,’ you said, because the tension was starting to mount now that Tommy had gone, and if he kept looking at you like that you were going to combust. Your voice wobbled, and you swallowed glue and razor blades to try and steady it. ‘Where did you get the leather?’

‘Found an old couch lying around, no bother,’ he said. His voice was low, like he thought you were going to run from the room, but in that moment you didn’t trust your legs. You nodded your head because words were failing you, but then suddenly you had too many of them, and they were all going to come out right now, all at once.

‘Its just that the massage table, I know it’s silly…but it was what I used to do before outbreak day, and it was kind of who I am or maybe I just think of it as that, but I just worry that if I don’t have anything to offer no one will keep me.’

Jackson. You’d meant to say you were worried they wouldn’t let you stay in Jackson. But that wasn’t at all what you’d said.

Joel took two steps forward, grabbing your face and rubbing at the tracks of tears on your cheek with one hand, the other snaking behind you to hold your back. You gasped, staring up into his brown eyes, the salt and pepper of his beard, the lower lip you wanted to nip with your teeth. You waited for him to say something, anything, but holding you was also enough. Under his patient gaze your breath slowed, you stopped feeling your heart thundering in your chest, felt your shoulders drop.

‘Joel…’ you whispered, and he was on you then, head dipping down to bite at the skin behind your ear, hand roaming over your hips to cup your bottom, grind you into him, where you felt him hard and heavy against your core.

‘Let me-‘ he started, but you stopped him, gripping him by the shoulder and pulling away.

‘No, let me,’ you said, suddenly bold under his wanting touch. ‘Table’s fixed now, so there’s no excuses.’

He cocked and eyebrow, blinking at you. ‘You want me on that?’

‘What’s the matter, don’t trust your craftmanship?’

‘Baby, a massage isn’t exactly what I-‘

‘Down to your boxers and face in the hole,’ you said, grabbing a towel from a nearby stack and putting it down on the leather.

‘You could at least help,’ he said, grumpy again, and you grinned happily at him.

‘I’ll step out and let you get ready,’ you said, in full-blown professional mode, just to fuck with him. He sighed, but he did as he was told, and you really fucking liked it, actually.

Once he was on the table you draped him, making sure he was comfortable. You rubbed your hands together to make them warm, then poured some cooking oil – the best substitute you’d found so far even if it did make the residents of Jackson smell like fried chicken – into your hands.

‘This might be cold, I’m sorry,’ you warned, and Joel grunted. You were glad he was face down so you didn’t have to see the expression on his face.

You started with his left leg, draping the towel over his hip and tucking it between his thighs. Straight away you could feel the tension there, the tightness of the calf, the hamstring ready to snap. You ran your hands in a vee-shape, thumbs tucked one over the other, up the back of his leg, stopping just below his glute, which you briefly considered leaning over and sinking your teeth into.

Joel’s skin was soft, and unbelievably hot to the touch, and you had to try hard to focus on what your hands were doing so that you could ignore the little whimpers, the little gasps, as you found and massaged away a knot. You ran your hands up the outside of his thighs, felt the muscles jump and tremor under you, dug your fingers into his hip flexors and heard him exhale, an almost sigh, as they released.

You got into trouble when you got to his back. You were aware of the fact that you were soaking your panties, worried that he would smell your arousal, worried that if he kept making noises like that you were going to drown yourself. You worked hard to keep your breath steady, remembered your lessons and imagined dousing yourself in freezing cold water, jumping from your back porch into the frozen lake below Jackson, hoping that might give you some relief.

The wide planes of his skin were marred by scars, by shadows of pain and hurt and memory. He carried a scar, an old one, on his right side, a graze that looked like a bullet, that you decided to ignore. As you pushed hard along his spine he grunted, the muscle seizing under your touch, and you worked against it, kneading at them like dough, lifting the fascia and breaking it down, working the adhesions, until it was buttery and smooth. You focused on Joel’s breath, saw the way his chest expanded as he inhaled, felt the enormous man, so scary and so gruff, so mean and so soft on the inside, gradually give in to you. You felt him relax, the tension leaving his shoulders as you worked them, careful to release the deltoid, to ease off the trapezius now that you could finally get at it properly.

You were tempted to leave him there, relaxed for maybe the first time in years, but you roused him, rolled him onto his back, put a folded-up towel under his head and another over his eyes to protect them from the light. With his face covered you could take your inventory of him. The scar on his right side, jagged and angry and new, the reason he’d been favouring it finally clear to you. The soft smattering of chest hair leading down to a light trail on his pelvis. The towel covering him, but not enough to hide the fact that he was hard, that he had tried to tuck his cock into the waistband of his underwear but that it was too thick, too long to stay fully hidden.

You moved up to his head, to his salt and pepper hair, and carded your hands through it, lifting his head and holding it in your fingertips. You watched as his eyebrows knitted together again, unsure, but then releasing, his mouth dropping open, as you heard his breath, ragged, escaping through his teeth.

‘Let me take care of you, baby,’ you whispered to him, right above his ear, mimicking what he had said to you on the coffee table, what had made you instantly wet and aching. You gazed down his body at the way his cock jumped. ‘Let me take care of this body.’

You let your fingers dig in a little to his scalp, a quiet little moan escaping him, the covering over his eyes giving him a sense of privacy as you unravelled him. You wanted to lean down and suck his bottom lip into yours, wanted to climb on top of him and sink your pussy onto his Roman nose. Wanted to come on his face and his fingers, wanted him to splash his come onto your chest.

‘This body that protects us,’ you whispered, leaning down and placing a kiss on his forehead, on his cheek beneath the towel. Putting his head back down and moving to massage his left arm, lifting it by the wrist and rubbing your hands over his bicep and onto his chest. He glistened, the oil mixing with his sweat under the overhead light, and you couldn’t stop yourself, then, couldn’t help but to bend and place a kiss on his clavicle, licking up to nip at his neck. You felt him shiver, a soft whimper escaping with his breath. You moved your hand from his wrist to his palm, held his hand with yours.

‘This body that serves us all so well,’ you said. ‘Let me take care of this body.’

He gasped when you kissed his belly button, licking and nipping down his happy trail to where his cock was now straining hard against the towel. You pushed it away, taking his cock out of his underwear and pulling them down on his hips, so that you got your first proper look at him.

As you expected he was thick, the veins on the underside pulsing, straining against his want for you. The head was so red it was almost purple, and you wondered how long it had been since a woman touched him like this, since he’d been touched at all. His hand grasped yours, the other fisting the towel underneath him.

When you slipped him into your mouth, inviting him into you, he groaned, grunted obscenities flowing from him. His cock was hot on your tongue, salty as he dripped pre-come into your throat. You kept your eyes on his face, his still covered, as his stomach rippled and his body tremored underneath you. With your other hand you steadied him, reaching up and holding the shaft while you bobbed, sucking hard on the head. You took a second to breathe, leaving little kitten licks on his frenulum, feeling his free hand let go of the towel and grip you by the hair.

‘Fuck, baby’ he grunted, his hips thrusting, pumping up into the air.

‘So strong, Joel,’ you said, before reattaching your mouth to him. He threw his head back, and you considered the irony of him breaking the brand-new table he’d built just for you by coming so hard he splintered the wood beneath him. His body was quaking, his hips bucking up into your wet, warm mouth and it was everything you had dared imagine it would be, right down to his gasping encouragement, down to his needy little whimpers that turned into moans of outright pleasure, of the feeling hot and electric right down to his toes.

‘Jesus, you’re gonna make me…’ he gasped, and you looked up at him, the towel having fallen from his eyes and him staring down at you between his legs, his hand on the back of your neck gentle and guiding, supporting the muscles as you worked him. You kept your eyes on his and your mouth on his cock as he shook, hips rolling, rutting against your pumping hand.

You slipped him from your mouth. ‘Just let go, baby. I got you,’ you said, covering him again as he did just that, shooting ropes of hot salt and desire across your tongue, holding your hand, groaning at the relief of it, at the release, and in that moment you had him, in that moment he was yours, gasping for breath and so soft and languid, looking down his body at you in awe and in wanting, sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@littlemisspascal

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller

170 notes · View notes

singingcicadas · 3 months

Text

Realized that even though it's a shame that there wasn’t much Drift/Megatron interaction in the story, we still got a fairly detailed one-sided account of Drift’s opinion.

Because this is in no way an accurate assessment of the mentality of the crew members on Necroworld. Drift's either doing some really bullshit armchair psychology or he's projecting his own feelings and assuming that they're shared by everyone else.

Once you break everyone down individually you can see that Drift’s theory applies to very few people:

Rodimus and Minimus have sort of an ambiguous friendship going on with Megatron. Rodimus literally chose to save his life when he could have let Megatron explode with Tarn. Minimus immediately proceeded to give himself congnitive dissonance b/c he thought Megatron betrayed them by running away.

Nautica Velocity Cyclonus Tailgate Ten have no preexisting history against Megatron.

Nautica has more Other Problems than to pay attention to Megatron.

Velocity’s conversation with Megatron after the psychological attack was nothing but caring and friendly. Megatron even felt comfortable enough to admit to her that he was happy. She and Nautica are amongst the few people who sees Megatron as a person first, before his deeds.

Cyclonus might even admire him a little with the romanticized way he talks about the Decepticon ideology.

Tailgate's knowledge about Megatron's past comes entirely from datapackets and documentaries. And his response to that kind of threat level is to pull a gun on him and then try to shadowplay the evilness out. Point is, Tailgate's method to dealing with threats is to be very hands-on, especially after he got his spark spasm superpowers. His way of coping is definitely not brainwashing himself into thinking 'he's not a threat' and being unconsciously nervous all the time.

Whirl hates Megatron with a passion but he also saved Megatron in the time travel. He views Megatron as less of a threat than the functionists.

Nightbeat doesn’t care about anything other than his mysteries; his response to threat of imminent demise at sundown is to go exploring.

Rung’s… Rung. He’s forgiving and compassionate, and also a professional therapist who should be capable of employing healthy rational methods to cope with Megatron being in his life.

Rewind, like Nautica, has a whole slew of Other Problems, I'm sure Megatron's not a very big priority right now.

Skids is dead.

That only leaves like three people unaccounted for and they’re all branded Megatron sympathizers for a reason: they all said no to Getaway when he asked if they were pro ‘mutiny and kick Megatron off the ship.’

Drift's only been back for seven days, even if he got filled in with everything that happened since, he's still in no position to be making that kind of assessment. He doesn't have the context. He wasn't there when Megatron was captain of the ship. He didn't even meet Nautica Velocity and Nightbeat before he left, he has no idea what they're like or what they think of Megatron. Even Rewind's not the same one from before. (Add: he also didn't know Ultra Magnus was actually Minimus in a suit)

Most importantly his entire response in the second two panels is the complete opposite of Ratchet's original question. Ratchet's question was "Is it me or is everyone a little skittish?" Skittish. as in nervous. uneasy. jumpy. Drift's like "Megatron's gone so they can relax." But skittish is the opposite of relaxing? and they only started being skittish after Megatron left? He's the only one to bring up Megatron in this?

Rodimus' reasoning in the first panel (sans Rodpod) makes much more sense.

TL;DR: Drift's nervous around his old boss and can only relax after Megatron's gone, so he assumes that everyone else must feel the same way too. Everyone else: not really?

#idw transformers #transformers #mtmte #megatron #Drift #maccadam #Rodimus #Lost Light #not going to tag everyone mentioned in the post #too many people

184 notes · View notes

autisticwriterblog · 7 months

Text

Izzy, Ed and abuse

okay, so I’ve seen a few people talking about Izzy and Ed, and it genuinely disturbs me that I’ve seen people deny that Izzy is a victim of abuse. By most definitions, physical abuse is categorised as causing physical harm to another person’s body with intent to hurt them. Some things, like punching Izzy for selling Stede out, or choking him for saying hateful stuff when Ed was at his lowest, whilst not acceptable in the real world, are perfectly normal reactions for a pirate to have toward a member of his crew, so I’m not talking about things like that.

But the toe scene and the early parts of season 2 are clearly abusive, and only by sheer character bias (framing Ed as someone who could never do anything wrong) can you look at the way Ed treats Izzy and not consider Izzy a victim. Izzy and Ed have had a mutually toxic relationship for a long time, judging by their interactions, but I personally only see abusive behaviour starting with the toe scene. And the abusive one is Ed. Which shouldn’t be a controversial thing to say, considering what we see on screen, and yet…

Even at the end of season one, we saw Ed cut Izzy’s toe off and force him to eat it, and it is confirmed in season 2 that he took two more toes. He is even about to take a fourth toe when Izzy reports that the crew refused to throw their treasure overboard, and Izzy doesn’t argue, much unlike in season 1, when he often bitched at Ed for his decisions. Now, Izzy just takes the punishment.

Things between them come to a head when Ed shoots Izzy in the leg, leading to infection, and the amputation of his leg. He even puts a gun in Izzy’s hand, directly leading to Izzy’s suicide attempt. And in the end, all Izzy gets is a mumbled apology and that's that.

I know many people don’t like Izzy, but do they not sympathise with him? I’ll be first to admit that I don’t like Ed and Stede (I used to, but season 2 made me dislike them more and more for reasons too complicated to go into now), but I feel bad for them when bad things happen to them. I got bullied as a child, so I sympathise with Stede in the flashbacks to his childhood, and I was horrified when I learned what Ed's father was like. I don't particularly like either of them, but I feel bad for them when they're suffering. Which is why I found it so strange and appalling that people who dislike Izzy seemed to find it funny when Izzy was crawling along the floor, or died a painful death.

Even ignoring Ed's treatment of Izzy, the way he treats the crew is abusive too. He overworks them, pushing them into three months of consecutive raids (assuming they did one raid a day), leaving them all so stressed that Fang seems to always be crying. He forces Jim and Archie to fight to the death for no reason other than he said so. He expects Frenchie to kill Izzy, and it is clear how terrified Frenchie is the entire time he lies to Ed. The whole crew walk on eggshells around Ed because they don't know when he'll explode again. Basically, even if Izzy isn't being mentioned (and he should for the record, because he got the worst treatment - and he didn't deserve it, despite that some people seem to think being mutilated is a fair punishment for yelling at Ed), Ed was still abusive towards the crew. During that time period, Ed is incredibly unstable. He wants the world to burn and doesn't care who gets hurt along with him. Which is why the crew still show signs of trauma after Stede returns. Because they are traumatised by Ed's behaviour.

I know that Ed is a victim of abuse, and I have seen people bring this up when his abusive behaviour is mentioned. The thing is, it's perfectly possible for a victim to become an abuser themself, because they're a human being and are capable of doing bad things. Yes, survivors don't have to become abusive (see: my mum, who was smacked as a child but never raised a hand to her own children, because she didn't turn out like her parents), but it can happen. And that is what happened with Ed. There is even a direct parallel between Ed's dad throwing a plate against the wall, scaring Ed's mother, and the scene where Ed throws a chair against the wall, making Stede visibly flinched. If you want someone to be annoyed with about this comparison, don't pick the fans who are just noticing something in canon - blame the show for writing Ed doing the same thing his abusive father did.

In conclusion, Izzy fans aren't just making things up. We're pointing out things that canon showed onscreen and how Ed's behaviour toward Izzy is abusive. I wanted to like Ed this season, but the way the show wrote him made it impossible for me to tolerate him, because he treated everyone badly and they were expected to just move on. I understand that Ed is a romantic lead, but perhaps it wasn't a good idea to make your romantic lead act so abusive toward his subordinates and then never show any real consequences of that.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #izzy hands #the izcourse #ofmd critical #abuse tw #child abuse mention #discourse #fandom wank #ed teach critical #(although it's more about the show's writing than his character)

254 notes · View notes

mono-dot-jpeg · 9 months

Text

a child and their 9ft pet - astral express crew

summary; the adventures of a 7 year old and their large mythical beast called ossy.

genre/extra tags; bullet fic/headcanons, anxious! reader, reader is connected to most animals (but mostly their companion), reader is from the luofu, i made reader a bit know it all sassy but it's okay it's only for a little bit, reader is a smart baby

[platonic] [7 year old! reader] [gender neutral! reader]

[buy me a kofi to support!]

a/n; this is the most steven universe shit i've seen /j /nm, that's what popped into my mind upon reading this ask. nothing wrong with it. just pointing it out KSDJKSJ also this is based off lion dog from chinese mythology which is what i assume you were describing from the shih tzu and also im rather familiar with the lion dog myself as someone who used to visit temples with my family (love those statues). anyways, hope you enjoy, you didn't really specify what type of work you wanted, so i did bullet fic/hcs

the crew met you when you were trying to avoid them

you're not really normal in the luofu, you were not really an anomaly but you weren't a normal kid either.

the general knew of you due to your larger than life pet.

well... it was more of a beast of mythic lore turned real but who's arguing about definitions here?

even if your pet was in a smaller form, they were still pretty big. about 4ft. maybe twice your height almost

but jingyuan let you have your pet as long as you weren't making trouble

anyways, back to the actual subject at hand.

the astral crew needed to find you since you were supposedly the young scholar of the luofu who seemed to know everything and loved learning about everything

you were almost a historian some would even say

but you didn't really like the idea of being a historian

you just like learning about everything

but you weren't the best around people

so when you met the crew .. .

you jumped right into your pet's fur, disappearing without a trace

"HUH?!"

"how did they disappear like that?"

"did they just jump into that animal's fur?"

march tries to reach out, but the dog barks angrily and backs up

"okay okay! sorry.. puppy?"

"they're not a puppy!" your voice erupts from the soft fur of the dog (?) your head pops up startling the express crew, "they're a lion! get it right!" you scolded them.

"but they don't look like a lion."

"and you don't look like a local, so what's it to you!?" you huffed. "you don't know everything about the luofu!"

"that's why we're here. we need to know more about the history of your home." the eldest man, welt yang, spoke gently. "general jingyuan sent us."

you sigh as you cuddle into your pet's fur, still leaving the crew to wondering how you're being contained in it. "okay. what do you want to know?" and you begrudgingly answer their questions. you eventually leave your pet's fur and they keep your feeling less anxious about the strangers who imposed on your reading time.

and that's it for now.

the crew is mildly concerned and curious about you\

they spot you around different parts of the luofu as they continue their adventure.

let's say that they even had more time to get to know you better. how you're kind of a wild card for the luofu cloud knights and how you'd rather do a plain hobby than fight.

but you're perfectly capable of doing so

well, mostly your pet.

boy were they shocked when they saw your already large ish lion change and grow into a true creature of mythology, and fought the marastruck with ease.

"no chewing! marastruck isn't good for your diet!" you had scolded after the fight was over. "put them down ossy!" despite their cowering size, they almost shrink at your words and remind the crew of a sad puppy or cat. but ossy listens to you and spits out the marastruck, letting it disintegrate into the air.

yeah.. the crew was even more curious after that.

trailblazer was the only brave enough to speak what they were all thinking. what is your pet and how did you get them?

and you told them the simple story that you gained them as a family heirloom and bonded a contract with them. you even formed other contracts with other animals but not as strong as ossy's contract.

ossy was sort of a present from your family as you came from a line of mythic beast tamers and now you're here with them

and after that, you visit the express once in a while with ossy by your side to get a break from the streets of luofu

you take up your other hobbies when you're in the express, often knitting or drawing and you make drawings and little bracelets from the crew. while your drawings and knitting works arent as amazing as your knowledge, you don't mind because it just means more to learn and improve on.

you love being with the crew now and you love ossy more than ever of course!

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail welt #honkai x reader #honkai star rail dan heng #hsr march 7th #honkai star rail march 7th #caelus honkai star rail #stelle honkai star rail #caelus x reader #stelle x reader #march 7th x reader #welt yang x reader #dan heng x reader

363 notes · View notes

stevebcks · 8 months

Text

Okay so I haven’t been able to stop thinking about episode three and especially Ed’s plotline in it (and the final scene of course), so here’s a not so short messy analysis of what I’ve been thinking.

MAJOR SPOILERS JUST IN CASE…

As a short background, we start with Ed almost dead after he has basically been begging the rest of the crew to kill him. First Izzy, when he gives him the gun, then the rest of them when he sails them into a storm, trying to get them and himself killed, but instead still getting what he wanted when they turn against him. We get our final hint at how this is what he always wanted when he says “Finally.” as Jim lifts the cannonball.

And we start with Ed now in this purgatory state. I would assume this entire place is created by Ed since it is so deeply connected to him. And we learn that he also creates Hornigold as a representation of himself, of the subconscious parts of himself talking to him, and he hates this guy deeply.

This place puts the cards on the table for Ed.

“So if you hate me and I am you, then…”

“I hate myself.”

He gets to understand the hate he feels for this guy is really what he feels for himself. But it’s not only that, we see the reaction he has when he first sees Hornigold. He fears himself, what he is capable of doing to others, disgusted by the stories of what Hornigold has done (like Felix’s death) in the place of what he has done.

Everything Hornigold says, is really just his most hidden inner thoughts coming to the surface.

“You’re not very good with people, are you, Jeff?” His biggest fear, the one he has only ever been able to admit to Stede is displayed right there for him. How he believes every bad thing he has ever done is the reason he is unlovable, why he doesn’t have any friends.

“Maybe you wanna strangle me like you did your old dad.”

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“Grown man covered in tattoos. Ay? With daddy issues.”

“I never told anyone about that.”

“But you did, though, didn’t you? And he left you.”

“Fuck you.”

“And it all boils down to this. You’re afraid you are unlovable.”

Not only that but he believes that is also the reason Stede leaves him. Stede leaving puts salt in a wound he was only starting to heal. He once again believes he is inherently an evil person, unworthy of anyone but even less, of Stede.

“You gotta move on, man... or you blow your brains out.” But to some degree, he knows what he has to do in order to continue, he knows that if he really wants to live, to truly live, he needs to forgive himself of the past things he has done. It’s either that or… or what he did which is getting himself killed.

His choice is final (or so he believes…) when he is on the edge of the cliff. Hornigold, or really himself, has tied the rock to his waist and is ready to throw it. And as he said it with the pros and cons list, “I don’t think anyone’s waiting for me.” so there really is no point for him to go back.

“I’m not lovable.”

“And you’re scared to do anything about it. But old Hornigold, he ain’t scared.”

Ed knows, he knows "doing anything about it" is going back to life, face what he has done, fighting for Stede and for the person he wants to be. But his subconscious, his fear, is stronger.

“You’ve made your choice.” Hell, not only is this admitted by Hornigold, we literally see him at the beginning of episode two throwing himself, or really his little cake topper, to the water from the window. And Hornigold, or really his subconscious, throws the rock.

Then Stede finds him.

And when Stede finds him all it takes is for him to remove the towel from his face for him to open his eyes as he sinks in the water.

Him feeling Stede’s presence sparks something in him in this purgatory. And he starts fighting against the rope that he put himself in. But this is a world he has created so he still has control over it, and subconsciously, he still believes he is unlovable, unworthy, he is still not sure he deserves to be untied.

And then Stede starts asking HIM for forgiveness, and he fights and he fights, and he wants this so badly that in the real world he starts fighting too, tapping his fingers against the wood and begging Stede to keep talking, to keep leading the way with his voice. And he does.

As he takes Ed’s hand, he literally also shines a light and illuminates the surface. In the midst of this world of self-hatred, there is the voice of a person who, seeing past everything, loves him.

And the rope unties itself, in this moment his whole self fully believes that he is worthy of love, that he deserves this and he deserves Stede and that he deserves to live. This is Ed allowing himself to have this.

The flashbacks start, Ed remembers these moments and sees what he can still have, thinks “Maybe someone IS waiting for me.” as Stede keeps begging him to wake up.

And then, through the light, he sees merman Stede. And oh, how important this is. He has been seeing Hornigold, the person he hated the most in life, during all his time in purgatory, but now, now the reflection of his subconscious becomes the person he loves the most. Stede, Stede as a sea creature coming to save him. Stede, as a reflection of Ed’s subconscious telling himself, you are worthy of this, you are lovable, and you can love yourself.

The kraken, this fearful sea monster, is saved by the merman.

Stede is finally right there, and when they are finally face to face, Ed reaches for a kiss, and in that moment, he opens his eyes.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #stede bonnet #edward teach #ofmd season 2 #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ed x stede #taika waititi #rhys darby #i'm sorry if this is kinda dumb i really had to let my thoughts out #hope this even makes sense lol

212 notes · View notes

cantsayidont · 5 months

Text

While this ranks relatively low on my overall list of complaints about STAR TREK: DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS, something I find annoying about them is that they've really built up the size and strength of Starfleet to something closer to what it is in STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, which contradicts TOS in ways that have far-reaching story effects.

TOS repeatedly indicates that in that period Starfleet has only a handful of ships in the Enterprise's class, presumably because they're resource-intensive to build and operate. As Kirk and John Christopher discuss in "Tomorrow Is Yesterday":

CHRISTOPHER: Must have taken quite a lot to build a ship like this. KIRK: There are only twelve like it in the fleet.

That plainly doesn't mean that Starfleet has no other ships, but ships of what TOS describes as the "Starship" class ("Constitution-class" is a later coinage) are uniquely capable. As Merik, former commander of the SS Beagle, explains in "Bread and Circuses":

MERIK: He commands not just a spaceship, Proconsul, but a starship. A very special vessel and crew. I tried for such a command.

This special status is a central part of the premise of TOS: It's the reason why the Enterprise is assigned such a diverse array of duties, and why what the Enterprise does is so important to the plot. Even into the TOS cast movie era, we're frequently told that the Enterprise is the only ship in the sector capable of responding to a problem or threat, and the crew is rarely in a position to call for reinforcements even where that would be tactically or strategically advisable.

While that makes duty on one of these ships very risky (as evidenced by the number of the Enterprise's sister ships that are lost with all hands in TOS, including Constellation, Defiant, and Exeter), as Merik's remark indicates, it's also a plum assignment, and one for which there's obviously fierce competition. The TOS bible makes much of the fact that Kirk is the youngest person ever to command one of these starships, and he also appears to be one of the lowest-ranking. (Many of the other starship captains we see are fleet captains or commodores, as well as being older than Kirk.) This comes into play at a variety of points: For instance, it's at the root of Ben Finney's animosity toward Kirk in "Court Martial" (and presumably why Kirk's peers are quick to give him the cold shoulder when he's charged with negligence in Finney's apparent death), and it's part of the tension in "The Doomsday Machine," where Kirk and Spock have to maneuver around the fact that Matt Decker outranks Kirk and is clearly the senior officer.

The limited number of starships also provides a useful Watsonian explanation for the dichotomy of a capital warship (which the Enterprise unequivocally is) being used for scientific research and exploration missions. Although TOS is reluctant to say much about civilian life within the Federation, we can probably assume that such costly starships are the subject of a lot of political wrangling, and the different roles the Enterprise plays probably reflect those tensions: The Enterprise's scientific duties may be a concession to those who (like David Marcus in STAR TREK II) are wary of Starfleet's military role, and perhaps an effort to extract a greater civilian return on the Federation's obviously substantial military investment. It might also be a diplomatic ploy, or an attempt to maneuver around arms control treaties with rival powers like the Klingons and Romulans. (Arms-limitation treaties are probably the most plausible explanation for the Enterprise-A being so hastily decommissioned and its entire class apparently being mothballed shortly after STAR TREK VI.)

DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS pay lip service to the specialness of ships of the Enterprise's class while undermining the point by indicating that Starfleet also has hundreds if not thousands of other, slightly smaller starships with 80 or 90 percent of the Enterprise's capabilities, carrying out a similar range of missions. I can see why they've gone that way, and there's obvious precedent for it in the TOS cast movies, which depict several other classes of Starfleet ships, but interposing that into the TOS era inevitably weakens the premise of the original stories, and renders many of the conceits of TOS unintelligible. (If it were up to me, I would attribute the expanded range of ships to changes between TOS and the era of the movies, which are set years later and have different narrative priorities.)

This retroactive Starfleet expansion also exacerbates the increasingly jingoistic militarism of modern STAR TREK, which is uncomfortably pronounced in both the Abrams films (which got money from the Pentagon for it) and in the recent shows (which I suspect are also getting DOD money, although I haven't seen that specifically confirmed). The large-scale fleet maneuvers of the finale of PICARD, for instance, are frankly terrifying, and would be even without the contrivances of the plot. A Federation that celebrates "Frontier Day" with a massive display of military power within the solar system, obviously aimed at awing and intimidating citizen and adversary alike, seems like a pretty harrowing "post-scarcity socialist utopia," even by the standards of a show that's always been about the crews of a spacegoing navy doing interstellar colonialism.

#teevee #star trek #star trek tos #star trek discovery #strange new worlds

102 notes · View notes

gingerylangylang1979 · 11 months

Text

Reddit and Twitter need this most but I won’t, because reasons

I have said before I don’t think ALL the Camry and Sydney hate is racially motivated but PLENTY of it is. It’s Richonne 2.0. This isn’t new to me.

There is the outright racist coded comments like claiming Sydney has to be a lesbian, has to be asexual, looks like Kendrick Lamar (yes, it was said), along with the inability to ever empathize with her character.

But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about unconscious bias with people who don’t get that they feel the way they do because Sydney is black. So anyone reading this may want to take a moment and honestly examine what I’m saying.

Unconscious bias is, for example, the thing that leads doctors, sometimes even black ones, to presume that black people don’t feel pain in the same way whites do. It’s not necessarily malicious intentional action or obvious hatred towards us. It’s subtle perceptions that change how one views the nature and capabilities of black people while still being able to be friends with them, respect certain qualities about them, and maybe even at times be allies. But there is always something different in perception that is so invisible that you aren’t aware of it.

I've seen it in white people, strangers and acquaintances, making assumptions about what I’m into or should be, what my education and earnings are, and who I should be friends and lovers with. It’s the thinking we can always handle anything and not be burdened. It’s what is happening a lot with Sydney, especially with Carmy.

People are allowed to not like the ship. They don’t have to. I’m not going to assume everyone who doesn’t is racist. But for anyone who doesn’t I think it would be beneficial to examine a few things.

Viewing the first scene between them, how would you interpret Carmy’s taken aback, entranced, nervous reaction to seeing her? To me it obviously says attraction and surprise. If there is another explanation I’ve never heard it. People just gloss over that interaction and I think it’s a tell. It shows that people may not be able to see him showing signs of attraction to her because she doesn’t look like who you would expect him to be attracted to.

2. How would you explain the way Carmy is constantly looking at Sydney closely like he doesn’t look at anyone else? When we see her from his perspective she if glowy or hazy or out of focus. We don’t see that with any other characters he interacts with aside from that finale flashback with Mikey. He doesn’t look at Sugar like that. Syd is the only one who gets special framing. If you’ve never noticed, why?

3. If you think Syd could be a lesbian or asexual, why her and not for instance Tina, or others on the crew? Sex isn’t referenced a lot so why is it not being referenced with her any different than it not being referenced with others? Often people assume a woman who dresses tomboyish is just that. Why can’t that just be her style? I have plenty of women friends that are straight and sexual with a similar style.

4. Could you imagine the scenes with Syd and Carmy if a man was in Sydney’s place? What would you think of the vibe?

5. Could you see Ayo in the Claire role?

6. Could you see Jeremy and Ayo playing love interests in a totally different show?

7. If Molly Gordon plays Syd could you better picture her with Carmy?

8. When you see a dark skinned black woman in a couple with a white man IRL does it make you especially take notice or feel it’s a bit off?

9. Does the thought of Sydney and Carmy kissing or being intimate make you have an extreme reaction like eeew or gross? Maybe not so extreme does it make you feel awkward to think about it?

10. Do you often compare their relationship to siblings?

11. Can you recognize the Syd isn’t into Marcus romantically and has other options?

12. Can you only envision Sydney alone and not needing romance because her career is all she needs?

13. Do you think maybe Carmy could find her attractive if she looked more glamorous?

14. Could you more easily see Carmy into Syd if she was played by Zendaya or someone that looks similar?

15. Have you never seen a couple that looks like Syd and Carmy?

16. if you saw the Emmy magazine photo shoot did you not perceive the touchy pose with Ayo and Jeremy as sexually suggestive and think it’s an impossibility?

17. How do you think Clairs would react if she saw all of their interactions?

18. Is it easy to view Sydney as having complex motivations and emotions at the same time? Can you possibly see that she’s jealous of Claire because she distracted Carmy from business AND because she has feelings for Carmy? Is it possible to think she can view Carmy as a boss, mentor, and someone she is attracted too and that’s hard to process?

All of these things may not apply to your perception but if any do realize these are very common examples of how unconscious bias plays out when thinking of black women, especially in storytelling. This is a lot of what has historically been seen with similar ships and IRL mixed couples. That’s not to discount the numerous white man, white woman ships that people don’t like, but these things are consistently present with black women and white men presented in the media and celebrity couples. There is always more scrutiny with these pairings.

You may not have a context to understand that. You may have never been questioned in this way. You may be angered to think it’s possible this is a role in how you are viewing things, but it’s the truth based on lived experience and observation. It’s worth examining.

I’m not here to be hostile, I’m just trying to voice in a gentle way what so many here already know and you may not be aware of or ready to think about.

I’m not going to argue with anybody about it but any intelligent, respectful dialogue is welcome and encouraged.

#the bear fx #carmy x sydney #chefs kiss

194 notes · View notes

freesidexjunkie · 18 days

Text

First Light

I have FINALLY got the first chapter of my Rolan fic ready!! This one is just fluff, so no big tags. Alcohol mention, bittersweet ending.

Word count: 9,129

AO3 Link here

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an archmage in good standing must be in want of an apprentice. That was what awaited Rolan in Baldur’s Gate, he reminded himself. He would happily sit through this night of drunken merriment if it meant they were finally free to continue on in the morning. Well, perhaps not happily, but tolerably. In his opinion, they had already wasted enough time while they cowered in the druid's grove; but Lia and Cal would not allow themselves to be swayed before properly thanking their so-called hero.

“Hells, Rolan. You look far too dour for someone who’s supposed to be celebrating,” his brother said, leaning against a felled log with a drink in hand.

“I’d rather not end up as a drunken fool by the end of the night. I’m sure you’ll already have that taken care of,” Rolan replied. “Besides, I’ll celebrate when there's a real reason to. All any of us accomplished was being the damsels in distress to a crew of adventurers.”

Lia raised her glass to point at him, swaying a bit as she did. “Glowering in the corner all night won't get us to the Gate any faster, Rol. You may as well join us ‘drunken fools.’”

“I bet he wouldn't be so grumpy if a certain person wasn’t still talking to Ikaron,” Cal said, nudging his sister in the side. He nodded his head in the direction of a half-elf woman a little ways off, sharing a drink with one of the refugee guards.

Rolan begrudgingly turned his head to look at Rhiannon, laughing and standing unnecessarily close to the tiefling. Not unnecessarily close, he chided himself; she was free to seek the company of whomever she wished. The rest of the camp certainly was.

“She likes the grumpy ones, doesn’t she?” Lia said, flashing an unendurably knowing grin at Rolan. He didn't deign to reply, only grunting in annoyance and rolling his eyes as he turned his back to the scene.

He certainly had no expectations of Rhiannon seeking his company out. He had assumed when they met that she was nothing but talk and pomp, and had treated her as such. As a result, she likely thought the exact same of him, he imagined; another overconfident wizard who's bark was worse than his pitiful bite. He had done little to suggest otherwise, stewing and grumbling behind the grove’s safe walls while threats abounded outside. A less generous person may have even called it whining – his sister certainly had. But while he sat about worrying and complaining, Rhiannon had acted, clearing the road of goblins and saving them all. Rolan liked to fancy himself more than capable of a little skirmish, but that, it seemed, was the difference between them; where he fancied, she did.

“You gonna talk to her at any point, or just keep glaring at Ikaron all night?” Cal asked.

Lia snorted from beside Cal. “Please. He’s been staring at her for daaays,” she said, her drunken drawl dragging out the word. “He's just too chicken shit to admit it.”

Rolan’s face grew warm as he started to flush. He lifted his wine to his lips to hide it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered into the glass.

“Aww, see, Cal? He’s embarrassed,” she continued. “Admit it, Rol. She’s not such a… what did you call her, again?”

“Nothing,” he hissed.

But they remained undaunted. “A ‘meddlesome little goodie two shoes,’ I think,” Cal said.

“Oh, pardon me for being skeptical of a group of mercenary adventurers,” he replied sourly. He surely couldn't be faulted for his suspicions, especially after what Aradin and his crew had done. Most people, after all, were only in it for what they could get; she was merely the unexpected exception. “I am… grateful for their help, and I will be even more grateful in the morning when we can be on our way.”

“Riiight, that’s why you keep sneaking glances at her when you think no one’s looking,” Lia said with a hiccup. “Why don’t you just admit you think she’s -hic- cute?”

Rolan choked on his wine. He spluttered, turning his face to hide the creeping blush. In a voice that he hoped sounded unbothered, he answered, “she’s… tolerable, I suppose. I wouldn't go so far as to call her pretty, but–”

“Who said pretty? Besides you, that is,” Cal said.

“Idiots, both of you,” Rolan hissed again. “Don't you have anything better to do?”

“Mmm, I dunno, Lia,” Cal said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “He picks an awful lot of fights with her. Most people don’t pick so many fights with someone they have a crush on.”

The word flustered Rolan even more. Crush? Ridiculous.

“Rolan's not most people,” Lia replied. “For him, picking useless arguments with her daily is practically begging her to–”

“Enough!” Rolan shouted. Their teasing was relentless. He looked around to make sure they hadn’t attracted any attention as he coolly straightened his robes. “You are both completely out of line. I assure you, I have no opinion of the woman either way.”

Rather than silencing them, his outrage only added fuel to their snickering fire. “If you say so, Rol,” Cal said. “So, if she came over to talk to us, you'd continue to be totally unbothered, like you clearly are now?”

“Of course,” Rolan answered sharply as he sipped his wine.

“Oh?” A dangerous glint was catching in Lia’s eyes; he saw the wheels turning in her head just a moment too late to stop them. “Let’s test that then! Hey, Rhi–”

Rolan jumped to stop her as she cupped her hands around her mouth, but it was too late; the adventurer was already looking towards them. He let go of Lia’s arm and cursed under his breath as his siblings waved for her to join.

Rhiannon was, of course, all smiles as she excused herself from Ikaron and walked towards them. She was always all smiles; excessively so, it seemed to Rolan. Still, she looked somehow different than he remembered as she bounced over to Lia’s side. Her hunting leathers were abandoned in favor of light summer clothes; and her dark hair flowed in careless waves behind her, instead of tightly braided up and out of the way. All the blood and dirt she usually sported had been scrubbed away for the occasion, and for once, she smelled less like goblin guts and more like… honeysuckle? He was staring; he knew he was, gods dammit all, and he would never hear the end of it.

“Hey Lia. Hi Cal,” she said warmly. With just a glance at him, she added quickly, “Rolan.” She almost sounded nervous; had he given her that poor of an impression? He nodded silently to her in acknowledgment, silently making a note to absolutely throttle his siblings for this later.

Rolan suddenly wished he had prepared a good invisibility spell; with his siblings, he should have expected something like this. Surely everyone was too drunk or distracted to notice if he slipped away? He began to search his mind for any half believable reason to leave, but before he could open his mouth, his siblings flanked him.

“We just wanted to make sure you were enjoying your party. Rolan thought you might be a bit bored over there,” Cal said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. Rolan didn't respond, only clenched his jaw; he considered how bad the collateral damage might be if he were to cast a fireball at his brother right now. He almost thought he saw Rhiannon’s cheeks flush. Gods, was the mere idea of him that abhorrent to her?

“It’s not my party,” she replied, “but it’s nice of you to–”

“Oh, I beg to differ, fearless goblin slayer,” Lia interrupted, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Alfira’s been trying to write your ballad all evening.”

“What drives a hero like yourself, anyways?” Cal asked, shooting a sideways glance at Rolan. “What do you get out of meddling in our affairs?”

Rhiannon let out a small laugh, running her fingers through her hair as she pushed it back. “Wrong place at the right time? I don't know. It just… needed to be done, I suppose, and we were in a position to do it.”

Cal nodded, as if he was trying to look very serious. “Very admirable. Wouldn't you agree, Rolan?”

Rhiannon answered before Rolan could begin to formulate a reply. “Reckless is more like it, I think,” she said, “and I don't think I could claim it was entirely altruistic. We needed the First Druid and a clear road just as much as anyone else.”

“Regardless, I think we need to share a drink with our savior!” Lia said, wobbling a bit as she raised an open bottle in cheers.

Rhiannon took the bottle from her with one hand and reached to steady Lia with the other. “I think you've had plenty,” she said, gently righting them both. To his surprise, Rolan found himself enjoying the scene - only for a moment, of course. And only at Lia’s foolish behavior, obviously.

But a moment was long enough for Lia’s notice; he was caught, and whatever momentary delight he may have found died under her scheming eyes. “Noooo, you should definitely stay. Rolan’s just about to show off his spells.”

An unspoken agreement passed between his siblings in the next few moments. “Oh, of course,” Cal said, sounding a touch too eager. “Rolan’s been dying to show you his magic touch.”

Rolan glared pointedly at Cal as his brother and sister snickered. Rhiannon was looking at him expectantly from under Lia’s arm, still trying to keep his sister upright as she grinned smugly at him. He tried to regain his composure. “You don’t – I… am sure you have better things to do than…” He trailed off, gesturing a hand and a slight bow of his head in place of any words.

“What’s the matter, Rolan? Performance issues?” Cal whispered loudly.

“Too much wine, Rol? Or is something else distracting you?” Lia asked, far too transparent for Rolan’s liking as she shot a wink at Cal that he prayed to all the gods went unnoticed.

“Oh, for… hush, both of you,” he answered with a scowl, heat crawling up the back of his neck. He was no stranger to his siblings' taunts and teases, and could normally give as good as he got – in private. They weren't likely to drop the topic until he was utterly mortified or Rhiannon was entirely put off from him - or both. Rolan cast half a glance at her before looking quickly away, as if his eyes couldn’t bear the humiliation of seeing her reactions to all this. “You… can stay, of course. If you wish.”

“Oh, she’s staying,” Lia said, half-dragging the woman along with her to sit on a nearby rock. Rhiannon made no objection, only laughing as his sister pulled her along, assuring Lia she “wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Cal stood on the other side of her. All three were now staring expectantly at Rolan - though it was only her gaze he found himself faltering under. He stood still for a moment, trying desperately to remember any spell of the dozens he had taught himself while his sister continued to taunt him. “Well? Get on with it, wiz.”

“I… be patient,” he scolded with a nervous huff, trying to will himself to appear calm. “Have you no respect for showmanship?”

Cal snorted loudly, earning himself a playful swat from Rhiannon before all eyes turned to Rolan. Clearing his throat, Rolan began to move his hands across the sky, fingers deftly tracing intricate patterns into the air in front of him. With a final flourish, a shower of shimmering purple lights flickered to life in front of them. He looked on at his handiwork with a self pleased grin - until he caught sight of Rhiannon. She was leaning forward in her seat, positively enthralled as the shimmer of the spell sparkled against her gray eyes. He was almost transfixed himself, either by her or from the wine in his system as he watched the lights dance across her face. He was so enraptured by the sight that he had barely noticed her gaze drift past the spell onto him; she had caught him openly staring, he realized, as she laughed and looked away.

He cursed himself silently. By the way she fidgeted now in her seat, he had surely made her uncomfortable again. But Cal didn't seem to notice, letting out a low whistle as he leaned back. He looked at Lia over the top of Rhiannon’s head. “Remember when he could barely cast that?”

“They grow up so fast,” she replied, miming as if to wipe a tear from her eye.

Rolan scoffed back at them as he rolled his eyes. “It was you two who insisted on a magic show.”

Rhiannon simply laughed, a warm and friendly sound that made his insides flutter. “Well, I thought it was lovely,” she said. “Very impressive.”

“Lot of fuss for some twinkly lights,” Cal said, waving his hands around in an animated pantomime of spellcasting.

“Of course. I’d never expect a troglodyte such as yourself to appreciate the finer things,” Rolan quipped, trying to appear less amused than he was as his brother clutched at his chest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lia looking mischievously at Rhiannon. Whatever unspoken words passed between them made her blush rather furiously as she jumped to her feet. She cleared her throat and let out another nervous laugh. “Well! I’m sure I should get out of your hair. But thank you, really. For including me in your…”

“Oh,” Rolan replied, his face falling serious again. “Of course. I…” He wasn’t sure if he was feeling more relieved or disappointed, only that he found it hard to meet her gaze as she made to leave.

“Actually,” Lia said as she shot up from her seat, still more than a bit wobbly and clinging to Rhiannon’s shoulders, “me and Cal were just leaving.”

Both of her brothers looked at her with a quizzical brow. “We– oh!” Cal said as she kicked at his leg. “Right. Alfira said she needed us for… you know, that thing. The, uh…”

“Lute strings!” Lia finished. “And once she restrings her lute, we were going to help her finish her song, so we’ll be gone for a while. Say, Rhiannon, if you're not busy…?”

Rolan was painfully aware of the ideas forming in Lia’s mind as Rhiannon looked at her, head cocked to the side. “I… not exactly, no. But really, I wouldn't want to impose on–”

“Ah, nonsense!” Cal said as he clapped her lightly on the back, walking past her to grab Lia’s arm. “He doesn't mind. Do you, Rolan?” He didn't wait for a reply, other than the withering glare Rolan shot at him.

“Great, that’s settled then!” Lia said as she slid past them. “He’s not busy, either. And he wouldn't be so cruel as to turn up his nose at your company – would you, Rol?” She stood beside Rhiannon, hands on her shoulders as she flashed her best not-so-innocent eyes at her brother. He wanted to strangle them for this; for trying to embarrass him, and for dragging Rhiannon into their little scheme, to boot.

Rhiannon gently shrugged her way out of Lia’s grasp and opened her mouth – no doubt to politely decline, he was sure. So much so that he found himself greatly surprised by her answer. “I… wouldn’t mind the company,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

He stared at her for a second, wondering if he perhaps had misheard her. Disbelief, then surprise, and something like relief crossed his face in a matter of moments. Before he could respond, Lia spoke. “Great! I’m sure the two of you will have fun,” she said, shooting a covert wink at her brother as she passed.

“Yeah, let him show off for someone else for a change,” Cal added with a grin.

Rolan started, watching them leave with a defeated grimace. “I swear, the two of you are–”

“Play nice, Rolan!” Lia called over her shoulder as the two of them disappeared. Rolan shook his head as he let out a sound somewhere between a nervous sigh and a chuckle. He turned back to Rhiannon, a bit unsure of what to do next; she was still standing in front of him, still clutching the bottle of wine to her chest as she shuffled back and forth on her feet. Was she waiting for him to speak? Did he know what to say, anything to say to her?

“Wine?” She asked, stiffly sticking her arm out to offer him the bottle.

“Gods, please,” he replied, gratefully taking it and pulling a long swig. He winced against the bite of the cheap drink, no doubt salvaged from some ransacked village, and wiped the remnants from his lips with the back of his hand. “Sorry. About them. They’re…” He shook his head again with a huff. “You don’t have to… if you have somewhere else you'd rather be, I wouldn't… I would hate to hold you up here, I mean.”

“No,” she answered quickly, before adding, “but I wouldn't want to be a bother if–”

“You’re not,” Rolan answered, offering the bottle back with a small smile as his own nerves lessened. “I'm more worried about being poor company, I suppose.”

“You’re not,” she answered back softly with her own grin. “A bit grumpy sometimes, though. Insufferably cocky, according to some.”

“I am not–” He looked up to defend himself, but the anger in his chest melted to surprised amusement when he saw her smirk: was she… teasing him? “You’re worse than Cal and Lia, you know. If I had known you stuck around just to mock me…”

She took a sip from their now shared bottle with a playful smile. “Oh, I wouldn't dream of mocking you, Rolan. Besides, cocky isn't exactly a bad look for you.” At that, Rhiannon started, as if her own words had snuck up on her. “Or… for wizards in general, I mean. After all your studying and everything, I’m sure you've earned it.”

“Don't let Lia hear you say that,” he replied. She laughed again, swaying ever so slightly towards him as she did; his heart suddenly felt like it was doing flips in his chest. This might have been the longest conversation he could remember having with her, now that he thought about it; the longest without some snide remark slipping from his lips, at least. He cringed to himself again at what an utter ass he had been to her; but looking down at her now, laughing and smiling, standing so close to him that he could smell her perfume, flowers and wine and her godsdamned laugh muddling his thoughts…

“It's impressive,” she said, bringing him back to reality as she leaned against the rock again. “Did you really teach yourself everything?”

“Of course,” he answered. “No one in Elturel had the time or the inclination to teach an orphaned tiefling child how to be more dangerous, but I knew I had it within me to be great. I became my own teacher.”

“How did you do it?” Rhiannon asked. “I mean, it couldn't have just been books, right?”

Rolan stepped forward to reach for the bottle and took a quick swig before answering. “Books, yes, and practice. I… I used to sneak out to watch the Hellriders when they were fighting. We weren't supposed to, and our mother would've been furious if she caught me, but… I watched the mages casting, and tried to copy what they were doing until it worked.”

“Huh.” She was staring at him critically - or perhaps inquisitively. “I never had the chance to study magic. Always wanted to try, but being on the road, village after village… traveling tutors weren't exactly in the budget. That, and I'm afraid I never had your discipline when it came to studying.”

“Oh?” He replied. “I would have thought you’d meet plenty of mages on the road. They couldn't teach you?”

Rhiannon took another sip of wine with a rueful smile. “Yeah, well… truthfully, my dad wasn't thrilled with the idea of it. He taught me a few practical things, of course, like he used - healing spells and some stuff with my bow. But there was always a reason not to take any lessons. We didn't have time to stop, or money was too tight. Spellbooks were too heavy to lug all over the Sword Coast. But really, I think he was just scared of me running off like–” She stopped short, as if she had surprised her own self with her story. “I… sorry, must be the wine. I’m sure I didn't stay to talk your ear off with my life story.”

He recognized the look on her face as she eyed the ground; the same look he saw on his siblings and the other refugees when they were trying not to dwell on Elturel. It was the look they usually made right before leaving to sulk in their own misfortunes. But he wasn’t ready for her to leave; truthfully, he was desperate for her to stay, to keep talking and laughing and just be near him. He searched his mind for anything to salvage the conversation before it was too late.

“Why did you stick around, then? If not to pick fun at me.”

She started a bit, pushing a strand of hair back from her face as she looked from the ground to him, a mischievous twinkle lighting in her eyes.

“I'm only here to watch some magic, of course,” she answered with a coy smile.

He smirked back, his own eyes lighting up at her smile. “Of course,” he said, though not without noticing the way that she blushed. Surely just the wine, he told himself, but... “By all means then. What kind of magic were you hoping to see?”

“I… don't know?” She answered, perking up against the rocky seat. “I thought you were supposed to be the expert on magic. What can you do?”

Rolan answered with a very self-assured snort. “Plenty. Watch.” He moved to stand beside her as she watched with one eyebrow raised at him. With a little looking, he found his target: Cal, trying his luck with the dark-haired cleric on the other side of the camp. He gave Rhiannon a quick sideways glance before casting; in moments, a short gust of wind knocked his brother off his feet, sending his drink careening towards the woman’s clothes.

Rhiannon gasped beside him before breaking out in laughter. “You’re horrible!” She said between laughs, trying to sound serious as she swatted his arm. “I never knew magic could be so petty.”

“When the need arises,” he said, looking over at her. Her hand was still on his arm, resting just at his elbow as she watched the scene unfold with guilty amusement. “Don’t feel too badly for him. He’s not as innocent as he seems.”

“Is that so?” She asked, laughing. “Well, gods forbid I ever end up on your bad side. If that’s what you do to your own brother, I can’t imagine I’d have any hope.” She swayed a bit as she laughed, bumping into his arm and sending a shiver through him.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” he said, surprising himself with how gentle his own voice sounded.

He paused; Rhiannon had suddenly gone silent. Had that been the wrong thing to say? The wrong way to say it? He looked down at her, frozen at his side now, eyes locked onto his with a more serious expression. He’d accidentally overstepped, misread the tone of their conversation, and had now put her in an awkward position. It was Rhiannon who broke the stillness, before he could come up with an appropriate apology. She looked down at her hand in mild alarm, as if she was surprised to see it still laying on his arm, and stiffly patted the spot as she withdrew.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, taking a nervous step back. “And I thought you didn't like me.”

He let out a tentative sigh of relief as he cast his eyes on the ground. “Yes, well… I do give off that impression, don't I?”

“Oh no, I didn't mean– I just… hells,” she said. “I didn't exactly make a great impression on you, either, I’m sure. With the whole… sticking my nose into your family’s business, and then delaying your apprenticeship, and… I wouldn't have blamed you for holding it against me. I didn't blame you, in fact.”

Rolan looked at her, a bit… confused, honestly. She thought that she was to blame for his horrendous behavior? His rude remarks, constantly belittling her - she thought she had deserved that? After everything she had done to help the refugees, the grove, all of them, he’d still been unable to reign in his terse manner; and for some reason, Rhiannon had not only not held it against him, but believed it was what she was due.

Even if she saw no problem with his behavior, he felt that he couldn't let it stand. “Rhiannon, I believe I owe you an apology. Many apologies, probably, for my… ‘disagreeable behavior’ would be too polite to describe how I’ve treated you. You did nothing to deserve that, and you continued to help us regardless. I shouldn't have–”

Rhiannon cut him off with a wave of her hands. “You don't owe me anything, Rolan,” she said with that disarming smile. “If anything, we’re even for getting on each other’s nerves.”

He felt a lightness blossoming in his chest at her words, as if he was just now realizing how much this guilt had been weighing on him. He disagreed, of course. Her teasing and badgering were not at all “even” with his own harsh words, but he wasn't going to pick a fight with her over how many fights he had already picked with her; not now, at least. They fell into silence instead; he was unsure how to continue, but reluctant to let her go just yet. As she stood in front of him, kicking at the dirt and awkwardly shuffling the wine bottle in her hands, an idea came to him. He reached for the bottle and took a swig for courage. “Let me make it up to you, then.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, twinkling with curiosity as she crinkled her nose. “How?”

He didn’t answer her question, only giving her a little smile as he nodded to an empty patch of shore a few yards away. “I think we’ll need more space for this.” Rolan held out a hand to gesture her forwards, a silent “after you” before following her to the water’s edge.

“Alright,” she answered as she eyed him with a grin, “but if you conjure up something to push me into the water like you did to Cal…”

He barked out a short laugh. “I wouldn’t dare. Just a peace offering,” he said, moving behind her while she watched him quizzically. Looking over her shoulder, he said, “here; hold up your hands… no, more like this…” Gingerly, he set his hands on her arms and guided them into the right position. He was painfully aware now of their proximity, of the very short distance between them. close enough to feel the coolness of her skin compared to his. A single movement could have brought them together, any sway or stumble or bump. That thought alone terrified him, the worry of another misstep to test her good graces as he poured all his focus into acting normal. He tried to keep his mind clear, to focus instead on the Weave around them. Hovering his hands just over her forearms, he began to to channel a small amount of magic through to her.

“Alright,” he said, steadying his voice, “try to focus on the Weave. Can you feel it?”

“I… I'm not sure,” she answered quietly, crinkling her face. Could she tell how nervous he was? Was it possible for her to pick up on his thoughts through the magic he was lending her? “I feel… something, I think.”

“Good. Grab onto that,” he said, chasing his paranoid ramblings away. “Now, you need to just copy my hands.” He demonstrated the casting gesture, a simple pattern traced with the fingers followed by a wave.

“Like this?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at him for confirmation. Her fingertips crackled lightly as she finished the gesture.

“Exactly,” he said. “Now, just grab on to that fragment of the Weave you felt earlier. Channel it outwards while you do that again, and…” With a small wave of both hands and a flourish outwards, shimmering silver stars burst forth from Rhiannon’s hands and hung in the air before them.

She stood there for a moment, mesmerized by the display as Rolan watched the stars twinkle in her eyes. “You did that, right?” She asked, still looking forward.

“No,” he answered, his eyes still locked on her. “I provided a channel for the Weave, but the spell is all yours.”

Watching her eyes light up in wonder at her own spell work, Rolan was struck with another idea. Casting a slight modification of the gesture, the stars in front of them slowly transformed into glittering silver sprites, couples dressed in ball gowns and finery as they waltzed across the air in front of them.

Rhiannon gasped as the dancers took shape. “That’s amazing,” she said with an almost breath less laugh. “And you do this all the time?”

“The magic? Of course,” he replied. “I don't often… I don't teach it to others, normally, but… I…”

The words melted away from his mind as she turned to look at him, shoulder just barely leaning into his chest as she smiled coquettishly over it. “Good,” she said, “I was worried this was the trick you showed all the women you were trying to impress.”

He laughed, letting his arms fall to his side. His heartbeat was picking up rapidly. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, her teasing smile shining brighter than anything he could conjure as she turned and laid a hand on his chest. Would she be able to feel his heart, he wondered, beating wildly against his ribs with her every word? She leaned against him a bit more. “I was hoping I might be a special case.”

Time froze on that moment, balancing on the precipice between the playful teasing of a friend, or something more. He hadn’t even allowed himself to consider her a friend before; he didn't think he had earned the right. Rolan’s thoughts seemed to stop, completely consumed by Rhiannon, by everything about her. The way her laughs against him had seemed to reverberate through every inch of his being; the coolness of her hand on his chest; the electrifying thrill of her touch, through only a thin layer of fabric. He was lost in her eyes, her smile, her lips; gods, her perfect lips. With his breath still catching in his throat, he gently raised his hand, fingertips lightly brushing a few stray wisps of hair off of her cheek.

“You are,” he whispered before closing the space between them, placing his lips on her own. He went slowly at first; a gentle, tender, sweet kiss, with his arm around her waist oh so lightly, giving her ample leave to pull away if he had misjudged. But she didn't pull away; her own hands slid up his chest to cup his face as she pulled him in closer. Rolan felt like his world was exploding, infinitely, more and more with every movement of her lips against his. He felt her fingers weave gently through his hair as she ran her tongue across his lips with a small hum against them in the form of a question. He gave in quite willingly, their tongues aching to find each other while he wrapped his arm tightly around her middle, pulling her closer until she was left clinging to him for balance. But nothing was enough, it felt like; he needed more of her, a feeling she seemed to share. One of her hands made its way toward the belt of his robes, snaking just underneath the fabric to feel his skin, her delicate fingers sending a shiver up his spine as he lost himself in her. It was wonderful; it was perfect; it was–

“Rolan! Are you doing fireworks again?”

It was very rudely interrupted. They shot apart from each other at the sound of the tiefling child’s voice, followed by the patter of small feet running towards the shoreline. “Can you do– hey!”

“Not for you, squirt,” Cal’s voice followed. Rolan saw him grab the little boy by the shoulder and turn him back around. “Run off and play somewhere else.”

He thought he saw a sly smirk on his brother’s face as he shepherded the boy away; Cal and Lia were surely going to be unbearable when he saw them next. He stood stock still, dumbfounded as he tried to make sense of the last few moments. It wasn't until he felt Rhiannon start to shake with poorly stifled laughter that he realized his arms were still wrapped around her. His heart sank to his stomach, fear that he had done something wrong after all flooding in. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, trying to master her own laughter. “It’s just…” She looked up from his chest, standing up on her toes to reach his lips as she leaned in. “Remind me to thank your wingmen later.”

***

The sun was well above the horizon before Rhiannon was able to rouse herself from her tent. So much for an early start, she thought as she dragged herself to the fire and blearily poured some coffee. As exhausted as she felt, she didn't regret a thing; she had spent half the night laying on the beach with Rolan, teasing the tiefling wizard between lazy kisses, and the other half lying awake thinking about him. Her heart fluttered as she thought over it again, memories of the night before playing through her head on repeat.

But as much as she had enjoyed it, his timing couldn't have been worse; the tiefling party was leaving for Baldur’s Gate this morning, and her own group was bound for Moonrise Towers. How bittersweet that their first moment’s together were set to be their last. But still, she thought that she would much prefer to carry the memory of sweet kisses that came too late than the regret of them never having come at all.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” came a gruff voice from the edge of their camp.

Rhiannon felt a grin tug at the corners of her lips as she saw Rolan walking towards her very seriously. She smirked at him over the rim of her mug. “Good morning to you, too,” she said, stepping closer until she was only inches from him. He stopped short, a blush creeping across his cheeks adorably as he faltered, the cracks in his determined veneer coming apart so easily at the slightest provocation.

“I…” He stopped, letting out a chuckle as a small smile donned his lips. “Good morning. I thought I might’ve missed you.”

She shook her head, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I just overslept. For some reason, I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she teased. “I was actually worried you might’ve already left.”

“Of course not.” The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, might have sounded short or even rude to her yesterday; but the thought that he hadn't wanted to leave without seeing her, as if the idea of it was ridiculous to even consider, spawned butterflies in her stomach.

“I– well, Cal and Lia and myself, we– I thought that– ugh,” He threw his head back with a disgruntled huff.

Rhiannon cocked her head at him, confused, before realization washed over her like ice. Was he having second thoughts? Did he regret their night together, showing her stars and magic tricks and tenderness? Was he trying to find the words to let her down easy, to avoid awkward expectations if they met again in the city? “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just– I am… not good at… this,” he said, gesturing broadly at her. “At…”

The lightness that had been in her chest turned to lead. She was making too much out of one impulsive evening; of course she was, and he could tell. Hells, everyone at the party had been looking for someone to spend it with. Why had she assumed it was more than that?

“Oh,” she said, taking a step away to hide her reddening face. “I… it’s fine. You don’t have to explain, Rolan. I understand if you don't–”

“No!” He said quickly, reaching out for her arm. “No, that’s not… Gods, I’m already making a mess of this.” He paused, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts before continuing. “I… we thought… if we’re all headed to the city anyways, and there’s strength in numbers, that you might… you all could…”

“Come with you?” She asked hopefully, the words out of her mouth before she realized.

“I… yes,” he answered. “Or that, if the rest of your group doesn't want to, that at least… you might stay with us.”

He… was asking to stick together? Rhiannon’s heart swelled to an ache at the thought; at the idea of Rolan wanting her near, and the knowledge that she couldn't accept.

“Oh, Rolan, I… it’s not that I don't want to, believe me. I would in a heartbeat if I could, but… we really can't split up. Even if we wanted to. And we have to go to Moonrise Towers, and…” She realized she’d been avoiding his eyes. And the crestfallen look on his face as she looked up at him, the way he was already retreating back from the moment - it stung in her chest. She grabbed his hand earnestly as she continued, stepping in closer to him. “Rolan, please believe me when I say I wish I could. And I… just to know that you - or, all of you, that you want me around, is…”

“Why can't you, then?” Rolan asked insistently. “What’s so important about some ruined old towers? If you’re after adventures and gold, there’s plenty of other places that aren't so–”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted. She could feel her chest tightening as she spoke. “It’s complicated. I can't– it’s not easy to explain, but we can’t just… go our own ways.”

“Why not?” He demanded. Rhiannon looked away again as her eyes began to water. Not now. Don’t mess this up now. “Rhiannon?”

Images of the night before flashed in front of her as she looked at him. Shining little couples dancing across the sky, awkward laughs and sweet kisses, gentle arms around her. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to ebb the flow of tears threatening to break loose. “I… I'm worried if I tell you everything, you’ll…” She took a deep and nervous breath. “You won't look at me the same way. You’ll see… something else entirely. I just don’t want to… to ruin something… nice.”

Rolan furrowed his brow and tilted his head at her, confused and concerned eyes darting over her face. But he didn't pull away. “Tell me anyways.”

A choked laugh bubbled its way up her throat. Of course he couldn't just make this easy; he was going to pull the truth out of her, and afterwards, she knew that all he’d be able to see in her was a monster waiting to happen.

So be it, then. “Alright,” she sighed, nervously fidgeting with his fingers in her hand. She looked at the sky, then the trees, and the ground; anywhere but his face. She didn't have the strength to see the look in his eyes when heard what she was about to say. “When that ship crashed… we were all on it. We’re all abductees who somehow managed to survive the crash.”

She watched the realization form in his head. “But that was a nautiloid. It was a mindflayer ship.”

Rhiannon bit her lip nervously. “Yeah.”

“But if you were abducted, they would have… it's been weeks, that’s not possible. How could you still be…?”

Tentacle free? Blissfully in control of their own minds? “Alive?” She settled on. “I don't know. We think it has something to do with that little box Shadowheart carries, so as long as we stay together, we’re fine. But that’s why we needed Halsin. That’s why we have to go to Moonrise; he says the… he says it comes from there.”

She couldn't bring herself to say the word: tadpoles. The tadpoles that were slithering through their skulls, threatening to turn them all into soulless abominations. This would certainly be the end of any goodwill, let alone any feelings Rolan or his siblings might have had towards them. Towards her in particular. “I know it must feel like a betrayal, but I swear, Nettie made sure we wouldn't pose any danger to you all. We never showed any symptoms, and she gave us a bottle of wyvern poison to take if we–”

“Wyvern poison?” Rolan scoffed, a flash of anger in his voice. “She wanted you to poison yourself?”

“To keep us from hurting any of you. In case we couldn't find Halsin, or… who knows what else. I promise, Rolan, we never wanted to put any of you in danger. I never meant to–”

“We’ll come with you, then,” he interrupted.

Rhiannon stopped, tears halting as she cocked her head at him. “What?”

“If you’re going into the shadow curse, you’ll need magic to counteract it. Not to disparage Gale’s talents, but I doubt he has the experience that I do in these kinds of magic. And if you’re delving into ancient ruins, you'll need even more help. Lia is good with a bow, and Cal can handle a sword well enough,” he said. He didn't look angry, or upset, or utterly disgusted by her admission; he looked… determined.

Rhiannon felt confused; he didn't understand, surely. “No, you– it’ll be dangerous.”

“We can handle ourselves, I assure you.”

“That’s not what I mean. I… we could… change at any time. It wouldn't be fair to put all of you at risk like that.”

“You won't,” Rolan said decisively. “Not as long as you have that box, whatever it is. That’s what you said.”

“Well, as far as we know, but…” She continued to stare into his face, bewildered and bemused; and a little in awe, to be honest. “What about your apprenticeship? Weren't you in a hurry?”

“It… will still be there,” Rolan answered; he tried to sound cool and unbothered, but the nervous flickering of his tail betrayed him. “I can send word ahead with the other refugees. Besides, studying mindflayer repelling boxes and shadow-cursed lands must count as some kind of experience. Lorroakan will be all the more impressed, I’m sure.”

His offer was incredibly tempting, to be sure; but the weight of it all still loomed over her. “You don't have to do this, you know. No one could blame you for sticking to the safe route, especially when it’s not your fight,” she said. “I can't ask you to do this.”

“You’re not,” he replied, very matter-of-factly before melting into a faint smirk. “Lia is, actually. I think she’s grown rather fond of you.”

Rhiannon let out a small snort that erupted into a burst of giggles. It felt like too much to expect; she almost wondered if was still dreaming.

“Is that so?” She asked, tentatively laying her free hand on his chest, feeling his heart pound wildly as she hovered inches from his lips. “You’re saying Lia would miss me, then?”

She could hear the sharp breath he drew in getting caught in his throat as he wrapped an arm around her waist; could feel the shaky exhale against her lips as he stared deeply into her eyes. His answer was barely a whisper: “very much.”

She grinned back at him, biting her lower lip with a contemplative hum. Her heart felt like it was trying to climb its way out of her throat, the elation and anticipation within her too much to fit in such a small space. She leaned in slowly, heart thumping, her eyes never breaking from his. “In that case…”

“There you are. Are you quite ready to– …oh.” Rolan started under her hand, blush creeping up his cheeks before burning into annoyance at the elf’s salacious tone and very unwelcome intrusion.

Rhiannon glared at him pointedly. “Can I help you, Astarion?”

“Apologies, I didn't realize you were busy,” he replied, cutting suggestive eyes at the two of them. “Some of us were simply wondering if you’d be ready to depart any time soon. You know, worms to be cured, cults to be dealt with…”

“...oh,” she replied, deflating as she sank back down to her feet. It was late into the morning, to be sure, but she had hoped… “Are they already ready?”

“Very nearly,” Astarion answered. “Halsin is talking to his druids; probably telling them when to water his trees in his absence, or whatever it is druids do.”

Across the camp, Halsin’s hulking form jutted out above the rest, in jovial conversation with his people. He was the one with the knowledge of the shadow curse; they would have to clear this with him if Rolan was to join their party. Rhiannon grabbed Rolan’s hand, uttering a quick “thank you” to Astarion as they took off in that direction.

“Halsin?” Rhiannon called as they grew near. “Do you have a moment?”

Halsin looked up from his discussion with a kind smile. “Of course, my friend. Speak your mind.”

“Right. Well, I– or rather, Rolan was saying– if it would be possible, that is, we…” Her stuttering, fumbling words came to a halt as they all tried to come crashing out of her mouth at once. She looked sideways to Rolan and nodded towards Halsin, a silent plea of a little help, please?

“My family and I are coming with you,” he said, stepping forward insistently as if he meant to leave no room for argument.

Halsin's face fell; he noticed the clasped hands between them. “I… see. I'm afraid we aren't bound for the city for quite some time, unfortunately.”

“I know,” Rolan replied. “We’re coming all the same.”

“The nature of our business at Moonrise is–”

“He already knows about the tadpoles,” Rhiannon interrupted, bouncing nervously at Rolan’s side. “They want to help, and I know it won't be easy to get to Moonrise, but that’s exactly why we could use their help. Right?”

But it was clear to her by the way Halsin looked at them that they weren’t going to like his answer. “I understand why you wish to come along, and I admire your bravery, but–”

“We’re more than capable of holding our own,” Rolan interrupted, the telltale signs of his temper flaring up. “So if you’re going to try and convince me that we can’t handle it, you can save your breath. We’ve survived more since the Descent than your peaceful little grove has seen in–”

Rhiannon tugged on his hand, a silent signal to please stop blowing up at the person they were asking a favor from. He grunted in response, clearly annoyed, but let any further words remain unspoken.

Thankfully, Halsin remained calm in his address. “I don't doubt your abilities, or your achievements. But the shadow curse, and this cult, present challenges that cannot be felled with force. If they are using these tadpoles as a means of control, as I suspect they are, I hesitate to allow any more people than is necessary to risk their lives.”

“We haven't been infected. They can’t control us,” Rolan replied huffily.

“Exactly,” Halsin continued. “They will recognize you as outsiders, at which point they will try to infect you with a tadpole we may not be able to counteract, or…”

“Or worse,” Rhiannon finished under her breath, remembering the scenes of murder and desecration they had witnessed at the goblin camp. “You’re right.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Rolan answered, almost snarling on the words as he continued to challenge the druid.

Rhiannon pulled his sleeve again. “Rolan…”

“What?” He replied as he turned on her, the words coming out almost harsh enough to sting.

“Can I speak to you privately?” She asked. Rolan bristled, but bitterly acquiesced, his tail kicking up dirt as it swished angrily behind him.

“Your conviction is admirable, as is your dedication to each other,” Halsin said before letting them go. “I take no joy in splitting a young couple apart, but… Oak Father willing, we’ll all meet again in the city.”

Rolan snorted derisively, like he had another biting remark ready as Rhiannon pulled him away, muttering a small thanks to Halsin.

“He means well, Rolan,” she said once they were by themselves again.

He shook his hand loose from hers. “Don’t try to patronize me. Just because the druid doesn't think we can handle it–”

“I’m not,” she replied, laying a hand on his arm. “I know you can. If any of you could handle the shadow curse, I’m sure it would be you.”

Rolan scoffed harshly. “Then why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?”

Rhiannon struggled to look him in the eye, fiddling with his sleeve as she stepped closer. “Halsin’s… right about the cult, I think. Especially about the… listen, getting yourselves infected would be bad enough, but they could do much worse. I saw them do worse, Rolan.”

“So everyone keeps saying, but I think we’ll manage against a few bloody cult nutters who fall to any group of adventurers,” Rolan insisted, “not that I mean any offense, but–”

“No, Rolan, you don't understand. The things they were doing in that camp, the things they spoke about, you can't–” Panic rose in her voice as she remembered the gruesome scenes burned into her mind; torture racks and cages, men thrown to wild beasts out of boredom, bodies made unrecognizable as they roasted on spits, or butchered like cattle to become worg feed. And everywhere they turned, the repeated promise of more at Moonrise.

She forced a deep breath. “You have to stay with the other refugees,” she said, the words spilling out of her as her breath returned. “Because I can't watch them do that to you, any of you. Certainly not because of me.”

“Rhiannon–”

“Please.” She put her hands on either side of his chest as she stepped into his arms, gripping at the fabric of his robe. “I know you don't need to be coddled and talked down to. I’m not trying to, but I… I can’t be the reason you all take this risk. Not when you don't have to.”

She stood there for what felt like far too long, her heart drumming erratically as she waited for him to respond. Finally, he answered with a defeated sigh. “I… alright. Fine.”

She let out a heavy sigh of relief, melting into his chest. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “And I'm sorry, Rolan. I am. I just–”

“Don’t be,” he interrupted. He sounded gruff, almost annoyed at her; but the gentle, nervous way he laid his hands on her hips suggested otherwise.

She let out another sigh, more comfortable this time than anxious. “It’ll work out better like this anyway, won’t it? The other tieflings need your help more than we will. That’s the reason you stayed behind to begin with, isn't it?”

Rolan ran his thumb over her side, looking down at her with an almost sad smile. “Of course.”

“Right,” she said. “And this way, you won't be late for your apprenticeship. And I can send you some very detailed letters about the shadow curse to impress Lorroakan with. Maybe even some samples of whatever weird shadow magic you were hoping to study.”

“Oh?” He asked, amused. “And where will you find a courier in the shadow cursed lands?”

“You mean there isn't some magical letter service you can whip up?” She replied. “How do you wizards get anything done?”

He chuckled at her under his breath. Her eyes were still streaked with red, and a single tear trailed its way down her cheek. As he reached to brush it away, she caught his hand in her own and pulled him in for a kiss. It only took a moment for him to register; he wrapped his free arm around her waist as he kissed her back, fiercely, full of purpose and promise as she wove her fingers through the hair at the top of his neck. He splayed his fingers across the small of her back as she pressed herself further into his chest, rolling every inch of herself against him in ways that would surely haunt his dreams in the months to come. As suddenly as she had started the kiss, she pulled away, still holding his head to hers, leaving him breathless and hopelessly dazed as he clung to her form.

“Just wanted to give you something to look forward to,” she murmured. She pressed one last chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away from him entirely, leaving only the tips of their fingers linked between outstretched arms. “Where will you be when I get to Baldur’s Gate?”

Rolan blinked as he recollected himself. “I… Ramazith’s Tower,” he answered by rote as his mind replayed what had just passed between them.

“Alright. It’s a date.” Rhiannon let her fingers drop from his on the last word as she backed away, eyes locked on him and a smirk on her lips. She kept up the coy facade until she turned away, letting it slip with a shaky breath once she was certain he wouldn't hear. Don’t let him see you making a fuss over it, she chided herself. No long, teary goodbyes to taint what should be a happy memory. It should be some sweet little thought to get her through the coming weeks; not something lost, but something had. But perhaps it could be something more, if she could make it to the city in one piece. The promise of something between them to keep her moving forward.

Something to look forward to.

#bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan x tav #rolan #rolan bg3 #rhiannon oc #fanfic #tw alchohol mention #tw alcohol #fluff

38 notes · View notes

shanksbaby · 4 months

Text

Kuzan x reader - Kidnapping

do you want a part two? please let me know!

When you had read in the newspaper that two pirates from Blackbeard's crew had broken into Whole Cake Island and kidnapped Pudding, one of Big Mom's daughters, you had simply sighed and shook your head. This was not the first time pirates had kidnapped anyone, much less abducted any other pirates.

You had read that the girl was only sixteen years old, and even though she was also automatically a pirate, you couldn't help but feel a veil of sadness toward her. She was still a young girl, lonely and scared for sure of those pirates…You knew that the pirates in Yonko's crew were particularly cruel, and you knew that there were two captains in his fleet who had no problem raping a woman.

But honestly that was it, you didn't bother to investigate further, as much as you were sorry it was still something related to Big Mom and and Blackbeard's pirates, not something related to you. So you spent your day quietly, not thinking about the news you read.

Until one of your fellow marines approaches you quietly as if he doesn't want to further upset you with an expression of pity toward you (now that you think about it, many marines have looked at you that way while whispering to each other) and says, "You know, I wanted to tell you that I was sorry…I read…Well everyone at the base read what happened at Whole Cake Island."

You look at him confused, wondering why he had told you this… What did you have to do with the kidnapping of that little girl? Of course you were sorry, but it wasn't something that destroyed you, it simply caused you a hint of sadness but that's all . The Marine further explains what he meant "I know what it's like to find out that your loved one turns out to be a different person than you thought."

"Huh?" you say being even more confused.

"Come on, don't pretend that's not true. We all know about our former admiral and your former boyfriend Kuzan and that girl" he says looking at you with an even more pity expression. He probabily thinks that you are trying to deny the realty.

"Kuzan? What the fuck Kuzan have to do the kidnapping of Pudding?" you say irritated, both because that marine was assuming that the man you were having an affair with and still loved was dealing with a kidnapping and because of his expression of pity. He almost looked like he was a bit condescending, as he is treating like a child.

"Y\N..." he says, changing expression after realizing you have no idea " I suppose you didn't read the communicate of the superiors... We have been reported that the Whole Cake Island has been frozen..."

you didn't need him to continue to understand everything….It was Kuzan who kidnapped the girl then, together with another member of Blackbeard's crew, your ex is the only one who has that level of power and above all had a devil fruit capable of freezing everything

"We all know that he is the only one....Honestly there are been reports of him joining Blackbeard, but we didn't believe them...And we didn't tell you because we tought it was useless since they were fake...But we are mistaken...I guess" he says sheepishly

…But why he joined blackbeard?You ask yourself while looking at the marine, but not saying anything. Why join a pirate like him? Did you know that Kuzan didn't hate pirates like Sakazuki, but joining a person like that Yonko? You could understand Shanks if he liked having more freedom…hell even Luffy…But Blackbeard? That man was so evil. How could he have the guts to kidnap a sixteen years old girl?

But you know there must be a reason…And you wanted to find out. On the other hand you knew Kuzan better than anyone else, you knew that he wasn't a bad person… You also know it from the words that Smoker told you that he pronounced "I am still me"..

At least you hope he had a good reason. There is a part of your brain that wonders, what if he became really evil? what if he has his own agenda and he doesn't care more about other's lives….what if he doesn't care more about you?

He had left you when he left the Navy, he had told you that he couldn't be by your side anymore, that he needed to be alone, that he needed to be away from all of that. In your heart, you knew he loved you when he said those words. but now? Now you're not sure anymore.

And that's exactly why you needed answers. You needed to meet him, no matter what. You then take your leave of the marine, thanking him and reassuring him that you were ok and making a plan in mind to have a face to face meeting with Kuzan.

50 notes · View notes

exuberantocean · 8 months

Text

I want to talk about responsibility in Our Flag Means Death. And I want to talk about it specifically after watching Stede blame himself for Ed's actions and I want to talk about it after watching a number of people in fandom blaming Izzy for Ed's actions.

Because they were Ed's actions. Ed absolutely did those things. No one forced him to attempt to kill Lucius. No one forced him to strand half the crew or torture Izzy or drive the boat into that storm. These are things Ed did of his own free will.

I hope, I really hope that people understand that ultimately the one responsible for Ed's actions is, well, Ed. Because he was the one to do them. Was his mental health good at the time? Ha, God no. But while that certainly makes it easier to understand his actions, it doesn't excuse them and it doesn't make them right. They are still his actions, his responsibility.

Did Stede's failure to show up at the end of season 1 cause Ed's mental state? Look, it was crushing (for both of them in different ways really). But look, Ed could have assumed something happened to Stede (which really, something did happen to Stede) rather than leap to the conclusion that Stede rejected him. And even given that, most people who break up with or are rejected by a loved one don't do *vague handwave at the first 3 episodes of season 2* ...all that.

There's nothing wrong with Ed feeling rejected and sad. There's a hell of a lot wrong with his actions.

Did Izzy's words and actions cause Ed's mental state? Well, obviously they didn't help. If I recall correctly, Izzy's made some sort of comment to Stede about ruining Blackbeard which surely contibuted to Stede's mental state and his actions at the end of s1 but, you know, Stede's a grown man and his actions are his own. Similarly, Izzy's taunts to Ed at the end of s1 come from a place where Izzy had a specific idea of how Ed was that was, well, perhaps not as wrong as some fans would like to think, but certainly incomplete, lacking, perhaps even misunderstood.

Perhaps misunderstood works best. Izzy knows the confidence that Blackbeard has always seemed to hold, the command, the compacity for violence, but he lacks the understanding of who Ed is. It's understandable that Izzy would want that back (I mean, I hate to break it to you, but they're pirates, the violence thing is part of all that). But, you know, I don't think Izzy's ever been a character motivated by just a desire to fuck things up. He's no Iago. Izzy clearly loves Blackbeard and that's perhaps his greatest flaw. He loves Blackbeard so much, but doesn't understand Ed at all.* ** Regardless of Izzy's motivations, he does play a significant role in escalating the situation. He words contribute to both Stede and Ed's turmoil. I'm not saying he has zero accountability here.

But.

Ed always had a choice one what to do, how to react. His actions remain his own. He could have ignored him, or tried to get over Stede or had Izzy tossed off the ship or any number of things. Instead, Ed chose to do what he did.

More importantly, by denying or ignoring Ed's own capability for his own actions, I feel like it overlooks what I see as the most powerful potential storyline in the show (obviously, I have no clue if they'll actually go this way, but I hope they do).

Ed, the man who feels unlovable has done horrible things. And, just maybe, he can still be loved. (Oh let's face it, we know he will be - he is already by Stede.) I don't even mean just by Stede (I mean, let's face it, Stede's likely to continue blaming himself for this), but by the crew he so badly treated. It will be interesting to see how things move forward. Regardless, I can't wait to see what happens next.

Who hasn't done horrible things? I mean, hopefully not at Ed levels of horrible. But God, what a lesson to be learned, to be loved even after your worst. One of the reason I think we humans are so compelled to create and follow stories is that we learn so well through them. How many of us out there feel unlovable, unloved, as deeply as Ed? How many of us are drowning in our misery, pulled down by weight of our own trauma, or our wrongdoings or perceived wrongdoings?

And how many of us are just as wrong as Ed was? Not because we aren't capable of bad-because new alert-we all are, but because we aren't defined by that and because we aren't destined to be defined by our darkest moments. And because humanity is even more defined by it's compacity to love and forgive than it is for our compacity to hurt and destroy.

Because I want to watch both that boat and it's co-captain rebuilt together.

*This is, perhaps, why Ed could never love Izzy. Because all Izzy saw was Blackbeard and Ed needed someone to love Ed - someone he could be Ed with and that be okay. Perhaps things will shift between Ed and Izzy after this...I mean, things must shift between the two after this, but perhaps Izzy will finally start seeing Ed? Who knows.

I also think Izzy's work at protecting the crew and his attempt to fix the situation (woefully too late) is worth something).

#ofmd #spoilers #meta #ed teach #stede bonnet #izzy hands

94 notes · View notes

romancingromanoff · 7 months

Text

Second Death

Andromache the Scythian x f!reader

I decided to create a series for Andromache (my beloved). Here’s part 1, part 2, and part 3

Summary: Your first mission does not go according to plan

TW: Violence, major character death, somewhat descriptive gore, getting shot in the face, head explosions (kinda), ANGST

Words: around 3,000

A/N: Aside from being very difficult for me to write, this is probably the darkest I've ever gotten in terms of physical violence. So, uh, Happy Halloween I guess?

The plan was based off Buenos Aires 1822 (not 1922 as you had incorrectly assumed at first) which was a reference you obviously didn’t understand but was being explained to you in the most hectic way possible.

“Wait, so Nicky was decapitated-”

“Half decapitated. I didn’t actually die!”

“But you were quite light-headed for the rest of the day, my dear.” Joe feigned concern, brushing the back of his hand across his partner’s forehead and smiling like a fool.

Your leader was having none of it.

“Can we be serious please?” Immediately, the entire group’s focus shifted back to the Scythian. She certainly wasn’t going to admit it but she was apprehensive with this being your first mission. For months, you’d been doing nothing but training and begging her to let you in on the action until she was finally forced to give in. The instinct to keep you safe gnawed at Andy while it became increasingly difficult to ignore how your desire to prove your worth would only continue to grow. She recognized the same frustrations in a much younger version of herself and remembered how reckless it drove her to be.

“I’d rather we didn’t repeat that portion this time, agreed?”

You all nodded.

They laid out all the details about the traffickers and the group of people you were meant to rescue. It was an estimated 25-40 women and older girls being smuggled through for undoubtedly unpleasant purposes Andy didn’t get too detailed with. She, Joe, and Nico planned to storm the ship when it completely docked and most of the crew was on land retrieving supplies and weapons. That would leave only a few guards standing between them and the captives, who were most likely being held somewhere below deck. Once they find them, you and Booker would bring in the truck to help get everyone out. It sounded simple enough, but the fact that it was meant to go off without a hitch somehow doubled the amount of pressure you were applying to yourself. They had all done this at least once before, so if things went south then it was all because of you.

A few hours passed and you sat next to Booker in the passenger seat of the truck parked a couple of meters away from the ship and near a loading dock. With the engine off it was starting to get increasingly cold, but you didn’t even mind the chill at that point. You needed to be as alert as possible for what was to come.

Booker clearly sensed your apprehension. “It’s okay to be nervous, we’re not going to let anything bad happen to you.” He kept his voice low and his eyes glued on the dock entrance while you tried to do the same.

Your mind was wrapped up in much bigger concerns. “I’m not worried about that. What if something goes wrong because of me? If I get hurt then so be it, I just don’t want to endanger anyone else when their lives and freedom are at stake.”

“You’ll be fine. Trust your training and lean on your team if you need help. That’s what we’re here for.” He offered you an encouraging smile that you attempted to return the best you could, yet you also wished he wouldn’t look at you with so much sympathy all of the time. As much as you appreciated everything they had done for you, you longed to show the others that you were capable of carrying your own weight and didn’t need someone to hold your hand constantly.

The two of you settled into a silence that was occasionally filled with a comment or two about nothing in particular. It didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You watched as dozens of muscular men left in packs, each one armed with at least a pistol that Booker taught you how to spot. He translated some of the French he could hear them speaking, which was mostly crude, misogynistic banter that made your jaw clench up.

“Good to know that men are pigs in basically all cultures,” you murmured mostly to yourself and tried to get your jaw to relax. Surprisingly, it earned you a gratifying laugh from the Frenchman and you were relieved when he didn’t take your comment too personally.

“For the most part, I don’t disagree.”

“How will Andy and the others know when all of them have left?” You changed the subject upon the realization that the rest of the guard was hidden somewhere no one would see them, not even you. It was still difficult to imagine they had a better scouting position than the near-direct view you did.

“Don’t worry, they’ll know,” Booker assured you in a slightly amused tone. Some secrets were still too complicated for you to know about yet, you supposed.

Almost a half hour later, three heads eventually peered up through the shadows and Andy, Joe, and Nico lifted themselves up onto the ship. Perfectly lit by hues of the full moon, they danced towards their destination, the sheer coordination and skill reminding you of just how experienced they were. With Andy leading the pack, they silently began making their way up the vessel as a single unit. No words or other body gestures needed to be shared when they occupied the same hive mind. The group only came to a stop when they reached a door and huddled around it, trying to listen for anyone that might be on the other side. When you assumed everything was clear, Andy swiftly kicked it open and entered with her gun aimed and ready.

Not even a minute after all three filed in, the sound of a gunshot suddenly shook you. You immediately turned to Booker, whose face gave away the slightest look of concern at the noise. This must not have happened in Buenos Aires. No more gunshots followed, thank goodness, but there were sounds of a struggle going on below deck which had the two of you on high alert. You prayed that nobody else close by could hear the commotion.

Things began to steer away from the original plan when Joe emerged from below far before he should have, struggling to keep another figure under control as he held their arms in a twisted position behind their back while continuing to firmly push them forward. Even in the dark, you could just make out how young the kid appeared to be. He couldn’t have been older than 16 and you assumed his reason for being on the ship was because he had an older relative in the crew. You relaxed when you realized that meant how unlikely it was that he’d be trained in how to fight. Joe would definitely keep from harming him unless he absolutely had to. Stupidly, you also forgot about how reckless young boys can be.

Everything fell apart in a mere matter of seconds. As he appeared to calm down, Joe eased up on the grip he held the boy with and he it didn’t seem like he would move at first. But in an instant, the scraggly kid darted from his grasp and sprinted around a corner and out of your line of sight to the completely opposite side of the ship. Booker reached for the door handle as a precaution while the rest of his body remained seated. A bead of sweat rolled down your neck despite the chill in the air and the gradual understanding that Book might be preparing to leave you on your own stilled your body completely. All of the careful planning you had fought to carefully commit to memory melted into mush.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched whistle that rang through the air and your eyes quickly followed a bright red light travel up into the sky before it burst into a large display of lights and smoke. Time seemed to slow down and your heart sped up. Of course, if there wasn’t going to be another pistol going off, it had to be a goddamn flare gun. Yelling, alarmed Frenchmen could then be heard scrambling towards the dock and Booker cursed under his breath.

“Stay here, I’ll go help the others!” Booker leaped out of the vehicle, throwing the keys which hit your petrified figure. Part of you wanted to speak up and stop him but you could only squeak out an indecipherable sound of concern seconds after he was gone. Looking back at the ship, you caught sight of Nico peeking his head out from the door they entered through. He exited with a determined look on his face and was followed by a line of women. You itched at your sweating palms when twenty women or so had piled out and there was still no sign of Andy.

The men hurrying in from the opposite direction quickly diverted your attention. Squinting your eyes, you were able to spot a figure in the distance headed straight towards your vehicle. You nearly panicked but caught yourself, uncertain if you were dealing with the traffickers or possibly random dock workers that had been alarmed by the flare and merely wanted to check out the situation. Either way, you decided it was still too risky to start up the engine just yet. At least, you told yourself the others probably wouldn’t want you to give away your position.

That’s when you noticed a faint movement in your side mirror. A tuft of matted blonde curls belonging to a distressed woman’s face peeked over the top of one of the crates not to far behind you. She must’ve spotted something concerning, because her eyes went wider than a trapped mouse’s and she disappeared back down, ultimately causing the crates to shake. You ground your back teeth together and prayed it was only you who had seen her. But then right on cue, the blinding glow of a flashlight landed directly over the area where the woman was hiding. The man you had spotted only moments before, his flashlight lit up a devious grin on his face that urged you to hold in your breath. He even sounded like the devil when he spoke. It didn’t take a high level French skills to tell that he began goading the poor woman like it was some sadistic game to him.

He approached the crates ever so slowly, savoring the anticipation which laid before whatever unspeakable plans he had for his victim. It then occurred to you that she was most likely paralyzed with the same fear that had struck you.

And yet, she was the one currently being hunted while you were poised to sit and watch it unfold. You, protected by both your position and inexplicable gift of immortality. None of it seemed remotely fair and your body began to stir at the simple thought.

“Under no circumstances should you be engaging in combat,” Andy had firmly laid down the law several times leading up to this day. You’d never wanted to disobey anything she said so passionately before and here it felt like you scarcely had no other option but to go against something she forbade.

The adrenaline rushing through your veins threw your body into action before you could debate any further. Barely aware of the forces taking hold of you, you tumbled out of the door and landed directly behind the attacker who continued to stalk forward towards the woman’s hiding place. He slowly began to raise his gun, something with barrels much longer than your forearms, and it was like you didn’t have the time to properly assess whatever danger lie at the other end. You just didn’t want it pointing at her.

Without a hint of hesitation, you drove foot into the back of the man’s left knee and he immediately crumbled down to about a third of his height. You were ready for him with your knife once his face spun around and an overpowering sense of rage guided your arm to make a clean cut from just below his right eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, and finally through the center of his left eye.

Something solid and heavy smacked the front of your head and you could hear the woman behind you scream in horror before everything went black.

Horrific violence was nothing if not a sheer constant to Andy. She had both experienced and caused enough to fill the oceans with blood, yet nothing made her seethe with rage more than watching yours spill from your head like a geyser. A thousand lifetimes stained with death could not have prepared her for the sight of your limp body hitting the ground, to which there was no question as to whether or not you were dead. Even if you had been wearing some type of protective head gear, a shotgun firing within five inches of your face would have been fatal.

She was usually a pro at keeping her emotions under control until the mission was completed and never steered away from the plan without first calculating the absolute best course of action. The other teammates she had and the terrified group of women she was meant to protect called upon her to uphold her position as the leader, a task she had shouldered over a million times before despite whatever her personal feelings demanded. Absolutely none of that mattered now. Getting to you, killing that bastard, and wrapping you up in your arms became the only course of action she was capable of taking.

Her first priority was taking out the son of a bitch that dared to touch you before anyone else got hurt. She handed off the little girl she had been carrying to Nico before barreling over a crate and launching herself over the side of the ship, rolling smoothly to break her fall when she hit the the dock.

Despite how fast she ran, she seemed to move at a cursedly slow pace. She was still too quick for the man, his blood leaking from the fresh gash you had tore across his face, to notice her. He didn’t even get a chance to run before the warrior drove her labrys straight into the already-open wound. Andy could only revel in the brief taste of satisfaction for a moment before her emotions began swarming once again, the anger she had held for that man was now aimed solely at herself.

“Booker, get her into the back!” She barked at the Frenchman to take care of the hostage still hiding while rushing over to where your body collapsed. Up close, the sight was even more gruesome as blood, flesh, and bone were splattered all across what used to be your face. It would have been generous to call what was left of everything above your neck a simple stump. She knew she needed to get you out of there fast but hated to leave behind any parts of your head that might have been salvageable. Even saving something like an ear or significant chunk of your skull could aid in speeding up the healing process. She knew it would be excruciatingly painful for you to grow back yourself.

She desperately grabbed at fistful of what she hoped was your brain before scooping you up in her arms. It was the fact that you were so much lighter than usual which made her wince, though she couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved when it meant it allowed her to run faster on her feet. Cautious yet quick, Andy made a beeline for the passenger’s seat of the truck and cradled your body in her arms while you continued to bleed out. It wasn’t a sight she wanted any of the hostages to witness and it’s not like she was letting go of you anytime soon anyway.

“Drive!” One word was all she needed to command whomever was at the steering wheel to get out of there as fast as possible. It didn’t even occur to her to look up and check to see who she was sitting next to, as she immediately began trying to pick up any movement in your chest or a sign of a pulse in your wrist, anything that indicated the resurrection process was in motion.

“Please, please, come back to me,” she pleaded as your warm blood began to pool across her lap.

“Give her a second.” She realized it was Booker currently driving. “It’s only her second time and will probably take longer than expected.”

The women they had freed were now crammed together once again, only this time being in the back of a dark loading truck as it sped through the dead of night was probably far more merciful than them being forced to witness the transformation you were currently undergoing. Andy, however, couldn’t tear a single string of her attention away from you throughout the entire process.

Each noise you made followed by the eventual cries of her name from your lips, once your mouth and airways had completely reformed, tore at Andromache deeper and deeper, in ways that no physical pain she had ever endured could compare. She bit down on her tongue till it was bloody as you repetitively squeezed her hand throughout the entire process. The same ones you often used to delicately recreate precious moments on paper broke more than a few of her bones. But Andy barely noticed and didn’t have the capacity to care. All she was focused on was you.

For the first time in centuries, the Scythian invoked the words of an ancient prayer and resurrected a long dead language as she tried to soothe your pain. She stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago but couldn’t shake the truth that repeating those words made her feel anchored to something even larger than her life or her immortality. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t try if it might possibly bring you a sense of comfort, which she actually prayed may happen.

#andromache the scythian x reader #andy the scythian x reader #andromache of scythia #the old guard #one shot #andy the scythian #the old guard x reader #andy #andy x reader #andromache x reader #angst #Charlize Theron characters

84 notes · View notes