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#// celebrate with the dumbest shit less go baby
heloflor · 1 year
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Wanted to share my thoughts on the Mario movie trailer because it gives me an excuse to procrastinate writing fics since everyone's doing it : So far this movie is 50/50 for me in terms of whether or not I'll want to watch it.
To keep it short (putting it under the cut for spoilers)
PROS :
The animation looks amazing, but then again this is pretty much the standard for movies nowadays. Still, huge props to the artists and animators working on this movie !
Bowser was badass as hell and him being expressive in such a """cartoony""" way works surprisingly well.
Kamek and especially Bowser sound really good. Props to the voice actors for those two !
Toad's voice works. Like he's not 100% raspy but such a voice would probably been very annoying to listen to for an hour and a half. Plus it'd be hard to understand everything he'll say and would possibly be detrimental to the voice actor's throat. So his "slightly raspy" voice works
I was NOT expecting the Mario 64 baby penguins to show up ! I can't believe that out of all the Mario characters out there, those annoying fuckers made it in. Just WOW !
CONS :
The Bowser scene let us know enough of what kind of humor this movie's going to have, and it's not going to be fun 😒
Sorta related to that first point but this movie was made by Illuminations, the studio known for making movies with cheap stories and the dumbest humor because "why bother making good products when people will come see our stuff anyways ?" (note that I haven't watched a single movie from this studio so take this point with a huge grain of salt). So despite the quality shown, the fact that this studio was chosen for this movie is still worrying me (in general Illuminations is a studio that makes me sad. Like, from what I've heard "Despicable me 1" actually had some heart to it and a cute story, meaning they can do good movies ! They just don't want to because it costs less money to hire less writers)
Mario's voice. Just Mario's voice. I have no idea who the fuck Chris Pratt is since I don't know shit about celebrities, but he is not even trying with this voice ! And the fact that he's playing the main character makes it so much more aggravating...
Not a big fan of this idea of "Mario is new to the Mushroom Kingdom", or at least that's the vibe his part of the trailer gave.
I'd also like to point out that my first thoughts after watching the trailer were "I won't go watch this crap". But after watching the french trailer, since this is the version I'll get in theaters, I'm actually considering it. At least this version has a voice actor for Mario who tries to sound like him, and the other voice actors are really good as well (except for Toad who doesn't sound at all like Toad. Though at the same time the voice does fit the character. Like if you take someone who doesn't know shit about Mario and show them this Toad with this voice, they'll find it fitting)
So overall, I'll wait until more info comes out to decide whether or not to watch it in theaters. One thing for sure, I'd much rather see it in french than english. And if I do go see it, it'll likely be with zero expectations so that at least I won't be disappointed.
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cheebuss · 3 years
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Finally playing RE2R less go!
almost finished Leon’s story and i’m still as stressed as i started
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alittlebitmaybe · 4 years
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making concessions
so i, uh, maybe wrote the nichest, dumbest cracky au ficlet in the world. i blame @yoursummerfrost who is possibly the sole audience for this. i hope you’re happy.
anyway, this is what i described in this post, aka “Geralt and Jaskier meet at a Magic: the Gathering tournament that Jaskier has no business being at but somehow he beats Geralt and then they try to have sex in the bathroom”
featuring a complete disregard for like, legal cards or real decks or any actual knowledge of MTG tournaments beyond living with someone who plays it a lot
rated M for like frottage and marking and stuff
--
“Fresh meat,” Yen mutters, perched against one of the folding tables, knees spread. She punctuates it with a snap of her bubble gum.
Geralt folds his arms across his chest, eyebrow raised. “This is a low-tier Magic tournament, Yen, not a grade school playground.”
“Doesn’t make him not fresh meat. He’s gonna last five minutes, tops. Someone is gonna OTK that poor bastard.”
“We’ve all got to start somewhere.”
“That kid, Geralt,” she says, “is starting nowhere.”
The man Yen calls that kid does look more like he should be at Coachella than at a Magic: the Gathering tournament—bandana, loose tank top, cuffed jean shorts, and all—but, Geralt thinks, clearing his throat, he’s definitely no kid, not with the definition in his arms and the chest hair and the light scruff along his jaw. He is, though, going around and asking people to show him their decks, which he takes from them and riffles through clumsily while oohing and ahhing.
“Good for me, at least,” Geralt adds. “One less actual competitor to knock out.”
Yen punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Sure, if you can keep it in your pants. You just went all googly-eyed. Those baby blues suck you in already?”
He drags his gaze back to her. “He’s alright. If he touches my cards like that I’ll kill him. They’re worth more than his life.”
“I know, dear. I know. Well, gird yourself, because if you both win your first matches you’re against each other.”
Geralt smiles. “No problem. I’ve been playtesting against every meta deck for weeks. My win ratios are favorable against almost anything. This whole thing is mine.”
“Nerd,” says Yen.
Geralt tugs at the hem of her vest, and she kicks out at him with her boot heel. “You’re literally a judge here. You’re certified.”
“Exactly. I’m in a position of power, but you’re just here to show off. Nerd.”
“Keep it up and I won’t share the prize.”
“Half the prize money would barely buy me dinner at Applebee’s, but thanks anyway, darling. You can keep it, I think I’ll manage.”
And well, that’s fair, actually.
“It’s not about the money,” Geralt protests.
Yen snorts. “Obviously, or no one would be here. We all just bow to the whims of MTG. And thank them. And hand over our credit cards.”
Coachella man has dropped someone’s deck all over the floor and is apologetically gathering the cards back into a haphazard pile. The spectacle has drawn stares.
“Who’s the fool, really?” Yen asks. “Him, or us?”
“Hm,” Geralt replies.
--
“Geralt,” says Geralt. “Bant ramp.”
“Jaskier,” says Coachella man, smiling brightly and taking the proffered hand as he settles himself across the table. “Was that last bit English?”
“It’s…my deck,” Geralt explains dubiously. “Bant ramp? Green, white, blue?”
Jaskier pulls an impressed face. “They’ve got names for things like that? You really know your stuff, Geralt.”
“Uh,” says Geralt, nonplussed. “Yeah, thanks. What are you playing, then?”
“Oh, I’ve got this great deck! It’s got all the colors because I couldn’t pick just a few, and all the cards have such pretty art, you know? I had to put in the best ones. A few of ‘em are even shiny. She’s treated me well so far, this deck. I love her.”
Geralt scans down the list of players on his tourney pamphlet. Next to Jaskier’s name it says only Five color aggro???
Geralt huffs out through his nose. That is nonsensical, and—most importantly—not something he ever playtested against. But no matter what is in that deck, Geralt’s got this in the bag. There’s no way this Jaskier guy has the land base needed to support five colors. Especially if he chose his cards, apparently, based on the art.
Jaskier begins slowly pile shuffling his deck of utterly unsleeved cards. Not even inner sleeves, much less double sleeves. Geralt’s blood pressure ticks up.
“So, uh,” he begins, “you’re new to this, huh? What got you into Magic?”
“Ah, my friend Essi plays here and there, she mentioned this and it seemed like it’d be a lark. New experience and such. And hey”—Jaskier looks up and grins—“maybe I’ll win!”
Geralt thinks about the hours and weeks and years he’s spent studying cards and losing games and analyzing pro matches. “Good luck,” he says.
“Thank you, you’re sweet.”
Jaskier continues placing each card meticulously on its own stack. Geralt shuffles his own deck again and again as he waits.
“Do you want me to, uh.”
Jaskier looks up and says, “Oh, would you? That would be so helpful. I’ve never quite got the hang of the—,” he makes a riffle shuffle gesture, “—whole shuffling thing.”
--
He loses the coin toss, which, he realizes a few turns later, is not an auspicious beginning. But even with Jaskier on the play and him on the draw, certainly it won’t make that much of a difference. Not when Jaskier has to squint at his hand like he’s reading all the card texts for the first time ever. At one point he even goes “Oh, that’s an interesting one,” as if surprised. It cannot make that much of a difference to go second.
And it doesn’t. Because he can’t draw shit to save his life.
While Geralt draws white mana after white mana, Jaskier throws down creature after creature, ignoring effects and the stack entirely in favor of big numbers and building a “board aesthetic.” Whatever the fuck that means. He drops a land on every turn and his mana costs curve out perfectly, despite the stretch over five fucking colors. It’s nothing short of miraculous.
Finally, Geralt is staring down a board of attackers against the lone creature he’d managed to play, and Jaskier says “Ooh, I’ve got enough of the land thingies to play this fella!” and drops—of all fucking things—a Craterhoof Behemoth. Like Geralt isn’t already nearly dead on board.
Geralt eyes the board wipe in his hand that—for fuck’s sake—requires blue.
A single blue mana needed, and a stack of Plains in front of him a mile high.
“It resolves,” he grumbles.
“Woooooo,” says Jaskier. “I mean, that’s good, right?”
“Yes,” says Geralt. “For you.”
He’s got one more draw step to try to dig for an Island. One fucking Island, a fetch land, a mana-producing artifact, anything. He’s spent way too much money on his mana fixing for this to happen.
On his draw, he takes into hand a worthless green creature.
“Fuck!” He scrubs a hand over his face, drops his hand onto the table. “That’s the game. Good one.”
Jaskier looks confused. “What do you mean? You mean I win? But I didn’t get to, you know.” He mimes pushing his attackers across the table like an advancing army. “Kill you.”
“I’m dead on board and have nothing.”
“But I wanted to attack with my big fella!”
Geralt sighs and faintly hears Yen laughing her ass off down the table. And they play out Jaskier’s turn. In which Geralt immediately dies.
As Jaskier celebrates and gathers his cards, Geralt levels him with a tired stare. “Look, be straight with me. Is this a fucking hustle?”
Jaskier laughs brightly. “What, didn’t think I could play, eh?”
“You can’t,” Geralt says. “Obviously. Unless it’s a hustle.”
“No hustling here!” Jaskier then wiggles his eyebrows lasciviously. “Unless you’d like to hustle me later. If you catch my drift.”
Geralt does. “That is not a real come on.”
“Sure it is, since you know I’m coming on to you.”
“Let’s just play out the match,” Geralt says with finality.
He’s down one, but he just needs two wins. Two wins against a deck that will, eventually, be inconsistent and impractical. He shuffles his own deck—tested and massaged until its consistency holds up to real life statistics—four times, just to make sure.
Then Jaskier holds out his deck and Geralt begrudgingly shuffles that, too.
“You have nice hands,” Jaskier comments, following his fingers on the cards. “Big. Strong. Capable.”
“Shut up,” Geralt mumbles, and pretends to ignore it when Jaskier says, Yes, sir.
--
He loses the match on game two, and it’s his own damn fault, this time, because Jaskier drops an infinite combo and doesn’t even realize it until Geralt opens his dumb fucking mouth.
“There it is,” he groans, resigned, as Jaskier lays down the last combo piece. “Lucky draw.”
“Eh?”
“You comboed out?”
“Eh?” Jaskier says again, fingers still on the card like he’s thinking of taking it back, face utterly perplexed.
“You—holy fucking Christ.” Geralt throws his hands in the air. “You don’t even know you have that combo, do you.”
“I—do not, per se, know that, no.”
“That effect will untap your artifact, which lets you—oh, who cares. Fine. You win. Congrats.”
Jaskier’s expression brightens. “I win? Really? But I didn’t even attack!”
“You win. Really.”
Geralt wants a beer.
“Oh!” Jaskier is now beaming. He glances at his watch, a gold-trimmed gaudy thing. “Well, that was quick. We’ve got some time before the next round, if you wanna—uh—”
“Yeah,” sighs Geralt. Heat curls in his belly alongside the mingled anger (shame? embarrassment?) and disappointment. “Whatever.”
Might as well.
--
Geralt shoves Jaskier back against the bathroom door as he locks it, and Jaskier promptly wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. Without a moment of hesitation Geralt leans in, biting at Jaskier’s lips, feeling arms circle his neck and hands weave themselves into his hair. Their bodies align perfectly and when Geralt thrusts forward, Jaskier gasps into his mouth.
“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, like that.”
A growl leaves Geralt in response, frustration with this stupid, clueless man bubbling up within him. Jaskier tastes like red Gatorade and smells like that body butter Yen keeps on her bathroom counter.
It’s less off-putting than it should be.
He keeps going like that, not because he was told to but because it’s infuriatingly good, Jaskier’s body warm and firm and pliant against his as he rolls his hips.
“Oh, God,” Jaskier groans on a thrust that results in a particularly good drag, which separates their mouths enough for Geralt to redirect his attention. With one hand he drags down the idiotic bandana tied around Jaskier’s neck and starts to suck harsh marks into salty skin. Jaskier keeps up a noisy litany of gasps and muffled, bitten-off encouragements. “Oh, that’s—good, fuck—your mouth—like it rough, don’t you…”
Geralt doesn’t particularly like it rough, actually, when he hasn’t been fucking hustled at his own game, but Jaskier still doesn’t seem to have caught on to the part where Geralt is sort of fucking furious about this whole situation.
Instead of explaining himself, he just bites down on Jaskier’s pulse point and curls his hand around Jaskier’s waist where his shirt is rucked up, nails digging in.
“Yeah—” Jaskier says, and tugs at Geralt’s hair, and then there’s banging on the door.
“We can hear you, assholes. There’s a line out here and we gotta piss,” an angry voice calls from the other side.
“Use the ladies’!” Jaskier yells hoarsely. “There’s never anyone in there. This one’s occupied.” Geralt moves against him again. “Oh, that’s—more.”
“No,” says the angry voice. “No more.” Another round of banging. “We’re calling property management. They’ve got a key.”
“Shit,” Geralt says, dropping Jaskier, who makes an indignant noise. He unlocks and opens the door.
There is, in fact, a small crowd around the men’s room, headed by a red-faced man half a foot shorter than Geralt.
“Can’t you mind your own business?” Geralt says.
“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” the man sneers back.
“Technically,” Jaskier pipes up, straightening his bandana and swiping at his hair, “nothing ever came out of any pants.”
“Jaskier,” says Geralt, “don’t help.”
An official-looking group of people rounds the corner, accompanied by Yen, who spots Geralt and nearly falls to the floor in a mirthful fit. He rolls his eyes.
The officials don’t like that at all.
--
A few months later, Jaskier kneels on the other side of Geralt’s coffee table, considering his hand. He licks his lip and taps a few lands to place an enchantment, which Geralt promptly counters.
“You and your fucking—control decks,” Jaskier sighs. “Let me play one some time.”
“Make your own,” says Geralt. “You can use my collection.”
“Ah, maybe I will, and then you won’t be able to play anything at all, ever, and how would you like that?”
“Do you have anything to get rid of my flyers?”
“Unfortunately, no, Geralt, I do not, or I would have played it by now.”
“Then you should probably concede.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He picks up his cards, sleeved properly, and slides them over to Geralt’s side. “Shuffle please.”
Geralt shuffles them.
“Shame we can’t go to the tournament today,” says Jaskier wistfully. “Banned. What rot. We didn’t even get off that day. Rudely interrupted.”
“Yeah, well, someone had no business being there, anyway.”
“I still think I could have gone all the way. Beat you, didn’t I?”
“Haven’t since.”
“Only because you learned my tricks.”
“Jaskier, you don’t have tricks.”
“Exactly.” He smiles, and Geralt can’t help but smile back. When he places Jaskier’s deck back on the table, Jaskier’s hand rests on top of his. “I am, though, Geralt, absolutely thrilled that we met. Whatever the circumstance. Or consequence. If it needs saying.”
It doesn’t, but Geralt meets his eyes and says, “Yeah, me too.”
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noesapphic · 4 years
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The Damned Daughter, Part 1: Me and My Broken Heart
A/N: This is a prequel that will explain the world that I’ve created, how everything works and how Joanna has become the woman she is as we know her. This goes before The Cursed Heiress and will have a certain order to read. Some chapters will be before the happenings, some will narrate another point of view on the chapter (obviously published). 
Summary: The Circle is now on edge with the birth of Joanna and Mary struggles with being a mother after centuries being on her own / Months later, we see how Mary manages being a mother of the most expected child in centuries / A witch-hunt has started and Mary and Joanna must take measures to avoid being caught / Mary makes a decision that could change the course of her undercover life in Grovershire that will mark Joanna forever. 
Word Count: 3712 
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November 1795
The old man slammed a fist on the table, his long beard showing “This is a scam! The girl had one job, the easiest one, and she failed!” He roared.
The male crowd chanted in agreement “She didn’t just got humiliated by a mortal and got pregnant of him without any of his aid, she gave birth to a girl!”.
The males roared angrily as some looked at him with despite and disgust. The man tried to calm the situation “Gentlemen, I understand your concern—”.
“We should have done it The Circle style! These mortals are very complex and meek.”
The room started to chant angrily, the control once lost. Uzaric Crochane felt now helpless, looking how these men called his beloved Odessa -who called herself among mortals Mary- every nasty things.
He tried to hold them off, but failed miserably.
“ENOUGH!” A loud, feminine voice called. Who else than his beloved wife and big matriarch, Vivian Whitmore. All the men stopped, now silent and intimidated by the matriarch, her tall, slim and old figure showing. She was 1005 years old, the oldest witch ever. The strongest and most powerful, she who brought five of the strongest warriors alive: Niklaus, Lucien, Nya, Nene and Odessa. Buried three other stillborn children, lost in childhood other two. If the world wasn’t so cruel, the Crochane dynasty would have ten heirs, but instead it had three “I can scarcely believe we are behaving like those who we promised to never be like. Judging a woman for not one, but three things she never asked for? Risking the Peace Treaty because the awaited child is a girl? What are we, chromes?” Her voice wasn’t as loud, but it was commanding “Over the centuries we’ve seen women thrive and save us all without a man’s guide, and now you think that you have the right to shun the poor girl? For giving birth to another girl?”.
“She should have killed that Robert guy and his wife, even that Henrietta and taken over the estate! Odessa has become weak since she became mortal!” A man scoffed “The Odessa I know had killed men over less than that.”
“Rupert Foredale will be taken care of, Wazax, I assure you, just as everyone he cares for. And Vincent Foredale… well, as much as I’d enjoy kill him myself, needs to be alive until Feyre grows up. He is the key to the prophecy and total transformation of our Feyre, who’ll evolve to Vunera.” The men nodded as she recited the last and most important part of the prophecy “After the death of the weakest patriarch, the six-bred will evolve to full Goddess, accepted and welcomed as Vunera, the Goddess of the Peace and Tranquillity, bringing the realms the desired peace until the end of times.” She looked at the men “Do not test a woman’s power because of her sex. After all, all of you gentlemen are witnesses of what it will be the most powerful creature that has ever lived since the tribids, which one of them is my dear Amatis.”
Some shuddered at the mention of Amatis, a rather bloody-thirsty and deadly warrior who was someone you shall not enrage. She was a witch as her father, half a vampire and half banshee, like her mother. She was dangerous, for she could tear you apart and was able to see when someone was about to die and had magic at her hands. She was feared and many people quivered at the mention of her name. She was redheaded, like her father, with green mischievous eyes and the Crochane smirk. Her twin sister, Freya, was a hybrid: half witch, half banshee. The only one who was any of these rare kinds was Mikael, a very well-respected warlock who was awfully supportive over his sisters.
“This is what we’ll do: you will accept the child just as you accepted my dear Lucien’s children and will call upon the races in war against us, offering a strong woman who will grow to be our biggest, most powerful creation ever. Let’s start with summoning the Kings of the strongest species…”.
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Nya found herself calming down her sister, the strongest of them all, wailing and screaming of pain, and not exactly because of the baby, but of the deep despair and heartbreak she was going through. Nya thought that giving birth would help her through, but made it worse instead. She knew childbirth was traumatic and even scary -and yet those poor mortal women gave birth with high possibilities of dying because their duty was to become mothers. Sigh, mortal logic is the dumbest logic- but she didn’t know that it’d change a woman forever. Her shape changed: her breasts grew, so did her thighs and she became a whole other person during the process; emotional, sensible, vulnerable, weak, meek.
The Odessa she knew had died in that bed: one that once never quivered or wavered, always with her head high, one that earned respect everywhere she went, a true leader now shattered. She begged her little Fenris to ask a physician about what was happening to her: they called it postpartum depression. She was always in bed, crying silently while the little girl cried to be fed and attended while Odessa would scream to make her stop, but the baby wouldn’t budge. Nya told nobody, but sometimes, when Odessa wouldn’t move, she breastfed the little girl herself. She had to ask a midwife’s guidance and it was a very eye-opening experience. What made worth all that pain, all the struggles, the restless nights.
She had become fond of the girl: she had the Crochane blue eyes, some speculating that she could inherit her red hair. Watching the girl sleep, satisfied with the attention, happy, fed, loved…
“Odessa… I know what you went though was tough and painful, but right now, we need you… your daughter needs you. You need to heal, go back to that village and complete your mission—”.
“You don’t understand, Nya! I cannot do it!” She wailed.
“Why? Surely—”.
“I’M GOING TO DIE.” She screamed on the top of her lungs, thing that woke up the little princess, who was again crying.
Odessa grunted while jabbing her palms on her head. Nya had enough of this foolish behaviour and cradled the girl and made Odessa cradle her “Look at her! Look at her well! Get your shit together, Minerva!”.
Odessa looked at her shocked. No one since the 1200s called her by her middle name, Minerva. She nodded as she looked at the girl: she had chubby cheeks, big blue eyes and milky skin, the same tone as her Vincent. She started to rock her, calming the poor soul who was guilty of nothing but being caught at the wrong situation.
“Shh, my girl, shh.” She saw how the girl cooed at her and reached to her and she smiled, kissing the top of her head. She looked at Nya and smirked “Back at the village, when I gave birth to the girl, I didn’t name her Feyre as mother planned.”
“What’s her name then?”.
“Joanna. Joanna Feyre Crochane.”
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January 1796
“May I present… Grand Duchess Odessa and the heiress of the house, Duchess Feyre Crochane!” The herald roared and the crowd went wild!
Everyone gathered around to celebrate the first year of the heiress to the house and if Odessa played her cards well, the throne. Many girls swooned over her baby cheeks and small, chubby figure, beaming and cooing happily. Nya and Nene were in another float. They paraded all over the Circle as people yelled how much they loved the small Duchess already. There was a moment where her little Joanna sneezed and the crowd melted over such an adorable sound, thing that made her beam and move her small legs and arms. She was only three months old, but she aspired to be smart. She was a very brave baby who laughed when her dragon, Jaskier, growled at her or when even the Devil came to see her and she threw him at the face her food, thing that he did not appreciate.
It was hard work because she always cried just when she was heading to bed and she did not appreciate it, but once she saw her chubby face crying, she could not resist. Auburn hair started to grow slowly and every time she raged, the whole ground shook.
There were some tranquil nights were she just observed her little princess sleep, licking her thumb and have dreams. Some nights, she could even still feel Vincent’s arms around her, beaming at their little girl, then kissing her cheek and asking her to come back to bed, but it was just an illusion. What he did to her was the worst humiliation possible over her 775 years of life. Betrayed, alone, abandoned… too many emotions for just a woman like her. For centuries she had suffered many betrayals: she had been ratted out for being a witch, chained in the Tower Of London, a mutiny of her lover when she was a pirate, almost burned because of those fucking Christians, casted out of England for neglecting Henry’s VIII affections during Katherine of Aragon’s second pregnancy, tortured by Hernán Cortes, kidnapped by her grandfather because he was hexed… she was so terrified of what he could do to her, yet she had never cried so much just as she cried when Vincent abandoned her for some blondie who was tasteless and desperate. It was like she had a million cuts all over her heart and her soul was beaten up and she felt so hurt, so angry, so betrayed, so abandoned…
She screamed into the void, thinking it’d become better, but then she saw how happy he was for his newly pregnant wife. She thought of writing him, telling him about her little princess, but then she remembered that he did. He wasn’t deserving of her. Her beautiful eyes, full of light and life, her laugh that filled the void of her heart and restored her soul the moment she cradled her, her soft expression every time she called her name…
The parade stopped and she had to finish the party, so put a smile on her face and lifted Joanna to the sky, where the ancestors could observe her and it poured petal pink rain: it meant that her path would be rough, difficult and uncertain, but that if she played her cards well, she could thrive. Everyone sacrificed animals, thing that made Joanna cry.
Everyone was at her door, awaiting to see the baby and shower her in presents and adoration. She waved at them and Joanna beamed, making the whole crowd swoon.
An hour after, it was time that Joanna had her sleep and she kissed her head, making her yawn and sleep.
“Seems like this time it wasn’t so hard.” A familiar voice smirked.
She turned around to see Elias, on his usual attire from the 1600s and his long, white hair and his deep green eyes, tall as ever. She smiled at him and greeted him.
“It’s been a while. How about if we go for a walk?”.
“… I’d like that.”
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May 1807
It had been three months since Joanna received the last power before start transitioning and getting used to the power she held inside her. She had tried to tell her daughter about her true condition, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. She feared for her. She was out of control, too much power on such a small child. Ever since, Elias had been there, holding down the forte until she could find a steady anchor. Briar didn’t seemed an enough one, for she always encouraged her to do naughty things. Every time they argued, the floor ended up trembling. Odessa was hopeless, while Elias would never lose hope. There had to be someone out there who could help her. People started to talk about a dark force among them, one that would be their downfall. They started to question people.
Well, more like young girls, Joanna’s age. Odessa feared for her life, because if she didn’t die, she would unleash chaos and she wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not when she received a letter saying that by the year 1816, the world would be full of old dark forces looking for her downfall. The witches’ downfall.
“Miss Mills? Scotland Yard, open the door.”
She straightened herself and opened the door, looking at them impassive. One of them was smoking a big cigar, while the other had a cruel smirk on his face.
“Is your daughter home? We’d like to ask some friendly questions.”
She nodded as she offered them tea and the best seats for them as she called upon her daughter, who was reading a book. She spoke into her mind
Joanna, my dearest, you must lie to these men, for they cannot know we exist. Tell them you have a very bad temper and you’re working on it. Don’t look threatening. Be calm. Do not give them power over your emotions. Lay your head low, don’t talk back, be polite. Don’t you ever tremble or hesitate, for these men are very dangerous, butchers.
“Joanna, my beautiful girl, there are some nice men who want to talk to you.”
“Of course, Mama.”
She bowed her head in signal of respect and stood there, showing no emotions, like she was taught.
“Miss Mills… have you felt anything different in you?”.
“My Mama told me that at this age I shall find some differences in my body and voice, perhaps my behaviour.”
“Have you noticed anything… out of place in this town?”.
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I just do my chores and help Mama out, I don’t pay attention to these things.”
The man chuckled “An obedient, good girl, eh? That’s good, lass. Do you believe in witches, young lady?”.
“No, sir. I believe, just as Mama does, that is an old wives’ tale. A mere myth to scare us.”
The man with the cigar got up, examining young Joanna. He smiled like a predator and Odessa held back to trick him to get his hands off her daughter, for the tension was already palpable.
“Did you know that redheads are ought to be well hidden witches?”.
“I may have heard, but I find it preposterous. I am a normal, young lass, sir, who works to get a living and find a fitting husband.”
The man chuckled, some smoke getting in Joanna’s face, but she never wavered. He patted her shoulder “That’d be all, lass. It’s your lucky day, no charges.” He looked at Mary and smirked “Have a good day, Miss Mills.”
They both bowed “You too, Detective.”
They waited until the men were far away before sighing of relief. Odessa hugged her daughter, kissing her temple “You did well, my girl. We are no longer suspects. Now go, Elias waits for you and your lesson. Make sure you’re not followed.”
“Yes, Mama.”
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1810
Odessa was talking to her newest, rather amiable friend Mrs. Coleman as she giggled about Mr. Gibbs’s son making heart eyes at Miss Daly, her dear Pavarti’s daughter, wondering if she’d feel the same or she’d break his heart, adding it to her list. Odessa chuckled as she shook her head, amused by her wonderings.
“Did you also noticed how happier your Joanna has been ever since she and my eldest boy started to court? My boy won’t shut up about how happy he is beside her, getting to know her. I think he’s more than smitten. He might be in love!”.
“He seems to be absolutely whipped about my dear Jo, indeed. It almost reminds me of her father’s gaze… unwavering, unyielding and completely enamoured. Sometimes I swear I can see him, smiling at me… but he is in fact buried and I cannot do nothing to reverse it.”
Mrs. Coleman was about to question her when Thomas himself stormed into the room, eyes wide, nervous and stuttering some nonsense. Mrs. Coleman scolded him for his poor manners and he cleared his throat, gaining his composure again “Ms. Mills, may I have a word?” He looked at his mother “Alone. Tis a private matter.”
Mrs. Coleman nodded, now seeing her son’s game and beaming, winking at Odessa to then close the door shut, leaving utter privacy to them.
“How can I help you, boy? Come, I won’t bite you.”
“Yes, I know, I just thing this occasion I must be on my feet.” He cleared his throat and Odessa observed he had put on his Sunday clothes. Something was going on, indeed “It is no secret that you daughter Joanna Mills has captivated me completely ever since the moment I saw her and I am honoured that you allowed me to court her. I’d like to think that she and I are a match made in Heaven, for I haven’t met someone who I feel so coordinated, intelligent, capable, strong and positively charming as Joanna.” He took a deep breath as he knelt down to her “That’s why, miss, I beg of you to concede me the honour to… propose to your daughter this Friday, after the governor’s speech.”
Odessa’s eyes went wide as she chuckled, not believing her eyes “These are joyous news, but… are you certain, boy? You are but 18!”.
“I’ve never been so certain in my life, Ms. Mills.”
She was about to give her answer when she remembered the Elders and their schemes. She frowned as she thought of an excuse to make him wait a bit longer. What if they tried to kill the poor boy?
“Thomas… I’d love to give you an answer, but there are some things about her education and womanly matters I’d like to discuss with the family. It doesn’t mean that it’s a no… but neither a yes. Can you wait until Thursday?”.
“I’ve been waiting for your daughter for 10 years, I think I can manage three days.”
Odessa placed a comforting hand on his shoulder “You are a great boy, Thomas. Never doubt that.”
Nya gasped “Proposal? Like, marriage proposal?!”.
“Ye—”.
“Ridiculous. They’re too young to be engaged! I have never been engaged and I’m 800 years old. I think Feyre can live without a man just fine.”
“I mean… I have lived without a man just fine.”
“It’s different, Nya. You are a sapphic, you aren’t even attracted to the men.”
“I’m actually—”.
“Odessa, the Elders have spoken.”  
She nodded as she went to that charming yet scary chamber of theirs. Many ghosts were there, looking at her and she curtsied in signal of respect “I take you’ve made your decision?”.
“Yes, indeed. It wasn’t easy, Minerva, but we’ve reached an agreement.”
Another Elder spoke “You know we are the only ones who can see millions of lives lived and endings and possibilities and after consulting our Gods, we’ve reached a decision.”
“We have decided that…” Odessa held her breath “we shall accept this engagement of Feyre with the Coleman boy as much as it can last until she reaches the age of 20, for she’ll have to meet sooner or later the Earl for—”.
“I am dying and my hex is inevitable, I know.” She frowned “Any leads about who could have done that?”.
“Not yet, but soon, trust us.”
“I shall deliver the news back to Earth.”
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Friday night
Everyone was speaking about the annual speech of the governor, always so proper and stiff. Thomas couldn’t stop staring at Joanna, who was beside her mother and listening to Briar’s gossip about the governor’s mistress in Manchester, a married woman with three children she declared.
Thomas saw that everyone was gathered in the room when he shyly climbed to the fountain and gathered everyone’s attention “First of all, congratulations to our governor’s eloquent and inspiring speech. Second of all, I’d like to say a few words to a certain girl who is present tonight.” His eyes fell on a very confused Joanna “Joanna, when you first came to this town, I couldn’t believe my eyes. So young, yet so wise and educated, strong and open minded, I was awe-struck with you. During these years and especially these months I’ve never met someone who I could be myself around without feeling embarrassed or thinking about if I was making a fool of myself. I have found someone who has such an inspiring insight of the world, how many possibilities are in the world and that there’s more than meets the eye.” He smiled at her as Briar and her mother encouraged her to meet him and she realized what was going on. “I love you, Joanna Feyre Mills. Ever since the moment I saw you, I was. And I’d like to prove everyone that I am enough for you.”
He jumped off the fountain and dropped on one knee, his face beaming on the moonlight “Joanna… will you make me the happiest, luckiest and most complete man and marry me?”.
“Thomas… Tommy…” A few tears came to her glistened eyes. She got him up and smiled as wide as she could “Yes!!! Yes, a thousand times yes!!!”.
Everyone cheered for the couple as some guys grunted, damning the stupid Coleman boy for having her first and now until they were husband and wife. Joanna grabbed Thomas’s face and kissed him passionately, making the elders chuckle as Odessa shook her head. She had never been so happy for Joanna… not since her Vincent proposed to her.
Briar ran towards them, squealing and asking for details as Pavarti and Mrs. Coleman spoke of the wedding, how it’d be and many, many awful details.
That night everyone celebrated the newest engagement, dancing around and eating Mrs. Daly’s delicious delicacies as Thomas and Joanna giggled, their eyes and hands on each other.
Odessa knew that this wouldn’t last, but that was a conversation that she’d have later.
“For now, let her be happy.” She said, looking at the moon, the same moon that made certain that she and her Vincent weren’t so far from each other. 
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claraxbarton · 5 years
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Mandatory Fun Day: St. Patrick’s Day!
Written for the first @mandatoryfunday post!
-o-
It’s after two in the morning when Bucky opened his door.
There had been no knock, but after blinking awake in the dark, alone and cold in his bed, to the sounds of low voices and stumbling feet in the hall outside of his apartment, Bucky had known that whoever was on the other side of his door was likely to require assistance. All the same, he had waited five minutes, had gotten up and pulled on pants and filled up a glass with water and hunted down aspirin and put together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and arranged the supplies on the kitchen counter.
And then he opened his door.
Standing on the other side are, without a doubt, two of the dumbest, prettiest, most irritating blond haired assholes known to mankind. It’s just Bucky’s shit luck that he has a type, and that this is it.
Two pairs of blue eyes look at him, take in his unimpressed face and crossed arms and sleep-mussed hair.
Steve Rogers had been the first boy Bucky ever kissed, the first boy he ever loved, the first - the first a lot of things. And while the love Bucky felt for Steve had changed, over the years, had shaped itself into something that wasn’t some kind of all-consuming passionate thing that it had once been, it was still no less intense and no less important to him. Loving Steve Rogers had felt like the right thing since the day they meet, and Bucky couldn’t imagine being in a world that didn’t have him in it, that didn’t have them loving each other in it.
Clint Barton, on the other hand, wasn’t someone Bucky had ever, in a thousand years, imagined himself falling for. For one thing, he was a former Marine sniper and he and Bucky had first met back when Bucky and Steve were still in the Army, and their first exchange of words had included a lot of very non-sexual ‘fuck yous’ and they had both ended up with bruised knuckles and bloody faces. For another thing, he was so much like Steve ‘I’m not worth dying for but I will lay down my life for every stranger no matter what’ Rogers that there was no way Bucky was dumb enough to get involved with two such idiots.
Turned out, Bucky was dumb enough.
It took five years - took them both getting discharged, Bucky after losing an arm and Clint after losing the will to pull the trigger for another enlistment; took them being re-introduced via Natasha, who seemed to know everyone and who swore to this day that she didn’t meddle in her friends’ love lives despite the fact that Bucky didn’t know a single one of her friends that hadn’t been set up on at least three blind dates by her; took a one night stand and then six months of drunken booty calls before they could stand to actually go on a proper date with each other.
But here they were, two years of dating and nearly six months of living together later, and Bucky was standing in his apartment glaring at his best friend and his boyfriend while they grinned back at him with their dumb, pretty faces and stupid blue eyes.
They were both messes - clothes and hair disheveled, faces bruised and knuckles even worse off.
It was, in a small way, maybe Bucky’s fault. He had, after all, been the one to laugh at Steve’s Kiss Me, I’m Irish shirt last St. Patrick’s Day and suggest that Steve get one that said Fight Me, I’m Irish instead. And of course Clint had heard Bucky say that. And of course Clint had gotten Steve a shirt. And of course, Steve had gotten Clint one to match.
So, really, Bucky had only himself to blame now that it was St. Patrick’s Day - or two hours after the end of it - and he had two drunk, broken blond idiots on his doorstep.
“You realize you have a key, right?” He asked.
They looked at each other, and then offered nearly identical sheepish grins to Bucky.
“Lost my keys in the river,” Clint shrugged.
“Forgot I had a key,” Steve mumbled, patting at his pockets until he located his keys and then held up the key ring, apparently for no reason whatsoever.
Bucky turned away from him and narrowed his eyes at Clint.
“You lost your keys in the river,” he repeated.
Clint grinned at him.
It was his ‘I know I’m fucking stupid but don’t you remember how good I am at rim jobs and foot massages’ smile.
Bucky sighed and moved to one side, allowing Clint into the apartment.
Steve looked a little forlorn.
“You need to crash here or are you going to go home and beg Sam’s forgiveness?” Bucky asked him.
Steve looked like he was genuinely torn.
Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled him into a hug.
“Go home, punk. Sam knows you’re an idiot and he still puts up with you anyway.”
“Puts up with you too,” Steve mumbled into Bucky’s shirt.
Steve smelled like sweat and beer and smoke. It was not Bucky’s favorite combination.
He shoved Steve away and Steve gave him a dopey, drunk grin.
Bucky shut the door in his face.
Clint was in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge, eyes closed, half-eaten sandwich in one hand and glass of water in the other. The aspirin was nowhere in sight.
“How many fights did you get into?” Bucky asked him.
“Seven,” Clint said after taking another bite of the sandwich. “No, eight. There was that guy on the subway.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered. He supposed he should really be grateful that neither he nor Sam had had to go and bail their asses out of jail.
Bucky stepped into Clint’s space, pressed a kiss to his forehead and then urged him to drink more water.
Clint complied and then opened his eyes. He looked at Bucky, eyes a little glazed, definitely drunk and exhausted.
“You know I’m the luckiest guy in the world, right?” Clint asked.
Bucky lifted his eyebrows.
Clint gestured with the sandwich and the water, some kind of broad, sweeping motion that was maybe supposed to encompass the apartment, maybe all of Brooklyn.
“Coulda died a thousand times before I met you. Coulda died a hundred since. But instead I’m here with you and that makes me the luckiest guy in the world.”
Clint, contrary to all of Bucky’s expectations, turned deeply serious and philosophical when drunk. Sure, give him three beers and he became as handsy and goofy as Steve when Steve had have seven beers, but give Clint seven beers and for the time it took him to either sober up or pass out after that, he was quietly but sincerely analyzing his life choices and those of the people he cared most about.
“So you celebrated that realization by getting into eight fights?” Bucky asked, trying to deflect, because he didn’t mind this version of Clint, he genuinely didn’t mind any version of Clint - not even the whiny man-baby sick version of him when Clint was struck down with a cold once a year - but he knew Clint almost always felt embarrassed after the fact when he took this kind of turn.
“Stopping eight fights,” Clint corrected and then finished off the sandwich. “Steve started them.”
That sure as hell sounded right.
Bucky snorted a laugh and shook his head.
Clint finished off the water and put the glass in the sink. He turned back to Bucky and reached out to tuck his fingers into the waist of Bucky’s pants and used that as leverage to pull him close.
“I mean it,” Clint said once he had his arms around Bucky’s back and their noses brushing together. “Luckiest guy in the world.”
Bucky kissed him, he had to.
“Second luckiest. I’m the guy who’s got you, after all.”
-o-
83 notes · View notes
gratiasancti · 5 years
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100 PERSONAL QUESTIONS
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because @ineffablequestion​ decided to really put my patience to the test today . not that i mind , ily .
1. What is your middle name ?
maria 
2. How old are you ?
23 as of right now !
3. When is your birthday?
oct. 19th
4. What is your zodiac sign?
libra waddup
5. What is your favorite color?
i don’t really have one ? muted colours probably
6. What’s your lucky number?
again, can’t say i have one but maybe 29
7. Do you have any pets?
a dod and a horse
8. Where are you from?
finland / uk
9. How tall are you?
174 cm
10. What shoe size are you?
eu 39-40
11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?
like seven, if you don’t count my collection of riding shoes and boots. oxfords, brogues, wellies, trainers, and the rest are probably heels. as for riding boots, a lot.
12. What was your last dream about?
that i was late from work and got thrown in a tar pit because of it. and then i sold my old history teacher 500€ worth of alcohol and lottery tickets.
13. What talents do you have?
none?? unlimited sarcasm, idk
14. Are you psychic in any way?
i’m not sure if i believe in this stuff
15. Favorite song?
honestly, anything from hippo campus or glass animals.
16. Favorite movie?
the grand budapest hotel
17. Who would be your ideal partner?
someone who counteracts some of my anxiety and excitedness with a calm and, when needed, firm character but is still funny and can be themselves. preferably someone who i feel is my intellectual equal, and we can share everything with each other. maybe a bit older than myself, but not by much. other than that, i really don’t care.
18. Do you want children?
currently, i can’t see myself ever having kids. just doesn’t seem like my thing. especially babies. maybe adopting or fostering could be an option, but only if i was sure i could give the child a good home.
19. Do you want a church wedding?
i don’t think i want to get married
20. Are you religious?
not particularly
21. Have you ever been to the hospital?
maaaaaaany times. multiple riding accidents, broken bones, a car crash. then just being an idiot in general. and chronic back problems.
22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?
apart from once forgetting to pay for the underground and getting an 80€ fine, no.
23. Have you ever met any celebrities?
i’ve met and had dinner with two different finnish presidents and some other ‘upper class’ people but other than that, no. 
24. Baths or showers?
one of those rain shower things
25. What color socks are you wearing?
i have no socks !!!
26. Have you ever been famous?
uhhhh not in the literal sense of the word but i’ve been infamous at school when i was like 15. made a meme of one of our teachers that went low key viral in our city.
27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?
definitely not in the hollywood sense of things. 
28. What type of music do you like?
a lot of things. anything, really, depending on the time of day and if i’m feeling particularly emo.
29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?
that’s like the only type of swimming finnish people partake in. naked in the sauna, naked in the lake/ocean. so yes, multiple times a year jhdsnhb
30. How many pillows do you sleep with?
currently like five
31. What position do you usually sleep in?
either on my back or on my stomach. depends on what place hurts that day lmao.
32. How big is your house?
closer to 400 m^2 . i still live with my parents but will move into my own flat in six months, once it’s ready. that’s going to be appx 70 m^2.
33. What do you typically have for breakfast?
i know its a bad habit but i often dont have breakfast. if i do it's usually fruit and yoghurt or some toast.
34. Have you ever fired a gun?
yes
35. Have you ever tried archery?
yes. fun fact; my cousin has won the european championchip ( in some form of archery idk ) like twice , i think. 
36. Favorite clean word?
defenestrate
37. Favorite swear word?
fuck. i use it Too Much™
38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?
can’t remember the exact amount of hours but we were sailing and our shifts got messed up to the point where i had either not slept at all or slept so little in like four days i was genuinely hallucinating. almost jumped into the sea because i thought i dropped my life vest,,, which i was wearing.
39. Do you have any scars?
a few. dumbest one probably when i rode in my shorts but used a saddle and rubbed the skin off of my calf. also from hay work, those little dots that look almost like moles.
40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?
not that i know of
41. Are you a good liar?
yes, unfortunately. it’s a bad habit in the sense that i tell a lot of white lies when i could genuinely tell the truth with no consequence. like, it would be the one and the same.
42. Are you a good judge of character?
also yes. i’ve seen some shit. also i have surprisingly good people skills.
43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?
i can speak english in my normal accent which is kind of queen’s english (?) upper class idk, then in world’s english ( so basically no accent / neutral ) and then in finnish (rally) english .  i can also speak swedish with a rikssvenska (standard swedish ???) accent and then finlandssvenska which is finnish swedish (and an actual thing lmao). also i can butcher a norwegian or danish accent in swedish if i really try. my finnish is very neutral, but it does vary a bit depending on what city i’m in.
oh, and also a shitty southern american accent. 
44. Do you have a strong accent?
if i let it shine through, yes, but i tend toward world english because anything else scares finns. but when i speak finnish (which is most of the time) i don’t really have an accent. maybe you can hear that i’m not 100% finnish but that’s about it.
45. What is your favorite accent?
i don’t really have one ! all accents are really fascinating.
46. What is your personality type?
entj-a
47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?
i have a few expensive dresses, and then of course my riding clothes which cost ridiculous amounts of money because fuck everyone who likes horses, i guess. like excuse me but why is it normalised that you pay over 1000€ for a helmet??? anything less and you’re a peasant.
48. Can you curl your tongue?
mmmmyeah. 
49. Are you an innie or an outie?
innie!
50. Left or right handed?
pretty much ambidextrous, though i prefer to write with my left but do everything else mostly with my right. my handwriting doesn’t differ too much from left to write.
51. Are you scared of spiders?
yes. ew. and we’re lucky to only have tiny ones in finland !
52. Favorite food?
ummmmm. currently carelian pie maybe?? idk such a good snack.
53. Favorite foreign food?
squints??? sushi????
54. Are you a clean or messy person?
depends. often too lazy to clean but incredibly stressed and uncomfortable when its messy. meticulous about all the wrong things.
55. Most used phrase?
either some form of keysmash or “FUCK”. also in finnish either “voi jumalauta” or “voi saatana” which both basically translate to “jesus fucking christ”.
56. Most used word?
also fuck. this really must say something about me smdh.
57. How long does it take for you to get ready?
really depends. sometimes 10 minutes, sometimes two hours. on a normal day w/ shower and moderate make up, 15-25 minutes.
58. Do you have much of an ego?
depends really. i hope i don’t!
59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?
whomst the FUCK bites lollipops ?!?!?!
60. Do you talk to yourself?
i’ve only recently started. it’s terrifying.
61. Do you sing to yourself?
when driving if i’m listening to music, yeah
62. Are you a good singer?
honestly, no clue. i don’t really sing in front of people so i haven’t gotten opinions.
63. Biggest Fear?
failure.
64. Are you a gossip?
not about my friends, ever. but i will definitely listen to any tea you want to spill.
65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?
idk does kingsman count as dramatic?? the first one was hilarious.
66. Do you like long or short hair?
both have their perks!
67. Can you name all 50 states of America?
LMAO i can name like 3 if i really try.
68. Favorite school subject?
history, english lang & lit, economics.
69. Extrovert or Introvert?
extrovert but i get tired easily
70. Have you ever been scuba diving?
yes ! we go to the maldives once in a while, because finland doesn’t offer much in terms of diving sites.
71. What makes you nervous?
not a lot of things? i guess some responsibilities. things left for me to do even if someone else was supposed to do them.
72. Are you scared of the dark?
a dark room ? no. a dark forest at midnight ? hell yess. finnish winter darkness is terrifying simply because its so depressing. seasonal depression is real yall.
73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?
depends. if it’s a trivial mistake and they haven’t asked to be corrected, no. if it makes me or someone else feel bad or just makes any situation worse, then yes. but never unkindly.
74. Are you ticklish?
YES. ugh
75. Have you ever started a rumor?
no. i can’t recall doing so, at least. but i have participated in spreading them.
76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?
yes. at work a couple of times simply out of necessity and also when i took part in MEP. was committee president twice and president of the general assembly once. though idk if that counts since i was like 17 and its all p much play pretend.
oh! and also when i captain our boat. but again, idk if that counts.
77. Have you ever drank underage?
yeah, ever since i was like 16 :/
78. Have you ever done drugs?
no, and never will. not my thing !!
79. Who was your first real crush?
probably a boy from class. i can’t remember, really. i’ve never been too  ‘romantically inclined’ i  suppose.
80. How many piercings do you have?
just my ears, once.
81. Can you roll your Rs?
almost every r in the finnish language is technically rolled so yeah. i feel bad for those finnish people who cant !! makes everything so hard.
82. How fast can you type?
according to this thing 75 words per minute on my first try, so idk how accurate that is.
83. How fast can you run?
not fast. i  hate running, and am very out of practice. 
84. What color is your hair?
idk ? like, light brown ?
85. What color are your eyes?
again, idk. blue/green/grey
86. What are you allergic to?
dogs, cats, birch, and almost anything that flowers in the spring jshbdsjh
87. Do you keep a journal?
not a journal per se but i have a ‘little black book’ which i keep rather meticulously about my thoughts on the day, important things i need to remember, my expenses etc. a habit inherited from my dad. i’ve gone through like six of these in the past few years.
88. What do your parents do?
my mum is a mayor and my dad is a ceo
89. Do you like your age?
yeah !
90. What makes you angry?
injustice.
91. Do you like your own name?
yes !
92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?
ksjdsjhb no. at this rate i’d end up naming a child crowley or sum shit
93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?
i don’t want kids but if i did gender would be a non issue
94. What are you strengths?
lmao i have good people skills, work well under pressure, get along with everyone, am determined and ?? a good leader??? idk
95. What are your weaknesses?
i take on too much responsibility, i have anxiety and depression, i get frustrated at my own failures, i’m very self-critical and unforgiving. also no self-control when it comes to rp.
96. How did you get your name?
i think somewhere from my dad’s side, not entirely sure.
97. Were your ancestors royalty?
possibly? not sure. but fun fact! a great great grandmother (? or something of the sorts) from my mother’s side actually survived the sinking of the titanic.
98. Do you have any scars?
wasn’t this asked already?
99. Color of your bedspread?
this blue mandala like pattern idk
100. Color of your room?
white and a very mellow blue
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womenofcolor15 · 4 years
Text
TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES! Teddy Riley vs. Babyface's Live Battle Fail Taught Us A Valuable Lesson – Sometimes Less Is More
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When doing the most goes totally wrong! The Teddy Riley vs. Babyface IG Live Verzuz Battle got postponed after Teddy experienced technical difficulties. Find out what happened, plus the endless memes that came from the failed attempt inside….
  The highly anticipated R&B Battle between Teddy Riley & Babyface has been postponed once again. The first time it was delayed due to Babyface (and his family) being sick. He caught COVID-19 and wasn’t quite 100% for the first scheduled battle, so they postponed it.
Last night was supposed to be the night for the Instagram Live Verzuz Battle but, nope.
        View this post on Instagram
                  Let’s have some fun with it y’all..:)
A post shared by Kenny Edmonds (@babyface) on Apr 18, 2020 at 3:00pm PDT
  The King of New Jack Swing had a set up like he was about to perform for a concert. And there wasn't much social distancing going on. He had a whole production crew to accompany him for the live battle. Meanwhile, Babyface was sitting alone in his studio with earphones - chill AF. With 400,000 viewers tuned into the Live, Teddy just couldn’t get things straight on his end. He was having major issues with his audio. There were playback and echoes every time Teddy tried to play a track.
However, fans could hear Babyface just fine. His music played through the Live perfectly. The comments were lit up with jokes about the R&B OGs not being able to operate social media. Teddy is 53 and Babyface is 62 after celebrating a birthday last week. Like we said, Babyface had ZERO issues on his end.
The battle was supposed to start at 9pm, but by 10pm it still hadn’t started. A person from Teddy’s crew hopped on camera and told viewers to come back in 30 minutes while they worked out their technical difficulties.
Here’s some of what went down:
youtube
By that time, Babyface was over it and suggested the battle be postponed at a later time:
        View this post on Instagram
                  Thank you everyone for being there for us
A post shared by Kenny Edmonds (@babyface) on Apr 18, 2020 at 7:28pm PDT
"I think that it’s only right that we postpone this thing until another time when there aren’t any technical difficulties, and everybody can hear the music the way it needs to be heard," he said.
Teddy Riley then posted a video to apologize for the audio issues while comparing the snafu to a boxing match:
        View this post on Instagram
                      A post shared by Teddy Riley (@teddyriley1) on Apr 18, 2020 at 9:00pm PDT
  "It's just like a boxing match. If something goes wrong, we have to do it again," he said.
Well, folks have been waiting for this matchup for a few weeks now and they wanted a show! Especially with us all being stuck in the house for over a month.
As you know, the Internet has ZERO chill, so the memes started right after Teddy ended his live and they are EPIC. Several celebrities also spoke out about the battle that never happened.
Singer Toni Braxton - who has collaborated on several songs with Babyface - dragged Teddy for his production issues:
        View this post on Instagram
                  #ToniBraxton dragged #TeddyRiley on Twitter over his technical difficulties during the #Verzuz session with #Babyface.
A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Apr 18, 2020 at 10:08pm PDT
  Toni's sister Tamar Braxton was pissed they wasted her time:
        View this post on Instagram
                  #Babyface #Verzuz
A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Apr 18, 2020 at 10:12pm PDT
  "RHOA" star/XSCAPE singer Kandi Burruss commented on Teddy making folks wait through his soundcheck: 
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Swizz Beatz - one of the masterminds behind the Verzuz series - posted a funny meme following the battle. We're sure his phone was ringing off the hook as this all was going down.
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Former football player/TV host Anthony "Spice" Adams never disappoints with his reenactments: 
        View this post on Instagram
                      A post shared by Anthony Adams (@spiceadams) on Apr 18, 2020 at 9:40pm PDT
  Comedian Lil Duval suggested Teddy put the microphone down and just use his phone to play his music: 
        View this post on Instagram
                  Send this to Teddy immediately. Baby face sounds amazing tho
A post shared by lilduval (@lilduval) on Apr 18, 2020 at 7:07pm PDT
  Reporter Van Lathan cracked jokes with the Michael Jordan crying meme and Teddy's daughter, Nia Riley, responded: 
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"Lmao, go to hell bro," Nia wrote.
Power 105's Charlamagne tha God posted several hilarious memes: 
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DJ Boof dropped some funny memes as well: 
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And here are tons more funny memes to keep you laughing: 
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  Michael Jackson looking at Teddy right now #VERZUZ pic.twitter.com/y5eWNmF32l
— IG: @CARIBDEON (@CaribDeon) April 19, 2020
            View this post on Instagram
                  Teddy Riley starter kit $9.99 . Swipe right for details .. #NoSound #IfDoingTheMostWasAPerson #TeddyRiley #Verzus #AmazonPrime #DMMeYOUROrders #teddyrileyvsbabyface
A post shared by @ city2citytravels_ on Apr 18, 2020 at 7:42pm PDT
              View this post on Instagram
                  Teddy Riley talkin bout we gone start back up in 30 min and babyface was like
A post shared by City King (@kingkeraun) on Apr 18, 2020 at 7:39pm PDT
    Teddy’s team: We’ll reconvene in 30 mins.
Babyface: pic.twitter.com/AJPjD6nIgS
— Your Cousin That Work At The Pentagon (@stevechristo_) April 19, 2020
  Apparently, Teddy had the good audio streaming to his own website:
This is the dumbest shit. pic.twitter.com/akKntYBs1Q
— In the House Like Cool J. (@naima) April 19, 2020
            View this post on Instagram
                  So #TeddyRiley was having a whole nother livestream last night on his own website with the good audio feed. SMH. 450k people showed up for the @verzuztv battle and you got the QUALITY music feed going to YOUR own website? That ain’t technical difficulties at all. That’s DOIN TOO MUCH TO THE MAX! Teddy had a full production with a band and multiple camera angles when all the fans wanted was you and an AUC cord. #DTM #verzuz #versusbattle
A post shared by Isaac Hayes III (@isaachayes3) on Apr 19, 2020 at 5:19am PDT
  Hilarious! 
Photos: Jamie Lamor Thompson/ DFree/Shutterstock.com
[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/04/19/technical-difficulties-teddy-riley-vs-babyface-live-battle-fail-taught-us-a-valuable-less
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My SECOND blog is named deadlineheavyvinylfire. You can find it on deadlineheavyvinylfire.tumblr.com. The first one I lost, and was named something like ‘the last book legit’. If you find it, and I’m going on about butchering an old paramour, mailing them to Illinois in seventeen different boxes, next day air: then you’ve found the right one! I won’t go to trouble to expose it, you can dig it up yourself, but those verses are from a different time, and although I wrote them, they tell the gospel of a different man. This is something new entirely.
It’s funny, when they say that you have to write down the lies you tell or else you’ll forget them, they AREN’T joking. Most people know this. And I think the common wisdom is that you’ll forget completely, and be caught lying, but I’m realizing there’s more. You can also start to believe the lies you tell, especially the ones that everyone else believes, and that’s dangerous. If you aren’t careful, that causes you to fail. It’s easy to do. For example: you accomplish a feat, and pretend like it was easy, why not?—it gives people an excuse for their own failure. People love to be told (although they pretend they don’t) that you were born better, that it’s impossible for them to do a thing. Cook up some crackpot science about how everyone is traumatized before birth by unsuccessful abortions (dianetics) and there will be a new sucker born every minute willing to believe it.
Moving on, regardless of why, you tell a lie, and it’s effortless, and sometimes you forget it WAS a lie. Sometimes you have to prove your claim publicly (that it was the truth) and forget to make up for it later, when no one is watching. Then you start to fall behind. You stop practicing. You stop doing the things that only you did, that made you better. You stop being good. And you don’t even realize what’s happening.
I just caught myself doing it. I used to people that I didn’t even edit. Holy shit that was a lie. I edited every single line at least once and probably four times. I’ll do it again. I’ll confess right here that I do and then I’ll convince you later I don’t. Game on!
I was poor when I wrote my first blog and I am poor now. I made three million dollars on paper in between, but with nothing to show for it, no one even believes me. ‘S ok...it’s good for the system that they don’t. The system depends on people slaving away their entire lives to try and make a fortune. It doesn’t want those people realizing that you can make a fortune and lose it and be happy without it. That could get messy.
So I don’t tell people often. You cannot comprehend how infuriating it is to make three million dollars, and lose it, and then watch someone accuse you of making it all up with their eyes. I can tell someone, see the disbelief in their eyes, and want to strangle them, without them saying a word. But it’s ok. I learned a lesson, an expensive one, and I’m happy I did. I don’t need people to believe me to move on.
Fact is, I was extremely happy when I made the three million, but it was because of the success of my endeavor, it was because of the thrill of the accomplishment. It wasn’t because of the money. I’ve felt just as great with other accomplishments. I consider that a priceless lesson. Never again will I chase money just for the sake of having money. No. Now I’m concentrated on finding happiness.
And that’s why I’m writing. A little fame never hurt.
Yesterday I quietly promised myself to write at least one thousand words a day. Let's crunch those numbers really quick. Three hundred and sixty five days in the year would make the hundred and sixty five thousand words a year. In ten years that would be three million six hundred thousand words. In thirty years it would be over ten million words. Prolific, but is it enough? Some have definitely wrote more. And some have written less. What if it was two thousand a day? Seven hundred thousand a year, seven million in ten years, twenty one million words in thirty years. That sounds much more impressive, perhaps we will upgrade to that once we have the hang of one thousand per day.
They have a saying that ten thousand hours, at any exercise, will create an expert, and I'm inclined to agree. When it comes to editing, I already feel like an expert, but it's only wishful thinking. I'm not. Let's calculate the hours using those models we used for words. One to three hours for each one thousand words will be three hundred to nine hundred hours per year, which would make me an expert within ten to thirty years. But I believe it will be sooner than that. If I spend one hour per day writing then there will absolutely be some days that I spend ten hours writing. I believe I can stack up ten thousand hours in five years, but that's just a gut instinct, I could be very wrong.
I miss the spirit. While writing my first blog I have a spiritual friend who possessed me when I wrote. I could feel his presence as he guided my hand. He made it easy. Of course, I was in a very magical state during that time, and it may be easy to get him back. Perhaps I just have to try.
I'm reading literature about the order of the nine angles. I don't buy into the nazi crap so it's obvious that I don't do the nazi mass, but when it comes to traditional Satanism: no one has created as much literature as ONA. I'm not a fan of throwing the baby out with the bath water. So if you think I shouldn't read anything by Anton Long because he once wrote something in praise of Adolf Hitler then I'm going to reply, hurry up and get writing then. I will not give up the ONA literature without a replacement. They have published more about traditional Satanism, completely unrelated to Hitler, than any other group.
TADA, I've reached a thousand words. It happened without me noticing. That's good. I must encourage the spirit more. Enter my body. Move my fingers. Let your wisdom flow through me. Even though I've hit one thousand, that's just the one thousand that I had promised myself yesterday. I still have another thousand to finish today. That's OK. I have time and I will seek out my energetic friend. My literary familiar.
I've always mastrubated a lot. I blame my father for not telling me that it isn't good. Some people might blame pornographers, but the thing is that I started compulsively mastrubating before I was exposed to pornography. You could make an argument that massaging shower head producers are partially to blame, because it was the massaging shower head that first introduced me. On the shower at my parents, you could twist the top, and instead of the regular rain shower, it became a pressurized stream. I was probably twelve years old when I became curious how it would feel to have that stream directed to my penis. It felt good. I wanted to do it more. This was fun.
I "massaged" my twelve year old penis with water in the shower for weeks just for the tickle it gave me. At that point my penis had never gotten hard and I definitely never ejaculated. So when I orgasmed the first time after weeks of "massage", it was a shock. I didn't understand what happened, but the dopamine rush let me know I liked it and I've been chasing orgasms ever since. That sounds pathetic to read, but I think it's a common experience of my contemporaries. We are mostly just confused orgasm chasers, to an extent, aren't we?
8068 whitecastle downtown
I make plans to go with am old flame to the barcade downtown. I hate it. This was the cool thing to do a half a decade ago and I guess it still is. I love her. I could just do the dumbest shit with her and it would be so bad, or at least I think. So I'm excited. But I can't get into it. Going to the bar downtown is a celebration of us, America, Columbus, myself...and I just don't have anything to celebrate. I hate columbus, America, myself and us. That's probably why it feels alien to me. I hate everything about this culture and without something personal to celebrate it feels fake to enjoy myself within it.
Or maybe it's something else, I don't know. But I do know that I wish I wouldn't have texted her so much about rape because that's evidence if I did rape her, which I won't, but should I? It's the biggest compliment I can give her right? I'm willing to risk a decade locked in a cage just to reach a physical union.
I'm fucking up. I fucked up. I will be fucked. My plan to write 1000 words a day is falling apart. It's day four and I'm only
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