#the amount of joy and happiness this cast gives me is impeccable

[mouse-fantoms]

ITS THE 3 YEAR ANNIVERSARY AND IM EMOTIONAL ABOUT THEM WHATS NEW I MISS THEM 😭

I care so much for these people who don’t know I exist but if only they knew how much they’ve helped me 🥺

#the amount of joy and happiness this cast gives me is impeccable #I love their friendship with one another and it makes me cry 🥺 #jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp netflix #jatp cast #jatp luke #luke patterson #julie molina #luke jatp #alex mercer #reggie peters #jatp alex #jatp reggie #madison reyes #charlie gillespie #owen joyner #jeremy shada #kenny ortega #fantoms #julie and the fantoms

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

wishing you were somehow here again

oops - angst with a happy ending (of course) 

---

Everywhere he looked, it seemed, Jaskier was there. In the blue of the flowers that sprung up on the sides of the road and in grassy, patchy meadows. In the way Ciri laughed every time she heard a particularly naughty ballad in a tavern. In the flashes of bright color at the corner of Geralt’s vision whenever they passed through a more densely populated village; it was almost always a clothing stall or another troubadour that certainly wasn’t as talented as his - as the bard he’d been traveling with before. 

Geralt mourned his loss in silence, unwilling to voice any pain or suffering when his newly acquired daughter’s happiness was so fragile. Ciri was stronger than she looked but she was still only a child. A child who had seen so much tragedy in such a short amount of time. She needed him to be strong. She needed him to be caring in that gruff, awkward way of his. She needed a father and Geralt...

There was no time for Geralt, a Witcher of impeccable stolidity, to cry or scream or grieve the loss of the only person who’d ever stuck with him by choice. The only person who had looked him dead in his mutated, terrifying eyes and said: “You are worth loving no matter what.”

And Geralt had thrown that love away as if it meant nothing.

---

“Have you heard,” one bar patron asked another, “About the tragic death of that young Viscount to the east?”

“Yeah,” the other man slurred back. “Fell off a cliff, didn’t he?”

“I heard he was mauled by a wyvern,” a third drunkard piped helpfully.

Geralt pulled his cloak low over his brow and closed his eyes. Could be anyone, he thought. It really could be anyone. Doesn’t have to be-

“Used to travel with that Witcher, didn’t he? What was his name, the White Wolf? Gerard or something?”

Oh gods, no. Please. Please don’t say-

“Yeah. He played at being a bard. Went by the stage name Jaskier.”

“Aye, that’s the one.”

Geralt couldn’t stand to listen to another word. He rose from the table and stormed into the darkened street, eyes flicking back and forth to determine which path back to his room would be best. Behind him, an unfamiliar set of hands strummed an overly familiar tune on the lute. He paused to listen, the voice in his memory carrying over the squeaky, unbroken voice from the bar, telling the story of unrequited love in two directions. 

He’d always hated Her Sweet Kiss. More than Toss a Coin and far more than anything else the bard had managed to write about him. Even A Witcher’s Eyes, which waxed overly poetic about all the different shades of yellow, orange, and amber that Geralt’s eyes took on when he hunted or slept or…

Oh gods, Jaskier. How could I have looked at you with anything other than affection after all the time you spent proving that your heart belonged to me alone. Fuck. I’m a fool to have hurt you like that and now...now you’re gone and I can never say I’m sorry.

And the Witcher, a man who was said to have no feelings at all, felt his heart break all over again. 

---

“Ah, Geralt!” Jaskier grinned, flinging his arms around the Witcher’s waist with a confidence he’d never before possessed. His irises, bluer than any cornflower despite what the poets said, flickered with relief and love and mild concern. “I’ve missed you terribly. How did the hunt go? Are you hurt?”

“No,” the Witcher answered truthfully. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even remember going on a hunt. “I’m fine.”

“Melitele be thanked, then. Now let’s get you a bath and something to eat.”

“A kiss, first?”

“Anything for my Witcher,” the bard crooned. His arms moved from Geralt’s waist to wind around his neck, holding him close. He pressed his soft, petal-pink lips against the Witcher’s and tightened the circle of his arms. 

Jaskier was squeezing him closer. Too close. Too strong.

Clinging. Choking. 

Like a rope.

Like a vine!

Geralt burst back into consciousness and flung the poisonous, hallucinogenic plant away from his body with a grimace. He cast Igni and watched the rest of the greenery go up in squealing, shrieking flames. The patch of enchanted shrubbery he’d been hired to dispatch had given him such a nearly-wonderful dream. Such a close glimpse at what he might have had if he hadn’t been such a godsdamned idiot all that time ago.

But he had been. 

And now Jaskier was dead.

And it would be best to stop dreaming about him.

---

“Would you care for a flower, Master Witcher?” an oddly soothing voice asked, proffering the blooming rosebud before Geralt could reject it. “Red for passion, pink for adoration, or yellow for friendship?”

“I have no one left to give a rose,” he chuckled darkly, without looking up. “But thank you for the offer.”

“No one left? How tragic,” the flower seller sighed. “But such is the life of a Witcher, is it not?”

“Aye,” Geralt nodded from beneath his hood. “And the good things that sometimes happen to us always fade too fast.”

“If you had someone to give a rose,” the merchant continued, “What color would you choose?”

“Pink. For adoration, as you said.”

“For that mysterious sorceress the people often associate you with, Master Wolf?”

Geralt let a sad smile slide across his face in the darkness of his cloak’s deep hood and shook his head. A memory flashed before his eyes: “Not the Butcher of Blaviken then. Hmm. The White Wolf, perhaps?”

He shook his head again to clear it and spoke without thinking, spurred on by the feelings stirring back to life in his chest, “For a bard. A bard that sang so beautifully even the birds would stop to listen.”

“Oh Geralt!” a pair of arms encircled the Witcher’s waist and a determined hand yanked the hood back and away. Light flooded Geralt’s vision and by the time he adjusted his pupils, the stranger was so much more familiar than before. “You big oaf! I knew you’d miss me eventually! And what a lovely compliment; far better than your earlier quip about my fillingless pie.”

“J-Jaskier!?” 

The Witcher’s golden eyes were brimming with unsheddable tears. Jaskier was here. Standing before him. 

Jaskier was alive!

The bard was crying as well, those big blue eyes overflowing with joy. The Witcher’s arms moved of their own accord, twining around his companion’s shoulders and pulling him close until they were chest-to-chest. 

“You smell like Roach,” Jaskier giggled, face already buried against the familiar black material of the Witcher’s shirt. “And I don’t go by that name anymore, darling. Didn’t you know that?”

“Wh-why not? I had heard you were dead.”

“I was very clever in faking my own death, don’t you think? Nobody’s tracking me down for any pertinent Princess-hunting information. As far as Nilfgaard cares to know, Jaskier the bard and Julian the Viscount de Lettenhove are both long dead. Dandelion the troubadour? Well, he is alive and kicking, as you can see.”

“Dandelion?”

“You seem dazed. Confused. Lost, perhaps?”

Geralt couldn't do much more than repeat himself, “I thought you were dead.”

“Oh...oh,” Jaskier’s gaze softened and he released his grip on Geralt’s waist. Geralt did not release his hold on the bard’s shoulders, however. He just clung more tightly, held on more fiercely, afraid to let go even for a moment in case this was another dream or apparition. A set of lute-calloused fingers slowly, gently caressed the side of his face and he leaned into the touch with a broken little sound. Jaskier was glowing, it seemed: “You really did miss me.”

“I love you,” Geralt finally admitted. After years of friendship and another year of loneliness and heartache and loss, the Witcher let his defenses fall away. “Of course I missed you. I missed you and mourned you and wished for you to come back from the dead every waking moment for the last four months.”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind my disappearing,” Jaskier bit his lip thoughtfully. “After what you said...back then. But you really loved me back all this time?”

“How could I not love the only person in this world who chose a Witcher over everything else? How could I not love the only person who ever saw me as a man before a monster?”

“Oh, dear heart,” Jaskier breathed, closing the distance between them until only a hair’s breadth separated their lips. “You’ve never been a monster.”

Their first kiss was soft and sweet and everything the bard knew his darling Geralt hid so firmly from the outside world. He had managed to crack the Witcher’s stone heart open and build a place for himself inside, a place that Geralt welcomed him back to as soon as their lips met. 

You see, that’s the thing about flowers: they’ll grow through even the toughest, most impenetrable surface in an effort to reach the light. And the light that shone out of Geralt was worth more to a Buttercup or a Dandelion than a thousand suns.

#geraskier #geraskier whump #geraskier angst #angst and fluff #angst with a happy ending #apologies #fake your death #geraskier love confessions #first kiss #getting together #geralt apologizes #jaskier fakes his death #dandelion #jaskier #geralt #gerlion sorta #ciri was there for a second #canon universe #rare species fix it

[lily-mj-fae]

Elain Archeron Appreciation Week: Day 1; Favorite Scene

So I have multiple. I will pick one from each book. Because she’s my favorite character. And I adore her.

ACOTAR

“Feyre, you should have told us!” Elain said, still gaping. “Oh, how awful—and you had to endure losing her all on your own, you poor thing. Father will be devastated that he didn’t get to pay his respects.”

...

“Feyre, you look as dumbfounded as we were,” Elain said, hooking elbows with me. “Come inside. We’ll show you the house! We don’t have a room decorated for you, because we thought you’d be with poor old Aunt Ripleigh for months yet, but we have so many bedrooms that you can sleep in a different one each night if you wish!”

...

“You should come with me,” Elain went on. “Nesta won’t go, because she says she doesn’t want to risk the sea crossing, but you and I … Oh, we’d have fun, wouldn’t we?”

Listen. Elain’s reaction to Feyre returning home...you cannot tell me she does not love her sister. Her pure radiance and joy at seeing Feyre. Not to mention, it’s now her turn to take care of Feyre and she immediately embraces it. She tells Feyre they’ll figure out her room and encourages her to find one that makes her comfortable. She makes sure their father is able to start accessing Feyre’s new money. She even arranges a ball (because that’s the kind of thing people did) just to celebrate Feyre’s return. Even under the effects of the glamour, she wants to know about Feyre’s life as it was. And she wants to do things with Feyre. I think they could have had so much fun on the continent.

ACOMAF

“Nesta,” Elain said again, twisting her hands. “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men, couldn’t save me from … from them.” Nesta didn’t so much as flinch. Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.” She put a hand on Nesta’s knee, the purple of my sister’s gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork, but he kept silent, focusing instead, as Cassian was subtly trying to do, on adjusting his wings around a human chair. Cauldron damn me.

Elain’s voice wobbled as she noted the same thing and quickly said to him, “It … it is very hard, you understand, to … accept it.” I realized the dark metal of her ring … it was iron. Even though I had told them about iron being useless, there it was. The gift from her Fae-hating soon-to-be-husband’s family. Elain cast pleading eyes on Rhys, then Azriel, such mortal fear coating her features, her scent. “We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered …”

Elain sat a little higher as she said to Cassian, “And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.”

This. I will die for Elain here. Elain, who was able to recognize her mistakes and wanting to help her sister. She wants to do better. Not to mention it’s just a great moment. We see how much good is in her. She’s terrified of Cassian, Az and Rhys. But she’s still talking to them. Defends her sister in front of them. I think it shows just how strong she is, especially compared to what everyone seems to think of her.

ACOWAR

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Listen. Even in my first couple reads when I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Elain, this moment made me cheer. When my third reread happened to have Elain grabbing me by the collar and making me love her, this scene became even better. The amount of courage she’d have had to build up. The amount on energy. The amount that she would have had to push back to make herself do something like this? Impeccable. Respect. And she deserves every ounce of respect for this moment. And you will not dare tell me otherwise.

ACOFAS

Elain floated to my side. “Happy birthday, Feyre.” My friends—my family—echoed the words as Rhys set the cake on the low-lying table before the fire. I glanced toward my sister. “Did you …?” A nod from Elain. “Nuala did the decorating, though.” It was then that I realized what the three different tiers had been painted to look like. On the top: flowers. In the middle: flames. And on the bottom, widest layer … stars. The same design of the chest of drawers I’d once painted in that dilapidated cottage. One for each of us—each sister. Those stars and moons sent to me, my mind, by my mate, long before we’d ever met. “I asked Nuala to do it in that order,” Elain said as the others gathered round. “Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been.”

Listen. When I tell you this part almost makes me cry, I’m not kidding. Feyre had always wondered if her sisters ever even noticed the dresser. And the way Elain chose to show she had....absolutely beautiful. GORGEOUS. And I don’t think she gets enough appreciation for this moment Either.

ACOSF (I don’t have the E-book so copying and pasting isn’t happening. And I’m too lazy to type out everything)

Elain talking about Nesta dancing. The whole time she talks about Nesta. And commenting on how happy she is that Nesta has found something that seems to make her just as happy.

For all the wrong things she said in this book (which weren’t awful, just mistakes and it’s okay), I wish Nesta could have heard Elain in that moment. I wish Nesta could have been there to hear how Elain admired that. It just...oh my heart. I felt so much for Elain in this moment. Elain who had loved Nesta and was being pushed away. Elain who loved her family so dearly and felt like she was losing Nesta. That moment. I wanted to hug her.

#elain archeron #elainarcheronweek #pro elain #pro elain archeron #acotar #acomaf #acofas #acosf

[eiirisworkshop]

Soul

2020, Dir. Pete Docter, Kemp Powers

Overall Quality ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Entertainment Value ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Story ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Visuals and Craft ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Soul is a beautiful movie, both in terms of visual artistry and in what it shows and says about people, about passion and fear, about life.  Pete Docter—who is also the mind behind Inside Out, Up, and WALL-E—clearly has a feel for the depth and nuance of human emotion, and it is my understanding that we have Kemp Powers largely to thank for taking Docter's initial story of a soul reluctant to experience life and turning it into the celebration of Black American community that the finished film is.

The story is one of learning to appreciate life, to live for the sake of the little things that bring you happiness whatever they may be, to not tie yourself up too much in the idea of having to have a particular goal that you must constantly strive for and achieve otherwise you're a failure.  The film tells its characters—and through them, us, the audience—not to be so hard on yourself, and also to be gentle with and mindful of each other because we all have struggles and we all impact each other.  It's very astute in its assessment of human behavior and the message is one that I think we all could use to take to heart.  That's one thing that Docter's films all seem to have in common: they teach, directly without being heavy handed, lessons about life that are just as important for adults in the audience to learn as for the kids.

This message is taught through interpersonal relationships (with only the slightest passing mention of romance!) that center the importance of community.  School, the way a good teacher can impact kids, the cultural importance of the barber shop and of matriarchs in the Black community are all given particular emphasis.  There's a groundedness to the world of the film—highlighted, not detracted from, by the fantastical elements—that's artful, and often subtle. The subway is grimy, but the music being played by a busker in the station touches the heart.  The neighborhood with its driveways full of taxicabs is, by that wordless detail, shown to be working class, and it is precious and it's home.

There is a sequence that does deserve the warnings floating around about it, because it very accurately portrays the experience of a sensory overload and may be triggering for some viewers, especially because it comes on abruptly, but it's brief and only happens once. A later sequence deserves a similar warning for portraying the experience of a rejection-sensitive dysphoria or similar anxiety spiral.

The visuals of the film are stunning.  The etherial texturing of everything in The Great Before is reminiscent of the soft effervescence of Joy in Inside Out and feels appropriate to the setting.  The real world, living world sequences are where the animation really shines, though, particularly in lighting and the rendering of Black bodies—two things which are ultimately closely tied together.  

One of the trickiest things CG animation tackles when attempting photorealistic texturing (which the vast majority of CG films do, even when the designs are stylized) is recreating the way light interacts with human skin.  The difficulty in getting CG skin to not look wrong and deeply unsettling is, for the record, exactly why the first Pixar feature film is about toys.  Plastic is relatively easy to render.  If anything, “looking like plastic” is the default mode of CG animation.

Anyway.  Skin is made up of layers of varying translucence, so light passes into it some before bouncing back.  That process behaves differently on lighter vs darker skin because dark skin isn't just darker, it's more opaque—more, but not entirely.  Now, in the early days of photorealistic CG we were actually better at dark skin than light—in Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within (a groundbreaking foray into CG filmmaking from 2001), the character who looks distinctly the least plastic is Ryan, the one Black man among the cast.  But as time has gone on, an enormous amount of time, money, and effort has been poured into attempting to perfect CG renderings of light skin, while dark skin has been neglected, so we've gotten white characters (and a few lightskinned characters of color) who look more and more human while the few Black CG characters out there have lagged behind in plastic land.

For Soul, the time, money, and effort has been put in to close that gap.  We get Black characters in sunlight, under stagelights, in dim oblique lamplight, under harsh yet innadaquate subway fluorescents, and they look human.  Their skin looks like Black skin—there are a couple moments in particular that really capture the kind of soft, refractive glow you get from dark skin in bright light, which I have never seen animated before.

The lighting team for this movie deserve all the accolades they can get.  In addition to the above, Soul features the distinct look of extremely high-gloss black piano finish under various lighting conditions, brass instruments of varying levels of polished under various lighting conditions, city streets at all times of day, a sequined dress under stagelights, sunlight filtering through the semi-translucent leaves of a maple tree in seed—all of which look exactly right—and a square of sunlight through a window that just looks warm.

The character designs are stylized in a way that reminds me of the work of caricature artists you often find in city parks—each individual's physical characteristics are emphasized such that they made even more distinctly them, which is pretty much the exact opposite of the genericized, stereotyped, frankly racist character design that's still all too common.

I have seen some not-entirely-undeserved critique comparing Soul to The Princess and the Frog for having the Black main character spend a significant portion of the film in the body of an animal.  I feel like there's an important difference between the two, though, in that the protagonists of Princess and the Frog are transformed into animals so that for the bulk of the movie there are not Black bodies on screen and the story is divorced from those characters' existence as people of color, whereas Soul is a body swap situation where the experience of the characters existing in a Black body, living life, and interacting with the community around them is key.

There's pages more that I could write, analyzing and gushing about this film, the way it treats jazz music and the historical importance of that art form in Black culture and wider American culture, the impeccable rendering of various hair textures, the humor, the validation and value it gives to people who are often treated as lesser (public school teachers, children, sign-spinners), but for brevity let me just say:

This is an excellent movie.  It's worth watching.  It's good that it was made, and I think it may represent an important turning point in the film industry.  Time will tell what its legacy ends up being, but for now, it's a really enjoyable film.

#soul #soul (2020) #movies #movie review #eiiri reviews movies

[hookedontaronfics]

First Contact series Part 2

Title: First Contact - Part 2 Find Part 1 HERE Rating: T Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Some light cursing and alcohol use A/N: The second installment in the First Contact series takes our three best friends on a fun Saturday night on the town and a surprise second encounter with Taron. Some more cute, fluffy Taron. The series will eventually involve more mature themes as it develops, so be warned! I hope you enjoy! x

Opening Scene. Int. A cheery maisonette in Muswell Hill, London. Saturday evening. Three roommates are sitting in the reception room, the evening sun pouring through the window, casting a warm glow. Two roommates are idly chatting and watching the telly, while the third roommate furiously types away -

“Hey!” Jules’ voice interrupted my thoughts, mid-type. “No working! It’s a Saturday. We’re going to go out and have fun!” she said.

“I’m not working!” I insisted, quickly hitting the save button and closing my laptop.

“Yeah right, it’s all you do,” Mary agreed.

“Well, I’ve just landed this position and I want to show I can excel at it,” I said, feeling the need to defend myself. But I truly hadn’t been working on a script, at least not for work. 

“And I actually like my job, unlike you lot,” I added cheekily as Jules tossed a couch pillow at me.

“Look, we all know how brillo you are! They wouldn’t have promoted you if they didn’t think it too,” she smiled. “But you also need to have some fun once in a while.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said with a grin. “So what did you have in mind?”

“Well, Jules and I were thinking of checking out this really fun place on Kingsland High Street …” Mary started.

“Yeah, it’s a karaoke bar and the hosts for the evening are drag queens!” Jules added with an excited squeal. “How fun will that be?”

“Uhh, you guys know I don’t sing!” I protested.

“Well you can just be a killjoy, but you’re still coming with us,” Jules replied, taking my laptop and shoving it under the couch cushion for good measure.

“Come on, then,” Mary grinned, pulling me to my feet and dragging me along to my room so I could start getting ready. After some deliberation I finally chose to wear a simple black dress over a black-and-white checkered button-down shirt. Minimalist was the way to go so I wouldn’t grab anyone’s attention, lest they try to pull me up on stage with them. I kept my makeup neutral except for a bright pink lippy and tousled my hair before deeming myself “night-on-the-town” worthy.

My friends, it would turn out, decided to make this process a lot more time-consuming. So with time to kill, I dug my laptop out from under the couch cushion, disturbing Tim, Mary’s cat, who had been stretched out and sleeping. I apologized by giving him an extra scratch behind the ears, to which he simply meowed at me indignantly and then returned to his nap.

“Suit yourself, Tim,” I giggled, perching on the ottoman and opening my laptop again. I’d set my desktop background as one of the pictures from my Tesco run-in with Taron two months ago, and it never failed to make me smile. 

Of course my friends and I had gone over every single detail of the interaction, in great length and with a lot of wine. I’d still not been able to share the experience online, partly because I didn’t want crazier fans then me to feel the need to stalk him in places like the supermarket. Taron had been kind and friendly, of course, but at the heart of it, he was just going about his life like any of us might. Being famous wasn’t an invitation to intrude upon his life in that way.

Still, as I looked at the photo, I couldn’t help but daydream a little about what could have been. Could a chance, simple encounter really turn into more?

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Jules asked, breaking into my reverie, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips. “You’ll totally blend in… with the furniture!”

“That’s the point, Jules. I’m not changing, so can we just get this over with already?” I whined slightly.

“You will have fun, so help me!” Jules replied as Mary sashayed into the room as well, playfully tossing her hair about. Both of my roommates were in bright colorful dresses; I looked like the drab au pair next to them, but I didn’t mind. We were in high spirits as we locked up our flat and made our way to the tube, my friends awkwardly tottering on their heels and me making fun of them for their impractical footwear.

The transit to Kingsland High was uneventful, and soon we were standing before the neon sign of the Karaoke Hole. A few people were standing outside, smoking or just talking, and we could hear the strains of music and laughter filtering outside.

We had to get our ID’s checked at the front before walking into the neon-lit bar, immediately besieged by the amount of glitter in the room. And feathers. And neon. And basically every wild, outrageous piece of clothing someone could adorn their body with. I suddenly felt very much out of place and as conspicuous as I had been trying not to be.

We quickly ordered drinks, giggling over the names of the various cocktails in the LGBTQ+ friendly venue. Oh, this could be a fun night after all. The booths were all full, and we hadn’t made a booking, so I was truly grateful I’d chosen a pair of sensible flats for the standing-room night. The karaoke was already in full swing, and the hosts were engaging and welcoming to everyone there.

Jules, Mary and I were caught up in the joy of it, cheering right along with everyone for each singer or group that braved the stage. But there was no way I was getting up on that stage, even with my roomies begging me to go with them. I waved and cheered as loud as anyone as Mary and Jules stepped up to the stage, microphones in hand, looking every bit the stars I knew my roomies to be as they launched into a flamboyantly off-key version of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”

I stood around, taking in the packed crowd, men and women of all stripes and colors here just to have a good time. It genuinely filled me with happiness to see everyone getting along, like we’d all been invited to the same exclusive party. 

When my friends returned to me, breathless and giggling, I was sure to congratulate them profusely, overblowing it on purpose until Mary told me good-naturedly to shut up. I snickered and finished my drink as the first notes of a song I instantly recognized blared out, and my eyes instantly snapped to the stage in hope. But the person about to sing George Michael’s “Faith” wasn’t who I hoped it to be, even though I knew it was completely silly of me to think I’d have a second chance to meet Taron. Still, a girl could hope, right?

Embarrassed by my private disappointment, I mumbled something to Jules and Mary about needing another drink, and politely pushed my way between sweaty glittering bodies to the bar. I had to fairly clamber onto a stool and lean over the bartop to yell my order to the bartender over the enthusiastic rendition coming from the speakers.

“I could sing it better,” someone to my right said, and I nearly fell off the stool the second I recognized that accent.

“Excuse me?” I laughed, spinning around to face the person who was most certainly the object of my fangirl dreams.

“That’s my song. I always sing it,” Taron smirked lightly. If he recognized me at all (which I mean, how could he?), he didn’t let on.

“What are you gonna do, go up there and show him up?” I teased as the bartender placed my cocktail in front of me. I took a couple sips and savored it for a moment, also secretly checking out Taron over the rim of the glass in the process.

“Ahh, haven’t had enough drinks yet. And I’m not an arse,” he grinned, waving his empty bottle at the bartender to indicate he’d like another.

“This time it’s on me,” I said, tossing a couple bills on the bartop as the bartender handed Taron another beer. His green eyes looked sweetly baffled at me below the brim of the hat he was wearing, and my heart sank just a tiny bit. So no, he didn’t remember who I was, I thought to myself.

“Well, enjoy your night,” I said, smiling and trying to pass it off as me just being an overly generous person. I hopped off the stool and turned to go back to my friends, but he reached over and tapped me on the arm, leaning in close to me to speak as the bar volume suddenly jumped. I realized I could feel his breath on my skin, and I tried not to gasp.

“I didn’t buy you a coffee as a quid pro quo, Jessica,” he said, and I didn’t even correct him on my name as my heart nearly stopped beating and reality slammed back into me. He actually remembered me, I thought stupidly, shocked into speechlessness for a moment. I suddenly felt my world tilt just a little, and everyone felt way too close. The music was too loud, and the lights were far too bright. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the proximity of Taron, or maybe just my general anxiety, but I suddenly felt like I had no air to breathe. Taron said something, but I couldn’t make out the words.

“I…I’ll be right back,” I managed to stammer, before making a mad dash for the door, weaving between people until I could push the door open and nearly fell flat on my face tripping over the steps on the way to the sidewalk. I rushed past some people smoking near the entrance, who glanced at me and then went back to their conversation, before leaning against a light pole and sucking in huge breaths of air, trying to calm myself down. 

Angry at myself and embarrassed over my panic didn’t even remotely begin to describe how I felt at that moment, moving through emotions too fast to even process them. And nothing had even happened, not really, other then Taron having an unusually impeccable memory. I really needed to get a grip on myself. I pulled my phone out of my purse, which had been slung around my body, ready to text Jules and Mary to come out and rescue me as I surely couldn’t face Taron again, when the door swung open and he made a beeline over to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, keeping his distance until he was sure I could handle it.

“Just peachy,” I breathed, making him tilt his head again.

“Is that a particular phrase said in the States?” he asked, willing to distract me from whatever had caused my panic.

“Uh, yeah, I suppose so,” I said, even managing to laugh a little. “It’s painful how American I still am, isn’t it? I’ve been living here a year already!”

“It’s not so bad. Where you’re from is an important part of who you are,” he said sweetly, stepping a bit closer as he could see me relaxing. “I’d never want to take that away from someone.”

“You’re really … real, aren’t you, Taron Egerton?” I laughed softly, knowing that probably didn’t make any sense to him, but he stayed quiet, allowing me time to elaborate. “I mean, just as sweet and kind in person as everyone thinks you are. That’s kind of rare.”

“Thank you, I… That’s generous of you,” he said, closing his eyes and nodding his head in that way he did when he was humbled by a compliment.

“Well, I mean it. First you save my brown sauce, then you rescue me from panicking over nothing. I’m beginning to rack up quite a tab,” I joked.

“Hmmm, that’s a bit of a problem, innit?” he said, slowly smirking at me again. “I suppose you could repay it by having you and your mates join me and my mates at our booth. We’ve plenty of room,” he said, giving me his most winsome gaze, his eyes passing over me head to toe. I was grateful for the shadows cast by the street light, as I’m sure I was a bright shade of scarlet.

“Can’t say no to that, now can I?” I smiled, biting my lip slightly as he reached out and offered his hand to me in a gesture of support. I slipped my hand in his, noting that he threaded his fingers with mine as he led me back inside.

We quickly found Jules and Mary dancing together, clearly a bit drunk, and who hadn’t even noticed I’d been missing. Great friends, those, I thought cheekily. When Jules saw Taron and me holding hands, she made a big show of it, pointing to our hands and then giving me a cheesy thumbs up. I would have felt embarrassed but Taron didn’t give me the chance, leading the three of us to the booth he and his friends had commandeered. He introduced us to a few people whose names I’d definitely forget later, then returned to the bar to replace our abandoned drinks.

When he’d returned, he slid into the booth next to me, so close that his thigh was directly against mine. And it was warm, very warm. I was distracted by the sensation for a moment, then chided myself and blushed, as if my thoughts had been posted on an electronic sign above my head for all to read. Still, those kinds of thoughts weren’t going to help me survive the night sitting next to Taron, so I tried my best to be chill, starting with downing my cocktail way too fast.

Jules and Mary had no problem joining the conversation with Taron’s friends, and I did my best to chime in when I could, getting a few laughs out of the table. More drinks and badly sung songs ensued until Taron drummed his hands on the table. “Only one person hasn’t yet gone up on stage,” he said, turning to me as his friends all “ooohh’d” at me.

“Oh no, no no no. I don’t sing,” I replied, trying to kibosh that whole idea before it started.

“Oh come on, love, it can’t be that bad,” Taron chuckled, clearly feeling buzzed himself at this point. He took his hat off and plopped it on my head. “You’ll be a star,” he grinned, dragging out the word.

“I can’t go up there by myself,” I replied, desperately trying to come up with some reason other than that I was massively afraid to stand in front of all those people. “I have laryngitis!” I said, unable to keep a straight face at that as everyone else cracked up. I clearly needed to work on my lying game.

“Here, I’ll bargain with you,” Taron said, putting an arm around my shoulders lazily. “You and me. We’ll go up there together, and we’ll just have some fun, yeah? Forget everyone else in the room. I’ve got you,” he said, his eyes slightly glittering in the dark of the bar. I knew he’d said all of this just for my benefit, and it was getting difficult to turn him down. I looked over at Mary and Jules, both of whom knew about my anxiety. But they were both nodding their heads, trying to encourage me to overcome it.

So I agreed, against my better judgment. I quickly finished my cocktail, hoping that the liquid courage would kick in, and let Taron drag me up to the stage. We debated over a song for a little bit while waiting our turn, landing on something I actually knew by heart, so at least I wouldn’t be tripping over the words and embarrassing myself further.

When our names were announced and we hopped up on the stage, our group of friends burst into ridiculous cheers, which made me blush some more and nearly want to bolt, but Taron was still holding my hand and it anchored me a bit. “Don’t look out there. Forget about them. Just focus on me,” he whispered, so I took a deep breath and did my best to take his advice. It wasn’t hard to focus on Taron, who looked almost rugged with his black blazer and stubble, his hair a bit flattened down from the hat that I was now wearing. It somehow made him look even more adorable, but I don’t think he could have looked anything less to me.

Our music started and Taron instantly lit up, the performer in him living for moments like these. My only hope was simply to survive. We’d chosen Elton John’s duet with Kiki Dee, the ever-catchy “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” Taron, bless his soul, did everything he could to get me to loosen up, and it somehow worked. I wasn’t glued to the monitor screen because I knew the words, and eventually even I was dancing a little bit with him, clearly being outshone but at least looking like I wasn’t totally out of my element. By the end of the song, I was beyond grateful to leave the stage, but also proud of myself for actually going through with it.

Taron grabbed me around my middle and cutely hugged me, picking me up off my feet and swinging me around slightly in his excitement over what we’d just done. “That was so good! I had no idea you had pipes on you like that!” he grinned, knocking his hat askew on my head a bit.

“I never said I can’t sing, only that I don’t,” I laughed, caught up in his excitement and the effects of alcohol.

“Well you really should more often,” he smiled, pulling me close so that he could fix the hat before dropping his hands down to my shoulders and staring at me for one awkward moment, as if he wanted to put them elsewhere but decided against it. “You have really beautiful eyes, has anyone told you that?” he asked.

“Not...not really, thank you,” I said, totally stunned as we stood there, the flow of the crowd around us totally forgotten. For that moment, it was just Taron and me.

But then the moment passed, and whatever he had thought to say, or do, he decided against.

I felt a pinprick of disappointment as he led me back to the table, ordering another round of shots for the table as everyone greeted me back with congratulations and praise that I had a half-decent voice. I gave them all smiles and tried to entertain Mary and Jules’ texts about how cute we had looked up on the stage together.

We all chatted some more and took the most ridiculous pictures with each other and the night wore on, Taron at times resting a hand on my knee, or even leaning his head against my shoulder, but making no further moves and I half-wondered if this was just how he was when he’d drunk far too much.

I got up to go to the bathroom, badly needing to pee at that point, and stewing on what Taron’s actions could possibly mean. It couldn’t be because he was attracted to me, I decided, especially as I’d chosen the most boring outfit in the world. At least his hat did something for my overall aesthetic, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner had smudged a bit but didn’t look overall bad. I sighed and pushed my way into a stall, realizing once I sat down that I’d totally left my phone on the table. Jules was notorious for hacking my social media with stupid posts, especially when she was drunk.

Once I’d washed up and returned to the table, it hit me that I was absolutely knackered. I nearly stumbled, into Taron no less, trying to get back into the booth. “Guys, I so need to call it a night,” I said, unable to stop the yawn that escaped. Jules and Mary had been whispering and giggling together, but had stopped when I’d returned. If I hadn’t been so drunk myself, I would have been suspicious.

“You’re sure you need to go, darling?” Taron asked me, looking like he needed to find a place to pass out himself.

“Mmm yeah and I think you should too,” I smiled, trying to hand him his hat back, but he shook his head.

“Keep it, it’s a consolation prize,” he said, winking at me and making my insides melt. If there’s one thing I can tell you, Taron Egerton could stop traffic with that wink of his.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” I giggled, stuffing my phone back in my purse. “Thank you for the fun night. It was really, really great.” And you’re bloody gorgeous, I thought drunkenly, glad those words didn’t leave my mouth.

“The pleasure has been all mine,” Taron smiled, nodding to the rest of his group as Jules and Mary and I managed to extricate ourselves from the booth without breaking an ankle. We all took our good-byes, making empty promises to hang out again some time, and Taron escorted us outside and helped flag down a taxi for us. He was a gentleman through and through. He offered hugs to the three of us, maybe hugging onto me a little longer than was necessary, and made sure we were safely in the cab and on our way before returning to the bar. My last image of him was his hand raised in a half-wave, his crooked smile fading into the darkness.

By the time we arrived back at our flat, my head was absolutely pounding. Mary shook me to rouse me from my stupor, half-slumped against the cab door and probably not remotely attractive at all. The street light outside hurt my eyes, and I was starting to get grumpy that I wasn’t already safely tucked in my bed.

“You always do this! I hate your grump stage, it’s such a bummer!” Jules complained, tearing off her dress and dumping it in our main room.

Mary shook her head at our roommate’s exhibitionist streak and quickly took me by the shoulders and escorted me to our shared bathroom. “Just take a bath and relax and you’ll feel better, promise,” she smiled, as if she’d done this many times before.

“Okay, mom,” I playfully whined, dumping my purse on the counter, my phone falling out onto the floor. I bent over to pick it up, swearing slightly and hoping I hadn’t cracked the screen, which had lit up showing my notifications. My eyes went wide as I noticed a text and I screamed, bringing Jules running, crowding into the small bathroom with us.

“WHAT IS THIS?” I yelled, shoving the phone in their faces. There, clearly visible on the screen, was a text message reading <Had a lovely night with you. Until next time, -T.>

“Oh, that,” Jules said offhandedly, as she and Mary exchanged glances with each other.

“Well, when you went to the bathroom, …” Mary began.

“I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself!” Jules interjected.

Mary squealed at that. “So when are you going to text him back?” she asked.

“Not with both of you breathing down my neck!” I laughed in a dazed manner, shooing them both out of the bathroom. “I love you guys,” I said, giving them the biggest smile.

“Love you back,” Mary said, making a heart with her hands while Jules just blew me a kiss, still only dressed in her skivvies.

I closed the door and sank down to the floor, staring at the text until my phone screen went blank again. I took a deep sigh and opened the message back up, my fingers hovering over the keys for a moment. <I had the best time. Hope you got home safe. -J> I set my phone aside and started the water, deciding on a quick shower instead of a bath. Once I was clean and feeling slightly better, I brushed my teeth, swallowed a couple painkillers, put on my jammies and nestled under the covers. I peeked at my phone again, half-afraid that there wouldn’t be a text back or it’d turn out to be a wrong number, even if that didn’t make sense as he’d texted me first.

My fears were proven false, though, as I had another text waiting for me. I opened it nervously. <You really think I’m bloody gorgeous?> I stared for a moment at the text, before throwing my head back and having to laugh. I definitely couldn’t trust myself when I was drunk, that’s for certain.

<I’ll ask sober me in the morning> I sent back with a winky face emoji before setting my phone aside for the night. My head was still pounding and I badly needed to sleep, no matter how tempting it would be to text Taron all hours of the night. 

From first contact to the second, I’d been given hope. Not that I was the perfect girl for Taron, or for anyone for that matter. But he’d seen me enough to care, maybe even to like me. And that was a future I’d be all too happy to wake up to the next morning.

Keep reading - Part 3

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton imagine

[eturni]

Day 26 - Cider

I’m running a little late and will hopefully have Day 27 for today as well but for now here’s Day 26 of @drawlight​‘s advent calender prompt list https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been with Cider.

Fermenting apples has been a tradition as old as both fermenting and apples have been known. The apples from the last harvest have long been used to wake the trees ready for the spring to come. It’s also common to just get drunk around midwinter, and home made scrumpy is easy to come by when the ex-Antichrist has an interest in stealing from orchards.

Midwinter around Britain has old traditions around apples and the harvest. Crowley remembers the early days, the Gauls, later with the Normans and later still as the West Country and East Anglia set to each other on the right way to do cider.

Wassailing had been big in the early days as a gift to the green man and a way to start waking the trees ready for the next year’s harvest. Crowley still had some very fond memories of his first time wassailing and arriving back amidst the fires to a slightly baffled but surprisingly relaxed angel. Then the joy of a very short season in a house built by angel miracle that had made his superiors too uncomfortable to come in for his yearly check in despite not knowing why they were so put off by it.

It had grown from mead with roasted apples and spices into something more like the French cidre and Saxon aeppelwin with sour apples and plenty of honey. Aziraphale had been more of a fan of that than Crowley, who had a surprisingly sweet tooth compared to the angel. It still reminded Crowley of Twelfth Night and of poor families making their way up to mansions with the hope of warmth and sustenance.

Getting the sweeter apples in had made things much more to Crowley’s taste, given that it let the humans really lean in to the fermentation process without having to worry about balancing the sweetness of it. There may have been a little more encouragement (tempting) of it into an art form at this point; which had of course resulted in the usual British pass-time of making schisms out of the way your neighbour does things for argument’s sake alone.

This naturally had the knock-on effect on Crowley’s reputation in Hell, though it was definitely something that humans would always do on their own. Like fighting over where you put the cream in a cream tea.

In any case pressing down apples to get drunk was a long-standing tradition for both the Brits and the horses that they kept. And alcohol, especially warmed and with any spice that could be found thrown in, was always popular over midwinter.

It does not come as a surprise to a certain principality that Crowley makes ‘grudging’ attempts to stay in contact with the Antichrist post Armagedidn’t. Ostensibly it’s to ensure that the boy remains safe after refusing Satan as his father and that there are no issues from any residual powers that may remain. It would be a lot more believable if he hadn’t also made sure to locate young Warlock, or if he didn’t dote on the boy in his own way when they visited to ‘monitor’ him.

Crowley made a habit of ensuring the kids got a present each over the holidays and took no small amount of delight in the arguments that it had caused for Pepper to get hers first for the Solstice. The kids had almost rioted and decided to go pagan with Pepper’s family just for the earlier gifts.

When they arrive in the winter of 2022 they find that Anathema has installed a small press outside in the garden and was trying her hand at some traditional scrumpy.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52472869 or:

“The most traditional. As I understand, it’s supposed to come from stolen apples and Dog still has a habit of getting into the orchards and somehow leaving with enough apples for Adam to have an armful.” She smiles sideways at the young man who gives an offhand shrug.

He’s leaning against a wall with his phone out on some game and would look very much like any other teenager trying to be cool if he wasn’t also half a mirror to the 6000 year old being who was in a similar pose at the other end of the living room. Aziraphale is in two minds as to whether this made Crowley look like he’s trying to play the moody teenager or whether it said something about beings that came from Hell and chose otherwise. He’s certainly leaning towards teenager.

“You know, you really shouldn’t steal.” Aziraphale tuts, knowing that the young man won’t be listening to him regardless.

“Well, actually-” Wensleydale starts, to the groaning annoyance of Pepper “scrumping is technically an old tradition he’s keeping alive. It’s all in the books, and you really only take the apples that have fallen and won’t get picked for the harvest anyway.”

“I don’t think I’m quite convinced by that, but it’s amazing what you can do with fallen apples.” Aziraphale hums thoughtfully, it gets Crowley to look up for just long enough to give him a sour look before he goes back to what he’s doing.

“Well it’s all very interesting really.” Anathema smiles, going to pour out a couple of glasses. “Actually tried to see if it would work for something other than drinking at first. You know, fruit of knowledge picked from the fallen by the… by Adam. Seemed like it might have its own power of a kind but it just ended up being decent to drink.” She toasts over to them.

Aziraphale gestures back distractedly, watching Crowley closely as the other presses thin lips together and looks at the drink over the rim of his glasses. As though he were looking at the apples from beyond the grave and judging the trees wanting.

“The Them had a go of it yet?” He finally asked.

“Well, no. I mean, you can’t just give kids alcohol. Looks weird enough that they spend so much time over here anyway, never mind us getting them drunk.” Newton pipes up like the world’s nerviest meerkat.

“Y’know, as long as it’s with adults they’re legal to. We count as adults.” Crowley gave a half shrug, ignoring Wensley’s nervous glances around him in favour of the intrigued looks that Brian and Adam cast between them.

“They are children Crowley.” Aziraphale tuts in annoyance, mouth a thin line.

“Naaah. They’re teenagers.”

“And still not old enough to drink.” The angel glowers, flexing out his hands in a familiar gesture indicating ’And that’s final.’

Things were rarely ever final when Aziraphale declared them to be. In fact, Crowley took great delight in ensuring those words were the start of a great many temptations.

“Well-” Newton steps in uncertainly, almost stopping altogether when two sets of intense supernatural eyes settle solely on him. “They can with a meal. At home. We’re not really eating so much, though,-” he trails off, as though suddenly realising it was more of a couple’s argument than a discussion that he’d unwittingly wandered into.

“Little help in the kitchen, Newt?” Anathema calls through with impeccable timing, having disappeared back there at some point in the conversation.

Suddenly alone with four teenagers and a freelance demon with a bag of presents, Aziraphale doubles down. “It’s simply not right without their parents’ permission, Crowley.”

The demon huffs and pulls himself up to full height. “C’mon angel, it’s hardly more than apple juice anyway.”

“Then they can have some proper apple pressé. It’ll be hardly different from the real thing.”

“Aww c’mon. They’re hardly gonna get drunk, angel. ‘Tis the season and all that, I’ve seen younger kids go out wassailing.” Crowley points out, angling himself so that most of the table is obscured as a couple of cups appear on the table.

“That was with their parents and I can feel you doing that so don’t you dare think about playing coy with me you foul fiend.” Aziraphale huffs in exasperation as he steps around the demon only to find Brian most definitely flipping the cups upside down. “My boy, what on Earth are you-”

“Shh, trying out a magic trick. I’ve got to focus though. Doesn’t work otherwise.” Brian waves a little, face scrunching up in concentration.

“Oh! you’re learning magic? How wonderful, do show me.” Aziraphale practically vibrates, the glow of love from inside him that even Crowley could feel as a demon.

He settles himself in to watch the trick as Brian produces a partially melted chocolate coin from a pocket and slides it under one of the cups before showing off that he has nothing in his sleeves. Crowley watches in rapt attention as Adam uses the sudden distraction to gently pull the bottle off cider off the table.

Brian gamely keeps Aziraphale distracted as Pepper and Wensley finishes off their rather more innocent drinks and Adam refills the cups with cider. For a moment Crowley is the proudest he’s been since hearing that Warlock told Hastur he smelled of poo. He can immediately see how wrong this is going to go the moment one of them doesn’t like the taste and has a full cup left to drink and it only makes it all the more exciting for it.

Crowley has to force the grin down as Brian’s trick wraps up with a suitably encouraging clap from Aziraphale, despite mixing up the cups, and the cider bottle goes back into it’s place.

“Well,-” Crowley interrupts any further magic attempts with a brief clap of his hands, reaching to hand over the bag to Adam, who dutifully hands the presents out. “no use in just standing around then you’ve got presents to open. Happy holidays.” He raises a hand to toast and downs some of his own drink.

Watches Aziraphale’s smile around his glass quirk into an equally self-satisfied smirk as the Brian and Adam pull faces down into their cups.

“That might teach them to try things they aren’t ready for.” He murmurs, suddenly very close to Crowley’s ear.

This time Crowley has no hope of hiding the grin, faced with his beautiful, absolute bastard of an angel. “Oi, book girl. We’re toasting our health in here, you gonna come out or too busy snogging?”

Adam’s annoyed mutter that it’s gross and no one even calls it that anyway are ignored as the witch comes back into the room with Newton, and some spiced cookies, in tow.

“I hope you aren’t up to any mischief?” She asks knowingly, even as Adam vehemently shakes his head.

“Well then, Wæs þu hæl.” Aziraphale toasts warmly.

Crowley smiles with a shake of his head and leans in just for enough to brush a kiss against the angel’s cheek “Drinc hæl, and may it continue into the new year.”

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #mini fic

[aubretia23]

Disobedience

This is a submit to BoruSara Fanfiction Week for Day 4's prompt : disobedience.

Disclaimer : I don't own Naruto or Boruto or anything related to it.

Rating : K+/G

Indian mythology AU

Destiny has a strange habit of disobeying your wishes.

If Sarada could have torn her hair off - or better, thrown the wedding garland on his face rather than around his neck - she would have. At least it would wipe off the smug smirk on his face.

She could have avoided this situation entirely. Really. But no, she had to tempt fate.

She should have really listened to her naga grandparents when they told her to do tapasya to their lord - Lord Vishnu - to whom her ancestor Adishesha - the kings of the nagas - is one of his two vahanas. But she had to remember the entire Skanda episode and the fiasco with his two wives (and the latter's reincarnations) and deny their suggestion. Her uncle Itachi pointed out that she can devote the tapasya to Lord Shiva. The man was easier to please and more lackadaisical with his boons. Then she pointed out why and how Draupadi landed up in a polyandrous marriage which in turn led to the war at Kurukshetra.

Yeah.

Once tapasya was out of the way, how would King Fugaku - the current ruler of Nagaloka - marry off his immensely precious and beloved only grandchild? How would he find a man of merit, virtue and valour? His Sarada had demanded that the final choice of her husband should remain with her. It wasn't an extravagant demand. His granddaughter was highly educated in philosophy and scriptures, trained in warfare, delightful to sight and priceless to behold. Surely there must be someone out there, one who can be at her side unconditionally.

The only solution landed up being, with Sarada's approval, a swayamavara. Dozens of invitations to eligible bachelors were sent out. Princes, kings, warriors, sages and scholars of each and every realm and race were invited.

“Why did grandfather have to invite him?” Sarada muttered sullenly.

“Well, he is the prince of the garudas. It would have looked incredibly rude if your grandfather didn't.” Chocho answered back, her voluptuous figure, so typical of a yakshi, moved gracefully through the heap of fabric and ornaments which were to be a part of Sarada's bridal trousseau.

Sarada closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing herself to forget the man in question. She and Boruto grew up together since infancy. Their fathers were the ones who managed to bury the long standing rivalry between their races - the nagas and the garudas. Their mothers, his an apsara and hers a human who was a rishika, were also close. Somewhere, when and how she didn't remember, she and him became fierce rivals.

She rarely wanted to acknowledge back in their gurukula days under Guru Shino that she was mesmerised by his brilliantly blue eyes, found his golden plumage in his bird form and hair in his human form beautiful and his wit and charm disarming. She balmed her throbbing heart with denial. Of course, his grin was so annoying. But by the time their education ended a few months ago and she finally buckled up courage to confess what was in her heart, she heard that Sumire was already doing tapasya to gain the husband she desired. It had been no secret that the beautiful mermaid had been smitten with the young garuda since long. So with a heavy heart, she turned her back on her intentions and requested to be married off as soon as possible.

It wasn't easy. The conditions she had laid down for her swayamavara were not acceptable to many. She had demanded unquestionable fidelity on part of her husband along with their willingness to become her consort as well instead of just the other way around. A mighty proposition for many who expect polygyny to be the norm and had expected the throne of Nagaloka to be passed onto a distant male cousin of hers.

So, many long-winded, polite and bush-beating refusals arrived at her grandfather's court. The pain was dulled somewhat when she realised among the few acceptances of her conditions was one from Queen Kushina, the queen of garudas.

“Chillax. You should be happy that he didn't accept the invitation like Inojin or Shikadai or Metal or Mitsuki.”

Sarada smiled. She had sent an addition of a choice of rakhi to those men whom she held close to her heart. It heartened her to learn that they all had accepted the rakhi along with the invitation and swore to be at her side as her “brothers” through everything.

She can't help but overthink about how Boruto’s letter didn't mention anything about accepting her rakhi and instead sent her a set of the most beautiful anklets she had ever laid her eyes on. Rubies - the same stone as her nagamani - shone brightly alongside sapphires, emeralds and diamonds on solid gold. The design was exquisite and the craftsmanship impeccable and intricate.

She couldn't explain why but she had worn them to her swayamavara. She shouldn't have, ethically speaking. She wasn't going to interfere with Sumire's desire to marry Boruto, especially when Boruto had never given her any indication that he saw her as anything more than the oldest friend he had.

But here she was, decked in gorgeous bridal red and heavy temple gold, waiting for the tournament to end, in her chambers in the royal palace in netherworld. She glanced back at the large full-bodied mirror, standing proudly in a corner. It was crafted by Lord Vishwakarma, allowing passageway to the ones who will be able to complete each and everyone of the tasks set by her grandfather. They were not easy and she really doubted whether anyone could actually be declared a victor.

“Princess!” A servant called out to her, pointing towards the mirror. Her heart skipped a beat. She could see a faint glow from the mirror. There must be a victor. And now, she could set up a final test. If this person could see through her illusionary powers, she might consider marrying him. Whether to actually marry him or not depended on her. If he didn't, well, she could have a hearty laugh about it later on.

The mirror shone blindingly brightly, as though the sun itself had descended in the chamber. She shut her eyes tightly. There's no way she could see anything. A pause followed followed by an outburst of giggles from her handmaidens.

“Oh my! Sarada, you are going to get some sexy times tonight!” Her face burnt up red. She could hear the giggles of her entourage as they left the chambers. She could smell a familiar scent of Himalayan pinewood and fresh earth she could recognise anywhere in the world.

Her heartbeat sped up. No way. There's no way this is real.

She wanted to open her eyes but she couldn't immediately after being caught by such a strong flash of light. Nagas had excellent sight and smell but sensitive eyes. Casting illusion required immense amount of magical power and that also affected her speed of recovery. She could hear the man approach the balcony where she was waiting with the wedding garland in her hands.

He should not be able to see her. Her illusions were immensely powerful and his weakness had always been seeing through it.

“You know, I should have just jumped in through the balcony. The journey through the mirror was terrible. I feel a bit squeamish. I think you should move out of the way in case I end up puking.”

Sarada's eyes flew open. A blurry mop of golden hair slowly refocused itself back into the face of her oldest friend.

“You can see me?!” She sputtered. Until and unless the moron was just taking a lucky guess, she would rather die of humiliation at her illusion being seen through by the idiot.

“Duh.”

“How’s that possible?” Boruto nodded towards her feet, ignoring her incredulity.

The anklets.

Boruto smirked, rapidly closing in the distance between the two of them. “Our Lord was the one who gave me the gold which was used to make those. He said that they were “pure” and had anti-illusionary powers. Came in handy since I knew you would be setting up illusions.”

Sarada stared at him. This guy. This brat. This imbecile. Not only did he have an upper hand even before the swayamavara began, he was now giving her that absolutely annoying grin. How could she forget that his ancestor - Garudadeva - was the other of Lord Vishnu's two vahanas? And that he had always been teasing the two of them together.

“So?” Boruto raised a brow.

“So what?” Sarada glared at him viciously.

“Aren't you going to put that garland on me?”

“Whatever made you think that I am going to marry you?!”

Boruto waggled his eyebrows towards her ankles. Sarada flushed even more.

“I have a right to refuse you.”

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself. What about Sumire?”

“What about her?” Boruto blinked in confusion.

“She is doing tapasya to have you as her husband.”

“Ah that, I don't want her. I never saw her as more than a friend. And...she is not doing that tapasya anymore. It's a, um, well, it's a long story.”

“....”

“Listen, I know that-”

The chamber doors banged open. At least half of their families flooded in. Chattering, giggles and congratulations flooded the air while Boruto and Sarada looked on in bemusement. Sakura hugged Sarada tightly while Hinata nearly choked Boruto out of joy. Their parents, grandparents, his sister, everyone was there.

“Big Brother, why don't you have the garland around your neck?” Himawari was the first to notice that Boruto and Sarada are yet to choose each other as their significant other.

Sarada stiffened visibly. Boruto recovered from his previous bemusement immediately.

"You see, Sarada was just curious about how I actually saw through her illusion. And she was so curious that she forgot that we are having a swayamavara out here. Even about the garland. But that's a good thing too. Now that everyone is here, why not do it in front of everyone. Nice idea, right Sarada?” Smugness oozed out of his grin. Sarada gritted her teeth and viciously pushed the other garland she was carrying into his hands.

“Hey!”

Sarada looked up to find gentleness in those brilliantly blue eyes. Sigh. She's hopeless.

Utterly. Absolutely. Completely. Hopeless.

The weight of a garland pressed around her neck. Boruto had chosen her as bride. Smirk melted off into a smile before blooming into a grin. Blush spread across her cheeks and she practically threw the garland around his neck, accepting him as her groom.

It is the beginning of a really long journey together.

“I think I still need to puke. I am still squeamish.”

“Argh! Don't you dare do it on me.”

Tagging @uzumakiani @koppiehart @smartchocobear who I believe are from Indonesia (I may be wrong) and might get a lot of the references in this fic.

#boruto #naruto #fanfiction #boruto uzumaki #sarada uchiha #borusara #boruto x sarada #boruto and sarada #borusaraffweekday4 #borusaraffweek

[zaggitz]

My Top Ten Video Games of 2018

Well, here were are again, my friends. After the non stop roller coaster thrillride of VIDEO GAMES 2017, can 2018 live up to the hype??? I’m gonna go ahead and say no right off the bat, but while every single week wasn’t filled with a new incredible genre defining experience like last year, we still had some genuine certified bangers in the mix, many of which I think will remain important to me as the years go by. It should be noted this is the first year since 2014 where a Trails game hasn’t hit the market, so for the first time ever since I started writing these lists, a Trails game will not reign victorious at the end. Scandalous! Impossible!! Shit year tbh, but we’ll get by.

Outside of games this year is maybe the best year of my entire life?? I got out of a years long slump, started an actual genuine career path, and then somehow managed to fenegle falling in love into the whole mix. These lists have always come from some greater sense of yearning to reach out and communicating how I feel about things I love to anyone who will listen, but right now all I can think of is about how happy and lucky I am for my life to have taken the turns it did this year. 2019 is gonna have to try real hard to break my stride.

If you’d like to read my previous rambly lists, here they are:

2015

2016

2017

Anyway without further ado, here’s ten games that aren’t Trails of Cold Steel 3(WHEN??):

10. Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales

This one is only at the bottom of the list because I didn’t have time to finish it. I loved getting to jump into the world of the witcher again. The world is dark and gritty and the choice are morally grey and the writing is impeccable and gwent is even more fun to play as a main mechanic than it was in the Witcher 3 as a minigame. I can’t wait to dive back into this one come the new year.

9. Radiant Historia: Perfect Chronology

One of the most well written and executed time-travel-based JRPGs I’ve ever played. It’s a story about trying to fix mistakes, about different perspectives trying to understand each other instead of fighting over differences.

It’s got an overall theme of realizing how important you can be to the world around you despite seeming insignificant that really resonated with me, an amazing cast of characters and it also just happens?? To be really fun to play??

8. The House in Fata Morgana: A Requiem for Innocence

That I didn’t play the first game the year it came out is a damn crime, this series of gothic tragedies has such special, meaningful and important themes of redemption and sacrifice and finding the people who will survive the world with you no matter what. It tackles mental illness, lgbt topics with an immense amount of respect and tells some of the most heart wrenchingly real and gutting stories, but it all culminates in the most viscerally satisfying way.

This sequel delves into one of the most unspoken parts of the original while also offering promising and hopeful glimpses into the future. It’s absolutely a must play if you in anyway liked the original.

7. Wandersong

Now here’s one that came absolutely out of nowhere. This game just oozes joy out of every pore. You play as a dandy bard who can only interact with the world via music trying to save it from being destroyed. Heavy themes of pacifism and the internal struggle of doing your best when you know for a fact your best won’t be good enough cover this thing like sprinkles on the most delicious and colorful donut.

Another thing I love is how every single chapter of this game plays differently, one will be a pirate adventure where you steer a ship with pirate shanties, the other will be a Majora's Mask still town sim, it goes on like this, and it never once gets boring. This game will make you smile the biggest smile from start to finish.

6. God of War

Remember Kratos?? He’s back, in open world action-RPG form. I sort of grew up with the original GoW trilogy and am of the opinion that they aged about as well as I did(which is fuckin not gracefully, teenager me was a fuckin mess). God of War is out of its edgy teenager phase now, and just barely squeaking out of its holier than thou college student phase into a game that actually has a few things to say, fun characters, an amazing world, and a paternal relationship that is kind of actually a joy to watch unfold despite everyone making fun of the game for it.

This game is like twice, maybe three times as long as the original trilogy which hilariously kind of makes those games feel like a prologue to this one. I suppose the real ironic thing is they kind of are?? They were shallow angry games with nothing to say but their existence created a character that, under the right light, under THIS light, could actually be extremely compelling and fun to watch grow alongside his boy. This series went from one I was glad to see gone to one I can’t wait to get more of.

5. Yakuza 6: The Song of Life/Yakuza Kiwami 2

It’s absolutely insane that Yakuza is popular now. I got into this series 10 years ago and at the time every single new yakuza release was a blessing and a curse; blessed because holy shit they actually put out a new Yakuza game and cursed because oh god it sold like shit and they probably won’t localize the next one why did they localize the zombie spin-off it almost killed the series nooooo don’t localize that give us the samurai games instead.

So anyway, this year I finally finished my journey playing through all 7 mainline Yakuza games. The journey of Kiryu Kazuma has come to an end and I have seen every step he’s taken. Yakuza 6 itself had kind of a really rough new engine that Kiwami 2 ended up refining, and from a gameplay perspective these games are basically the same, for the most part(Kiwami 2 is just better). Neither of these games come close to touching the masterful highs of Yakuza 0 but from a story perspective I think the respect and love this series has for its protagonist is unmatched, and while I was sad to see him go, I will never forget that big good crime boy and his whacky antics.

Ganbare, Kiryu-san...sayonara!!!!

4. The Messenger

This game fucking rules, I really don’t know how to do it justice, I played it on a whim and fell in love with it for the time it took me to beat it in a way that I haven’t done with a game in a long time. The gameplay is fluid and fun, the writing is charming and legit hilarious at times and the soundtrack, oh baby the soundtrack, if this wasn’t a year where Celeste came out this game would win every single award for OST of the year, I would fight anyone who disagreed.

The main gimmick of this game once you reach the halfway point is being able to shift between the 8 bit past and the 16 bit future, and every time you do the music will warp to fit those aesthetics and the game does this so freaking seamlessly, it’s amazing. The final level in particular meshed the music so well with the narrative that I was like fist pumping the whole way through the final sequence of the game.

It rules extremely hard, play it. Yes, you, you reading this right now, play this game so these people will make more for me. Please?

3. La-Mulana 2: The 0th Body, The 9th Spirit

Chalk this one up for game of 2018 I most can’t wait to replay and do a bunch of quick runs of. The original La Mulana is one of my favorite games of all time and this sequel delivers more of all the stuff I love while streamlining a lot of the more obscure and obtuse solutions. The music, the bosses, the world, all of the best things about the first game were all just as on point in this one.

The game evokes a sense of mystery you can only really achieve in a sequel to a game like the original La Mulana by constantly making you question the lore you already knew from the original. This all culminates in a sidequest that for a game as inscrutable as opaque as LM2, I still ended up getting really really emotionally invested in.

I don’t think there will ever be a La Mulana 3, and if that’s the case I’ll be able to leave this series happy, these two games complete each other in such a huge way, and will remain some of my favorites for years to come.

2. Celeste

I swear to god, this game was my Game of the Year for 9 whole months. I have never in my life played a game with this much precision perfect game design. This is maybe the tightest most consistent feeling platformer of all time. It’s like basically perfect on a gameplay level. That it meshes it’s gameplay with it’s themes so well is what truly makes it stand out and transforms it into not only a viscerally satisfying, tough but fair game, but an emotionally resonant masterpiece that will stick with me for years to come.

Celeste is a game about climbing a mountain. Celeste is a game about overcoming depression and anxiety and learning to cope and better yourself. These things are not interchangeable, the challenges you face as a player in this game all tie in perfectly to the main character, Madeline’s struggle to just fight through her self doubt and self loathing. It’s an extremely real tale, despite how fantastical the visuals are. It’s a game about fighting and screaming and clawing at that fucking Mountain to give you a way to have your heart again, and it’s absolutely wonderful.

The game is difficult, but every personal triumph accompanies one in game, and it lets you truly feel the feelings the game is trying to evoke alongside it. This is the kind of game that only comes once or twice a decade. I’d be extremely surprised to see anything hit this level any time soon.

1. Dragon Quest XI: Echoes of an Elusive Age

This is the gold standard for all JRPGs now as far as I'm concerned. There are series that go deeper, that go harder, that go all the way in with their music but no game out there exists that is so confidently just the classic all encompassing idea of a JRPG like this one. This game is pure comfort food, it knows exactly what it is and what it is is a fun heartwarming and charming classic JRPG “chosen one gets the cool sword and fights the dark lord” tale and damn it if it hasn’t been a while since we had just a good one of those.

Haha, just kidding.

A third of the way through, this game takes a dramatic shift and flips everything on its head in a way that hasn’t been really seen or executed this well since FF6. Suddenly the comfortable is taken away, the world is scary, bleak, and the themes you missed, that were simmering in the background since the start of the game start to boil over to the surface. The world is darker but the people in it are warmer, they hold themselves together until the day comes, and the game will find ways to make you cry you would never expect from a series this traditional. These themes all culminate in a super satisfying finale that, while not entirely happy, at least leaves the world in a better place than it was before, with it’s people that much closer.

Now what if I just didn’t write any of that and told you why I really love the game.

Credits roll, and the post game, that is to say, the final third of the game, begins. What if the shift never came, how would the world be different? How would these characters acrs resolved? Who would live? Who would die instead? What does this happening mean to the world? What does this new future hold?

In one simple moment, you answer all of those questions, and Dragon Quest XI becomes a prequel to Dragon Quest III (which was a prequel to DQ1 but that’s less important).

All of a sudden this entire series has lore, everything is connected in a way it had never been for 30 years, and it fits so seamlessly and perfectly that it could only have happened in a series like Dragon Quest, which has had the same writer across all 11 games. As a fan who had played all the available english games this was such an insane rewarding moment. I struggle to really compare it to anything else outside of maybe like…

Oh shit.

OH SHIT.

Outside of goddamn Trails.

Ya’ll know what that means right?

That’s right, Trails wins game of the year once again. STILL THE KING BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

#game of the year

[sarahburness]

How to Become a Spiritual Badass – The 20 Laws of Spiritual Power

Thinking of becoming a spiritual badass?

By following these laws, you will learn how to be a spiritual badass, be perceived as spiritually powerful and, more importantly, feel the depth of your own latent spiritual power.

This is a play on Robert Greene’s book called The 48 Laws of Power, a book geared toward sociopaths and narcissists about how to be powerful. It tells you how to be powerful without use of morals, ethics, or care for anyone but yourself. I suggest reading it to understand where these types of people are coming from.

Anyways, here are the laws of power that come from a heart-centered place.

Be Honest

Many people think they’re being honest when they’re really lying.

The best liars never say any falsehoods, but their intention is to deceive. For example, a man stays late after work having sex with his secretary. His wife asks him if he’s been cheating on him, he replies, “Honey, I was at the office all day.” The words were true, but his intention was to deceive.

A powerful being has no reason to lie, exaggerate or be deceitful.

Being deceitful comes from a place of unacceptance of one’s character flaws or mistakes.

Be strong enough to admit when you’re wrong. People who are deceitful aren’t honest because they can’t handle the truth.

Have Impeccable Integrity

Weak people make promises they can’t keep. Powerful people do what they say they’re going to do.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Or better yet, commit to as little amount of things as possible.

Your word is your bond. Be strong enough to do what you say you’re going to do. Learn how to say no.

See Also: The Courage To Say No

Use Non-Violent Communication

Raising one’s voice, using snarky tones, yelling, insulting, and casting blame are done by weak minds.

Spiritually powerful people do not dump their frustrations on other people. They speak in a calm tone, using phrases like “When you do this, I feel like this” instead of “You make me feel x and y.”

Respect People’s Stuff and Space

Treat other people’s stuff and space better than you would treat your own things.

If you borrow something, return it without being asked. If you stay in someone’s space, leave it cleaner and nicer than how it was before.

Follow this and people will trust you and enjoy having you stay at their house.

Respect People’s Freewill

Trying to change people, whether it’s for their good or not, is a form of manipulation.

A weak minded person projects his own flaws in others and tries to change others instead of himself.

The spiritually bad-ass sees the continually expanding perfection of every moment and does not need anything to change. She feels perfectly content as she is. She allows others to go their own way and follow their own path.

Abstain from taking intoxicants

Intoxicants are a get-happy-quick scheme. The spiritually powerful do not feel the need to ingest poison which hinders their cognitive abilities. They are perfectly content being sober.

A glass of wine or beer is fine, but getting inebriated often leads to poor decision making across the board. Be strong enough to say no.

Abstain from Gossip

If someone is gossiping about someone to you, they will likely gossip about you to other people.

Talking bad about someone else is an easy trap to fall into. Speak about people behind they’re back the same way you would speak to them to their face. Use non-positive words like “I’m not the biggest fan” instead of “I hate him” or “He’s not the nicest person” instead of “he’s an asshole.”

A weak mind loves to talk smack. It feels good to put other people down.

Spiritually powerful beings are enjoying life so much that they don’t have the time or energy to dwell on the negative aspects of someone else.

Have Perfect Posture

Nothing exudes confidence like perfect posture- strong mind, strong body.

A spiritually powerful person is a master of his body. He is able to comfortably sit up straight whether on the floor or in a chair, likely due to many hours of yoga or sitting meditation.

Comfortably Hold Eye Contact

A weak mind is afraid of other people’s eyes. It cannot handle the power of gazing into the window of the soul.

Spiritually bad-asses want to fully connect with those they are speaking with by looking them in the eye.

Don’t Itch

Itching is often a nervous reaction. Pay attention to when people (and yourself) itch when they are talking. It’s often due to some kind of uncomfortable feeling.

Scratching is never a sign of strength. Use the itching sensation as an intense mindfulness practice to break the pattern of the mind. Learn to observe sensations without reacting.

Become a Master of Language

Spiritually powerful people are mindful of their language. They remove uh’s, um’s, you knows, and unnecessary “likes” from their vocabulary.

They speak non-violently and use stronger, higher vibrational words. Instead of saying “I hate it”, they say “I really don’t like it”.

There are no I have to’s, I need to’s or I should’s, there is only I want to or I don’t want to.

Cut out victim mentality words. Instead of “I’m too busy to do it”, say “It’s not a priority.”

Your Life’s Purpose Is to Serve Others

What would you do if you had all the money in the world? People’s answer to this question says a lot about their spiritual power.

Would you spend all your time doing selfish activities or would you spend a good deal of your time helping to make the world a better place?

Spiritual bad-asses have developed such a great deal of compassion and empathy that one of their biggest sources of joy comes from helping and serving other people without expectation. Through serving in this way, one develops unconditional love.

Take Utmost Care of Yourself

To best help others, one must take best care of oneself first.

Don’t mistake getting adequate sleep, exercise, healthy food and doing what one knows is best for oneself to be selfish.

If you can’t take care of yourself, how can you take care of others?

Balance serving others while taking care of yourself.

Move Your Body

Your body is the vessel which transmits consciousness. Make it as open, clean, and clear of a vessel as possible.

Your body wants to move as it was designed to move.

Move it every day. Develop body awareness and feel your power.

Eat Healthy, Organic Food

Spiritually powerful people use the highest quality fuel possible regardless of its price. They know it increases their spiritual power far beyond any other material things. Therefore, they make spending on healthy food a top priority.

Meditate

A weak mind will find any excuse not to sit and meditate.

A spiritually powerful person has a consistent meditation practice because she recognizes it is one of the wisest investments of time one can make.

Tithe

It can be hard to detach ourselves from money.

Donating 10% of one’s income to a charity one believes in is a powerful exercise in abundance.

Tithe, but don’t tell anyone about it. Donate anonymously. Get the ego out of it.

Give Others Credit

A spiritually bad-ass knows he’s a bad-ass and does not need external validity or a myriad of external success to feel good about himself.

Practice showing others how they impacted something or their role in a positive outcome instead of wasting energy trying to remind everyone how awesome you are.

Allow What Is to Be

Recognize the inherent perfection in every moment and give no importance to exerting excessive force or struggle to change reality.

This does not mean ignoring all the problems in the world, but learning to act through the non-friction, high energy of inspiration.

One who masters this art will appear to move with grace and ease because that is their natural state.

Be Transparent

Spiritually powerful people only do things that they are comfortable sharing with the world. Because of this, they have nothing to hide and will tell you anything you want to know.

They are comfortable sharing about their weakness, faults, mistakes, and other “negative” aspects about themselves. They understand it helps us connect as humans, instead of putting up this wall of being a perfect being.

The spiritually powerful understand that importance behind every action is intention. When one’s intentions are good, one benefits by being transparent.

The post How to Become a Spiritual Badass – The 20 Laws of Spiritual Power appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

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