#a friend was like 'the stage left? pursued by bear?' and i lost it entirely

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

My Underfell timeline headcanons

Hello !

So, I did a lot of thinking recently and I might write an Underfell fanfiction soon. But since I have already a lot of projets ongoing, for now, it's just some headcanons about the main timeline of the Underfell universe and how I see it.

Obviously, it's deviating from the original @underfell's story, but it's also because I think Underfell is way too nice today. So what if it was more dark fantasy style?

The headcanons are mostly about the royal family, and UF Undyne too. A bit about Sans and Papyrus too, but it's not the main focus here.

TRIGGER WARNING : The text below the cut contains mentions of children and women abuse, violence, forced marriage, murder. Please do not read if you're sensitive to these topics. I'm not joking when I'm saying I'm doing this dark fantasy style.

If you're ok with all of this, don't hesitate to leave a small review about what you think of this, I would love your opinion!

BEFORE FRISK :

So, basically, the part about the war doesn't change much. After a war against humanity, monsters got locked down Underground, and King Asgore, very pissed off, declared that every monster must gain LV to prepare the war to come because he's not giving up that easily.

Toriel and Asgore married shortly before being locked up. It was mostly an arranged marriage, so Asgore could have a heir to pursue his dream of destroying humanity. Except Asriel... Didn't really care about that. Like, at all. He read a lots of things about humanity, and was more curious about knowing them.

As time passed, Asgore became more and more frustrated about the lack of enthusiasm of Asriel, and of monsterkind in general. Unable to keep his anger for himself, one day he was asking Asriel how to kill a human, he lost his patience when his kid told him he didn't wanted to kill anyone. Then he hit him. Toriel intervened, but Asgore took revenge on her too, and never stopped since. Toriel was fine with it, as long as this monster left their son alone.

When Chara fell, Asgore wanted to kill them straight away. But Toriel, seeing that kid obviously had been abused, couldn't just let this happened, and managed to convince Asgore to keep them, even if he had to be twice as violent with her.

Asriel and Chara soon became best friends, and that's where Dr Gaster enters on the stage, with a plan about how seven humans souls could break the barrier. Asriel overheard everything they said, and especially the part when Asgore authorized Gaster to kill Chara without an hesitation. Asriel warned Toriel and Chara, and Toriel decided she had enough of his husband's shit and left with the children. Asgore soon realised what happened and sent the Royal Guard to take the human child, even if they had to kill Asriel and Toriel.

That's what happened. Chara died first, shot with an arrow. Asriel absorbed their soul so their mom could escape in the Ruins as he defended the door, since he knew Asgore would never forgive her. Asriel dusted near the entrance of the Ruins, on the only golden flower he had taken with him as a reminder of his ancient life.

Full of grief, Toriel fell into insanity. She became paranoid of every monster in the Ruins, thinking they were Asgore's spy, and killed all of them. Except, when she realised she was now entirely alone, she lost her mind completely and decided to live as if her kids were still with her. Every human that fell next were Chara, and they couldn't bear her insecurities, so they ran away.

After Asriel and Chara's deaths, Asgore killed six humans. He doesn't know if Toriel is alive or not, and he quite doesn't care actually. Instead, he focused on the Royal Guard and how to improve it.

FRISK'S JOURNEY :

When Frik fell down, they found Toriel, still completely insane, but managed with their kindness to make her understand they were not Chara. Toriel didn't take it well, but in the end, after a long fight, realised that kid might be the key to set them free.

The journey next is pretty much the same as the common Underfell timelines. With the help of Flowey, Frisk befriended anyone : Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton. Only Sans was not happy about it, and confronted them in the Judgement Hall, and tried to kill them to force them to realise there is nothing good Underground.

That's didn't really work, so, in despair, Sans forced Frisk to kill a monster, absorb their soul and teleported them to the Barrier, and pushed them outside like you put a dog outside. All done, no one is dead and the kid didn't fight Asgore. Nice job!

Except the kid decided Sans was not the boss of them, cimbed back the Mountain and jumped back in. Toriel, Papyrus, Sans, Undyne, Alphys and Mettaton made a truce to protect the kid and never talk about them so Asgore's never found out about them. And that's how Frisk managed to give mostly an happy ending to monsterkind, despite still being stuck Underground at Asgore's nose and beard.

HOW MONSTERS LEFT THE UNDERGROUND :

As the months passed, Papyrus noticed Undyne was weirder and weirder. Almost agressive with everyone, always late at the meetings, and everytime the same excuse : she needed to see something with Asgore. Now, Papyrus doesn't care that much, Undyne is his rival, but still, something is bothering him.

One day he was visiting the castle for guard duty, Papyrus saw the King and Undyne kissing. Now, he's no one to judge, so he doesn't say anything, but something is still bothering him. He KNOWS Undyne is more into women, she said it a million times as she beat royal guard that tried to seduce her. So what changed?

Some time passed and Papyrus became more and more worry, as Undyne slowly goes entirely silent, a bit like Sans. She doesn't want to do anything, she is not at work several days in the week, and she doesn't want to talk with Papyrus about it.

Except that one day, when she announced Papyrus she was giving him the entire lead of the Royal Guard, because she couldn't assume the role any much longer. Papyrus didn't understand her decision until King Asgore announced on TV that he engaged with Undyne, who was standing next to him, completely shut down. That's where he understood something was really, really wrong.

The next few days, Papyrus tried to see her, but King Asgore forbid him the access to see Undyne. Since he's now head of the Royal Guard, he abuses of his authority to outpass the King's orders. He found Undyne chained like an animal in a room, crying, the face swollened. When she saw him, Undyne let go everything : how the King harrassed her for years, first with some comments on her body, then hands on her butt, then insults and punches when she tried to reject him, and finally how he ordered her to marry him so he can have a new heir. Undyne fought back, but the King managed to lock her up to convince her to go "quicker".

Papyrus heard enough shit for one day, he's getting her out of this hell. Except the King enters at this precised moment. When he saw Papyrus, he understood Undyne said everything, but before he could said anything, Papyrus attacked. He had nothing to lose anymore since he knew he was already dead.

After an endless fight, Asgore managed to beat him up, and as he's claiming his victory, Undyne, that managed to free herself, decapitates him before he can kill Papyrus for good.

The King dead, Papyrus is elected new king, and with Frisk and Alphys' help, they managed to break the Barrier thanks to Alphys realising you don't need a human to be dead to use their soul directly on the Barrier. Monsters are free, and everyone can now heal, and Undyne can finally marry Alphys (after some time for herself, because bitch, that's a big chunk to swallow).

And after that, everyone is mostly happy on the Surface and not killing everyone.

Tada !

#underfell #undertale ask blog #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Black - Chapter 10

Here's a chapter that was exceedingly fun to write. I hope you enjoy it :D

@legolasbadass I have officially tagged you in something, now, go back to writing 😂

Fandom: The Hobbit

Characters : Thorin x OC, the rest, special mention for Dwalin being a cutie

Words: 5,5 k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: blood, reference to bodily harm, reference to God, ALSO: I am a drama queen *shrug*

“I think you are being unreasonable.” Faith shook her head at him. “Who? Uncle?” Kíli sauntered up to them, bowing crisply to her and adding: “I came to check on you, but I see our own dragon is guarding you jealously.”

“Get dressed, woman, if that one is here, the others are not far behind.” Thorin grumbled and blocked the view of his much too curious nephew while Faith was huddled in the corner of her room, slipping into her chemise and an old rough spun dress she had found in the pile of clothes that were left to her.

Faith had to admit that Thorin might have been right when other dwarrows presented themselves as well in front of her door, “to check on her” as if she was as sickly kitten. “Dori sends me with tea.” Ori mumbled, holding a literal pot of tea in his gloved hands.

“That is ever so kind.” Faith smiled, pouring the rest of her wine back into the carafe and extending the mug to the sweet dwarrow hovering just outside her door. Apparently, there was indeed something unseemly about crossing the threshold of an unmarried woman as an unmarried man. She wondered if that would have been the same if the townspeople of her home had lived. As it was, she would never know, but there was something quite touching in the pile-up of dwarrows outside her room.

“Oh, you’re holding court like a real queen. What is uncle unreasonable about?” Kíli silenced the others by almost screaming.

“Mistress Faith was on her way to bed when you barged in like a fool.” Thorin muttered, obviously in a cantankerous mood.

“She was not, she was berating you!” Kíli replied petulantly. “I don’t think your uncle, the king, should be camped outside of my door.” Faith intervened with an explanation.

“Why don’t you just bolt the door?” The lad asked, scratching his head. When she explained that she couldn’t open the door on her own and that she didn’t like feeling locked in, he gave his uncle a short nod and shrugged: “In that case, uncle is not being unreasonable at all. Let me know if you want company, I can sit with you.”

Faith was speechless. “You are a guest, and we’ll keep you safe.” Kíli said with an easy smile.

“I am safe.” Faith protested. “You are now because you have uncle outside your door. And us.” Kíli winked at her with that youthful pride and confidence that made her heart swell. Oh, bless that kid, she thought, may the stars align for him and bring him endless happiness.

“There you are!” Dwalin came barrelling down the corridor. “Me?” She was taken aback and tiny bit startled.

“No, not you, Mistress. That oaf, the king.” Dwalin nodded to her with what might have been a smile, Faith was not entirely sure and conversed in low, murmured words with Thorin. Faith just sat and listened to the sound of it, weirdly calmed and comforted by the rough elegance of their very own, secret language.

“Mistress Faith? Ah, there comes Fíli.” Faith scrambled to her feet and curtsied for the heir to the throne who presented her with a small cake. “We apologise humbly for having led you astray and for risking your good name. And for annoying you about uncle, we didn’t tell mother everything, but she was not happy either way.” The prince laughed. Faith was impressed by how resolutely and soberly he admitted fault and tried to redress his potential missteps; she understood that their social life had been an unsteady and uncertain thing and that it had been a priority to make them valuable fighters rather than charming courtiers.

Nonetheless, she admired them for their light-hearted honesty as much as for their supposed prowess.

“You’ve given us sweets and now, we give you cake. That makes us friends, doesn’t it? Ah, I see Dori has sent his little brother with that disheartening brew of his.” Fíli declared, commenting casually on the scene he had stumbled upon. Amongst humans, this would have been a childish thing to say, Faith thought, but she realised that he extended an invitation to her, and she was thankful for it. As she was a stranger in their realm, the declaration of a bond between them would protect her, shield her, most probably keep her alive against all odds. It was easy to see them as children as they were the nephews of a man she called a friend, but their lives stretched far into the past and hopefully would extend into a distant future, and already, they knew more than she would ever learn.

With another curtsy, she acknowledged the gracious offer of his friendship and the privileges it brought. “Thank you, dear prince I would be honoured to accept both the cake and your good graces.” He gave her an answering bow that sealed the deal.

If they knew what scandalous actions she had been engaged in only moments ago, Faith thought, they would probably not be that courteous to her. The idea of losing their affection stung, which surprised her, but the idea of losing them, period, turned out to be utterly unbearable to her. Her mind shrank back from the mere thought as from an open, festering wound.

She had been alone most of her life, but the mere contemplation of never seeing the creatures in front of her again filled her with dread and a nameless pain that choked the light out of her heart. For their own people and their culture, they were young still and she couldn’t bear the thought of having such promising torches snuffed out before their time. Would that she could live another hundred years to see their mischief soften to quiet humour, to see them take wives and father children, to be their friend through the different stages of a dwarven life.

The limitations of her own body and life constricted her soul, crushing it to dust, and she wanted to rail against the injustice of being given a glimpse of perfection only to have it snatched away too soon by the ravage of time. No, she thought, she would be thankful to be granted that precious peek; she would be grateful to have known what others only dreamt of and she would treasure those memories and all she had seen until her eyes saw no more.

“Thank you ever so much.” Faith mumbled again, feeling the effects of the half-glass of wine she had drunk and wondering if the dwarrows could eat all the time. She had had more than her fill at the dinner, but she dutifully bit into her cake which was sweet and surprisingly moist.

“Do you like it?” Kíli asked eagerly. “It is like everything else of dwarven make I have experienced.” Faith grinned.

“Bulky, heavy and smelling kind of weird?” Thorin prompted, much to Faith’s chagrin; she had not noticed that he had finished his conversation with his friend. Maybe, she had been wrong and dwarven mischief never really abated, maybe, they just learned to hide their wicked humour under longer beards in time. “Beautiful, compact, and delicious.” She gave him a brazen look full of dancing sparks; she liked bandying words with Thorin almost as much as she liked being kissed by him.

“Delicious, ey?” Dwalin laughed, clapping his king on the shoulder, and promising to come back later to relieve Thorin in his guard-duties. Oh, this was absurd, Faith rolled her eyes, she didn’t need two prime fighters in front of her door.

She had trekked through wind and weather; she had tackled a man with a knife and had chased away another one; she could take care of herself. It seemed though as if Thorin had been mostly correct: if they had lingered in her room, someone would have come looking for them and she might have lost a name that was worth more in this settlement than it ever had before.

She was half a savage, she realised, unused to the social conventions and rules of a society. As a maiden, she should have waited for a husband to give up this most sacrosanct of female gifts, but she was past the marrying age, and she was not overly fond of the idea of dying a virgin.

It was highly improbable that she would ever be anything else than a concubine to anyone and much more believable that she’d end up taken by force…hence the armed king outside her door. He had saved her once from rape and violence, and Faith did not doubt that he would do it again without hesitating.

Until he left.

Looking at the young princes, Faith realised that she felt safe here. She had stopped looking over her shoulder and hence, had let down her guard too much; all these lovely people would go on a perilous journey, and she would be left to her own devices. Maybe, she would have to heed the king’s advice after all and learn to be demure and discreet again.

That would be a whole lot easier once his startling beauty was removed and she could breathe again without getting a whiff of that intoxicating smell. How far would he have to be removed for her to no longer feel tethered to his steps?

She would miss him. His presence had become solace and home to her, a place to rest, a warmth to sustain her, and she would feel more vulnerable with him gone than ever before. Oh, another painful thought she didn’t want to pursue in this moment.

“We should let you get to bed. Just scream if anything is the matter and enjoy the cake.” The youngsters ambled away in high spirits, mocking Ori and his teapot and squabbling about the last cake. She would miss them too; like everything she had experienced in this wondrous place, they were a curious blend of beauty – light, colour, and laughter – and strength – honour, courage, and faith. Yes, she could say that she was fond of them and that she would be looking forward to seeing them again; there was just no way to dislike their open-hearted…fierceness. They were striving towards a brighter future with such zeal and indefatigable energy that Faith was pulled along despite her own reservations.

“Can I offer you a piece, my king?” Faith sat down again on her side of the doorframe, offering the baked good to Thorin.

“Ah, yes, I won’t say “no” to that.” He nodded, breaking off a piece and shoving it into his mouth, crumbs raining down on his tunic which she brushed away casually, amused to find that the king had a sweet tooth. His hand closed around her wrist.

“I am sorry, Faith, this…it was a mess. I…” He sighed. “I want to do this right…”

Oh, how could she have forgotten? While she was obsessing about her own death as if she was a crone already, she had forgotten that he had seen decades more than her; the time for his retribution had come and, of course, he didn’t want more loose ends and false starts to burden him.

“I will make it right; I will…” His eyes had softened to a mesmerizing dark blue in the low light, intense and captivating.

Now that the fire in her veins had dulled into a sensuous warmth, a steady flow of earnest affection and deep longing, she could put aside the wounds her vanity had sustained and mumble: “Oh, you king of second chances, I am sure you will.”

“Have faith in me, sweet one, I will make good on my word.” – “I shall not be another burden on your shoulders, Thorin-king.” She protested softly, putting her hand lightly on top of his.

“You are not, neither are they.” He waved in the general direction in which his nephews had disappeared. “I will succeed where others have failed, because of all of you. I will bring you home: my sister, my nephews, my friends…you. I swear.”

The intensity of his gaze and of his determination sent shivers down Faith’s spine.

She was a woman without a history and, probably, without a future, but she could recognise the weight of his ancestors’ failures, of his people’s suffering, and of his own ambition bear down on him inexorably.

“Rest, sweet king, you have done me no wrong.” She reassured him. “Have I not?” His eyes narrowed, suspecting a subterfuge or a trick. “You are a stubborn but very honourable fool, and I am glad that you convinced me to come here.” She grinned.

“So, you like it here? You’ll like Erebor then. It’s full of gold.” He smiled. “You and your gold!” She laughed.

“It’s full of beautiful things.” He tried again. “It shall be, yeah.” She chuckled, bumping her shoulder gently into his.

“You…I wanted to say that I feel honoured that you’d…consider me for…” He nodded at the empty room behind her, which made her giggle again; he really was too upstanding to be real.

“You are the single most beautiful living thing I’ve ever beheld in my life. You’re kind, generous, and brave. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I see now that there are rules to be followed and I did not mean any disrespect.”

Thorin seemed to ponder her words for a while before nodding: “Yes, I guess that is true…I know that you are physically incapable of wilfully disrespecting anyone or anything almost, so no problem.”

“What are the rules, Thorin-king?” She had caught a glimmer in his eye that disquieted her considerably.

He looked purposefully away for a moment and then mumbled into his beard: “I’d court you and then…”

“What would you quarter me for? In that case, I do see why you think intercourse would be dangerous.” Faith hissed, aghast.

“Court you, not quarter you. Who do you think I am?” Thorin exclaimed, lowering his voice immediately.

“I am sorry that I do not have your sister’s supersonic hearing.” Faith grumbled, but she had to laugh when she saw his dumbfounded face. “Oh, Dís, she was born like that. It’s because she loves information that much. I call it information…”

He made a face.

“She sounds like a valuable councillor then, wouldn’t you say?” Faith teased him. “Kíli gets it from her, that wicked sense of humour and that…” His voice softened, “She has a fierce heart, my sister does, stay close to Dís, she’ll keep you safe.”

Faith believed him, but she wondered how he could be so sure.

“My sister loves me as I love her, you are my friend, you are her sons’ friend…She won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on the princess either.” Faith protested, flustered by the finality in his voice.

Thorin took her hand and murmured: “Can you do two things for me, please? One, go to bed, otherwise I will have to kiss you again and we have seen that it generally ends in…frustration; and two, promise that you’ll stay with Dís.”

Throwing a quick glance down the corridors, Faith stuck out her head of the doorframe and pressed a single, warm, lingering kiss on his stubborn mouth and whispered: “I swear to stick to the princess…and lay down my life if necessary for her protection.”

Mahal have mercy, Thorin thought, the two women he cared for most would try to die in protection of one another at the slightest provocation; they were both fiercely loyal and brave in their own way. Devoted and self-forgotten, Faith had no regard for her own fragile life that seemed to be entirely made up of service while Dís had ever been a pugnacious dwarrowdam who would not avoid a fight if she thought she could win. Dís always thought she could win. She was his sister, after all.

“Good night, king of kings.” She whispered, flipping one of his braids playfully over his shoulder and scrambling to get to her feet. Thorin watched her go, taking off her dress again as she went, and cursed himself for being such a fool.

As she slipped between the sheets though, Faith stiffened and cried out: “Wait a minute…what do you mean by court?”

It had taken some time for his words to sink in, but again, all her fatigue evaded her within a second.

“Well, courting gifts, braids, walking around with your hand in mine…more intrusive questions by my nephews, more teasing by my sister…” He enumerated and ticked off the fingers of his hand.

Marriage, Faith thought, that was what it all led up to. Courting led to weddings, in general, and she would not marry Thorin Oakenshield, king of the Longbeards, not if the almighty creator himself did not come down and grant her a life long enough to honour the bond she would enter into, and a blood worthy of his. Falling back hard into her pillow, she resisted the urge of burying her head in it and asphyxiating herself out of pure impatience and annoyance with the situation.

Then again, the idea of having his nephews and his sister, and ultimately of course him, around until her forever came, held such a sweet seduction that it tore her heart apart. The intensity of her longing made it very clear to her that she was reaching for forbidden fruit indeed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling that started to swim and swirl in front of her eyes.

“Sleep, sweet one, tomorrow is another day. There will be time for you to decide if that is something you’d want.”

Oh, naturally, he would be a perfectly honourable man about that as well, Faith thought with something akin to disdain almost; while she fretted and fussed, he would offer his courtship and she would have the right to deny it.

Would he understand her reasons when she finally did reject his promise of tender and respectful advances? Or would he feel as miserably unsatisfied as she did now?

Again, she tried to remind herself of the fact that he did not care for her in that way. She had promised him her body and he was looking to find some justification for taking it; a man such as him would not simply despoil a woman because he felt like it, no, he would create the pretence of a mock courtship to explain why he had taken what he could never give back.

Time would tell. Time, her constant enemy, the shadow gnawing mercilessly on her hours in the sun, would decide if she ever got an answer to those questions.

“You can tell me sooner of course.” Thorin mumbled and she sat up in bed, her blanket a tangled mess around her legs.

“It is a discussion for another day, surely.” She replied calmly, falling back to hide her face and its expression from him.

“Are you very cross with me, Faith?” He asked then.

“Not in the least, Thorin.” She decided against a title, knowing that it would make him believe that she was indeed angry when, really, she was confused and considerably hurt by everything that had happened tonight and by the fears that swirled in her head and heart without surcease. “Good, I couldn’t bear to disappoint you as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, she shot up to stare at him in dumbfounded amazement. “I will do right by all of you.” He vowed anew and Faith wondered if he always took his own trespasses so seriously; of course, he would.

“Good night, Master Dwarf. I care for you, and you are beautiful.” She repeated the most important things of the evening, swallowing her rejection of his courtship and falling into a fitful sleep, constantly disturbed by her body that was as taut as a twisted piece of wire. Every time her thighs touched, a spark of pure agony shot through her limbs, a feeling she knew would subside but that made her intensely miserable, nonetheless.

“How’s the little lady?” Dwalin clunked down the corridor and was forced to sneak the last stretch so as not to awaken Faith.

Thorin loved his friend, but he would not tell him how he had spent the last hours listening to Faith mumble and moan in her sleep; more than once, she had whimpered his name and he had been sorely tempted to take off his clothes again and slip between the covers with her.

Somewhere between her body and the mattress lay heaven, he knew, and her soft groaning had worn out his soul and chafed his skin raw with desire.

“She’s not a little lady.” Thorin grumbled. No, Faith was fearless when it came to actual danger; despite her innate subservience and her sweet temper, she was a fierce woman he was honoured and happy to call his friend.

“You’re thinking about courting her, aren’t you?” – “If she’ll have me.” Thorin didn’t even try denying it.

Dwalin had his doubts about that; Faith seemed fond enough of their mutual friend, of their common king, but could she find that kind of love inside herself for someone who was not of her own race? Friendships were indiscriminate; they were based on mutual respect and understanding, but marriage followed a set of rules much stricter and more severe.

It was also probable that she’d die before him, but he was not exactly a young dwarf and they had years ahead of them that could be spent in happy union; if he lived, if she agreed. Did she know that? Would she want that?

“She’s very…kind.” Dwalin said carefully, for she had been nothing but nice to him despite the fact that even dwarrowdams had told him before that he looked like a raincloud pickled in vinegar and left to dry on a stony cliff. “She is.” Thorin agreed.

“What is with the door?” Dwalin then asked and nodded at the huddled form in the bed he could make out in the penumbra. “She can’t open it on her own.” Thorin explained and then, the epiphany hit him: he would not wait for his return or her joining him; he would start his tentative courting with the very basic gift of an appropriate door.

“I…I have something to do. Please do not turn around under any circumstance and tell Mistress Faith that I’ll find her as soon as I’m done.” Thorin spluttered hastily and, boots in hand, almost ran down the corridor in search of a carpenter.

He would have a door made that she could easily open and close herself, but he would make sure that it was sturdy, fashioning and applying the bolts himself. Would that this blasted wizard was around to help imbue the very slab of wood with spells for her protection. Yes, he would convince her of his deep affection for her in the only way he knew: hard work and presents.

Faith woke up to the broad back of Master Dwalin completely obscuring the doorframe.

“The king is…doing something and he’ll find you as soon as he has finished…doing whatever he is doing.” The dwarrow grunted as a reply to her cheery greeting.

Slipping back into her simple shift, Faith approached the stolid figure and tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you be so good as to let me out?” He shifted aside and let her pass, but as she took a step, he followed her.

“I’d rather keep an eye on you.” He muttered, a low, rumbling sound that she very much enjoyed. “You are a dear man, Master Dwalin.” She chirped and nodded slowly.

“Hmmm, me? Hmmm, thank you, Mistress Faith.”

If she had been a braver woman when it came to social conventions, Faith might have asked to hug him, but as it was, she didn’t dare presume. “You’re a funny little creature as well.” He chuckled after a moment which made her turn around in surprise.

“Where are we going?” He cocked his head. “First to get you some breakfast and then to the river, if that is agreeable to you.” She replied gently. As he was intent on shadowing her, she had to think of his well-being as much as he seemed to worry about hers; so, off to the kitchens they went in search of a fortifying meal for the big warrior.

While Dwalin was still munching noisily on his breakfast, Faith was already kneeling beside the river, digging her hands deep into the soil, and filtering out the clay in meticulous steps until she had a sizeable ball. Her guardian watched her work tirelessly, fascinated by her steady, soft movements. Thorin was right, he thought, she was a creature of mud.

Even though the king himself was, in this moment, hammering steel with ringing force, there was a parallel to be drawn between the rhythmic, almost dance-like movements both of them were performing to create something new. For one another, if Dwalin wasn’t very much mistaken.

“I’d ask the kitchens if you can use one of their ovens rather than the open fire of the furnace.” He commented when Faith started moulding and twisting her ball of clay into shapes. “It will be quicker and gentler on your creations.”

Faith nodded when a glint in the water caught her eye. A beautiful, iridescent pebble, smooth and shiny was sitting right next to a single coin. She knew not if it had been caught in the folds of her dress or if someone else had lost it in the river, but she took it to be a good omen for her sacrifice to find things so beautiful to add to her offering.

“Off to the kitchens we go again then, Master Dwalin.” She smiled, heaping her work into his broad palms and chuckling to herself as she watched him hold them carefully in his hands while he walked gingerly ahead of her. He was a dear fellow…and another soul to miss bitterly.

“Come quick, uncle.” Thorin looked up from the bolt he had been fitting on the wooden door meant for Faith’s room in surprise. “You have to see that.” Fíli, his nephew, his heir, was waving him along urgently and so he followed without taking the time to cross-examine the lad on the motivation for his peculiar behaviour.

As soon as they arrived at the side of his dear sister, Thorin could understand where the excitement came from. Faith was kneeling in front of a tree hugging the mountainside, laying out the earthen dishes she had made with her own hands this morning.

“Uncle.” Kíli yelped, just arriving, upon seeing Faith pull out a knife and slashing open her arm once again, letting her blood drip into one of the shallow vessels slowly. “Let her be.” Thorin muttered, closing his hand around his nephew’s wrist to restrain him.

“I come to you, oh great creator, guide of my steps, in prayer.” Faith started, touching her forehead to the ground.

“But, I come not for myself. I come to pray for the safe passage and blessed return of Thorin Oakenshield and his company.” Again, she bowed down, then lifting her bloodied hands to the sky and pleading:

“You who have many faces, allow me to address those I have known all my life without ever speaking their name. I have been told that the one Thorin calls Mahal and we may call “crafting face of the creator” has hewn the dwarrows from stone. Oh, father of all, remember those you gave life to and show them mercy once again. Oh, stone remember who you once cradled and mellow your bosom for them. May their steps tread safely on you and may you open your womb once again to give them refuge.”

Faith touched one of her dishes in which a single coin and an iridescent river pebble lay.

“Let not the fashioner of evil unmake your gift of strength and beauty to this world. For this, I pray.”

She turned to the second dish, containing seeds and herbs she had picked, offerings covered in mud and earth still.

“Oh, great creator, I cry to the part of you that is warm and motherly, to the face Thorin calls Yavanna under his breath. They are not made of stone; they are born, and they grow. May the protection of the mother fall upon them, the defence of all things that grow and thrive. Let the world I have cherished welcome them freely, oh great creator, oh manyfold God. May the rivers run smooth, and the trees grant them shade. Oh, earth you who have been my mother, hide their steps from foes and bear fruit to sustain them. I beg for this as a friend of all things living, may they be recognised by bird and beast, by heart and soul alive, for what they are: living, breathing, feeling creatures of this earth. Do not let them walk alone. For this, I pray.”

Finally, she lifted her own blood and poured it onto the soil in front of her.

“I am but a measly creature, a single life, but I understand that whatever blessing I might have known has had a purpose. I am a vessel and here, I surrender the mercy I have been granted to this greatest of kings. Take this blood into your bosom and see the flaws within it! May my life and the life of my kin be a cenotaph to guilt that spans over generations!”

She touched her forehead to the ground again before going on:

“Oh, great creator, carry the wisdom I have paid in blood and tears forth; may there be a gracious and brave child for every stubborn, unhospitable father, may the sons and daughters save their elders by their generous deeds. For this, I pray.”

Faith stood up again, bowing to her offerings thrice before lifting the knife to her throat.

This time, even Thorin jerked, but she merely cut off a strand of her hair to let it fall in the blood-stained dish.

“As for myself, I vow service, as I have before. I shall work tirelessly; I shall dig my hands bloody in search of fertile earth and I shall make plants thrive in your honour. From the day their feet fall into the first step of this most perilous of journeys until the day I shall gaze upon your blessed people again, oh great creator, I shall walk and pray in devout industry, only ever lifting my eyes to the sky to check if I am called forth. I yield whatever grace was placed upon and within me to Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and whoever goes with him; I offer whatever strength I have to please you, oh great creator, in all your glory.”

Faith was about to turn away when she fell onto her knees again, her head pressed against the blood-drenched soil, sobbing in a low voice: “Oh, I plead with you, oh glorious, almighty, many-faced one, protect the one I call friend, the one who promised more than his body to me, bring him home safely even if I never get to see him again. Do not cut short the life of princes so valiant and honourable either. Take home the weary bones of old warriors and give fertile soil to the young ones to thrive. You are the maker of all things, of things that never change and of things that never stand still; honour their steadfast courage, eternal as the mountain, and their beating hearts, ever-changing as the seasons.”

Remembering the excellent hearing of the dwarrows, Faith lowered her voice to a whisper as she finished: “For I love them, dearly, desperately, endlessly. May the love of a mere mortal be guide, shield, and sword to them. I ask for nothing for myself, not an ounce of comfort, not a single blessing, heed my love for it is my only need in this life! I beg of you, I’d give everything for you to hear me…for this I pray.”

She bowed one last time, pulled down her sleeve and turned around to see Thorin staring at her with unfathomable eyes.

And then, the pain engulfed her, and she collapsed at the same time as Thorin broke into an impressive sprint for a boulder.

#fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #prayer #the aftermath of almost sex #nice chapter to write #overly dramatic

[zodiacal-dust-and-curls]

Princess

A/N: Here it is! The last 500 piece and my 3,000th post. Thank you to @clogwearingspacepoodle for the request and @rogers-wristbands for proofreading for me! Enjoy!

Warnings: angst, cheating, drinking, swearing

Word Count: 2k

You loved to watch Roger on stage. 

There was just something about his presence that was truly electrifying. Maybe it was the way he couldn't keep his face still to save his life. Maybe it was the way he could look like a man possessed during a solo. Or maybe it was the way he would always flash a smile in your direction. Either way, you loved watching him work. 

Today was their last pub show. They'd been working on an album and had actually been picked up for a mini tour. Brian and Roger had come bounding into your apartment like two uncontrollable puppies to tell you. 

"Y/N! Y/N!" You heard Roger yelling before he'd even formally opened the door. "You won't believe the news!" 

He and Brian tripped over each other to get to you on the couch. 

"We're going - ow, Rog!" Brian caught one of those sharp elbows to the ribs. 

"My girlfriend, my news!" Roger stuck his tongue out before turning to you, beaming once again. "Y/N, princess, we got picked up for a tour! The label wants to try us out on the road!" 

You literally leapt into his arms to celebrate the news. Of course, celebrating also involved calling Deaky and Freddie and getting absolutely hammered, which was always a good idea. 

But that was weeks ago. They'd been finishing their scheduled pub appearances in preparation. Sadly, you'd only been able to make the last one with work and school getting in the way. 

It was a promise you and Roger had made to each other. No messing with the other’s education or career path. And you both had been absolutely faithful to it. You'd supported his dreams with Queen and he'd supported you with your thesis. Equal work, if you were being completely honest. 

Tonight he shone like the sun god incarnate that he was. But you'd noticed him staring in another direction. 

To be fair, you hadn't told him you were free. You wanted to surprise him. And he seemed to keep his eyes trained on Freddie. Always interacting to entertain the crowd. 

Once the set was finished, you gave him a few minutes to slip backstage and cool off. You wanted to see him immediately, but wanted to give him time with his bandmates. 

They were on the brink of greatness. You could all feel it. Why not let them revel in the feeling of their last pub show? 

The minute you saw Brian emerge from backstage, you leapt off your barstool and made a beeline for him. He spotted you at the exact same moment and couldn't quite place the emotion you watched cross his face. 

"Y/N! You made it!" Whatever it was seemed to pass quickly. Maybe his wrist was hurting from all the practicing he and Rog had been doing at your flat. Always working on new songs. 

"Of course! I wouldn't miss this for the world." You smiled up at him. "Where's Roggie?" 

Brian seemed to grimace before telling you that he was still changing. 

You took off as soon as he finished the word stage. You couldn't wait to tell Roger what you thought of the show and how proud you were. Mostly you wanted to tell him how sorry you were to have missed the last several shows if they were anywhere near as good as tonight's. 

You found the door with a piece of notebook paper taped to it that read 'Queen'. The amount of detail told you that Freddie had made the sign. You and the band (yes, the entire band) had seen each other in various states of undress due to a serious lack of personal boundaries, so you thought nothing of walking right into the little room. 

That proved to be a bit of a mistake. 

Okay, a bit was an understatement. A massive understatement. 

There on the crappy little couch sat none other than your sun god, with his hands and lips planted firmly on some brunette you'd never seen in your life. 

"Wow." That pulled his eyes to you, but he didn't quite stop his actions. "Not even on your first tour and you've already caught a groupie." 

That made the girl pull away, some smart remark already on the tip of her tongue, but Roger spoke first. 

"Honestly, princess, I don't know what you expected. I am a rockstar, after all." The look in his eyes was one that you couldn't believe. 

He'd been a "rockstar" for all of 6 weeks. Before that he was a dentist with a crackpot dream. 

"Don't call me princess, asshole." You left before anything could progress further. The only thing on your mind was getting out of here. It was your turn to do things he wouldn't believe. 

You found Brian at the bar with Freddie. To say Brian looked pleased to see you would be an outright lie. 

"Y/N." Was all he offered in greeting, along with the rest of his drink. 

He and Freddie sat in silence as you chugged what was left of the drink. Truth be told, it was basically untouched, so this took a moment. 

"What did you think, darling?" Freddie always wanted feedback. 

"Truth be told, you were all absolutely electric, Mr. Mercury." You shot him a tight smile, "but this is the last place I want to be right now." 

You leveled Brian with a look. He still hadn't said more than your name since you'd rejoined the crowd. "Want to get out of here?" 

Brian simply nodded and took your hand, pulling the two of you from the noise of the crowd and out onto the cool street. 

"Back to the flat?" He was used to taking you home after a fight with Roger. He never liked getting in between the two of you, his best friends, but he was quick to diffuse the situation. He always took you home and Freddie took Roger back to his place.

Reflecting back on those fights, you wondered how long Roger had been seeing other girls. You'd been together over a year now. That wasn't something so easily thrown away, or so you thought. 

"It's been happening for about 2 weeks now, Y/N/N." You hadn't realized that you'd actually voiced your thoughts. "Never the same girl, but always complaining that she wasn't you and you weren't there. I couldn't bear to tell you over the phone." 

So Roger was going to try to pin this on you? You pursuing your education over attending his music career? Was he joking? 

"Brian," he paused your progress down the street to look at you. "I need to do something stupid, and I need your help." 

You could tell he didn't quite like the look in your eyes, but he nodded for you to proceed. 

"I need to get very, very drunk and I need to retaliate." He eyed you, waiting for more information. 

"I think there is nothing in this world that would piss him off more than coming home to his two best friends the morning after." His eyes wandered to a space above your head, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. 

"Do you really think that fucking his best friend is a great plan of action?" He didn't seem to understand exactly what had happened, so it was time to spell it out for him. 

"Brimi," you pulled him in close by the lapels of his jacket, pressing his body to yours. "Mr. Taylor has made his position on our relationship crystal clear. If I am going to continue my education, instead of becoming his favorite groupie, then I am of no use to him."

You pressed your forehead to his locking your eyes. "He has officially and completely broken the only two promises we've ever made to each other." 

You paused for dramatic effect, resituating yourself against him. "Now, I am going to get absolutely plastered, with or without you, but I would prefer the company of my best friend while making all of my bad decisions today. Are you in or are you out?" 

You could feel just how hard the decision was for him to make. 

Quickly, he spun the two of you back towards the bars. Picking one at random, he pushed the two of you inside. 

"If I'm going to get any payback for keeping his little indiscretions a secret for so long, this might as well be it." 

With that, he ordered the first of many shots for the pair of you. Somewhere after number 6, you lost count. After the second bar, things started to really run together. Who knew what would happen at the end of the night? Certainly, not you. 

The next morning you woke up to beating on your door and in your head. How on earth did they manage to line up so perfectly?

"Fuck off!" You heard come from somewhere next to you. Right, Brian. 

At least it made the pounding stop. 

You sighed and relaxed back into the bed. The feeling of someone else's smooth skin meeting your own. You decided to cling to it and were met with arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you farther into the bed. 

"Are you joking?" Ah, there was Roger. Right on time.

You looked up from where you lay sprawled across your bed. Surely you were a tangle of limbs and curls, all tied up with his guitarist. 

"One little fight, and you fuck my best mate?" He was seething. This worked better than you'd hoped. "Tell me, is this the first time, or have you done this every time he takes you home after one of our little tiffs?" 

Something inside of you snapped, and you saw nothing but white. 

"Roger Meddows Taylor! I know you must be out of your mind to think this is just another row." You stood up fully from the bed, headache and hangover forgotten, along with your sheets. 

"You have broken every promise you ever made to me in one night. Do you even know how many promises that is?" You continued without giving him a chance to answer. "It's two! Only two promises and you couldn't even manage that!" 

You had found the bag of his things you'd haphazardly packed in your drunken stupor the night before. Just things he'd left lying around; a shirt, a necklace, a book, a broken drumstick. They started flying from your hands as you backed him towards the front door. 

"Just two promises! But I guess a rockstar doesn't have to worry about those." You finally had him backed all the way against the door. "I mean what did I expect? That I could have it all? A career and a good man? No. That would be far too easy." You threw the bag down at his feet. 

"Get your shit and get out, Taylor. We're done." You turned your back on him only to see that Brian had followed you. Despite the sheet wrapped around his waist and the deep purple marks on his chest, the only thing you could focus on was the intense sadness in his eyes. 

Instead of saying something in front of Roger, he just led you back to the bedroom. Always trying to put space between the two of you while fighting. 

"Y/N -," you cut him off before he could begin. 

"Brian, I'm not sorry for this and it wasn't a mistake." You had finally found a robe to pull on. You had faced Roger nude, the evidence of your choices there for all to see. "I may not be ready for whatever this could turn into," you motioned between the two of you, "but I will say that I'd be proud to be your first groupie." 

Brian just gave you a sad, soft smile. He gently reached out to take your wrist and pull you to his chest. He pressed a kiss into your hair and echoed your sentiment.

"That, I'll gladly take. The great Y/N/N, the girl no other groupie could ever compare to." 

---

A/N: let me know what you thought! The secret codeword is pineapples!

Taglist: @rogers-wristbands @deakydeckme @bitemerog @brianandthemays

Bonus: a gif of Bri

#roger taylor #brian may #roger taylor angst #roger taylor fic #brian may angst #brian may fic #cheating #drinking #swearing #t writes

[brawlfists]

STUDY    :    Tifa Lockhart.          Repost it, do not reblog.

tagged by :   @hercbled​  ( thank you ! ) tagging :    @ultimilitiaa​  .  @wutaiiwarrior​​  .  @bllakcat​  .  @uchirite​  .  @starsfated​​  .  @angereve​ (marlene or iris)  .   @dawnryse​  .  @andscreams​  (seifer)   &   you   !

—    basics.

▸       is your muse tall   /    short    /    average ? 5′6 (167 cm)  considering   the    region    she   is   from,   she  is  considered  tall.  

▸       are they okay with their height ? Definitely.  Tifa  never  had  issues  regarding  her  stature,  since  it’s  a  trait  that   she  doesn’t  really  focus  on.

▸      what’s their hair like ? Soft   as   silk,  bearing  in  mind  her  asian  lineage  that  usually   grows  from  a  round  follicle  (which is responsible for the  straight  hair)  her  hair  is  smooth  and  has  a  remarkable  hair  growth.  Her  hair  color  varies  according  to  the  light,   beneath  the  sunrays   seems  to  be  a  hickory  hue   when  it’s  actually  a   dark  chocolate  tinge.  Tifa  fancies  long  hair,   since  a  child  Tifa  opted  to  let  her  hair  grow  longer  due  to  her  mother’s  beautiful  hair  (Tifa  constantly  used  to  comb  her  mama’s  hair  admiring  how  sleek  her   strands  are).  Sidebangs  are   her   trademark,  yet  it  wasn’t  always  in  that  style  cause  when  she  was  5-12  her  bangs  were  60s styled bangs.

▸     do they spend a  lot of time on their hair     /    grooming ? Yes.   in   terms  of   daily   basis  it  doesn’t  require  much  of   her   attention,  aside  from  wearing  the   proper  hair  brush  to  her  hair  type  (variates  between  a  boar   bristle   brush  and   wet  brush)   Tifa  does  deep  hydrating  treatments  twice  a  week  (coconut oil),   doesn’t  over-wash  her  hair   (3 times a week)   &   low-heat  setting  for  her  hair  dryer.  Tifa’s  major  secret  to  maintain  her  strands  healthy  is  shampooing  the  scalp,  massaging with  fingers  instead  of  nails  &  the  conditioner  along  the  length  of  her  hair.  Regarding  the  grooming  process,  Tifa  enjoys  to  tie   at  her  tips   or  sometimes  prefers  to  keep  loose.

▸      does your muse care about their appearance   /   what others think ? generally  speaking  she  doesn’t   care  what  other  think  unless if   it’s   a    specific    niche  (close  friends/crush).   Regarding  her  exterior  looks,   she   values   her   opinion  but   if   someone  contradicts   her   (ex :  ‘your  outfit  is  weird’ )     Tifa  will  innerly   question   &    doubt   her   current   appearance.   Personality  wise,   Tifa  is  stubborn  and  reluctant  to  change  minor  issues,  so  following  this  trace,  she  cares  by  half.   (50%)   

—    preferences.

▸      indoors    or    outdoors ?   ▸      rain    or   sunshine ?   ▸     forest    or    beach ?     ▸      precious    metals   or    gems ?       ▸     flowers   or    perfumes ?     ▸      personality    or    appearance ?     ▸      being    alone    or    being    in    a    crowd ?     ▸      order    or   anarchy ?   ▸     painful    truths    or    white    lies ?     ▸    science    or    magic ?     ▸      peace    or    conflict ?   ▸      night    or    day ?     ▸      dusk    or   dawn ? ▸      warmth    or    cold ?     ▸      many   acquaintances    or    a    few    close    friends ?   ▸      reading    or    playing    a    game ?    

—    questionnaire.

▸      what are some of your muse’s bad habits ? Have  you  ever  seen  someone  emotional  that  is  too  insecure  to  express  her  feelings  much   cause   sometimes  doesn’t   even   her   understand   what  is  exactly  is  going  on  with  her  emotions  or   that   she   believes   that   her   feelings  sometimes   aren’t   relevant  to  the  situation  they  are  inserted  such  as   ‘Prevent  Sephiroth  from  using  the  Black  Materia’  ?   That’s  Tifa  Lockhart.  No  wonder  her  name  suggests  such  a  thing.  Tifa  bottles  up  her  feelings,  not  only  due  to  the  fact  that  she  doesn’t  construe  them  very  well  but  there  are  times  that  she  outbursts     Quoting  Tifa :  “YOU’RE  JUST  GOING  TO  WALK  RIGHT  OUT  IGNORING  YOUR  CHILDHOOD  FRIEND  !? “    that’s  an  example  of  her  outburst  when  she  asks  Cloud  to  join  AVALANCHE.   Tifa  crack  her  joints  often  to  release   tension     ...  it’s  a  sign  of   her  anxiety  from  (PTSD)  

▸      has your muse lost anyone close to them ? how has it affected them ? Akane  Lockhart  (Mother),  the  death  that  inflicted  Tifa  the  most.  Considering  her  age  (8 years old)  and  the  bond  they  shared  caused  her  to  persists  in  a  denial  stage  of  grief.  Imagine  a  8   year   older   Tifa  believing  that  her  mother  was  in  Mt.Nibel  which  lead  her  to  do  multiple   things   that   harmed  her.    Brian  Lockhart  (Father)  in  an  early  age  (15  years  old)  and  the  cause  of  death  only  inticed  her  to  release  a  rage  against  Shinra,  a  painful  one  that  still  haunts  her  nightmares.   Due  to  her  coma,  her   grief   process   was  interrupted  &   the  trauma  lead  her  to  suppress  such  memories.   Biggs,  Jessie  &  Wedge  (AVALANCHE members)   guilt  grief,  mostly  inticed  by  Barret  since  Tifa  was  trying  to  deal  with  her  emotions  and  it  only  caused  her  to  be  confused  with  the  entire  situation.  Through  time,  she  does  feel  a  guilt  complex  considering  that  it  was  all  setup  by  Shinra.   Aerith  Gainsborough  (close friend)  it  was  all  to  quick  (meeting her,  her  death,  the  grief  because they had to continue with their journey)  I   believe   Aerith   inflicted   her   a    mix   of    these   3   grieves.   Denial,  rage  and  guilt     ...     The  denial  stage,  possibilites  that  was  an  image  created  in  their  head  since  in  the  Temple  of  Ancients  they  were  able  to  see  Sephiroth’s  passage  through  the  Temple.    Rage,  I  believe  she   discharges  her  anger   through  the  battles  and  her  willpower.  Guilt,  this  one  is  not  heavily  implied  but  Tifa  often  contemplates  ‘What If’  scenarios   such  as   :  what  if  I  went  along  with  them  when  Cat  Sith  shrinked  the  temple  into  the  black  materia  and  prevented  Cloud  to  give  the  Materia  to  Sephiroth   or   what  if   I  tried  to  stop  Aerith  from  going  to  the  Forgotten  City  when  Cloud  was   unconscious.   As  remark  of  her  beautiful  presence,  she  uses  a  pink  ribbon   around   her   left   triceps   to   feel   her  energy.  

▸       what are some fond memories your muse has ? Playing piano with her mother,  water tower meetings with Cloud (mainly the promise day, as much it can be considered sad cause he was leaving), Zangan lessons,  playtime with Johnny and Cloud,  Brian’s  pancakes,   7th  heaven  before  the  Meteor  /  Avalanche  schemes  (Wedge  trying  her  food,  Jessie and Biggs  drinking  games,  grooming  Marlene’s  hair  and   Barret’s  papa  bear  moments  to  Marlene),   Aerith  flowers,  Cloud  returning  from  a  delivery,  Vincent  vs  cellphone  &   Aerith’s  protection   

▸     is it easy for your muse to kill ? No.  Bearing  in  mind  that  her  weapon  is  her  hands,  Tifa  has  trouble  in  killing  ;  unless  when  it’s  a  monster.  or   Sephiroth.  When  she  is  boosted  by  rage,  her  impulsivity  might  cause  her  to  oblive  her  morals,  take  as  an  example  the  Nibelheim  incident  (no  wonder  it  incites  her  discomfort  leading  her  to  a  partial  memory  loss  (difficult to concentrate)  of  such  incident  {PTSD CAN TRIGGER THAT]   

▸      what’s it like when your muse breaks down ? EXTREME  ANXIETY.    Quoting  Tifa  “If I stayed here  ... I’ll go crazy”   I  believe  her  breaks  down  usually  occurs  in  2  cases  :   STRESS  and  EMPTY  MIND   (this  one  was  thankfully  controlled  by  her  medidation  routine)       First,  she  isolates  herself   ...  Tifa  is  convinced  that  she  has  to  be  the  optimistic  pillar  to  her  party  (Example :  Aerith’s  death.  She  caresses  Aeris’  hair  &  runs  away  to  burst  her  tears  in  private)    .    Two,  mood  swings  (this  is  a  common  one.  An  example  is  when  Nanaki  questions  his  sanity   to  Cloud,  Tifa  says ‘Be strong’  then  when  he  doubts  she  simply  shouts  ‘BE STRONG !’  ...  an  effect  that  suppressing  her  feelings  preside  over  her  breakdowns)   Third,  eating  &   sleeping  habits  are  affected.  Insomnia  mostly  and   skipping  meals.     

▸      is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life ? Yes.  I  wouldn’t   say   easily,  it  depends  how  that  someone  will  approach  them.  I’ll  use  Yuffie  &  Aerith  as  an  example.  In  the  case  of   Aerith,   her  approach  was  during  a  unfortunate  event  (Don Corneo’s  creepy  dungeon)  however  it   was  a  friendly  reach  considering  that  SHE  PROVIDED  THE  WHOLE  CONCEPT  OF  SAVING  TIFA.   When  they  arrive  Sector 7,  Tifa  request  Aerith  to  protect  Marlene.  Which  she  would only  request  someone  that  she  is  capable  to  trust  with  their  life.  About  Yuffie,  their  meeting  was  around  a  tricky  scheme  which  lead  Tifa  to  not   trust  her  easily,  cause  when  in  the  Wutai  sidequest.  Quoting  Tifa  :  “Something’s  telling  me  I  still  shouldn’t  trust  you”   implying  that  Tifa  follows   her  instincts.   Summarizing,   it   would   depend   on   the   circumstances   of   their   meeting.

▸      what’s your muse like when they’re in love ? highly   attuned   to   infatuation  —  as   long   as   she   can   trust   enough   to   let    down   her   barriers   and   allow    another   person   into   her  world.  she  loves   hard,   pursues  a   star   love   (the   kind   where   souls, minds, and bodies seamlessly merge)   Tifa  will  be  that  girl  that  attempts  to  show  her  emotions  through  actions.   She  tries  to  adjust  to  her  partner  ideals  which is  a submissive  trait,  yet  she  also  expects  that  her  sweetheart  demonstrates  somehow  (words or actions)   which  can  lead   her   to  be  that  type  of  lover  that   put   up   walls   and    say   it's   all   good   when   everything   is   clearly   the   exact   opposite,   since  Tifa  has  issues  in  dealing  with  emotions.   It  doesn’t  happen  often  but  she  feels  bad  when  she  has  to  demand  her  partner  for  affection  or   time  together.  These  walls  usually  crumbles  through  time.   Basically  she’s  a  giver  and  will  always  remind  you  how  much  you’re  worth  it  and  loved   &  how  lucky  she  is  to  have  you  as  a partner +  SUPER  ATTENTIVE &  CARING.

#( wow these were INSPIRATIONAL ) #( i just dont knows what is order vs anarchy so i got confused lol ) #( my english is not that great folks ) #-ˋˏ ⛧彡⋆•̩̩͙ ��𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘. meta. –––– ‘ interpreting allusions of a fighter #tw : long post #( i was too lazy to put the caps of the quotes but ... )

[the-everlasting-dream]

The Revelation AU  - Drake x MC, Part 2

Summary: After a shocking confession, Elizabeth comes to terms with her resulting situation. 

A/N: I wish I could tell you that the hurting stops and it gets better but it really doesn’t I’m not even going to pretend. 

Based on this post with permission from OP.

Part 1

Elizabeth felt the sound of the slamming parlour door resounding in her very soul. Still in shock at what had just happened, she slumped against the corridor wall, her strength seemed to fail her as the weight of what had just happened hit her with colossal force. She had just lost the man she loved. 

 Drake. 

 Her Drake. 

  He didn’t have to say it out loud for her to connect the dots. 

 Elizabeth had caught Penelope's earlier question, Kiara’s astonishment, looking somewhat akin to a deer caught in headlights but she brushed it off in ignorance, putting it down to the crush the other girl had on her fiancé in the early stages of Liam’s engagement tour. She'd heard the clink of glass as Drake moved to fill his non-so-empty tumbler of whiskey as Kiara declined the question.

Perhaps it was the alcohol flowing in her system, taking its effect or a her own blissful ignorance that had lead her to ask her question in innocence, unknowingly bringing about the end of the relationship as she knew it. 

 She watched his eyes slide over to Kiara’s, exchanging what she thought was a puzzled look. For a moment Elizabeth had considered dropping the subject because surely this was all a coincidence. A random assortment of facts that appeared to have some connection when laid out in a particular order. 

Right?

 She had been teetering on the brink of the decision when she heard it. 

His nervous cough. 

She’d learnt his tell months ago, that cough that only occurred when he was lying or hiding something. He’d do it subtly during conversations with members of the court before executing a perfectly sound lie to their probing questions but she had never ever imagined she’d hear it directed at her. 

And in that moment she knew. 

The realisation required a few moments before it permeated into her brain during which her irrational mind seemed to insist, He’s my fiancé, he’d never do something like this, he loves me. No stop stop! Its not like that, a part of her insisted. Surely there’s logical explanation for it, she chastised herself but as the silence expanded, she couldn’t ignore the little voice inside her that whispered back. 

‘What if that is the logical explanation?’ 

 Elizabeth gave him a chance to deny the accusation with his signature scoff and a shake of his unruly hair, to put her obviously overactive imagination at ease, reassuring her 'You’re the only one for me Richmond’ as he’d done on occasions before.   

Instead betrayal, guilt and regret were etched on every fibre of his irises as they flitted around the room, taking interest in every other element except her but even so some part of her still held out, refusing to believe that the man she loved could have inflicted so much pain.  His blatant denial, a feeble attempt to be a balm to her suspicion had the opposite effect and every word of his admission was like another whip of the lash, drawing fresh wounds upon the open plane of her soul. 

As Drake sat opposite her, tears gushing down both their faces, Elizabeth wanted so badly to wrap herself up in his safe and familiar scent, to seek comfort in the contours of his embrace, to take solace in the blissful lie that everything would be okay in the end but she remained paralysed unable to move or speak. 

When her vocal chords finally decided to function, the voice they created was completely alien to her and it was as if she had risen up out of her body and was watching the scene from bleachers above. Her expressionless face made a firm barrier to the turmoil and unrest hiding underneath as she numbly removed heirloom ring, his grandmother’s ring encircling her finger, ignoring how every nanometre of skin seemed to shriek as the warm metal passed over it. His desperate pleads did little to persuade her otherwise and in a deafening sense finality, the ring was left on the table between them and with it, her entire future.  

Concerned faces drifted into her field of vision now, hovering over her rumpled form, they seemed to be calling her name, asking if she was alright.   

Couldn’t they tell that she just wanted to be left here, to become one with the concrete beneath her feet and never feel again? 

‘I’m fine,’ Elizabeth barked, ignoring Liam’s outstretched hand as she pushed herself to her feet. 

The absence of a weight on her left hand where the fourth finger met her knuckle almost threw her off balance and she whipped a hand against the wall to support herself. She didn’t trust herself to retain composure much longer so it was imperative that she said her piece. Her tongue felt flat and heavy in her mouth as she forced the words out. 

'Maxwell, have Bertrand call off the engagement and the wedding.'

Maxwell’s big eyes grew even bigger with shock written clearly across his face. 'But Elizabeth -' 

'I’m not asking as a friend Maxwell, I’m telling you as a Duchess.' The venom in her voice caused him to recoil as if she’d struck him. 

A flicker of remorse sparked. Maxwell didn’t deserve that. 

She made to apologise but stopped herself and in the interest of maintaining some dignity Elizabeth turned her back on their astonished faces, rushing blindly down the corridors, desperately hoping to make it to her room without any further interaction before the dam of emotion inside her broke. 

Luck, however, was not on her side this night as the dark haired diplomat stood hesitantly in her path.

‘E-Elizabeth I just wanted to say I’m sorry,’ Kiara began warily. ‘I never intended it to go that far. I-‘

‘Save your excuses for someone who actually cares,’ she spat back, brushing past her roughly. 

Kiara caught her arm as she did. ‘Wait! No… Elizabeth stop. I know you probably hate me right now but we should talk about this!’ 

Anger flared in Elizabeth as she wrenched herself from the other woman’s grip. 'Talk about what Kiara? I have nothing to say to you. You’ve ruined my relationship, doesn’t that say enough?’ 

Not bothering to wait for an answer, she pressed onward. By some miracle the hallways were empty and soon enough she was pushing the door to her suite open, her hands shaking as they clasped around the knob, barely able to turn the lock behind her before her body failed her and she hit the floor hard, the force on her kneecaps barely holding a candle to the agony inside her. A great well of despair swelled up from somewhere deep inside her, threatening to consume her mind with its devastating effects, translating into an intense physical pain that seared through her body. Words could not describe how it seemed to slide under her skin, scraping up her spine and under her scalp, perpetuating itself almost perfectly in the ugly, violent sobs that rocked her person. 

Ignoring the insistent pounding on the door, Elizabeth dragged herself to the window seat looking out into the dark night, desperate to put more distance between herself and their pleas to just let us in, let us help you. She almost wished she’d never pursued the matter. Never asked that goddamn question. 

Oh why couldn’t she have just dropped it? 

Then they would have been able to continue on with their lives, the tour and this weddi- A little voice of reason rose up from through the storm inside her, purposefully putting a stop to that train of thought. As much as it hurt her to admit it, deep down she knew it would have only been worse for her in the long run, to find out later. At least now she had put a stop to it before either of them did anything they would later regret. 

But had she really though? Put a stop to it? 

She could find no indication that Drake’s confession wouldn’t continue to haunt her every time thoughts of him or Kiara wandering into her mind. How could she think of anything else the next time she saw their faces? Thinking of how she got to see him in such an intimate way long before she ever did. 

 What if he had been comparing her to Kiara? 

For one horrible moment, her mind grappled with the thought before it became too much to bear and she forcibly shoved it out of her brain. In the moment that followed, Elizabeth had fantasised quite vividly about running her nails down the clear skin of Kiara’s face, tearing at her perfectly styled hair, to pound her fists into her flawless figure, just so the other woman could know a tiny fraction of the pain that had resulted from this whole mess. Elizabeth knew that she lacked every ability to hold a grudge but the urge faded away more slowly this time. This was the ultimate act of betrayal. This was-

The pure rage that raced through Elizabeth was abruptly interrupted by the sound of her bedroom door slamming open and a livid figure stood menacingly on the threshold, her features arranged in a glare. 

'M-Madeline? How did yo-' 

'Oh please do you really think a locked door can stop me,’ her press secretary scoffed, looking offended as she executed a perfect eye roll. ’Now explain yourself. What is this crap I hear about you wanting to call off the engagement?’ 

Elizabeth never heard Madeline swear before and under other circumstances, she would have considered it a personal victory to have elicited such a response from the usually composed countess. 

‘There’s nothing more to it,’ she replied hollowly instead. ‘The wedding is off.’

Madeline’s eyes blazed. ‘No it is not. You’re just being a selfish child. Liam is taking a massive gamble with your stupid proposal and for reasons I can’t quite understand, it is actually doing some good for Cordonia so you’d better put your pathetic little feelings behind you and stop acting like a little b-'

'Remember that you’ve been working for me Madeleine,’ Elizabeth’s voice took on the same cutting tone she’d used with Maxwell earlier as she pulled herself to her full height a few inches taller than her counterpart. 'And if you still want that role in my duchy, I advise that you stop telling me how I should be acting.'

Her companion was silent, the conflict rolling off her in waves. Sensing that the countess was about to speak, Elizabeth beat her to it, unable to stop her voice from cracking at the end.

'Madeline you probably enjoying this but I beg you, for once in your life, please just leave me alone in peace to grieve the relationship I’ve lost.' 

What followed was a brief stalemate as the two women eyed each other defiantly before Madeline conceded first, nodding her head once before turning on her heel and exiting the room, the door closing behind her with a pronounced click. 

 Elizabeth remained speechless, rooted to the spot, unable to fully comprehend what had just occurred.  She was only broken out of her trance by a terrifying clap of thunder as the foreboding clouds finally gave way to the torrents of rain. Ignoring every word caution she’d received from her grandmother as a child to not go near any windows during a storm, she settled herself on the window seat again. Lightning lit up the sky in wonderful bursts and she was almost grateful for the luminosity imprinting itself on her retinas, an effective distraction from her own personal tempest inside. No more tears flowed now, she was too dehydrated for that but the rain seemed to fulfill this task for her, beating down in merciless sheets against the walls of the manor. She watched the storm rage on outside while inside she grew more and more numb.

It must have been hours when a gentle knock on her door caused Elizabeth to raise her head slightly from where it had rested against the window in a fitful slumber. The first rays of sunlight had not yet emerged behind the horizon and in the delirious, fleeting moment between sleep and full wakefulness, she hoped it was him. But that thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came, as the events of the day before reappeared in her mind, bringing with them a fresh round of heartache. 

‘Its open,’ she croaked in a voice of broken glass, throat run raw from the abuse of constant sobbing. 

 His shoulders were too narrow, his actions to refined to be the person she wanted to see most as he entered quietly 

‘Liam,’ she greeted him weakly, attempting to stand up but her limbs, stiff from being clasped in the same position for so long, refused to hold her up and the impact of the floor on her body was more forceful this time. 

At once his arms were encircled her, a welcome warmth to the vivid chill that had seeped through the thin material her previous night’s dress. The action itself was meant to inspire comfort, reassurance that it was okay but somehow his embrace didn’t feel right, his arms weren’t the ones she wanted to be wrapped in. 

Leaning into his warm chest, Elizabeth wondered what life could have been like if she had accepted his proposal of marriage. As his queen, she would have had a stable future ahead of her and the security that came with it. That fantasy seemed so much more appealing than her current pitiful one but it would be-

She roughly yanked her mind from pursuing that train of thought. 

It would be unspeakably cruel in her moment of weakness to give him hope where there was none. She couldn’t do that to him - Liam deserved more than just a rebound, he deserved someone who could love him as a king not a consolation prize. She loved him but he would never be able to fill the gaping crater in her soul in the way that she craved. 

'I’m sorry Liam… I am so sorry,’ she murmured into his shirt, feeling astonishment ripple through his body and the hand that had been stroking her tangled hair paused. 

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Elizabeth,’ he began to say. 

'All I’ve ever brought you is heartache,’ she gushed. ‘Ever since I stepped off that damn plane, I’ve made things worse for you and your people. I wasn’t good enough as a suitor and now as a duchess I’m even more inadequate coz the one event that had any hope of uniting your country has backfired.'

Confounded, Liam opened his mouth to speak but Elizabeth barrelled onward, the words spilling from her mouth in such a torrent, he saw no option but to let her run her course. 

‘If I had never come here, there would have never been a scandal at your coronation, you would have found the perfect wife, your engagement tour would have gone on without a single hitch. If it wasn’t for me, you would have your best friend back, your future as king would have been secure,  your country would not have been have been in such turmoil under the threat of their king getting sho-‘ 

‘Elizabeth,’ he interrupted, allowing some of his kingly authority to enter into his tone, achieving the response he had intended as she tipped her head up to look at him in surprise. ‘None of that is your fault. You can’t possibly blame the entire misfortunes that have occurred in the last year on yourself. There is no way of knowing that all that would have happened if you were here or not and there is no point now in spending anymore energy this. For all we know, I could have ended up in exactly the same place and it would have been neither your fault or mine.’ 

His words appealed to the more logical portion of her brain and after the words sunk, her breathing evened out and she felt as though she was seeing clearly for the first time in a long time. 

‘Now are we good?’ He asked, pulling away so he could look her in the eyes. 

‘We’re good.’ Elizabeth chuckled slightly at his colloquial choice of wording before her eyes widened. ‘So what does this mean for Cordonia…? Calling off the wedding I mean?’ 

As each word left her mouth, it added to the dread and anxiety that has accumulated in her stomach since the night before. Liam dropped his hands from her shoulders, his face growing sombre as he turned away from her, the light from the morning sun highlighting the strands of gold on his head. He opened his mouth to answer her but thought better of it and instead released a weary sigh sinking down into the desk chair. He ran a hand over his face, worry etched in his figure and was quiet for a moment before delivering his answer in a grim voice. 

‘I hadn’t put much thought into it but I guess once we announce it publicly today the news will be official. We’ll have to call ahead to the other duchies and counties informing them that we will not be visiting them. The Cordonian press would definitely want to talk to us, in fact I think they’ll have a field day with the news. Once they get their scoop, you should expect to be on the front of all the tabloids for a month at least because the public will be disappointed that their favourite new duchess won’t be having a big white wedding. In terms of international matters and where we are with catching the perpetrators from the night of the Homecoming ball…’ 

Liam paused for a moment seeming to use the time to organise his next words. ‘I’m sure Bastien had been counting on having more time to find them while the press were focused on the tour but I’ll have to tell him to speed up the investigation. The needs of the people haven’t changed. They need to see that I and the monarchy are standing strong and able to protect them. That has and always will be my first priority. I guess now we’ll have less time to convince them of that…’ he trailed off despondently, his shoulders drooping as if the weight of the world had suddenly been thrust on them. 

Liam’s words only made consequences of her decision feel more real as he highlighted exactly how it would affect a great number of people outside of herself.  It only took a moment for her to make up her mind. 

‘I’ll do it.’ Elizabeth burst out abruptly. ‘I’ll marry him. 

Disbelief was stark on Liam's face as he snapped his head up to look at her. 

‘What?’ 

She swallowed hard before continuing on. ‘I’ll marry him Liam. Look, I don’t need Madeline to lecture me on how important this wedding is to you and Cordonia. Although I’m not from here, I am still a Duchess and my duty is to my people so if this is what it takes so be it.' 

'But what about-‘ Liam began to interrupt her. 

 She held a hand up, gesturing for him to let her speak. ‘Don’t worry about Drake and I… We’ll-‘ 

What exactly would they do? 

Elizabeth had seen the bud of hope in Liam’s face before it was overrun by hesitation and she took comfort in that as she continued. 

‘We’ll figure something out. After all the things you’ve done for him and I, this is the least we can do for you.’ 

 Using all of her courtly training, she schooled her features into a convincing smile as she watched him rise to his feet, his blue gaze fixing intently on her. 

‘Are you sure? Because I’m not going to pretend that this wouldn’t be extremely convenient for me especially given the odds we’re up against but are you absolutely sure you want to do this Elizabeth? 

‘This is about more than just me. So yes I am Liam.’ 

‘Alright then,’ he replied, heading over to the door. ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements then.’ Hand on the doorknob, he paused, throwing her one last questioning look. 

‘I’m sure about this Liam,’ Elizabeth repeated to which he gave her a small smile before closing the door behind him, leaving her alone to come to terms with the weight of her impending decision hanging over her head.  

FIN

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Do you think I should make a part 3 or would it be better to leave it as it is?

I must credit the fantastic @chantelle-x0x​ for inspiring some of the lines in MC exchanges with Maxwell and Madeline, pure genius!

Tags: @chantelle-x0x @choicessa @topsyturvy-dream @lovemyrestingplacethings @xxrainbowprincessxx @american-duchess @limacity-girl @withice @sir-wigglesworth @boneandfur @ayo-minty-jess @ninamckenzie22 @drakelover78 @h3llostrang3r @cocomaxley @zarina-x-zig @kamybelen-blog @nicestrokepam @pbchoicesobsessed @bizzyschoices @lizeboredom @kellyale1804

Part 3

#drake x mc #drake walker #trr drake #trr kiara #maxwell beaumont #hana lee #king liam #olivia nevrakis #trr madeline #The Royal Romance #the royal romance book 3 #choices #playchoices #choices fandom #choices fanfiction #pixelberry #the angst continues #but does this need part 3 though

[thefinalcinderella]

DIVE!! Book 4 Chapter 2-TRUE DIAMONDS

Full list of translations here

Previously on DIVE!!: Can you guess which of the boys Kayoko was talking about in each paragraph?

Enemy.

Comrade in arms.

Or close friend?

The concrete dragon, which he couldn’t leave no matter what, even though he had repeatedly feared it, hated it, and shunned it since childhood. Tomoki waited for his turn at its feet while calming himself down. The dive order in the finals followed the preliminaries rankings in ascending order, and who would have thought that he would be the one to dive last?

First place in the preliminaries. Tomoki himself was the one most surprised by this unexpected, spectacular achievement.

It was a truth that his good performance had continued. Though he left Tokyo in perfect condition, ever since he entered Osaka his condition improved day by day. His body was light. The water was light as well. No matter what he dived, the technique ended up being perfect and interesting. Of course, the 4½ of his dreams was another story, but it seemed like a dream that this perfect condition continued into the competition—or rather, that he could even show its rise.

Nonetheless, though Tomoki was delighted, he was not in the least relaxed. The scores of the preliminaries did not influence the finals. It was visible from the start that if he lost focus even a little at the crucial moment, he’ll fall all the way to dead last in an instant. Anyways, at today’s competition, all of the contestants were veterans who had never been able to stand on the same stage thus far.

Nakayama Masahiko of JSS Takarazuka, who was second place in the preliminaries.

Asama Takashi of Waseda University, who was sixth place in the preliminaries.

What’s-his-last-name Shinji of Nippon Sport Science University, who was ninth place in the preliminaries.

Moriya Kazuteru of the Ishikawa DC, who was eleventh place in the preliminaries.

Although they were usually hidden in the shadow of Teramoto Kenichirou, who continued to be the sole winner, they were all university students with plenty of competition experience, and so they knew all about how competitions were organized and how to win. Even if they took one variation of their techniques, they were no match for Tomoki.

Of course, he couldn’t neglect the middle school and high school rivals that he recognized.

For instance, Pinky Yamada. He was said to have thoroughly trained to fix his fatal wound of his mental weakness. One could understand him with just a glance at him today that it wasn’t just a rumor. He, who had removed his frivolous self-consciousness itself from his waist, somehow appeared wearing a pair of camel-colored swimming trunks that resembled the stomach band of an old man. He had taken off the shocking pink swimming trunks that had been his trademark ever since he was little, as well as his identity.

Pinky…er, Camel Yamada was fourth in the preliminaries. Moreover, in the first round of the finals he had shown off a beautiful backwards somersault that made the best of his natural proportions, and immediately jumped to first place.

Although Tsuji Toshihiko, who had ranked second in this summer’s representative qualifying trials for the Asia Joint Training Camp, and Matsuno Kiyotaka, who had ranked third, were resigned to lower ranks in the preliminaries, it is unknown to what extent they would pursue him with their persistent performances. Forgoing those qualifying trials that many junior athletes gathered at, Ogawa Shinobu, who shined as the champion at the Inter-High where Youichi was absent from, was also very talented. And then, his greatest rivals were…

As Tomoki slowly climbed up the steps, right now, he looked up and saw Youichi just about to head out from the platform, and Shibuki waiting for his turn behind him.

Youichi and Shibuki. At the end of the day, he was here to compete against the two of them, after all.

Now, everything he had.

Everything he had acquired until now.

All for devoting everything to this entire moment on this day in his fourteen years, to take on the 4½, and to surpass that invisible box.

And of course, to win and go to Sydney—.

But… Tomoki’s eyes clouded as he looked at Youichi, who lacked his usual brilliance. Putting aside Shibuki’s third place, Youichi ending the preliminaries in fifth place was extremely strange. That Fujtitani Youichi is in a lower rank than me!

It was obvious that Youichi was different from his usual self. He, who should have never been discomposed in a competition, was in a state of disorder in this one important battle more than anything else.

What on earth happened?

Even though he was normal yesterday… Tomoki thought about Youichi from the previous day again. Although he hadn’t said a word in the morning’s practice, Youichi had always been frighteningly silent when he was concentrating. So, that was the normal Youichi. He didn’t seem to be very interested when they were sightseeing in Kobe, but Youichi wasn’t interested in anything that wasn’t related to diving. So, that was the normal Youichi. At night, when everyone visited Reiji’s and Sachiya’s room, he was unusually excited and raised his voice. That wasn’t the normal Youichi. But, everyone wasn’t acting normal at that time. Because, Coach Asaki was…

Tomoki moved his gaze towards Kayoko, who was sitting at the front of the second row of seats.

And so, after that he recalled what he had talked about with Youichi and the others.

Asaki Kayoko was returning to America.

That sentence was too sudden, too unexpected. Was that what they called a rod from a bush, a bolt from the blue, or a dropped bombshell? (1) That was why Tomoki, Shibuki and Youichi were confused for a moment at first, like they had been attacked while asleep.

But, when they calmed down and thought about it, they realized they had overlooked it because they were too preoccupied with the qualifying trials, but from the bushes they had snuck looks at flickering and disturbing shadows over the past few days.

“Come to think of it, she’s been awfully quiet.”

The immediate shock had passed, and in a sudden reversal they turned strangely talkative.

It was Shibuki who fired the first shot.

“During practice, outside the pool it’s like she’s always thinking about something, or like there’s a gloomy atmosphere around her… She suddenly falls silent, and gets a faraway look in her eyes.”

“That’s her looking at America,” Youichi nodded with a grimace. “Today’s sightseeing in Kobe is quite strange when you think about it. Has that woman ever done anything so nice for us? Have we ever caught a glimpse of even a tenth of that concerned heart?”

“Everyone gets nice before leaving,” Reiji also went along with the mood.

“Maybe that niceness was a part of the plan from the beginning. First by bringing everyone to Kobe, then going back to Osaka and talking to the American. She’s been carrying it out slowly, without worrying about anyone watching.”

“Well, was it decided from the beginning?” Tomoki looked like an abandoned puppy. “Did Coach Asaki decide to go back to New York when the competition is over tomorrow before she came to Kobe?”

“Maybe. Is she just running away without even a word of discussion with us? That seems like something she’d do.”

“That’s awful. That’s so…selfish.”

“She said as much as she wanted to say, she did as she pleased, and then she quickly disappears. She’s the daughter of a high-class family after all.”

“Ever since Coach Asaki came to the MDC, she’s been skipping over things awfully impatiently. She never said anything like ‘there’s no time’ or ‘I have an incurable disease’ during that time, and I was feeling nervous deep down, but I wonder if she really only wants to go back to America early.”

“Well, human nature aside, as a coach she’s definitely top notch. I’m confident she can work wherever she wants.”

“But what about us?”

“That’s why I said she’s selfish.”

“As expected, you can’t trust women who wear waterproof eyeliner.”

“I wonder if they have arranged marriages in America.”

They let loose the loads on their chests all at once, and then fell silent again just as abruptly as when they started talking. They finally seemed to realize that the loads and pains in their chests weren’t going to disappear, no matter how much they let it all out.

During the night that gradually deepened, at that moment Sachiya, who had kept silent before, murmured something.

“Well then, why did Coach Asaki decide to return to America?”

Separating himself from everyone’s circle, Sachiya sprawled out by himself on the bed and continued on without waiting the other four’s response as they looked at each other blankly.

“As your supporter, no matter who wins or loses at tomorrow’s competition, it’ll definitely be painful. That’s why I’ll be happy for one of you, and feel sad and frustrated for the other three. That’ll definitely be really heavy for three people. Coach Asaki has always worked harder than I did, and that’s why she couldn’t stand being here any longer, because it’s so painful and heavy.”

The four cast their eyes down still without saying a word, their expressions indicating that they weren’t denying Sachiya’s words.

It did not mean that they were impressed with the perception of Sachiya, who cultivated his people-watching skills through observing the moms who went to the synchro swimming class.

It was understood even though it wasn’t said aloud.

“Huh.”

“Really?”

The divers waiting for their turn were suddenly astir.

When Tomoki returned to himself with a start, Youichi had already disappeared from the platform, and right now there was only the violent splash coming up from the water that swallowed him.

Splash?

Tomoki couldn’t believe his eyes.

He hadn’t seen Youichi make a splash in years.

From behind the astonished Tomoki, Reiji, who was waiting for his third round, spoke as though he couldn’t bear it any more.

“You know, Youichi-kun just now…”

“What?”

Tomoki turned around, but Reiji looked down and said, “Never mind, I’ll tell you after.” It seemed like he remembered that it was breach of etiquette to talk to athletes who were close to their turns.

While worrying about Youichi’s unusual incident, what Reiji was going to say, and Kayoko in the stands, Tomoki’s second round was still gradually coming closer.

If I was my former self right now, I would’ve stood on the platform in that confused state, dived without putting my mind into it, wobbling all the while.

Tomoki thought as he reflected on himself up until just a few months ago.

He, who had been half-hearted on the land and in the water. He envied Youichi without making any effort, he only went along with Reiji and Ryou for appearances, but he really didn’t understand anything at all. Because he himself was unreliable, he was ambiguous towards others as well, and he ended up hurting everyone.

It’s different now. I’m different now.

Because I have the diamond eyes.

But, that’s not how the kinetic vision Coach Asaki named works.

From the day that he resolved to only do diving, Tomoki’s eyes reflected a lot of light.

From Kayoko’s no-compromise, thorough attitude. From the heroic resolution of Shibuki, who suffered from back pain, and though he returned to Tsugaru once, accepted the hard fight and stood on the platform again. From the solitary battle of Youichi, who even gave up the Olympic representation right he obtained at great pains, just so he could maintain what was most important to him. From Reiji, who surely carried complicated feelings deep down within but had consideration for his unconcerned comrades—.

Absorbing all of those shining things, now, my eyes have become true diamonds.

The strongest light that can’t be defeated by anyone.

Showing the best dive is surely how I should repay them.

Right when he steadfastly swore that in his heart, a scattered applause rose up from the conspicuously empty diving stands. Shibuki, standing on the stage after Camel Yamada, seemed to have succeeded at his forward 1½ somersaults pike without any problems.

That was followed by another big round of applause. Nakayama, second place in the preliminaries, seemed to have given a good performance as well.

Now, it’s my turn.

He breathed in heavily, stretched his spine quickly, and then moved his feet forward on the black anti-skid mat laid out on the platform.

The distance from the start point to the tip. The rhythm of his approach. The timing of his takeoff. He quickly checked the necessary items, and then finally, he threw his gaze towards the stands.

Bathed in the white light falling from the dome’s ceiling, Kayoko could be seen with her hands clasped as though in prayer. He could see Keisuke. He could see Ooshima. He could see Sachiya. And somewhat separated from that group in the seats behind them, he saw a couple cuddling affectionately together—it was Hiroya and Miu.

Tomoki nodded with an “OK,” and then broke into a run.

Rankings as of the Second Round (Cumulative)

①     Sakai Tomoki (99.0 points)

②     Yamada Atsuhiko (96.75 points)

③     Asama Takashi (92.37 points)

④     Okitsu Shibuki (91.26 points)

⑤     Nakayama Masahiko (89.4 points)

⑥     Kaburagi Shinji (87.12 points)

⑦     Matsuno Kiyotaka (81.15 points)

⑧     Moriya Kazuteru (80.28 points)

⑨     Ogawa Shinobu (76.8 points)

⑩     Tsuji Toshihiko (76.2 points)

⑪     Maruyama Reiji (74.64 points)

⑫     Fujitani Youichi (71.82 points)

Translation Notes

1. Tomoki uses three Japanese idioms for surprise here, so I had to translate the “rod in the bush” one literally, and find another English idiom for the third one.

Next time on DIVE!!: We find out what Hiroya and Miu were up to during the summer.

#DIVE!! #dive novel translation

[downtomyunderoos]

camping trip day 2

// akihiko sanada (downtomyunderoos) & kanji tatsumi (needlepunk/shuffledworlds)

>> day 1

1. kanji --

"Akihiko! You wear speedos, too?!"

2. akihiko --

“Can’t go wrong with a speedo if you want to reduce water resistance.”

He eyes Tatsumi wearing one of his own before satisfaction overwhelms him.

“Ah, I see you’re a man of culture as well.”

3. kanji --

Kanji just puffed out his chest proudly with both hands on his hips for Akihiko to see him sporting his favorite swimwear, a smile beaming on his face. It was a breath of fresh air to not hear someone demand he change immediately. The more they seemed to learn about each other the more comfortable Kanji felt Akihiko really understood him. 

“Yeah, I mean I usually just wear ‘em because they are easy ta move around in, but this one especially…” he spun around, showcasing the logo printed on the rear side. “I just like the skull! It really my aesthetic!” Day 2 of camping was off to a great start, already!

4. akihiko --

Akihiko noted the skull, but he definitely noted toned glutes. He nodded. A gratified grunt.

“Looks great, man.” Who knew what he referred to exactly.

Next to them awaited two inflated biscuit-shaped watercrafts as the river gently rocked them. Off a folding camping chair, Akihiko plucked a life jacket in each hand, tossing one to Kanji.

“Safety first, of course,” he said before slipping into his. A few proper shifts into gear later, “Alright, ready to go tubing?”

5. kanji --

Oh right! Safety first! After what had happened the previous day with the bears, the last thing Kanji wanted to do was risk anything that would lead to further disaster for the weekend, (which was why that morning he had taken the precaution to properly tie the food up in a tree, just case). He nodded and quickly buckled in. It made his whole body feel a bit stiff and bulky, but it was for the best.

Sunblocked and ready to go, Kanji got situated on one of the inner tubes with a small rope to quickly tie them together. “There. Now neither of us can get separated, just in case!” It was time to shove off and off they went! They were finally floating down the river.

6. akihiko --

So they did. And Akihiko appreciated the bustling waters, as his preferences align closely with vitality over inertia. But that didn’t keep him from seizing the plastic oar at his side and accelerating their ride despite the weight!

“Let’s spice things up, Tatsumi!” Every movement, every muscle contract, drove his voice into sounding predatory as though he was challenging Mother Nature herself.

The tubes lurched left and right. Slapped against stones and bounced off. The river responded with brazen splashes to wherever, including slick strikes to the face. Despite deliberate instability, Akihiko, laughing, aimed to prevail — and nonetheless keep his junior safe. At one point their tubes jounced and nearly flipped, but instead arrived a reward: a startled trout flopping onto Kanji’s thighs.

7. kanji --

Kanji was…certainly doing his best to behave for once! After the almost life-ending episode with the bears from yesterday the last thing he wanted was to cause anything that would further ruin this trip for the two of them. Yet now today it appeared to be Akihiko’s turn to endanger them both, tossing the inner tubes about on the river waves and rocks. The blonde was clinging to the safety grips on his own flotation and shifting his weight to keep them from toppling over but then -    FLOP!

A trout? Kanji almost panic had it not been for an otherwise harmless fish. Quickly, the younger emperor grabbed it by it’s fin, holding onto it tight and away from him even as it wiggled violently in his grip. “A-AH! The hell do I do with it?! Aki, slow the damn tubes down for a moment!” Was he suppose to actually release it? He was about to let go but then…they did sort of lose a good amount of food from the other day. This would be great to cook for dinner when the get back to their camp site. “Should we…k-keep it? Eat it?”

8. akihiko --

“Now would you look at that!” Akihiko exclaimed nearly breathlessly at their delicious arrival. “Keep it! We’ve earned it!”

His hair soaked in the winds and waters, appearing erratic. Moist bangs padded his forehead and trickled downward. Their tubes swayed and coursed on its own, while he was visibly catching his breath; the oar stayed clenched in his hands now in cessation.

Overhead, shady clouds were rolling in, issuing a forewarning. Akihiko took note of that.

“Hey, let’s go back.”

9. kanji --

“Huh? But we just started! We can’t go back right now. Besides, it’ll be harder to haul everything up the trail instead of catch the bus at the end of the-” Kanji couldn’t finish his protest with a massive wave of river water splashing in his face, and sending him overboard from the tubes. It had taken every bit of strength to not lose grip on the fish from slipping away in the water. However…with both hands holding tightly by the fins…something else had slipped away.

Kanji gasped when he finally came up to the surface and reached for the inner tube with one hand, looking around the river in a panic. “A-Aki! We got a situation here! I uh…I lost somethin’ and I don’t think I can just…climb back on the tube! My swimsuits’ gone!”

10. akihiko --

Akihiko reeled forward in alarm. Hell, he nearly jumped in himself. “Kanji?!”

Immediately, thank god, he spotted arms floundering. Next, a full head. Then the rest of his friend — almost. Out came the news, which frankly did not make a lick of sense. How does one lose a speedo clean off within a minute like this? Based on observation, Akihiko knew damn well that shit hugged his glutes intimately.

Needless to say, he was flabbergasted.

“You serious?” he asked, but judging from the other’s terror, Akihiko already knew the answer. “You’re serious.”

He gazed off into the distance and took a deep breath, at a loss himself.

Thankfully, his brain explored all seven stages of grief in ten seconds. “Okay, uh, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it.” They were both men, after all. “What matters is getting you out of…”

From the corner of his eye. In the background. A large bear emerging from the ensemble of trees and bushes and making its way towards the river. It dipped its paws in and masterfully fished out a black—

“…KanjiYourSpeedo—”

11. kanji --

Akihiko may have gotten over this rather quickly, but Kanji on the other hand was still in an internal state of panic. The beach episode had been one thing, his speedo not being tossed about violently to a point where it was impossible to see within the waters. This…this was an entirely different story. There wasn’t even seaweed around to cover himself with for the time being! All he had was a fish!

All hope seemed lost until Akihiko piped up, seeming to have sighted the treasured swimsuit only for all light within Kanji’s soul to sink into the darkest despair once more. A familiar, fuzzy friend seemed to have gotten hold of it along the river bank ahead. It was the famous mother bear and her two cubs from the other day.

         ………..

Kanji was going to FIGHT!

“HEY! THAT’S MINE! GIVE IT BACK!” Without any further thought, Kanji started to shift his way through the roaring waters in the bear’s direction, fish flailing about in his hand all the while.

12. akihiko --

“Tatsumi!” Akihiko rocked in his tube. “Wait!”

Yet he didn’t pursue him. He watched the other wade in the river so mightily it was possible for it to split in two… and reveal Kanji’s own crack.

With speedo in her clutches, the bear peered up at the approaching challenger in all his glory. She bore her canines as means to intimidate, ready to throw down — until the fish writhing in his hand soon caught her bloodthirsty sights.

Again, Akihiko shouted for Kanji, but a roar cut him off. Mama bear tamed her scowl and slowly backed up, before raising a paw at the trout. She couldn’t feed her cubs beach panties.

13. kanji --

Kanji…was a very stupid boi, and this was just another fine example of proof of such. Yet in that very moment it was as if the might rapids of this river were parting like the red sea to make way for him to challenge this ferocious bear to a duel for what was rightfully his. He’d never be able to call himself a man or reclaim manhood if had to run back to camp with his frontal tail shoved between his legs!

All hope seemed lost until he noticed the bears nose flare up…and the her paw swipe at the fish in hand. He knew…right away what he must do. And so…Kanji smacked her across the facewith that trout, grabbed his speedo when it fell from her jaw, tossed the fish over for her to run after, and then quickly let the rapids carry his naked body, and his swimsuit away!

It’s true, Kanji was stupid…and it showed when the damn thing almost slipped off his body when he was climbing back into the inner tube again.

14. akihiko --

That was the end of that. Apparently. Akihiko lacked words for what just took place.

Mealless once again, it was smooth sailing from here on out.

However, by the time they returned to their destination, forewarned clouds from earlier fully manifested like a goth mosh pit conquering the sky. In fact, it started pouring while they were still in their tubes. Akihiko climbed off, with slick, uncoordinated legs dangling momentarily into the water as the material underneath made anomalous squeaks of terror. Oh, how moist this all was. At last, shore: claimed. His bare feet slapped around in the mud, unfortunately.

Akihiko extended a hand towards Kanji.

“Hey, be careful– it’s slippery. Want me to help you out? It’s a little difficult…” As he just deplorably demonstrated.

15. kanji --

Kanji…had screwed up again. He should have just let the bear have it and dealt with somehow making his way back to camp in the nude. There would be clothes there waiting for him, and it wasn’t like their current situation was any better. Now they were trodding through the mud in a rain, and he had a hole in the rear of his speedo. The weather couldn’t be helped, but now part of Kanji felt like they wouldn’t have had to throw away the fish for dinner if he had just contained his anger and impulsive behavior.

He reached out for Akihiko’s hand to take as he climbed out of the river, tugging the tub along with him in his other hand…all before slipping forward on a wet spot and tugging Akihiko down into the mud with him. “W-WOW!” He landed face first, nose clogged with the filthy brown stuff. Luckily his life jacket and softened his fall…until the larger male landed right on top of him.

#needlepunk #shuffledworlds #rp:ic #akihiko to kanji tatsumi #for the archive!

[pantheon-pjorp]

Robin Castle | 14 years old | Son of Dionysus | Cabin Twelve | TAKEN

↳ T h e  l i f e  o f  R o b i n  C a s t l e —

Since booking his first dog food commercials at age three, Robin Castle has had an itch to be on the silver screen. He inherits it from his mother, Dove Castle, who was an extremely popular actress in the 90s until the mid 2000s. Dove went the way of many bright-eyed young hollywood starlets, and was unfortunately typecast too often in roles, leaving her name to join many others in the forgotten wasteland of almost-stars. However, she did catch the eye of Dionysus, who aside from partying, wine, and insanity, is also the god of theater and can appreciate an amazing talent when he sees one. On December 23rd, 2002, little Robin was born. With a shock of black curls and deep purple, almost black eyes that were completely reminiscent of his father, Dove was determined to make him a star, having her son live out the dream she never got to fully pursue.

Even if it appeared as if Robin was unknowingly thrust into the world of acting, he’s loved every minute of it. Minor roles were never satisfying enough. Robin wanted to be a leading man, not a cute little brother or neighbor boy. Luckily, his mother knew the industry inside and out and as his manager was able to book him all kinds of roles. Even with a busy schedule as his notoriety grew as a child actor, what Robin really wanted to do was genuine live theater. Although being on tv and movie sets was fun, there was nothing quite like being spotlit on a stage in front of a live audience. His biggest obstacle in acting wasn’t the professionalism or long work days or stress, but the dyslexia that made it hard to read his scripts.

Despite it being well-known and agreed upon by many directors in Hollywood that Robin has raw, unmatched talent for a kid his age, once the kid got older, he started to become less professional. The television series that rocketed his fame from age eight until twelve came to a conclusion when the director apparently lost his mind while working one-on-one with the young prodigy. With plenty of other roles under his belt by this point, and the director’s meltdown seemingly having no correlation with the child star, plenty of other producers were grabbing at the chance to get Robin’s name tacked onto their projects. Dove made sure to keep a watchful eye on her son as he started exhibiting more abilities, going so far as to contacting his father and convincing him to send them a satyr to act as Robin’s personal assistant.

The bright, dazzling lights of the city of stars began to bear down on Robin, exposing him to the darker sides of hollywood. As he racked up more awards for outstanding performances in film and television, his ego began to get the better of him. After getting caught engaging in hallucinogens for who knows how long, enough was enough for the momager. Of course Dove was concerned about her son’s health, especially considering what those kinds of drugs could do to a demigod, let alone one who was known to influence other people’s psyche, but she also couldn’t let this get out to the public and ruin Robin’s career, not when he was this young. She broke his current movie deal to send him to the only sort of rehabilitation center that she thought could have a serious impact on him: Camp Half-Blood.

↳ C a m p  J u p i t e r ‘ s  8 – m o n t h l o c k d o w n —

Not present

↳ P e r s o n a l i t y —

Robin enjoys being the center of attention, but doesn’t work for it in a loud or flamboyant way. The way he asserts himself is a more understated sort of dominance, something that has unfortunately grown as his ego gets larger as well. He tends to have a lack of a filter and has no issue in bragging about his accomplishments when prompted. He can also be quite serious when necessary. Sometimes, Robin can’t tell which parts of his character are his own genuine feelings, and which are traits left behind from previous roles.

Despite the occasional reality-check needed, Robin can be quite likeable when he wants to be. It helps that he uses his empathy, most of the time unknowingly, to endear himself towards others. The ability to make friends is something Robin has always had to be good at in his line of work, but he also has trust issues when it comes to people possibly wanting to get close to him because of his fame.

↳ A b i l i t i e s  a n d  w e a k n e s s e s —

✔ As a son of Dionysus, he can control plants, grape and strawberry vines at whim, though he’s never tapped into this ability. He can also cause and cure madness (causing, he has a lot more practice in).

‣ Like all Greek demigods, Robin suffers from ADHD (to keep him alert to threats) and, because his brain is hard-wired to read Greek, from dyslexia.

✘ General ignorance when it comes to the life of a demigod, especially when it comes to fighting and monsters. Has a slighter frame and isn’t particularly strong, also lets his ego get the best of him when he needs to ask for help.

↳ T h i n g s  t o  r e m e m b e r —

He’s a completely new arrival to Camp Half-Blood, knowing nothing until the day he reached camp. He’s gotten the basic run down from Chiron and knows the basics, but this is still and entirely foreign world to him.

Though fighting instincts come naturally, he’s completely unpracticed in all manners of fighting and other basic athletics.

Robin tends not to like kids is age, and has always preferred spending time with his older co-stars.

He’s a recovering addict

Also a recovering vegan.

Hates nicknames, mainly ‘Robbie’. Many people who think they’re his friend call him Robbie.

Secretly self-conscious about certain things due to scrutiny from the media over the years.

Can carry a tune as well as dance, just things he’s picked up as an actor, but isn’t overly spectacular at either.

Has never had the opportunity to experience “normal kid things”, having done all his growing up on set.

↳ R e l a t i o n s h i p s —

Dean Rogers: Dean isn’t a huge fan of Robin and his actor’s complex, but Robin is determined to crack away at Dean’s shell. Robin sees him as quiet and brooding in a cool way, wanting to emulate that in his own character at times when he’s a bit too loud and brash.

Aaron Barman: Aaron definitely is willing to give Robin more of a chance than their other brother. Robin gets along with Aaron the best out of all his new siblings, and even feels as if he’s able to confide in him with his temptations with alcohol and drugs without being judged.

Dakota Dakila: He hasn’t met Dakota at all yet, and isn’t sure when he will, but according to Dean and Aaron, they should get along just fine.

Charlie Montgomery: Charlie is nice. A little too nice for Robin’s tastes. She’s also really pretty and smells like sunflowers, but that’s completely besides the point.

Akantha Billing: Akantha is the only younger person at camp that Robin feels is on the same page as him. She hates it just about as much as he does, and he’s not completely closed off to the idea of conspiring with her to ditch this place completely.

FC: Finn Wolfhard

#greek demigod taken #child of dionysus #original character #takenm

[azoriumarchives]

feather.

Drifting away like a feather in air, Letting my words take me away from the hurt and despair...

   He says nothing.

   Perhaps nothing needs to be said anymore. The time for apologies is long past. There’s no longer a reason to celebrate. And both of them have already welcomed each other after so long. Laying atop the lap of the one who cares—of the one who was overjoyed to see him after a period of poor memory and abstraction that had clearly overstayed its welcome—is enough to put Makoto’s weary body at ease. He had felt it, and so had she. The memories that had come rushing back in accordance to the vow they had made on this very spot. The same holds true for her as well. It’s been a month since that fateful night — the night that a miracle was wrought by the boy’s own hands. But he lost something precious that night. They all did.

                So I’m keeping it vertical; forever elevator.                 Riding the escalator to the something that is greater...

   Even now, after all he’s experienced throughout the year, something like that is still hard to believe. And to have it last for a month, no less... For a month, their memories were erased. For a month, they were little more than average high school students. Acquaintances. Strangers. And for a month, the resilient bond they forged together had been forgotten. Both of them may have understood the situation, but having to deal with the fact that the people closest to him were forgotten is still a bitter pill to swallow.

                                   Treat you better than me,                                   ‘Cause that’s the heavenly key.

   It’s disheartening, but he chooses to overlook it. They’ve resurfaced now,, and he basks in their joyous return along with the serene view of spring and the face that is so fixated on his own. Gingerly does his hand rise to reach that face, now marred by tears, only to be obstructed by the firm grasp of her warm fingers.

            To unlock the inner strength where my essence will be...

   Aigis’ voice, though occasionally interrupted by light sobs, is filled with joy. Even as she tenderly pours her heart out to him, she sounds at peace. It’s nostalgic; like music to his ears. There’s no denying how much he had missed the sound of her voice, the protective way she held him, and the emotion she displayed whenever they were together.

         “ Soon… All your friends will be here by your side… ”

   Friends… That’s right. They’re all going to gather here, just like they promised. That means they finally remembered too, right? They would meet here on the rooftop soon, celebrating their achievement of the impossible. No one else would remember what they fought for on that night. No one would know of the insurmountable odds stacked against them or what they were made to endure as they stared into death’s stern gaze with determination in their own. But he doesn’t care, and neither should they. The future they won—the here-and-now that they exist in—is proof of their victory. The only proof they need.

                       It’s the knowledge of self,                               Understanding of the things around me,

                       That becomes the wisdom that I need.

   His lips part slightly to finally allow something, anything to slip out. But not even the slightest hum makes it to the surface. A sudden, off-timed beat interrupts him and his train of thought. He’s experienced this before. This vexing sensation in his chest... Since the month began, actually. An out of place heartbeat… And like just every time it happened, an overwhelming feeling of fatigue isn’t far behind. His body becomes heavier, as if it’s suddenly comprised entirely of lead. Unlike before, however, he can feel his heartbeat softening, but gradually decreasing.

   And a quick look into his memories brings a realization; a reason for this. A reason that causes his eyes to widen for only a moment.

   So that’s what it meant… Now he remembers. Everything comes with a price, doesn’t it? Even achieving the impossible. The others don’t know what really happened that day, though. What he had to pay to bring that miracle to fruition. Maybe it’s better that way. It was his choice. His responsibility. It’s only right for it to be his secret. His burden. And it’s a burden he bears without regret.

   When compared to the things he holds dear, a price like that means absolutely nothing to him.

                    Living this life to the best of my ability.                Channeling energy to my thoughts into your symmetry.

         “ Heeeeey---!! ”

   Junpei’s ecstatic voice reaches his ears first, followed by many more. Yukari, Akihiko, Mitsuru, Fuuka, Koromaru, and even Ken. Though their figures are hazy to him, he’s still able to make out each of them as they come. Happiness, sorrow, relief—an array of emotions are heard in their cries that approach the two of them. He plans to stand; to welcome them with open arms and display brightest smile ever to grace his features since childhood. Since the calamity that took it away from him for so long.

                  —I will survive; divine the time to cry.

   But despite his intentions, his body is unable to comply. It remains anchored to Aigis’ lap. Even his eyes remain fixed on the sky, unable to tear their gaze away from the calming light. The one time he’s eager to do something, too… Life sure has an interesting way of toying with him. Not that he minds, for once. He’s still here. He’s still able to keep their promise. That fact alone fills him with joy, his current state be damned.

                     Fuck a hold or hide, I’m alive with pride.

         “ You must be tired… Please, get some rest… I’ll stay right here with you… ”

   Though her voice surprises him, he still gives a slow nod. Sleep—that’s what he needs. His eyes are beginning to feel heavy, after all. And his chest feels heavier. Fatigue grips at his very core. And although it means letting go and no longer being able to enjoy this moment anymore, his body and mind both seem to welcome the thought of blissful slumber. 

                         And I drove the Chevy to the Levy, but the Levy was dry;

   He smiles again, leaning back against her gentle, welcoming touch. The others’ voices are getting much louder now. But his vision is now being obscured by an atypical combination of the warm, radiant sunlight and lashes draping over his eyes like a curtain descending slowly upon a stage. 

   Pink petals drift soundly through his field of view. Like feathers in a breeze, uninhibited and free. The chirping of birds—once considered nothing but clamorous and distracting by him long ago—give the setting a sense of peace, quiet, and tranquility that resonates well with him and makes it easier to relax. To let go. Birds and petals both flow through the air now, unhindered by the oppression of gravity. He can still see them, albeit faintly. But the childlike desire to reach for them is still there welling inside of him. A single butterfly then spreads its radiant blue wings, soaring along and joining them in their moment of liberation. Soon, he figures, he’ll be able to reach out and meet them. To experience the freedom that they enjoy day in and day out. 

   That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

   The thought of such an experience puts a big, innocent smile on his face. The thought of flying free with the birds, butterflies, and leaves. Roaming the endless sky for as long as time turns. There would be nothing else but them. Nothing else to ground him. Nothing to take that peace away. Responsibility? Burden? Attachment? None of those would matter in that world. That simple, perfect world. Yes... that’s what an ideal world looks like to him now. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to go; to leave this world behind and pursue paradise. At last, he shuts his eyes without ever losing that smile. That hopeful smile, eager to accept the world that no longer seems like just a dream. With his promise fulfilled, there is nothing left for him to do here anymore. He can finally bask in the nothingness that follows rest. Freedom is finally calling his name, and Makoto’s sole answer is to comply. To shut his eyes and drift into a deep sleep, tuning out the world around him for one last time.

   After that moment, those eyes never opened again.

                               …singing “this will be the day that I die.”

#「 ;drabble. 」

[robininthelabyrinth]

Legends Recap

Because while I was determined not to (I was three episodes behind!), sometimes a girl's just got to scream into the void: "HOW DO THESE WRITERS KEEP THEIR JOBS?"

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Raiders of the Lost Art: Wow, I don’t care about Rip. Also, you had the fucking spear of destiny through all of season 1? Fucking incompetent.

I’ve seen the Mick scene before. *hugs Mick*

…Nate is such an annoying frat boy. 3AM blasting bad music? In a small space near other people’s sleeping quarters? And just “oh, yeah, sorry, I needed to do a thing” as an explanation? We have a name for those people: assholes.

Again: Indiana Jones is an archeologist. Not a historian.

“Anyone would have made the call to save Grey!” “Would Rip?” Answer: no, because Rip doesn’t care about the team. Remember how he did that repeatedly last season?  Why is this show trying to push Sara’s weird (and out of nowhere) crush on Rip?

I have literally no interest in Rip’s issues. Zero.

Fear of giant toads, somehow related to Mick’s mother (reference to “mommy talk”). Dragon!Mick confirmed?

Mick’s expression of “you’ve got to be kidding me” is going to be the highlight of this episode, I can tell.

I’m pleased they remember that Mick can knock someone out without harming them. I’m less pleased that they seem to have forgotten that Sara can do the same?

“Oh now, our way out is block! Pity we didn’t bring Jax, so that we could literally Firestorm fly our way out! That would have made sense, but cost precious CGI money!”

Mick’s tradition of carrying people continues.

Oh god, this episode’s only halfway over. Make it stop.

Goody, Stein insulting Mick to his face. Also, emotional problems leading to hallucinations are a serious problem??? Even if it’s just “emotions”, there are hallucinations?

NOTE TO AUDIENCE: Not having 4 PhDs or a history degree = total inability to read words!

NOTE TO AUDIENCE: Not being an inventor or a historian makes you useless!

Also, apparently getting mugged once can cause a change of career after dropping money and time into it.

Why did they move the chair into Mick’s room? HOW did they? (Why were we, the audience, deprived of the glorious scene of Mick and Stein hauling it down the hallway)

Also, Mick has been interpreting Stein’s academic technobabble without a problem the whole episode, and yet, everyone on board thinks he’s stupid…

I’m incredibly pissed at this episode for raising hopes of Len and then destroying them. Both for Mick, and for the audience.

I’m also not here for the Rip/Sara thing. Also the fact that this show seems to assume people will be super disbelieving despite being on a goddamn spaceship.

Oh, my bby! Mick’s head is literally SLICED OPEN in that scene! WTF?

I get all the Star Wars references, I just…don’t care…

George Lucas is holding the spear of destiny, which makes him a great director…or, at least, married to one. He’s a good tech guy, at least.

In which the Guy Who Has Never Been In A Fight Decides Not To Run From Evil Bad Guys Because…Plot.

Mick’s little smile when he says “ghost” and the heartbreak after it is just…unnecessary. Also, wtf, Stein, hallucinations are not a usual response to grief, okay?

Ugh.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legion of Doom:

Damien’s intro is more interesting than 95% of the normal Legends’.

Okay, why is Merlyn having Feelings about Darkh dying? (Also, wouldn’t removing Darkh from the timeline mean that that timeline no longer happens? Why do G. Lucas’ ~~feelings~~ about filmmaking have an immediate impact but literally removing the person who doesn’t go on to do any of the shit he later does not?)

Fucking writers. This could be such a good show if they cared even a LITTLE.

I do enjoy the sheer bitchiness of the bad guys. Pity they’re Nazis. Also, do we need all the scenes of tortures?

ALSO: why the hell would his daughter help with a mystical artifact? Like, I see that she does because of plot, but couldn't they have put any effort into explaining why her specialty is required? Also, why does she have a radiation detector in her pocket when she goes to get coffee?

Bad guys: bitch-bitch-bitch.

Bad guys: bitch about each other.

Bad guys: yet MORE bitching!

Bad guys: worst bank robbers ever?

Mick’s difficulty thinking of the word is adorable. And yeah, she deserved to know. Everyone acting super weird about her, and she doesn’t know why? She would have wanted to know. It was clearly deliberate, too (I love how he goes to “asphyxiation”!)

Bad guys: going back to bitching. With swords! (See, I’d like them, but: Nazis.)

Stein is moping because Mick “spilled the beans” on a secret he shouldn’t be keeping. So sad.

Both sides figure out Eobard, finally. Also, can’t Eo just phase out through the wall?

Speedster: not…use…speed…force? I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand?

Eo’s terror face is hilarious. Also, did everyone just forget about phasing?

Stein’s family drama, yeah, yeah.  Stein: Can’t you stay? Lily: No, the budget can’t afford another regular. I mean, I have protein-folding to be doing instead of LITERAL time travel with future science! Because that’s totally how normal people/scientists make decisions!

--------------

Turncoat:

Mick’s intro is lovely.

Interesting mention about “time travel” being fun – I assume not all the memories are back in place. That, or being a Time Master is even more dull than I’d previously imagined.

I’m in for Gideon killing everybody! *notes down fic idea*

Go Mick! Use your skills! (Ray deserves all the arm twisting.)

Nate and Amaya – boring. And seriously, with the ‘falling into his arms’ thing?

Good lord, someone actually makes a plan that includes the line “and then if there’s trouble, Firestorm”? I thought I’d never see the day.

(Ray should totally go as a toy. And Ray, stop making faces at Mick – you’ve been a dick to him all season, only fair he gets some licks back in.)

“Oh you’re married to a black woman! Don’t you know we were racist back then!” says the man in late 18th century New Jersey, where rich black women could still vote. (No, really, in a handful of states black women could vote as long as they owned property. This was one of the rights that was lost when the US got itself a federal government. But the past was always racist! because we didn't make this joke enough when Kendra and Ray were dating!)

Ray’s “Mer-ry Christmas!” is amusing.

Mick identifies the problem faster than anyone else, as usual. Mick disapproves of Rip’s behavior – and Rip’s attempt to compare the two of them. For shame, Rip; as usual, thinking the worst of Mick.

“And Rory.” “That was implied.” Yeah, sure.  At least Jax gets next Captain after Sara goes! First time I’ve seen any reference to Jax’s leadership skills in…the entire series…

Really. Twice. That doesn’t make it funny.

“I’ll bet a hundred yous you’re wrong” = Mick is the best. Georgie isn’t wrong about there being rules of war, but Mick is still the best.

Jax. Jax. I love you, but there is a DIFFERENCE between “wow, I’m in charge of a handful of people and need to make decisions” and “I’m going to do a potentially life threatening activity involving literally digging into my friend’s stomach (which is filled with organs that, if nicked, could cause sepsis and death) with a knife, and I’m going to do it without a guide or any experience”. Stein wins this one hands down.

Okay, let me just be clear: somehow, Amaya has been on this ship for months and months and never heard the term ‘dating’ and is instead using ‘courting’, which is the most formal of formal terms used in the past. Because obviously a man – to use old-fashiony language like this show wants to – “called on” or “stepped out with” a woman a few times before officially declaring a courtship. Because the past didn’t have one-night stands, because people only developed libidos around the time of the internet. SERIOUSLY SHOW? People have been fucking for fun since forever. The whole “sexual revolution” thing was a revolution because women could have sex for fun WITHOUT RISK OF PREGNANCY.

Before then, they still had sex, they used what contraceptives they had and hoped for the best. There’s a reason shotgun weddings were a thing. And why

And I was told they went with the “huddling for warming -> sex” thing, I knew it was coming, it’s just…disappointing. Boring.

Jax Home Alone looks like it’s going to be fun.

Rip – the most ahistorical haircut, or the most ahistorical haircut? Ugly, too.

Georgie: “Don’t punish Mick! He’s not guilty!” Mick: “You bet your ass I am! Possibly not at the moment, but of many other things! And also, just generally speaking!”

Still bored with Nate/Amaya.

Jax Home Alone is not anywhere near as fun as I was hoping. Boo.

Mick: So I’m getting you out of here. George: No. Mick: *tries insults* *it’s not very effective* George: *stirring speech* Mick: *stirring speech* *it’s super-effective!* George: …

“Oh, no, what about George Washington and Rory!” says the person happily having sex and napping instead literally five minutes before.

Awwwww, Ratigan! That is some terrible CGI.

Why are they selling the Rip/Sara? It’s icky. (This is me: totally believing that Sara’s dead. Really. Totally. Even for five seconds.)

First, the historical critique: they shouldn’t ALL be standing around at a hanging with primed guns, that’s a recipe for disaster.

Second: I don’t even care this is glorious. Mick saves everyone! Mick tackles four people! George uses his superior height!

Also, if Mick convinced him early in the evening, then they literally spent all night talking.

First instance of Georgie-boy! (though poor Mick is still suicidal, oh dear)

George: …yeah, Americans out, stage left, pursued by bear.

Jax, Jax, baby, just shoot him in the kneecap. What the hell is with these heroes? Sara’s back and decides to use Christmas against everyone because…no, I have no idea why. Is it just me or does it feel like these episodes are massively out of order?

Awwww, Georgie and Mick drinking together <3 Mick and the criminal justice system! And then they hug! Mick finally has a good friend!

“Rebel spirit, steadfastness, crass yet effective use of language, you’re the best of what our new nation can be” – Mick is now officially embarrassed and hiding. Man, if I hadn’t already written that Barry/Mick fic, I would now.

Sara and Jax bro-ship is perfectly okay. More of that.

Mick in a hat! Mick with his new rat! <3 Mick kissing his new rat!

“We have nothing to celebrate – including Mick getting a statute!” – why, guys, why?

(Mick’s face of “yeah I still got nothing” whenever the statute is mentioned is adorable)

“Because the League may have everything – smarts, beauty, cunning, charisma…wait, where was I going with this?”

#dc's legends of tomorrow #lot liveblog

[dashadoe-blog]

Skin Deep

When I was younger, I didn’t think I was beautiful. I’m sure I’m not alone in that thought process. My terrible eyesight resulted in frames that made my eyes look tiny. My eczema resulted in dry patchy skin that led to mean comments on the school bus and worst of all, I had short hair with curls that shrunk to half their length when touched by Florida’s moisture. The last piece about my hair is important, because I’m Haitian-American. And in Caribbean culture, there are two things that can define a young girl’s beauty; her hair or the color of her skin. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see the features my parents always heralded as stunning. One day I would grow into my doe eyes and long legs but turning on the bathroom light throughout early stages of puberty, I saw someone with awkward limbs, coarse, unlikable hair, buck teeth - someone just not good enough.

To top it off, my sister, the first-born grandchild in our family was the exact opposite of me. Bright, bubbly, beloved and crowned with long, full voluminous hair that cascaded past her shoulders when blown out - she was the beauty queen of all our cousins and the apple of my grandmother’s eye. And as much as my maternal grandmother fawned over her, she detested me. I never received a compliment or a genuine approach of affection. Where my sister was met with hugs and kisses and feathered with gifts, I was met with toleration and obligation. I was her grandchild by default, not by choice. At least, that’s what it felt like. I go off on this tangent because it’s what shaped an early obsession with latching onto the two things that can define a young girl’s beauty; her hair or the color of her skin.

I didn’t have the first, and it would take me over a decade to love what sprouted from my head, but I was born with the privilege of the latter. Having a mulatto father resulted in my mocha-tinted skin, a hue of honey when touched by the sun. It became my prized possession. When I look back, I see how foolish it might have been to place my validation in something like skin, but it was the only thing that gave me hope of being accepted by someone who never saw past my face, which mirrored the father my grandmother wasn’t always too fond of.

And this obsession dragged on. When I felt envious of the affection my sister garnered from her peers or family members or specifically my grandmother, I would remind myself that her skin was a nutmeg brown and it was obviously her hair that was getting her the attention. Which might have been true, but that alone was problematic for her in so many ways. She had her own cross to bear and I just didn’t have the depth of understanding to perceive that yet. When my grandmother would occasionally do something lovingly in my behalf, I would assume it’s because she noticed, I was like her some way. She is even fairer than I am, so I assumed she noticed our similar complexions and thought in some way I must be pretty enough to love. Again, I didn’t have an understanding of the stigmas or perceptions that came with skin tone. I only knew that I wanted something to be loved for, or even liked, in the same way as my sister.

I remember the first moment that sense of skin security was cracked, as it needed to be, by my mother. My mother often shakes me from my fantasy world without even trying on a regular basis, which is something I’ve grown to filter and appreciate as I’ve gotten older. During my phases of puberty, it often left me more lost and identity-confused, which in turn was catalyst of metamorphosis. In this case, I was probably 11 or 12 and visiting my little cousin, who I hadn’t seen since she’d been born I believe. She was probably two at the time. Like many people in the Caribbean culture, she’s mixed. Her ethnicity is comprised of her Haitian-father’s dark chocolate skin and her Dominican mother’s dulce de leche complexion. Needless to say, she was the first family member outside of my grandmother and father and the first child in my family, whose skin looked liked mine. And a flurry of feelings went through me for that reason. I felt a feeling of familiarity and a surge of love. But I also felt a threatening feeling too; this new, blossoming baby girl could snatch the love I was desperately trying to earn from my grandmother.  

And so, being presumptuous and wanting to protect my only bargaining chip, I repeatedly kept saying out loud “she’s light-skinned too, just like me.” Thinking back on it, I cringe knowing that I felt comfortable repeating that over and over again because of my own insecurities.  And I don’t know if my mother saw through it or just thought that I was being rude, but she shut me down quickly (or as we call it, based on her name, “Clara-fied”). I can’t recount exactly what she said, but it was something along the lines of suggesting that skin color doesn’t mean anything and that she hoped I wasn’t playing into that foolish way of Caribbean thinking. That beauty wasn’t defined by those standards and we didn’t teach that in our household, which was entirely true. And I remembered, even as I write this, how I instantly felt ashamed, confused and angry all at once. My mother went through her own share of learning to love her big lips and slanted eyes which I knew, but I’d never spoken to her about using my skin color as a tool to earn my grandmother’s affection. I guess deep down, even as child, I might have known it didn’t make sense. But I wasn’t trying to use it as a sign of intentional superiority. I was just trying to survive in the presence of someone who made me feel so blatantly unloved.

But I needed that wake-up call. And I am grateful for it. It would take some more time, some growing-up and some eye-opening moments, but I learned to love myself, on the surface and underneath. And the more I did that, the more I became less obsessed with what my skin color meant to my grandmother and more concerned with what it meant to me. I went to a high-school with a lot of white kids and in hindsight, I realize how being mocha-tinted might have actually helped me escape some racially-charged assumptions my darker peers might have encountered.  Not to say I didn’t have my own share of stigmas to encounter. (I.e. being called an Oreo). I was exposed to it even more in college when my friends of darker complexions would be flirted with but not pursued like I was by black men. It was shocking to me to hear black men openly say they would only date light-skinned women so they could have light-skinned children, whom they found more attractive. While I used my skin tone to find solace in not being accepted, I never thought less of others because of it. Still, I felt shame because of what I’d allowed to permeate my brain in my younger years about beauty. I recognized painfully that skin color wasn’t a security blanket anymore nor was it ever – it’s just a suffocating result of racial oppression that my community had fed into. 

And I vow not to be the same. It’s not that I don’t still see the stigmas of skin color around me. But I’ve learned not to define others or myself by it- and it shows up in ways of thinking you might not expect. Dark skin women sometimes give me dirty looks, light skin me are heralded as more attractive in the media, mixed children are fetishized...the list goes on. But I try to be mindful of what my prejudices or assumptions might be playing into, because I know exactly how it feels to be dismissed for what you look like. And a great part of learning to change my thought process is greatly because I don’t seek approval from my grandmother anymore. That ship ironically sailed when she began to treat me respectfully. And it’s only because she thought I was beautiful enough to acknowledge. But at that point, I’d already learned that what makes me attractive is more than skin deep. I love me because skin doesn’t define my beauty standard or yours. Our character does.

#tothegirls carribeanculture character skindeep blackculture blackhistory shortessay

[hiriajuu-suffering]

I’ve Given Up

I’ve given up on the idea maybe one day I’ll find happiness. My entire life is a series of signposts that indicated to me I’m paying for sins I didn’t commit to in this life.

I sought the normative life early on. I was told being smart, being a unique and critical thinker is an asset to one’s personhood. Instead, it got me ostracized from my religious community and prevented me from fulfilling the social goals to help me fit in. I was the centralizing force of my social circle in elementary school, and then all my friends drifted away in a matter of 3 years as I was further dissociated from suburban life. I wasn’t even invited to my childhood best friend’s wedding. Then again, how should one expect a group of 12 and 13 year olds in 2004 to empathize with a depressed friend that seemingly had a great life on the surface? I miss how pure and unfiltered those relationships were. In adulthood, it’s all about functional utility...and it’s sad.

I tried to fill the voids in my need for belonging with competitive success, but I always fell inches short of the goals I set for myself. I wanted to be section leader my last year of middle school, I never came into my own. I wanted to feel as if I could make a place for myself in high school, instead, I was shoved into a corner and almost bullied out by my teammates. I wanted to belong at my new school, my new teammates resented me for my competence. I started to see the contempt for my identity. I doubt WE even still stalks this blog, but he has no idea how much he ruined my life. I set my sights at breaking at state, when I failed to do that, no one had a problem abandoning me completely...and he had the nerve to say he was doing it for my own good. I committed more to the team than I ever had in my life, and he deluded himself into thinking tearing me away from that would be good for me instead of destroy me thoroughly. I buried myself in TCGs as my only choice, and I couldn’t place high enough to gain notoriety in that community either in spite of so many tops.

I took chances on people thinking they wouldn’t have contempt for me naturally, but I had no idea the identity I had no control over was so repugnant to people. Being told I could never have the right look to be successful in music stung, but I never knew how real those words were until I started seeing adulthood through. I can’t even count the amount of times people accused me of being a pedophile as a teenager because hearsay whisper and crushes from girls I unrequited totally. Then, for all the wisdom I had in adhering to those arbitrary age distinctions, the same girls would never grant me a basic level of trust to make something happen the right way. Why is me being romantically happy so offensive to people when I show more restraint than anyone expects of any other desi, Muslim, or man? It can’t be straight prejudice because I know others of my exact ilk found happiness. Am I just that personally repulsive that everyone has to see me drown to not break their reality? I changed my tag to Hiriajuu Suffering because I’m constantly between intersections that I can’t ever seem to garner empathy from.

Even when I was finally truly on my own, I went back to a team that otherized me for things about myself I couldn’t control. SS was the only person, at first, who saw me as worth anything. Then LA, TM, CG, CI, and EK eventually saw it, too. But LL, ML, MH, BW, R, NC, JB, I could just feel their contempt. If it wasn’t for MA, I would’ve resented my Bobcat family as much as my Ranger and Tiger families. I can’t thank WK enough for eventually putting faith in me, because I know JH never did. I never felt the need to be a leader there like I did in high school because I lost faith in my abilities to lead, my scars on that team scared people away from rooting for me. I didn’t realize how hopeless I already was because I still had competition to bury myself into. The day I had to leave San Marcos, the day I walked on stage for graduation, I couldn’t maintain a genuine a smile, because it represented the death of my ability to pursue the unknown.

I adopted myself into a community on life support and held it together and it resulted in my own social death. I did everything I could my family asked of me for two and half years, at the delay of my own personal goals in life and I’m still spit on and abused by them as a fully grown person. I tried so hard to chase something to quench my thirst for adventure, depending on my competitive integrity to get me there, but I always fell short. I always failed. I never gained a single soul’s respect from trying to make a real point. The only thing that held me together was the prospect I might still have the ability to create my own family to rectify the wrongs done to me with my offspring, but even my path to do so evaporated during the pandemic.

I tried so much to be the person I needed to help me when I was a teenager, as an educator, and my existence was so detested I wasn’t allowed to be that. I took a gamble on the very campus that destroyed what little reputation I could catapult myself into a role for myself, and they found a way to use the same overdrawn interpretations on the abhorrence of my identity to sever me again, so I went to a place I thought I would be valued. Instead of being valued, I was overworked and overstressed to the point I couldn’t meet my bear minimum though I did more than no person should be asked of in that position. I tried so hard to be that person, no one would let me be that. I put every ounce of capability I had in the job itself and no one cut me slack for the world going to hell and stopping me from holding onto that little space I made for myself. I’m loyal to the students and teachers at my last school, but the administration didn’t want me around...I didn’t represent the puppet they wanted because bad timing gets no sympathy, no leeway.

The pandemic practically made me lose every little thing I had built being forced to be back “home” and I just wanted to escape, but the places I wanted to go to didn’t see me as worthy. My heart just kept sinking when one rejection letter came in after another, knowing it’s another door that closed to appease my sense of adventure. I’m stuck with a life I’ll be unable to enjoy in this mentally abusive household for the sake of a few numbers in my bank account for any foreseeable future. No one sees any potential I have left, so why should I? I’ll go to graduate school in hopes I can numb myself to where I won’t wake up one day wanting to kill myself again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying my new school represents hopelessness because I’m glad the one institution is able to believe in me in some capacity, but I’m not in an environment where I can thrive. Where I’m even allowed to be human. I’m actually heading to the campus shortly to try to at least believe in class in August. I’m not confident this next two years should give me the future I should have, but I know it would force me to be overqualified for what I tried to be the past few years, making the prejudice against me less justifiable if I can find a place to exist.

I’ve given up on the idea of ever having a sense of belonging, ever feeling I’ll have a space to call home, ever knowing what it means to be at peace. No woman will ever see me as a worthy partner, no labor entity will ever give me faith, no society will see me as a member of value, I am destined to be an emissary of suffering and bear the burdens of being so fucking ugly no one will ever treat as human enough to be worthy of tolerance. My soul’s already saved, but this vessel isn’t treated as worthy of a place of humanity. I’m just waiting for the embrace of death, waiting for my suffering to end, hopefully making my ripples minimal enough to where I don’t leave anyone with the grief my grandfather left me with. I always thought the opposite would be true of my life, I would make a real impact on the world and be valued for something. But I can say with relative certainty it won’t happen for me, I’m doomed to the mundanity that hardly makes my life worth living, especially since my realism says definitely I will never be worthy of love to anyone. If I was born asexual, born without moral inclination or the need to improve the existence I live through, I wouldn’t loathe life as much as I do now. Maybe that’s why no one treats me humanly, because I hardly am. I wish I could forget my ethics, my heart. But something above my lowly position keeps me from doing so, so I continue to feel this steeping pain.

I hate life. The only reason I’m still trying to live is I’m angry at life and want to try to spite it, but it will always get the best of me and I can’t see myself winning anymore. If I’m able to make a place for myself I can perish smoothly, that will be an accomplishment on its own because that’s how low the bar is right now. I’m going to miss deluding myself into thinking I had anything to look forward to.

#personal

[cinvhetinordo]

Waking up on Endor

[21:43] Soron narrowed his eyes up at the forest-ridden sky, the incense of grass and mud filling his copper-filled nostrils. He grunted a groan, "Nnnrrrgh." in propping himself up onto his undersuit-covered ass. His nose was bloodied, forehead mildly bruised -- in its early stages at least --, and chin bearing a bloody split along the skin (which painted some of his soft facial hair red). He forced himself onto his knees and essentially crawled towards Nicci, grasping a shoulder plate in order to shake her awake, "Ordo."

[21:50] Nicci's crimson hair was covering her face entirely where she had fallen.  She was out cold and there were bits of glass still stuck in her cheeks.  When she was shaken however, she sat up abruptly, not knowing if friend or foe in complete disorentation, and just threw a punch in the direction of whatever was shaking her, having no idea it was Soron and probably at that particular second, didn't even know where she was.

[21:59] Soron's own training kicked in once his blood-shot eyes recognized the aggressive action. Though slowed by the state of general disorientation he'd been in, the Mandalorian's left armored forearm shot up to deflect the fist, though a knuckle did manage to scrape his cheek-bone. His head jerked aside as another bruise formed and droplets of blood splattered from his nose. He spat a drop of blood and allowed his gaze to re-focus on Nicci. Remaining upon a single, armored knee, he huffed, "I reckon... we had enough."

[22:08] Nicci Ordo's eyes came into focus on Soron once her hand was stopped, recognizing the familiar paint of his armor but not so much his face, since she had never seen it before today.  She remembered where she was and what they had been doing in that moment.  She merely moaned in agreement, and started carefully trying to get the bits of glass out of her face.  "That was stimulating," she commented, referring to the fight.  "Hadn't had one like that since....a long time."

[22:15]  "Elek. Jate akaanir." Soron complimented, quirking the side of his blood-stricken mouth before raising his heavy armored figure to his feet. He offered a single gloved hand to help her up, "You're quite something in close quarters. Your aim just as good, Nicci?" he spoke her first name.

[22:20] Nicci Ordo would be heavy.  She had more armor than the average mandalorian.  She grunted as she got up, definitely needing the hand, but also having to use her legs to heave herself up.  She started scanning the forest, specifically for one of the swords she had lost.  They were very VERY important to her.  "I prefer melee combat but yes, I have been known to rip apart my enemies with my repeater just as well," she commented, but not at all in any kind of boasting manner.

[22:24]  "Heh." Soron huffed a brief chuckle in response, "I can respect that. There's no match to a good blaster at your side." he professed, "Jetpack maneuverability helps. Creates distance. I prefer to fight ranged, it has multiple advantages." he said, which was pretty clear by the combat pattern he'd just exhibited.

[22:29] Nicci Ordo smirked, peeling another piece of glass out of her face.  Her green eyes landed on her beskad that she had thrown,  nearly buried to the hilt in a tree.  She placed her boot on the trunk and her hands on the hilt, and with considerable effort, ripped it free, then sheathed it back in the holster.  She walked over to her helmet on the forest floor, the glass in the visor completely smashed.  "Haar'chak...that's the 3rd time this month," she grumbled.  "Lek, I gathered that you liked ranged combat better.  I made it a point to train heavily in both, but I was trained as a hand to hand warrior first.  It feels more natural to me to fight in this manner." she replied, her accent thick in the Ordo moon dialect.

[22:36] Soron 's gaze followed Nicci as she collected the sword and then the helmet. His keen ear just about recognized the dialect's origin. His back never faced her. He eventually walked over to his own helmet, landing on one knee to pick it up and stare into its reflective, T-shaped visor, "To each their own, I suppose. Our training makes us sufficient in both." he concluded, raising to his feet to face the other, his helmet still held out front, "I'd... like to hunt with you. I'm tracking a sorcerer. I can try take him alone, but such space magicians ought not be underestimated." his dry sense of humor boasted, "Two Mandalorians eliminating a Great Hunt target -- there's a thrill of the hunt in that, wouldn't you say, Ordo? Join me." he proposed, his copper lips offering something rare -- a smile.

[22:47] Nicci Ordo's face screwed up in a scowl, like she just ate a lemon or something.  "I don't work for fat cowardly slugs.  I do not work for any aruetii, in fact.  I find bounty hunting work to be offering us up as attack dogs to the aruetii, and I happen to think our people are much more than that," she replied, rather bluntly.  She regarded him for a moment, then released a resigned sigh.  "However, if you need my help, I will never refuse to aid my people.  Not for any bounty, but because you are mando'ade.  And well, mostly because I never refuse an offer to kill a sith." she admitted.  There was quite a story behind that, but Soron had not unlocked that influence gain level yet!

[22:51] Soron exhaled a sharp snort past his bloodstained nose, "Vor entye, vod. Sorcerers are no easy prey, it's honorable work. Besides, the Great Hunt is so much more than the Cartel. It's a generation-old event that our people have participated in, even the Crusaders of old -- the likes of Ordo's originators." he said, "And you won't have to work for an aruetii. I'll compensate your ammunition and the like, but for all intents and purposes, you're simply on the hunt." he offered a sage-nod, "A worthwhile one."

[22:54] Nicci Ordo just shook her head. "Agree to disagree, on honorable work," she grunted.  She was about to put her helmet back on, but the glass still falling out of it made her change her mind.  "Have to fix this first, obviously.  I am only doing this because you said Sorceror.  It has been too long since my blade has fed on sith blood, and it is hungry." she commented.  There was a story behind that too, but more influence gain was necessary for that as well!

[22:59]  "Jate. We have an option to pursue one of two Sith I'm tracking -- Darth Nemesis or Darth Ulterius." Soron proclaimed, "Both exist within the sphere of the Dark Lords of the Sith, whose joint-council and Emperor are said to rule Byss. I am uncertain of who the current Emperor is, but transportation, tracking, and ambushing on the Core World is not bound to be difficult." he outlined general facts, "How about.. how about we head over to a forge and repair that helmet of yours. Plot a course back to... Dxun?"

[23:01] Nicci Ordo nodded.  "I personally would not mind seeing either one of them buried, but have a preference for Darth Nemesis." she stated.  It was of course up to him, he made the proposal.  "I can meet you on Onderon if you want, after I repair my buy'ce.  Unless you are stranded here without a ship for some reason or wanted to come with me..."

[23:05]  "Nayc, I'm not stranded. I travel in my Fang fighter, suited for one." Soron replied, "I'll plot a course to Onderon, in that case, and help you with the helmet at the forge. I'm quite acquainted with working on helmets." he said, his chin jerking towards his right shoulder-plate, which possessed a forge-like emblem, the flames of which oddly resembled... Black Sun insignia? He looked upwards, allowing more blood to run across his short, short beard and down his throat. His eyes spotted his own ship landed far above, on one of the trees' landing pads, and then he scouted for hers, "What vessel did you arrive in?"

[23:15] Nicci Ordo spoke into her wrist comm and after a few moments, a ship landed in the clearing near them, blowing smaller trees and underbrush almost flat against the forest floor.  "That one." she replied.  "And I was still going to go to Dxun.  I do not have a forge on Ondron.  But the climate is inhospitable there and I did not want you to inconvenience yourself.  You aren't the only one acquainted with working on helmets you know.  I have worked on mine for 30 years now." she chuckled, headed for the back hatch on her vessel.

[23:19] Soron rolled both armored shoulders into a shrug, "Eh. Suit yourself." he replied as she headed for the ship, before placing his helmet upon his head. He tucked the neck-seal into place and latched the technological marvel on, before barking a verbal command that would active his Z-6 jetpack's thrusters and send him upwards, towards the landing pad where his fighter remained.

[blessed--beyond-measure-blog]

The Christian life is “easy”

To be honest I am absolutely terrified to share this blog. First of all, because I am completely opening myself up, and being vulnerable. Secondly, because some people might look differently at me. The Lord has really been putting it on my heart to share this past year. My hope is that it will impact someone else. So here goes nothing...

In the 23 years that I have been on this earth, I have heard the “prosperity gospel” idealism shared countless times. Which in essence, is the concept that once you accept the Lord in your heart everything in your life will be perfect, and you will never go through any struggles. Let me just let you in on a secret, that is terrible theology. If the Lord feels fit, yes He will bless you in seasons, but he never promised the Christian life would be easy. However, He did promise that none of the struggles and obstacles we would face on this earth would be in vain.  Everything we endure is for a greater purpose and is to mold us into the image of the Father. Oh, how I have had to cling to this truth in the past 12 months.

This past 12 months started off with the death of my grandmother, who was very dear to me. Although we knew that her time was coming, nothing prepares you for the loss of a loved one. Especially someone who is so special to you. A couple of months later my great uncle passed on, which once again was a very hard pill to swallow. I had never really been to many funerals till the past couple of years. Funerals leave you with a hollow feeling, an unsettling feeling that death is imminent. Both of these events happened in the midst of my last semester of college, which proved to be my hardest. These two hardships led into a very difficult season of anxiety and depression. 

I graduated in May and was looking forwards to a new stage of life. I was going to be at home, with my boyfriend at the time. I was excited about taking a year off of school, and excited for a season of rest. Yet, when I got home I was met with a crippling sense of loneliness. After being in college surrounded by people 24/7, and being busy with school, work, and ministry, I was not prepared for what met me at home. I only had work, which left open a great deal of free time. Which would had been fine, but a lot had changed at home since I left for college, I didn’t really have friends anymore. Both of my best friends were far away from me at school, and I didn’t really have anyone to talk to or spend time with. When your alone for a great deal of time your mind starts to do weird things to you. During this difficult transition unforeseen circumstances happened with my car, and I ended up going through two cars whose transmission had completely gone out. If this wasn’t enough, I also got two speeding tickets, and a seatbelt ticket in the next couple of months. This is when the self- sabotage started. I started getting really frustrated with where I was at, and with God. So little by little I stopped caring and giving up on life. I felt as if I was doing everything right, I had immediately started serving in the high school ministry when I got home. I was spending time with the Lord. I had followed Gods calling in pursuing a different job as a nanny. Yet, I felt like nothing was going right. Looking back, I think these circumstances was really God calling out my name trying to get my attention. Saying Shelby, you are looking for fulfillment in all of the wrong places. I was just too stubborn and caught up into my head to realize that God wasn’t the first thing in my life anymore. I had put other things before him. This not only put a strain on my life but also my relationship with my boyfriend at the time, which inevitably ended up leading to more and more fighting. I just started to accept that nothing was ever going to get better for me so I shut down. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. I decided it would be better to feel nothing at all. I would lash out at anyone I was close to, because I didn’t want to talk about the way I was really feeling. This ultimately led to the break up of the guy I was seeing. He is a great guy, and I have nothing bad to say about Him. Anyone who was in His position would have done the same thing, it was a burden to much for anyone to bear. I know he deserves the absolute best in life, and unfortunately that wasn’t what I could give him.

Yet, knowing this broke me. I stopped eating or caring about anything. With my depression I felt like I was drowning. I felt completely useless, worthless, broken. I lost 13 pounds. I tried other outlets to try and forget. I shut down everyone in my life because I knew i couldn’t talk to anyone without completely imploding upon myself. I was completely and utterly alone. I was so mad at God I could barely even pray. Most days it was a challenge to get out of bed. I couldn’t bear the thought of something else going wrong. I started seeing a counselor, which began to help a little, but I still felt like my life was in shambles. Your not going to believe this when I say this, but things got even worse. A bad home circumstance occurred, which led me to packing a suitcase and couch- surfing until I found a permanent place to live. Anyone that knows me, knows that this is completely uncharacteristic of me. This was the lowest point that I have ever been in. I didn’t know what to do, what to turn to. I was lost, so completely lost. At this point, I was starting to wonder if I was just such a horrible person that I deserved this. I started tearing myself down, wondering how I could ever come back from this point.

I distinctly remember falling on my knees one night and I realized God had been shouting my name this entire time, and was going to take everything away from me until He had my full, undivided attention. I begged God to forgive me that I had ever taken him for granted, and doubted his goodness in my life. A dear friend gave me the book Stronger by Clayton King and two things clearly stood out to me. One of them being our greatest weaknesses become our greatest ministries and the other being we are strongest when we are our own our knees in complete submission to God. Ever since that night, I have had clear direction in knowing God is greater than any circumstance I will ever endure. I was able to cling on to this promise which lead to me sharing my struggles with closer friends, which enabled me to begin to move forward with my life. During and since this season, God has blessed me with a great place to live, new friends to walk with me through this journey, a pay- raise at my job, and most of all His presence in my life. Yes, there are still hard days, but God is good. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind, that God is going to use everything that happened to me in this past year for His kingdom and glory.

 So no, the Christian life isn’t easy, but the God we serve is worth it.

And loved ones, no matter where you are at or how your feeling, know there is a God who loves you and cares for you. You are not alone, and although I know it feels as if this season is going to last forever, its not. I have walked through difficulty and have come out a stronger person because of it. Cry out to God, talk to Him. He will give you comfort and serenity, that only an all- knowing creator can provide. 

[ralphmorgan-blog1]

Besieged at home, Trump sets off for ‘do-or-die’ foreign trip

Washington (CNN)Given his current political fortunes, if President Donald Trump's crucial first foreign trip passes off without a disaster, it will be considered a success.

The President embarks on a journey Friday to Saudi Arabia, Israel and global summits in Italy and Belgium, after one of the most tumultuous and damaging weeks any President has had to endure.

The appointment of a special counsel to investigate whether there was any collusion between Trump aides and the Kremlin's election hacking effort capped a stunning rush of events unleashed by the President's firing of FBI Director James Comey, who declined Trump's request to shield former national security adviser Michael Flynn in the Russia probe, The New York Times first reported and CNN confirmed.

It was a week that eventually could put Trump's entire presidency in jeopardy and has left his White House dispirited, confused and at odds with itself.

Foreign trips, with their long flights, cumulative jet lag, high stakes and confined conditions can easily exacerbate tensions within White House teams, and the Trump camp is the most divided and acrimony-riddled West Wing in recent memory.

In fact, for some senior officials who have lost the President's confidence, the tour may be a final chance to save their jobs.

"It's kind of do-or-die," said one official, referring both to the staff and stakes for the President.

As a result, Trump will head into his trip, an ambitious first stride across the global stage, pursued by a political maelstrom at home and facing questions from foreign leaders about the viability of his government.

"One question everyone outside the United States has, and are not likely to ask the President, is what is his actual political strength relative to the divisions with Congress, the problems within his own party?" said Anthony Cordesman of the Center for Strategic and International Studies.

"Can he move forward with his own agenda? That will certainly be a question as he visits any country overseas."

Trump says his staff can't keep up

Significant test

The President's debut foreign tour was always going to mark a significant test, given the challenging itinerary and his own complete lack of diplomatic experience. Foreign trips are a grueling proposition for even the most seasoned commander in chief -- with their tedious summits and official dinners, stifling protocol and on-camera moments ripe for a misstep that can cause a diplomatic incident or ignite a political firestorm.

But the chaos that has raged around Trump since he took office, the difficulty his press team has in keeping up with his contradictory statements and tweets and his sheer unpredictability make this tour even more of a high-wire act.

Then there is the treacherous nature of the issues he must confront, from Middle Eastern power politics, Israeli-Palestinian peace talks, the future of NATO which he savaged on the campaign trail and European concern about the impact of his protectionist trade policies.

In addition, the sheer logistical challenge meanwhile of moving a President around the world is enormous. There is immense pressure on his advance teams of young, inexperienced staffers who negotiate the stagecraft of Trump's encounters with foreign leaders and prepare agendas of meetings.

Any incident or comment that offends a host or appears to suggest that Trump is not up to the job or out of his depth could exacerbate concerns about his suitability for the Presidency that have been frequently raised during his four months in office. This week, he only further fueled concerns when The Washington Post first reported he spilled top secret intelligence in an Oval Office meeting with a Russian delegation.

And just because Trump is away from the United States, the barrage of blockbuster news stories about his administration is unlikely to stop, meaning that his harried staff will be forced to come up with crisis management strategies from many time zones away from the White House.

Trump's reported griping about the length of his trip, and the fact that he has been severely distracted during his preparation time this week by the Russia storm, raises the stakes even more.

"I think he needs to keep his mind on what is going to be a very important trip," said former secretary of state Madeleine Albright, a Democrat, on CNN's "New Day" on Thursday. "He represents the United States, even if we are setting kind of a low bar for this trip -- if he doesn't make mistakes. I hope that there is not one single tweet about anything in the nine days he is gone."

If the President wants to, he can use the trip as a way to break out of a debilitating period for his administration, to try to win some positive headlines for a change and even to engineer a morale boost for himself.

After all, his fellow foreign leaders are deeply curious about his agenda and, in Saudi Arabia and Israel in particular, are likely to want to make a positive impression. Trump is a collegial character who has spent extended time socializing with some visiting foreign leaders so he might actually enjoy the interaction. However, as a noted homebody, he might find it more difficult to relax in a foreign capital than at his Mar-a-Lago resort where he has hosted several foreign dignitaries.

Trump still threatening to quit NATO

'America First'

Trump's aides acknowledge the trip will not erase the political turmoil back home. But they believe the seriousness of the issues Trump will confront can help realign the President. No one can guarantee he is ready to move on from blasting the Russia probe.

World leaders, however, are less likely to be interested in the details of Trump's political woes than they are keen to gauge the impact of his "America First" policies on their nations, regions and alliances.

In Europe especially, they want to know whether Trump will pull out of the Paris climate accord and want to test his true feelings for Russia, which is seen as a threat in much of Europe.

As soon Trump leaves Washington he will be heading for the deep end of global geopolitics. Most US presidents get their feet wet with a quick, easy trip to Canada or Mexico. Not Trump, though in truth his hostility to the North America Free Trade Agreement would have made either of those stops challenging.

Instead, his first steps on foreign soil as President will pitch him into the bear pit of Middle Eastern politics in the world's most war-ravaged region, where sectarian tensions seethe and leaders have to master the law of the political jungle simply to survive.

Still, Trump does have one advantage. US allies in Israel and Saudi Arabia often expressed deep dissatisfaction with the Obama administration's foreign policy, and outreach to Iran, capped by the controversial nuclear deal.

They are pre-disposed to the reset that Trump says he represents.

"The President is going to the Middle East to let our friends know we are back and to let our enemies know we are back," said David Urban, who ran the President's successful Pennsylvania campaign and worked with his transition team, on CNN.

Trump is widely expected to unveil a massive arms deal in Saudi Arabia, and will huddle with leaders of Muslim-majority nations to discuss how to respond to Iran's power projection in the region. He's also likely to complain about the Obama administration's Iran nuclear deal, though his administration has certified that Tehran is sticking to the terms of the agreement.

Pres. Carter hopes Trump pushes Mid-East peace

Speech about Islam

But the most striking moment of Trump's visit to the kingdom will be his speech about Islam, given his critical campaign rhetoric and attempt to impose a temporary entry ban on residents of a number of Muslim nations soon after taking office.

"He will develop a strong, respectful message that the United States and the entire civilized world expects our Muslim allies to take a strong stand against radical Islamist ideology, an ideology that uses a perverted interpretation of religion to justify crimes against all humanity," said National Security Adviser H.R. McMaster.

"He will call for Muslim leaders to promote a peaceful vision of Islam," he said.

The speech is a high-risk, high-reward opportunity, but is difficult to get right, said Jonathan Finer, who served as director of policy planning for former secretary of state John Kerry.

"This is a President who has surrounded himself with advisers who have let's just say not the most nuanced views of Islam," Finer told CNN International's Christiane Amanpour on Thursday.

"The notion that the President of the United States is going to go to one of the cultural and religious centers of the region and explain the proper role of Islam in the world in Saudi Arabia, I think really risks setting some off notes," he said.

From Saudi Arabia, Trump will move on to Israel, where he will have meetings with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and meet Palestinian leader Mahmud Abbas in the West Bank. Trump has also decided not to announce during his trip that he will move the US embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, as he vowed to do during the campaign. US officials had warned that acting now could end the President's hopes of reigniting the Middle East peace process.

That seems a long-shot anyway. Despite surprisingly hopeful rhetoric from both Israel and the Palestinians, political conditions do not suggest either side is likely to make the painful concessions needed to forge peace.

When Trump lands in Europe he will be greeted with some suspicion, given his critical rhetoric about NATO, and antipathy towards the European Union displayed by some of his political advisers.

He will make a trip to Rome for an audience with Pope Francis, attend the NATO summit in Brussels and the G-7 summit of developed nations in Sicily.

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