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loveisalwaystheanswer · 1 year

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Honestly speaking I came to the conclusion that all the other Shelby family members are selfish. I might get tons of hate for this but I don't care.

If you look at S1, all of them depends on Tommy to make decisions and money. It seems that most of the family members ignore (yes i say it) that Tommy has trauma. It's seems like they prioritise the other brothers rather then Tommy. So I believe it instantly when Tommy falls for Grace because for the first time, Tommy found someone who is equal and he can lean on emotionally.

Fast forward to S3 onwards, it seems like everyone in the Shelby family could not give a crap about what Tommy is feeling or planning because everything goes haywire. They blame him for things that happen when Tommy is the one who brought them out of the gutter. I wouldn't be surprised if Tommy did not choose to speak on how important Grace is to him as no one bothers to ask or ask about his mental state. (Except Ada) I feel like that why they ignore Grace's presence.

But the irony is that if Grace was alive, she would be the only one who could "tame" Tommy and they prob would have a happy ending.

Just my thoughts....

Hello, anon!

We're all free to have our own opinions and express them. I try to keep my blog a hate free zone. As my friend once said to me, 'art is subjective', so...

I'm adamant that Tommy has too many responsibilities for one man. He's the father of the family and this is completely unhealthy, given that he's not even the oldest and he has his own life. There's A LOT of problems with separation. Their lives are intertwined and no one can see their boundaries clearly. But they're all responsible for their choices. Any of the other Shelbys could've chosen to live on their own, if they'd liked to. Neither Arthur, nor Ada, nor John or Polly enjoy their family lifestyle. (Do you remember that in the beginning of s4 Polly wanted to leave the company, but at the end of the season she's with Tommy all the same, I still don't know why). But they decided to stay and be dependent on Tommy. Why? I'd dare to say that MAYBE they want more money and stability. Even Ada shelved her old beliefs and couldn't resist the temptation. Sometimes I have the feeling that they see Tommy only as their boss.

Considering all of the above, they rarely care about him as a close person. I think Polly is the only one since Grace's death who is capable of seeing him just as a human being, not the head of the company. In s1 she says 'Christ knows you've had your fill of war' and 'Not a single man came back the same'. Maybe she doesn't identify it as a trauma, but she's fully aware of the impact the war had on him.

In the times of s1 the family was highly motivated. They all needed to keep their heads above water and get out of the pit of poverty. In s2 they already have a lot of money and their own houses and at that moment they all could have quit, but they didn't. And yes, I do believe they had a choice.

I don't think they're selfish, they love him and even care about him... sometimes, it's more like they lack empathy and simple interest. Not that he shows much interest in their feelings... but I'm not here today to dig another pit for him. Yes, Tommy's feelings are hidden behind a very high and almost impenetrable wall. But nobody wants to ask him "are you ok, Tommy?". He slogs his guts out and everyone takes it for granted. In my opinion, he doesn't owe them anything, but I suppose it's has something to do with the times they live in and they have to stay close to each other in order to survive.

Initially Grace had to get close to him, but as events unfold, she wants to know more about him as a person, not the leader of the gang. She's probably the only one who doesn't want anything from him (except his forgiveness). He understands that and maybe that's why he feels more emotionally relaxed when he's with her.

In s3 Polly says 'We need him back' because they all depend on him. Alas, I can't find the interview, in which Cillian says that at the end of s3 Tommy begins to doubt the family was worth of all his efforts to give them a better life, and that sounds quite reasonable. Tommy cuts off any possibility to talk about what happened at the dinner and it's understandable. He really needs to talk about her death and the only person he could talk to about his feelings is Grace. But Grace is dead. Isn't it funny? The irony is too heavy. But my main complaints were mostly about post-s3 times. The whole family is like 'Grace is dead. So what? Not a big deal.' And it makes me think that probably none of them knew how deep Tommy's feelings for Grace run. I always had high hopes for Polly as the most shrewd member of the family and she definitely should've known what Grace's death means to Tommy. And one of the most important things that none of them thought of is how relentless, how insatiable for power and control Tommy can/will become without Grace. It's been said before me SO many times and I don't wanna sound like a broken record. I'll just say that in fact she's been used and forgotten. Grace's name is a taboo word. I've said this before, but I'll repeat that even none of the antagonists use the memory of her to make Tommy emotionally unstable and therefore overcome him. Her death is a turning point in the narrative, and yet there's not much about it or her. Like I said, she's a vacuum, and none the Shelbys acknowledge her existence, especially verbally.

Yes, Grace is the key to his heart. She had the ability to "tame" Tommy. She could soothe his pain and calm his inner demons. I will believe till my last breath that if Tommy and Grace had ended up together at the end of s1, they would've had their happy ending. And they lived happily ever after. John would've been alive too. And maybe even Michael. *sobs on the floor* (this is too much to handle)

TL;DR You're so bloody right, anon! Extra points for the courage to express, as I think, a VERY unpopular opinion! And some for me too, because I just wrote the fuckin essay.

thank you! xx

#asks #tommy shelby

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merryfortune · 2 years

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Strange and Torrid Feelings

Written for Launch The Ship | @launchtheship

Title: Strange and Torrid Feelings

Ship: Masami/Yuriko

Fandom: Tropical Rouge Pretty Cure

Word Count: 1,566

Rating: T

Tags: Crushes

Yuriko was very pretty. And she didn’t even need to flout the guidelines regarding makeup inside of the school’s handbook to achieve this. That impressed Masami somewhat but she didn’t know exactly what to make of it or how her heart fluttered when she mused just a touch too long on Yuriko’s outer appearance.

Her eyes were daring and sharp, framed by long, clean lashes. Her pupils were clear but slitted, giving her an almost birdlike look, fitting of her name. Her skin was pale, flawless, born that way, Masami would think, not borne of overly harsh products. Her hair was shiny. Her uniform was perpetually neat and never wrinkled.

Being of firm mind and firm face, Masami prioritised heart and ethics over superficial values such as what a person looked like. She cared about how they acted, how they carried themselves, how they treated other people. To Masami, these were the core foundations of her values and her worldview.

She liked facts, she liked it when things were simple. Things around Yuriko were most certainly not simple. But at least the rumours had been chased away. She could take some cold comfort in that but there was clearly more going on in this school and as the leader of the disciplinary committee, it was Masami’s duty to get to the bottom of this.

Probing the very odd and highly unusual Tropical Club was just the start but possibly, if she had deft and grace, things she worried she did not have, then maybe Yuriko might gift her with a bit more information. Surely such sharp - and even beautiful - eyes such as hers noticed something that Masami did not in her black and white vision.

“Why would you bring up such old news?” Yuriko sighed. Irate.

“Apologies, I did not realise it was such a sore point.” Masami replied.

The afternoon was quiet. Another search of the Tropical Club had proven fruitless. Whatever their eccentricity, it was eccentricity within the bounds of acceptable behaviour. Unbelievably. Honestly, their diverse and varied extracurricular studies, and their commitment to them and their lesson plans, actually ought to be admired but there was just something so… fishy about them! Masami couldn’t pinpoint it.

But Asuka had let slip something as she, in her presidential right to dislike questions and unfairness, chased Masami off and cursed Yuriko for it. That touched a nerve, Masami sensed so, she thought she would ask Yuriko for her side of it or the reason why. Masami regretted that now as she had a bandaid on her nose for it now, at least metaphorically.

Masami stole another look at Yuriko. How she gritted her teeth and how her eyes gaze was distant. Following her line of sight, Masami noticed that Yuriko’s gaze was now out towards the sporting fields on the school grounds. Fond but bittersweet. She looked as though she were mulling something over. Something that, if Masami had to guess, was named Asuka.

She felt her stomach twist and knot. She disliked thinking about Yuriko thinking about Asuka but again. She couldn’t pinpoint or place why. So, she stewed in that discomfort, holding the hem of her skirt as she waited for either her brain to provide something useful to say - or for Yuriko to break the silence.

Thankfully, she did, sighing again, “It's old news and it would be untoward of me to say that I couldn’t have behaved better in that situation. A good person displays self-awareness and thus, it would be remiss if I said I didn’t acknowledge that I was wrong to do so little but Asuka was wrong to do so much. As you would know, there are more well-written ways to behave in conflict but alas, real life isn’t always so scripted.”

Her words were wise and Masami soaked them in. Her heart fluttered. She hung onto every word of Yuriko’s as though there were an extract from a holy book. Yuriko noticed. She smiled.

“I think you would have done the best you could.” Masami stammered. She unintentionally stamped her foot to emphasise. The rhythm of it knocked her own heart good. Or maybe worse. That flutter seemed quicker now - and harder, like a throb. A good and proper throb.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Kakuta.” Yuriko diplomatically replied.

Her insincerity of the statement wounded Masami. Especially because she meant it so genuinely, from every fathom of her heart and soul. She knew what President Shiratori was like and thus, had not even the sliver of a shadow of doubt that Yuriko would flounder some problem from years ago. Masami swallowed.

“You're welcome.” Masami murmured.

“You're very sweet, Masami, I can assure you that but not yet.” Yuriko replied. Her voice was soft, silky, sensual.

She reached out and Masami flinched. She didn’t know why she flinched, nor why her eyes were watering. Yuriko was gentle as she tucked a strand of Masami’s hair behind her ear. It was pink.

“Very sweet, very cute.” Yuriko teased her.

“Am not!” Masami denied. “I-I’m not cute. Someone like me is not cute.”

Yuriko giggled at Masami’s defence. That only made her prickle more, embarrassed her more. Her face burned red.

“I think you're very cute, Masami, I wouldn’t lie to you. I hope you see that one day.” Yuriko replied.

“I-I’ll work on it.” Masami earnestly replied.

She was flustered to be called her given name over her family name, it sounded so much more beautiful when it came from Yuriko’s lips. Her beautiful lips, painted only in a protective balm, likely not even flavoured. Masami was quick to scold herself for making such assumptions but again. Yuriko did not flout rules. She valued them deeply, just like her.

Unable to say much more, there was still enough in what Masami had given in response. That notion glistened in Yuriko’s yellow eyes. Masami just sat there, gawking, causing a horrid and awkward tension. For her at least, she couldn’t quite tell what Yuriko was thinking as a thick sensation became a welt in Masami’s throat. Tightening it. Her stomach then twisted again. Just to make her feel worse, Masami was sure.

But, more pleasantly, the feeling of Yuriko’s long, slender fingers in her hair remained as well.

“I - I have squandered your time long enough, I think,” Masami said and she got up from the table they had been sharing, she was all a mess, flustered and off-kilt, “I better go.”

“A shame, I do enjoy your company, Kakuta.” Yuriko lamented but she let Masami go.

Masami stormed off. Her heart pounded, her cheeks still red hot. When she left the council’s room, it was like a weight off her shoulders and she breathed in the fresh air of the corridor. That twisting feeling was in her stomach. It all compounded on top of Yuriko’s final address unto herr as well; a return to her family name over her given name. It felt like salt rubbed into a wound - one that Masami didn’t even know she had.

She didn’t understand it. Any of it. She felt more confused than before she started poking her nose in places that it clearly didn’t belong.

Masami squeezed her eyes shut. All she could think about was how Yuriko had touched her, just slightly, and how such a simple gesture was able to cause her to quake like this. Yuriko’s words, they were as wise as they were humble and amplified all of what Masami was trying to distract from as they caused a storm. Not calm like her demeanour would insinuate, they spurred such deep and wild things, like a racing heartbeat and sweaty palms and Masami just didn’t understand.

She felt… Excluded, truth be told. She tried to tamp down on all these awful, welling up feelings and tried to focus on the facts. There was a rumour about a mermaid and then a strange girl showed up. The Tropical Club acted strangely and the aforementioned strange girl quickly became a member of said club. Making it even stranger in Masami’s mind. Asuka is a member of the Tropical Club. She has a torrid history with Yuriko. And Yuriko… makes her feel strange. And torrid.

It all pent up and clumped inside of Masami’s chest. She just couldn’t work it out. The mystery which was swirling around her, evading her at every investigative look. She was missing facts, she was missing vital pieces in the very framework in which she looked at the world through and it infuriated her. To not know, to not feel like she deserved to know, even.

A single, hot tear dribbled down the side of her face as Masami listened to her heart pound in her ears. She felt sick to her stomach, a funny sort of sickness which was more mental than physical yet stirred her up so awful. Just who was the new girl and was she connected to that absurd rumour about there being a mermaid at school? What was the incident which had caused such bad blood between Asuka and Yuriko?

And… And what was it about Yuriko which made her own, internal world go so topsy-turvy, so strange and torrid? Argh! Why couldn’t things be as easy as reading and executing a rulebook? Printed nice and simple in black and white.

Masami needed answers. Answers, she realised, she wasn’t going to get.

#femslash #launchtheship #masami x yuriko #yuriko x masami #launch the ship #tropical rouge precure #tropical rouge pretty cure #tropical rouge #precure #masami kakuta #kakuta masami #shiratori yuriko #yuriko shiratori #writing tag

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elizabethrobertajones · 2 years

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8. How do they feel about the fame/infamy that comes with being a Warrior of Light/Darkness?

Ooh, one of the most interesting questions :D

Frog has literally never turned down someone asking for help (read: I have cleared every quest systematically off the map as I progressed :'D) and feels intensely connected to everywhere she's been as a result. And it's on a personal level where I think at this point, everyone knows at least one person who she has personally helped get a cat out a tree or carried their bags for them or whatever they need today. I can really see a folk hero status trailing her from early on, because what she sees is that no one has ever really just stopped to ask people how they're doing and what needs done, but she's sort of leaving a trail behind her of people changed by that encounter who might start remembering to do the same for each other.

So in a way she barely registers when it's different because she slayed some huge god or defeated an army or whatever because she is very used to helping out and getting a modest reward and slipping away to the next thing. The end of Stormblood where they're marching her through Ala Mhigo like a conquering hero was when it started to seem really weird (she's from the far opposite end of Abalathia's Spine to Ala Mhigo, she's not Gyr Abanian per se as far as I can tell from the terrible geography lore they give us - I think Idyllshire's end of the mountains is closer to home honestly), and I think she started laying low a little/avoiding the people who would really idolise her as a figurehead in her lifetime in case they ask her to take actual responsibility for things. Which, honestly, is probably just making people tell more legends about her.

A certain monologue about her having the power to rule absolutely freaked her out because she's only interested in gaining power simply for its own sake, intellectual curiosity, and honestly to be of more use to people as a wandering knight in shining (pink) armour, just because it makes her happy. It served as a good warning not to get too tangled in the politics or visible as a figurehead, so whenever things lean that way she's very uncomfortable with it.

The GOOD side of it is that first of all she gets free drinks anywhere she goes (always prioritise the local bartender's side quests, she quickly learned from Buscarron), but most importantly, she has her own table at the Bismark, as they remember her fondly as their one-time student chef who incidentally saved the world a few times or whatever. Getting to sit there and be mostly out of the way and also getting free gourmet food is the dream.

#ffxiv #for all the limsa lurkers no one goes here because it's not in the same shout zone as the plaza #which makes it blissfully quiet when you're inches away from the loud chatter below XD

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ohmyasmodeus · 4 years

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𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘵

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳

Pride is the greatest sin, and it is all-consuming. Every aspect of Lucifer and, by extension, his relationship with anyone he is associated with, is tied to it.

In love, Lucifer even choosing a partner is a great act of pride. It means he prioritises you over all else even if it doesn’t seem like he acts like it. He wants to show you off to the world as being on his level, even if not in societal status. Your mind and his— simpatico. He’s a nag because he takes great pride in the potential he sees in you, and pushes you to achieve that potential. Academically, spiritually, and in your day-to-day life, he sees so much good in you and it almost hurts. Your soul is so bright and blinding to him.

He also takes a lot of pride in ‘treating his things well’, so good luck to anyone who leaves so much as a scratch on you. He won’t hesitate to beat the shit out of punish his brothers for roughhousing a bit too much with you. He nags and lectures you so much, about your academics, and definitely your personal safety, but that’s only because he cares! Micromanagement and damage prevention are his strongest skills, notably when it comes to loving you.

♡ 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯

If it wasn’t obvious already, this boy is greedy with more than money. He wants you, he wants wants wants, and it kills him to have to share you with everyone else! Mammon is needier in many aspects than you would expect, but he refuses to show anyone but you. He needs your presence by his side like a prized pet, he wants to feel your touch and have it only to himself, and he wants you to look at him like you’ve never looked at anyone else before.

Realistically, you are a person and Mammon can’t exactly keep you all to himself like that— both because his brothers won’t let him, and because… he just wants to see you happy. Even when you’re smiling at a joke someone else made or a compliment someone else gave you, he’s happy. Your happiness is his. And yet he tries to outdo everyone subtly. He’s no good at verbalising it tactfully, but he can show how much you mean to him with lavish gifts and the odd lucky grimm here and there. It’s his way of telling you; stay with him, please.

♡ 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯

Satan has always been an expert at keeping up appearances. He holds a tight grip on his emotions and his rage, methodically executing every little action when it comes to emotions because by god, we can’t let people know we feel things! But with you, he feels like every bit of that is coming undone. Every rope and thread, loosening and unravelling until he’s forced to deal with his feelings for you, something that ancient academia could never advise him on.

Who he is inside is a tumultuous sea of rage and passion, but he feels like you don’t see him as less for being who he is. With you, the mask comes off. He’s free to explore himself without a textbook, and he’s free to explore what you mean to each other without judgement. You are Satan’s anchor. You two study each other with your hands more than anything, anyway, and his existence as an independent person is validated by you. Nothing could feel sweeter.

Though, like with Lucifer; your mind and his are one.

♡ 𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴

You would think that his love is easy to find. But alas, lust is a tricky thing to deal with. Asmodeus thrives off the attention and adoration of the masses. What you would like to think is special in you, he knows he could probably find in a handful of others that kiss the ground he walks on. Lust is about what you can provide for him, what new experiences he thinks he can find— but ooh! He’s never met a human like you!

You are full of new experiences and every inch of you is something to be touched and explored, but what attracts him the most is you. Something about you captivates him, something he can’t name. And that’s what scares him. He’s suddenly obsessed with flirting and making sure you adore him like everyone else does, but he retreats when things get much more serious with you than he expected because he can’t stand the thought of playing with your feelings. That’s what lust does. It means nothing. It’s endless meaningless carnal desire.

Asmodeus is in love, and he can’t reconcile the idea of it with his sin.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘻𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘣

It’s a grave misconception that gluttony equals selfishness. Beelzebub eats well, and he wants you to as well! He’s almost like Mammon in the way he lavishes you with attention and takes you to raid the fridge in the middle of the night. During meals, he makes a conscious effort to spare a little bit of the best dishes for you. He’s snatched the last portion from his brother’s plates just to give you a taste of something you haven’t tried before.

His ‘I love you’s sound more like ’Have you eaten?’ and he dives right into the deep end when it comes to being with you. Why bother with hiding his feelings? Even if he tried, his impulsiveness when it comes to emotions would stop him very quickly. Beelzebub is impulsive with loving you, spending time with you, and hogging you when his brothers come to bother him for a turn. He never hesitates to ask for what he wants, and he will always shamelessly want you.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳

Belphegor once loved humans very much. Knowing someone like you makes it all the easier to rekindle that love, although he loves lazily teasing you about your species and how little you know about the Devildom. It’s almost his duty to make you run around in circles and lose your breath with frustrating debates. His impulsiveness is something he very much shares with his twin, except he acts on the impulse to reject people. He’s too tired for this, too lazy for that, but whenever you ask? Of course he still complains slightly, but he likes the sight of your relieved smile too much to say no.

And although he lovingly bullies you half to death, during secret stolen moments between you two… there’s a softness that he could never express to anyone else. A willingness to rest with you and expose his vulnerabilities. Belphie finds himself unconsciously trying to atone for his past actions, like a cat rolling over and exposing its soft belly. He trusts you, and hopes you can grow to trust him again as well.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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mittens-220 · 4 years

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Hataraku Maou-sama! Volume 21 Detailed Chinese Summary Part 2

Detailed preview summary: Read here

Detailed summary part 1: Read here

Demon King Pays For His Past Sins

The Demon World flew for one month but had not caught up to Heaven yet, it is middle of July now, everyone was still on Earth worrying about their finances, Emi just happened to come over to ask for the child-rearing fees, Maou was poor. Ashiya said that disasters do not happen alone, you think we are as fortunate as you, Emi said Maou even said that he loves his daughter but would not even give child-rearing fees! Suzuno felt this was shameful, Lucifer calmly rebuked and said what was shameful was not specifically anyone but everyone present. Suzuno said that he seemed to be saying serious things all the time recently, Lucifer said that he had always been serious from the start, it was just that all of them did not listen. Then after this whole commotion, they went to apologise together.

Chiho came out to receive them and was shocked that Lucifer was also wearing formal wear. Chiho’s father was at home and did not show a good attitude to Maou and the others, so after everyone entered, they knelt down in apology. But Chiho’s parents were a little perplexed, because they thought that only Maou would come, and showed a bad attitude because they thought Maou came to “meet the parents” and didn’t think that a whole group of people would come to apologise. After clearing up the situation, Maou and Emi took out Acies and Alas=Ramus from their minds, Chiho’s father was naturally shocked because he didn’t expect that not only Maou wasn’t human, he even had children from a previous spouse. Then Iwaki suddenly came with delivery and the whole scene was chaotic

Riho went to ask Chiho, saying that with regards to the matters of the foreign world, these people didn’t force her, right? It was Chiho herself who wanted to be included, right? When going to Choshi before, it was her who insisted on being with them, right? It was Chiho herself who wanted to be involved, right? These people do not need to apologise at all. What Chiho’s father was concerned about was that, their side would not let his daughter participate in their battle, and it would not affect Earth as well, since Mao is also not dating his daughter currently, then there is nothing much to apologise for. Maou then passed 10,000 yen to Chiho’s father. Chiho’s father said that he did not remember this anymore, giving this money to him now was like him finding money when doing laundry. Then Chiho’s father asked if she liked her Papa? Alas=Ramus actually said she did not know. Chiho’s father said that is normal, children will only listen to their parents unconditionally before they were four or five years old, after that they will be able to freely make their own choices, so as long as they do not get Earth involved, their battle has nothing to do with him, he only hopes that they would still be his daughter’s friends afterwards

After apologising, the group of people returned to their jobs, Maou, Emi had to go to work and Chiho had to go to cram school, Emi and Chiho advised Maou to go home and change out of the formal wear before going to work, Maou was rather reluctant, Emi asked Alas=Ramus if Papa looked good in a suit and whether she liked it. Alas=Ramus said no, Maou was dealt a huge blow, and decided to go back and change out of the suit. Then Maou and Chiho walked together to go to MgRoanlds and cram school, Chiho talked about how some guys tried to pick her up, Maou was very surprised. Chiho said, “You know how hard it was for me, right? Having to do so many things at the same time, why did you want to keep my memories?” Maou asked if he had ever told her about the formation of the Demon King Army, Chiho said that she heard it from Ashiya. Maou said, “Then you should know that my first comrade was Urushihara, Camio and that group of bird-men do not feel like comrades, because they are like my family, but for other the people starting from Lucifer, they are comrades who I chose myself.”

Maou said that after he started working at MgRonalds, she was the first part timer he trained, Kisaki had just finished interviewing her, then told him “I will leave this child to you.”. This was when Maou also felt that he truly obtained acknowledgement from Kisaki. This was the first time he obtained acknowledgement from a superior. So he planned to treat her well like a child, so it could be said that she was the first important human to Maou, he did not want to be forgotten by people important to him. Chiho asked him if he ever considered that he would be liked by the important person whom he did not want to be forgotten by. Maou said that even though demons do not really understand human emotions, but when he was in bed after being kissed by her, Sariel came over to help take care of him, and he was thinking, Sariel had such a long life, yet he was liking someone else so passionately?

Then the scene switched to the time Sariel went to take care of Maou. Sariel helped Maou analyse the issue about his felings. Maou said that he wanted to cherish her as well, but he was unable to answer such passionate feelings. Sariel said that this sounded like a middle aged person being woo-ed by a middle school student, she gave you so much love, but it was not as if you have to respond to her with that much love, just compare it with me and Kisaki, even though I am so passionate towards her, I do not ask for her to respond to me like this as well, she is someone who prioritises work, it is enough as long as I am still in the home she goes back to. In the end, for something like love, only the people involved will know this clearly.

Back to present time, Maou said that he did not want to be forgotten by Chiho, if she forgot, a hole would open in his heart, that was why he did not erase her memories. “Give me a bit more time, I will respond to you, and the problem with time is not related to fighting God, it is only a problem between you and me.” After chatting with Chiho, he went to work, Chiho called Emi, asking her “Do you know why things turned out like this?”

In the store, Maou greeted LIbicocco, then suddenly felt uncomfortable again and threw up, thinking if this had anything to do with the feelings of love.

Three years later, the 20 years old Chiho came back to Japan during her school holidays, skipping her conversations with Riho, Chiho even made use of the holidays to go to Ente Isla to study, then encountered Maou who came to pick her up at the station.

#hataraku maou-sama!#hataraku maou-sama #the devil is a part timer

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pynkhues · 4 years

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3 7 22!!

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

I answered this one here, but I will say I forever want to write more scenes with just the girls, particularly pre-canon scenes, so I thought I might share a scene from my ridiculously belated prompt-a-thon fill which is 10 times Ruby’s danced, and this scene is about Beth and Ruby while Beth’s in labour with Emma, and Ruby’s pregnant with Harry.

Below a cut to save your feeds!

“I kinda figured we’d just arrange the thing.”

She’s only half serious when she says it, but it’s worth it to see Beth’s head jerk, her eyebrows somewhere up near her forehead even as her cheeks are still flushed red, her chest still heaving.

“You have been watching way too many old romances,” she tells her, amusement thick in her tone, and Ruby shrugs, rocking the baby carrier beside her when Danny starts to whine.

“Please, you’re the one who made us go see Fiddler on the Roof three times at the Revival Theatre. If it wasn’t for that, I’d never even know about the whole matchmaker thing with your people.”

“My people,” Beth scoffs, red creeping up her neck. “Besides, the whole point of Fiddler on the Roof was that he had to learn how to let his daughters choose who they married. That they couldn’t just arrange - - ah.”

Beth exhales sharply, squirming back into her seat, hands balling, white knuckled at the arms of the chair, and she has to be close, Ruby thinks, dropping her hand to Beth’s back, rubbing soothing circles there as she tries to catch the attention of one of the nurses. They barely seem to even see them though amidst the crowded waiting room, beelining to patients with - - what even is that? A rash? Ruby side eyes the nurse taking the man out of the waiting room, before turning her attention back to Beth.

“What was that whole do you love me song about then, huh?” Ruby says. “Him and his wife had been matched, and those two were in it, y’know?”

“It’s generational. The parents do what they have to so the kids can have it better,” Beth insists, but she hasn’t opened her eyes yet, her eyelashes matted together with her clumping mascara and tears, and Ruby sighs, sitting forwards as best she can with her own pregnant belly in the way. New plan, Ruby tells herself. They are never pregnant at the same time again. One of them needs to run point, and she can’t send Stan out with Kenny and Sara forever.

“Where’s Dean?”

“I called Boland Motors,” Ruby promises. “He wasn’t at his desk, and honestly that new secretary of his is - -”

Well, Ruby thinks a little dryly.

She’s something.

Beth squirms back in her seat, panting a little now, and the contractions really are getting closer together, even if her waters haven’t broken yet. Maybe they’ll have to pop that bag for her – they had to do it with Danny after all –her gaze darts sideways to check on him in his stroller, but he’s fallen asleep again.

“So, how do you wanna do it?” Ruby asks, keeping her tone light. “We gotta get this thing on paper.”

It’s enough to make Beth twist her neck sideways, to peel open her watery eyes in confusion, and Ruby waits until she has Beth’s full attention before she gestures down to her own swollen belly.

“Stan Junior here is gonna be a catch. I’m just saying. Beth Junior there might want to lock it down.”

Beth’s laugh is strangled between her breathlessness, the pain of her contractions, but god, it’s music to Ruby’s ears.

“Oh, Stan Junior will definitely be a catch,” Beth agrees, the sweat curling her hair at her temples. The contraction seems to pass, and Beth smooths her own hand over her belly, still panting. “Lilies for the wedding?”

Ruby hums in approval, only to pause, squint a little below the bright glare of the hospital fluorescents.

“Wait. Do they get married at a church or a synagogue?”

“Neither,” Beth says, brushing her hair away from her face with a trembling hand, her eyes fixing briefly on Danny, sleeping in his stroller. “I feel like we should get a vacation out of it.”

“Oh, you’re planning a beach wedding now?” Ruby asks with a grin, the thing only faltering when the doors open again but - - no. Just a nurse, brandishing her clipboard. Still no Dean. Typical.

Beth hums, like she hadn’t even noticed, looking back at Ruby, her blue eyes bright, and there’s something that feels like Beth in it again, something warm, impish, as she wrinkles her nose, considering, and Ruby can’t help it, the way it feels like a key that unlocks her.

“White sand, the ocean,” Beth says. “We’d probably need to hire a marquee.”

“And a beach bar,” Ruby agrees, grinning a little when Beth rolls her eyes, waving a hand at her innocuously, before she says:

“Well, that goes without saying.”

And Ruby just laughs at that, sinking back briefly into her hard backed hospital chair (which is one-thousand percent not designed for anyone at all ever) before leaning forwards again, standing up two of her fingers like legs and walking them from one side of her belly to the other, over the arms of the chairs, and up the side of Beth’s twitching belly.

“Miss Boland, before you depart your mother, do you take this little man growing inside me to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

It really is magic, Ruby thinks again, the sound of Beth’s laugh. The real one she hears less and less often, the one that makes her throw her head back, her eyes crinkle, the sound a little low, a little husky, the one she knows Dean can never get out of her, and that at least feels like a truth. That Beth is still hers. That she’ll never lose her, not entirely, to Dean, no matter how many photo ops she goes to, no matter how many times she defers to him, no matter how much she dims her light to grow his.

Beth props her own fingers up then, mirroring Ruby’s action and walking them up over the swell of her own belly, meeting Ruby’s fingers in the middle.

“My daughter is running a little late, but I believe I have the permission to speak for her this evening,” Beth says gravely, lowering her voice. “And she says ‘I do’. Now, Mr. Hill, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“He does,” Ruby says, face split in two with a grin. She lets her eyes slip shut and her tone lower in faux-seriousness. “Finally, our two houses united.”

“Well, our husbands’ houses,” Beth says wryly, and Ruby tilts her head, conceding.

“That’s true. I think ours have been united a lot longer than this.”

She smiles over at Beth affectionately, but it just - - it floors her, the look Beth gives her back. Her eyes wide open, suddenly wet again, pupils darting across Ruby’s face like she’s - - like she’s looking for the lie, and when she doesn’t see it, she tangles her fingers with Ruby’s, quick as she can, mumbling something about a first dance and holds Ruby’s hand tight to her belly, swaying a little – as if to hide the fact that maybe she just wanted to hold her.

To be held.

And Ruby holds her hand back all the tighter.

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

I am sure everyone would love me to stop talking about light and using ‘- -’, haha.

But honestly? I actually don’t know how others perceive my style. Like I’ve said in other posts, I’ve been told my writing is extremely feminine by industry professionals, which I believe translates to being interested in women’s lives and writing fairly descriptively (masculine prose is usually v bare bones ala Raymond Carver and, of course, Hemingway).

I think some of the characteristics of my writing is that it’s sensory and descriptive, that I like untidy endings, that no relationship is perfect. I think (and hope) I prioritise relationships between women, even with shipper fic, that my sex scenes (again, hopefully, haha) never feel pointless or isolated from the story, and I think I’m pretty good at metaphor, but others might disagree! Who knows!

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

Y’know, I usually don’t? By the time I post something, I’ve usually re-read it so many times I lowkey hate it, haha, and reading it just makes me feel very self-conscious. I can see the machinery of my own writing I suppose. I can see the bits I’m proud of, sure, but I can also see the bits where I got lazy, the places where the pacing isn’t quite right, the parts where I think I’m too heavy-handed.

That said, I did re-read all of C&C recently as I was building the timeline masterpost I posted about a month ago now, but also building a better story bible for myself to write new stories, and I was really surprised by how much I enjoyed being in that world again as a reader?

Particularly the last installment I posted of Playing House - ‘Animalia’ (otherwise known as the zoo chapter, haha) - I really, really hated when I posted. I’d had a few set-backs in my original writing professionally at that time, and then I had seen someone make an unkind comment about my fics which just sort of hit a nerve at a bad time. It meant I was extra critical of my own writing, and I loved the story in my head, but felt it wasn’t translating well onto the page.

I got to a point where I was like - - well, whatever, I don’t want to look at it, and I know people like this ‘verse, so maybe they’ll overlook how crap it is’. I got such a lovely response to it at the time, but I still felt badly about it, and so re-reading it this time, and being like ‘hang on, Past Sophie, you’re an asshole, this is pretty good’ was a nice feeling, haha.

#fic memes #blue moon #my fic #welcome to my ama #ruby hill #beth boland #beth + ruby #sothischickshe

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franklyshipping · 5 years

Text

Fighting The Darkness ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

THIS COMES FROM A WONDERFUL ANONYMOUS PROMPT WHEREIN DARK IS TO HELP SILVER SHEPHERD WITH SOME TRAINING! Let's see how this goes....LET'S DO IT!

TAGGING: @darkipli-ler and @silvlee-shepherd

'....okay explain why I have to do this again?'

Dark smiled as Silver Shepherd looked to him with a mix of confusion and curiosity as he held the black blindfold loosely in one of his hands. In his other hand Silver held a wooden sparring pole, and Dark had his own which he absently started to twirl as he rattled off his reply to the sweet hero.

'Learning to fight in darkness, without sight, is absolutely essential for a hero of your calibre. Darkness in an unknown or disadvantageous environment could be easily instigated by a villain and you need to make sure that you can adapt yourself to that.'

Silver followed along with interest, and nodded with an excited smile as the rationality of it all became clear to him. I mean, of COURSE it wasn't strange at all that Dark wanted to blindfold him in a sparring session, and it CERTAINLY wasn't a suspicious request given Dark's record of somehow tickling Silver to smithereens during their sparring sessions.....ahem.

'Huh....okey dokey! Let's do this!'

Dark chuckled warmly at Silver's excitable demeanour, smiling as Silver slipped the blindfold on over his eyes before gripping his sparring pole, attempting to prepare himself. Silver was very eager to train like this, any opportunity to fight and practise and train himself up to be resilient against any villainous surprise; also, Silver felt so lucky that he had a friend like Dark who could teach him these things!

'Wonderful.....let's begin.'

Dark replied, before proceeding to circle the sweet superhero. Dark frankly just wanted to pounce on the twitching, smiling man and tickle him to pieces, but Dark knew he had to build it up, lull Silver into a state of non-suspicion.

'You must remember....you have five senses. Just because one is inhibited, doesn't mean you cannot use the other four. People subconsciously prioritise sight over all else, you cannot allow yourself to do this.'

Dark spoke concisely in an authoritative manner, and he smiled when Silver perked up excitedly; his eagerness to listen and learn was ceaselessly adorable. Dark continued circling, and continued speaking.

'Taste may not apply so much, but the others do. Hearing for one....is imperative....'

Silver gasped and twitched when he suddenly felt Dark's low voice right next to his ear; Dark had leant in swiftly to speak before retreating back and resuming his circling of the hero. Silver could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end as he got more excited, and he smiled bashfully when he heard Dark chuckle at his twitchiness.

'As is your sense of smell....you can identify people that way, as well as gases, toxins, and other dangerous substances....'

Dark continued, and his words spurred Silver to inhale deeply and see what he could get from his surroundings. It was mostly just the air, but there was another scent there....and Silver developed a cheeky smile as he queried.

'Hey uhm....did uh, did Wilford just come in? I can REALLY smell his candy cologne....'

Dark froze for a moment, cheeks going pink....because yes, Darkiplier did in fact smell like his boyfriend's cologne, for reasons that I'm sure you can imagine. Dark narrowed his eyes at the hero....oh if only Silver knew how much worse he'd made it for himself. Dark poked Silver in the side softly, making the hero squeak as he spoke in a more growly tone of voice.

'And last of all....physical sensation, needed for navigation, and identifying whether or not you are inhibited....or weak in any way....'

Silver gulped, giggling residually from the poke....ah, it was SO worth it! Silver may not have been able to see but he KNEW he'd coaxed out a blush from Dark, and that made his day. Silver straightened up, deciding to interject, for he was wondering what the actual training procedure would be....he had no inkling....that Dark had other plans.

'Ohokahay, so what do we do now?'

Dark smirked, pausing in front of Silver. It was time.

'Now.....focus. Listen. Smell. Feel. Listen to the sound of your breathing and mine, smell the air around you, and feel how the air around you moves....feel how it gives you goose-bumps and makes your hair stand on end....let yourself get in tune, and take as much time as you need.'

Silver of course followed Dark's instructions. The hero tightened his grip on his pole, straightened up, and took measured breaths so that he could hone his focus; Silver was under the impression of course, that this was time given to him to focus, and that he wouldn't need to defend himself or anything. So Dark knew it was time. Dark's hungry eyes flicked over Silver's form as he circled and circled, Silver's tickle spots were coming to the forefront of his memory as he eventually stopped behind Silver. Dark silently set his pole down upon the floor....and with the eagerness of a vengeful monster, he surged forth.

'WOAHWOAH-HEHEHEY AHAHA WH-WHAHAT AHARE YOHOU DOHOING?!'

Dark smirked....oh it had all worked perfectly. He had trapped Silver in a hug from behind with ease and dug his wiggling fingers into the hero's fleshy sides. Silver hadn't stood a chance. The hero had shrieked and tried to clamp his arms to his sides, but alas, it did nothing; plus, he'd fumbled and dropped his pole on the ground. Silver had nothing to fight back with, and thus into frantic giggles he descended.

'Well, we've had a number of rather serious training sessions lately, so I figured it was time for a little fun. Also....you don't really think I'm going to let you get away with that comment about my boyfriend do you?'

Dark smirked as he replied to Silver's mirthful question, not halting his wiggling fingers for a second as he watched Silver's wonderful blush of embarrassment crop up on his cheeks. Plus, Silver was squealing amidst his wild giggles and cursing himself for letting Dark get him like this.

'NAHAHAHA IHI'M SAHARRY I-I-IHI WAHAS JUHUST BEHEING SIHILLY!'

Silver tried to reason desperately, craning his head towards Dark as he wriggled about in his hold. Of course, Dark had only just begun his onslaught of the hero, he wasn't going to stop so soon. Dark snickered fondly into Silver's ear, his teeth gleaming with feral joy as his wiggling fingers now crept to Silver's hyper-ticklish belly.

'Ah that may be....but in hindsight I don't think it was one of your wisest courses of action, do you?'

Silver just absolutely shrieked with laughter, arching his back adorably amidst the absolutely torturous tickling at his tender tummy. It was such turmoil for the poor hero, he couldn't even muster up the strength to take the blindfold off because his body's stronger instinct was to keep his hands pushing at Dark's! So the hero remained sightless, and it meant Silver's mind was swirling with question after question of where and when and how Dark was going to tickle him next. It was pure evil.

'IHITWASBADITWAHASBAD IHIHIHI'M SOHOHO SAHAHAHARRYYYY!!'

Agreeing with Dark and apologising seemed like a very good combination regarding securing mercy from Dark, but Dark was rather enjoying himself. He smiled and awed in Silver's ear unsympathetically, before cooing in a babyish tone as his fingers dug eagerly into Silver's belly pudge.

'Awwww, but it's too late for sorry! Now wittle Silver has to face the consequences of being a cheeky wittle boy!'

Silver squealed amidst his cackling laughter as crimson spread across his face, why did Dark have to tease like THAT?! Silver was so desperate in fact, that his knees buckled and brought them both tumbling to the floor. Thankfully they landed on a soft mat, and Dark had expected such a reaction which meant he managed to maintain his hold on Silver and let his nails scratch at the hero's waistline.

'DOHOHON'T TAHALK LIHIKE AHA BAHAHABY THAHAT'S MEHEHEAN!!'

Silver cried out, throwing his head back and writhing as he weakly whacked Dark's arms and hands, he just couldn't handle being talked to like a baby, it made him feel like a warm puddle of goo on the inside! It wasn't fair! Of course that was exactly why Dark teased that way, just so he could weaken the tender hero more. Dark kept up the waist tickling as he cooed once more into Silver's ear.

'Oh come now Silver, how is it mean when it merely alludes to the truth? You ARE a ticklish little baby after all.'

Dark chuckled as Silver shook his head, wailing and grinning and desperately arching his back....whilst also letting out the cutest hiccups that you ever have heard.

'YOHOHOU'RE AHA-HIC-HA MEHEANIHIE! IHIHI'M G-HIC-GOHONNA GEHET YOHOU BACK!!'

Dark raised an amused eyebrow at that, then snarled and had mercy....only to then grip Silver by his sides and roll him over properly onto his belly. Silver gasped and squeaked amidst the manhandling, blushing profusely since he didn't actually mind being manhandled-ahem, but Silver took the time to catch his breath. He figured he'd need it, and the hero got goose-bumps as he properly realised what had just come out of his mouth. Oh dear.

'First cheeky comments, and now threats? You're really asking for it today aren't you?'

Dark growled as he straddled the hero's lower back, and chuckled as he looked and saw Silver hide his face in his hands rather adorably. Dark's chuckles however became much more smug when Silver deigned not to reply to his question...which was an answer in itself; Silver wanted to receive all this just as much as Dark wanted to give it. Dark allowed his fingertips to splay over the backs of Silver's thighs as he purred.

'You should really be more careful....if you're this cheeky with a real villain, goodness knows how merciless they'd be with you...'

Silver let out another soft, tittery hiccup, before his giggles were rekindled from the teasy gentleness that Dark provided. Thankfully though, Silver finally found the energy to push the blindfold up and off of his eyes....his adorable, watery, mirthful eyes.

'D-Dahahark p-plehease plehehease I-I-I d-dohon't knohow where my ch-cheheekiness cahame from!'

.....yeah, nice try Silver. Dark barked out a laugh, amazed that Silver would even try a fib like that, and then went about scribbling the backs of Silver's thighs with happy malevolence; it had only been 60 seconds or so, but Dark had already started to miss Silver's wilder laughter!

'Of course you don't Silver, of course you don't.'

Dark crooned sarcastically, and smirked with delight as Silver let out a shrill scream of ticklishness. Silver's laughter was high-pitched and utterly wonderful, and along with how he pounded the floor mat with his fists....it was fair to say that Silver was very much enjoying himself.

'NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEEEERE DAHAHAHARK!!!'

Translation: Yes it tickles there so much, but I do still like it. Dark of course kept going as he mused playfully in reply.

'Not here? Oh but these ticklish thighs of yours are perfectly within my reach, it would be a shame and a travesty if I didn't give them my attention...'

Silver was just a mess of ticklish noises of all kinds, shrieks, wails, squeals, you name it, if it was loud then he was doing it. It was such a bad tickle spot for the poor hero, and with tears trailing down his burning cheeks, he was really getting desperate.

'IHIHIHI'LL DOHOHOHO AHANYTHIHIHIIIING!!!'

Silver called out, and Dark raised an eyebrow, humming lightly in thought. He peeked behind him and fondly smiled, adoring how the hero just flailed and embodied hysteria so cutely. Dark softly pinched the backs of Silver's thighs as he replied.

'Anything? Anything at all?'

Dark purred, and with Silver nodding almost instantly, it made Dark chuckle and make his request.

'Give me your sweetest apology. You were cheeky to me, and you even had the gall to try and threaten me, I feel that I deserve your best remorse.'

Silver Shepherd wasted no dang time I tell you that, I'm not even sure Dark had completely finished speaking before the superhero's sweet, pleading voice rang out.

'IHIHIHI'M SOHOHO SAHAHARRY PLEHEHEASE FOHORGIHIVE ME DAHAHARK PLEHEHEHEEEASE!!!'

Dark smiled, his heart was nearly warmed with how sweet Silver sounded! Of course, since Silver had delivered on Dark's request, Dark had mercy on him properly. He slid off of Silver's legs, and purred teasingly as the hero hurried to cradle said legs.

'You are forgiven, this time.'

Silver was a mess of flustered gasps and giggles as he frantically worked to rub away all the ghost tingles and tickles that were running through his poor body. Soon though, he moved his hair from his face and looked up at Dark, speaking in a very sweet, meek voice.

'.....th-thahank you.'

Dark smirked as Silver kept blushing; Dark knew it wasn't the mercy that Silver was thanking him for.

'Anytime.'

Silver squeaked happily to himself....after all the intense, serious training sessions they'd had....Silver had honestly really needed something like this. Also, now that he was mostly recovered, Silver perked up VERY cutely and gave Dark an excited, hopeful smile.

'C-Can wehe go get pizza? M'suhuper hungry now.'

Dark smirked, honestly with how dishevelled Silver looked he wasn't surprised that the hero was craving sustenance. Dark got to his feet before happily hauling Silver up too, and replied with a grin as they started ambling to the exit of the training room.

'Absolutely, but only if we can get side orders of nuggets. If I don't have food for Wilford to steal from me when we return then I shall never hear the end of it.'

Silver snorted and giggled at that, it was VERY much a thing that Wilford was the one who would steal pieces of Dark's food whenever the opportunity was there. As they walked though, that cheekiness reared back up in Silver for a moment, and made him mumble playfully; the cologne was still in the air.

'...y-yohou still smell like him.'

Dark pursed his lips and Silver giggled again when he actually saw Dark's blush this time. The hero froze though when Dark turned and suddenly leant in close to him, and for a second Silver thought he was going to be tickle attacked again. However....Dark merely took in a deep breath, and then smirked as he and Silver locked eyes.

'Mmm....you have a wonderful scent combination too....old books and cherry blossoms....and is that a hint of iron?'

Silver's eyes widened as he let out an embarrassed squeak, but ended up smiling bashfully because he figured that he did deserve that. Then, they went and got pizza.....and nuggets and garlic bread and a lot of other food because Dark and Silver had to make sure that their pizzas REMAINED their pizzas.

HOPE YA LIKE THIS LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOOOO LUV YOOOUS XX

#markiplier #markiplier egos #darkiplier #dark #silver #silver shepherd #sfw #platonic #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #luv these bois #prompt

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jahaanofmenaphos · 4 years

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 09: OUR SPIRITS, KINDRED

QUEST SUMMARY:

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske’s obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske’s games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

CHAPTER 1: GRIP OF THE GODS

High above the clouds, Armadyl and his avianse were housed in a temporary cloud fortress that they had erected upon their return to Gielinor. The Empyrean Citadel was unsuitable for housing their numbers, after all. That, and it had been tainted by Sliske’s presence. So, they had to build themselves temporary lodgings, for you can’t exactly spread the avianse across the bed and breakfasts of Misthalin. It helped that the avianse were known for being skilled carpenters. One wouldn’t think that upon looking at them, but never judge a book by its cover.

Looking out towards the horizon of a new dawn, Armadyl stood in quiet contemplation. He’d been trying to work through the turmoils of the last few years in solitude, taking to meditating at the break of day. While doing this, he’d organise his current stresses and plan ways to deal with them by prioritising the most pressing issues and working backwards. He didn’t want to worry his generals by showing just how much it was eating at him to be back on Gielinor. When they’d first arrived on Gielinor in the Second Age, they were escaping their homeworld of Abbinah, looking for peace and community in a pure world that was rich in resources, a world that would allow them to prosper without the threat of constant storms and hurricanes raging above, a world that didn’t require ritual sacrifice of the elderly to relieve the burden on the young.

Gielinor was that perfect world.

Now, it was being ravaged by war, just as it was many centuries ago. Those who forget the past were doomed to repeat it, and Armadyl was not going to let what happened to his avianse on that fateful day ever happen again.

Now, new issues had arisen, namely his ‘prize’ of inheriting the vast majority of Bandosians after he’d slain their god. Honestly, he didn’t expect that to happen. Not that he didn’t welcome the challenge of teaching a new group that there was a way of life beyond war, a way of life instead driven by peace and justice. But undoing eons of Bandosian indoctrination had left him with his hands full. Understaffed and unprepared, Armadylean forces had been stretched thin.

And then, Armadyl had heard about the fate of the Dorgesh-Kaan.

The guilt of being unable to prevent this genocide, one execuated in his name, was clawing at his heart.

Kree'arra entered onto the balcony, tentatively calling out, “My lord?”

Shuddering, Armadyl tried to briefly take the Dorgesh-Kaan out of his mind. Turning to the general, he attempted a warm smile. “Come, Kree'arra. What news do you bring?”

“Nothing positive, my lord,” Kree'arra regretfully admitted. “The situation in Ardougne is growing worse by the day, and our scouts are no closer to finding Sliske and your Staff.”

Armadyl wasn’t disappointed. Not really, anyway. In both matters, he’d expected as much. The reports had plateaued, and he didn’t expect much of an improvement anytime soon.

“Kree'arra,” Armadyl’s tone was resigned, yet resolved. “If the situation here on Gielinor continues to deteriorate, I am not putting my people in harm's way by remaining. We shall depart this world and find somewhere else to nest, with or without my Staff. Power is nothing if my people are lost, like I thought they were all those years ago.”

“But where would we go, my lord?” Kree'arra asked, softly. “We cannot return to Abbinah.”

“Of course not, but I have an idea… it may be a long shot, yes, but we might be able to save those left behind on Abbinah, and create a new home for all of the avianse. Say, Kree'arra… what do you know of Tarddiad.”

Furrowing his brow, Kree'arra replied, “The homeland of the elves? Little, my lord. It is known as a land covered in trees.”

“And mountaintops, waterfalls, lush vegetation…” Armadyl added, growing in excitement. “I have a plan. Seren cares a lot for her elves - she’s a compassionate being, kinder than all the other gods I have encountered. Our people are skilled craftsmen and healers, so we could help her people in numerous ways. If I can persuade Seren to share the skies of Tarddiad with us, we needn’t ever want for resources or stability ever again. We would be safe, Kree'arra!”

His frown deepening, Kree'arra averted his gaze from the diety’s. Armadyl had always been a dreamer, but Kree'arra found himself to be a pessimist by nature, always hating to ground the idealistic musings of his god. “That would be wonderful, my lord… but do you really think Seren would give up part of sovereignty over Tarddiad to us?”

“It would take some convincing, yes,” Armadyl accepted. “But I shall discuss the idea with her upon our next encounter. Hopefully she will see the merits in my proposal.”

Turning back towards the horizon, Armadyl’s tone was wistful, yet determined, as he said, “I will find a home for us, Kree'arra. I will save the avianse…”

***

It was a dreary Essianday in Lumbridge, but as Essianday was the Saradominist holy day of the week, church was in service. Father Urhney, an irritable priest, was leading the congregation. Never in a good mood, the wild-haired priest detested being back in the town of Lumbridge, having moved into the swamps to the south not so long ago in an attempt to spend two years in silent meditation and prayer. However, every time someone bothered him with conversation, he forced himself to start over. Hence, he was a rather grumpy fellow.

Since the end of the Battle of Lumbridge, the town’s residents - usually devout Saradominists - had been attending services less and less, meaning that the coffers at the front were a lot lighter than usual. Considering this was how the priests gained an income in the town, it was a worry for them all, even those who had isolated themselves in a swampy shack.

The reason for the drop in attendance was due to a rise in Godless and Armadylean supporters who had turned from Saradomin after the Battle of Lumbridge was concluded. Turns out, not many people care to have their town demolished and the deity they pray to walk away without so much as an apology.

The priest that usually ran the quaint little service was Father Aereck, a frail and subdued man, who was not well equipped to deal with the challenge of regaining Saradominist support in Lumbridge.

Because of this, Father Urhney forced himself from his little shack and ventured back into the town to take over regular services. Today was his first one, and word had gotten around about his return, so the church was a lot fuller than normal. It turned out that a lot of people had questions they wanted answered, and Father Aereck was not doing the job for them, so they made the most of utilising Father Urhney’s time.

But upon hearing the white noise of chattering, questions, demands and a few stray insults, Father Urhney regretted his life choices. Irritably shaking his head, he raised his hands in an attempt to calm the congregation.

This achieved nothing.

Gritting his teeth, he squinted his eyes tightly and exclaimed, “Please, one at a time! Saradomin only has two ears, and so do I.”

Fortunately, that was enough to subdue them, but it wouldn’t last long. So, capitalising on the silence, he motioned to a man in the front row, one of the rowdier members who was chomping at the bit to speak.

“Why should we follow Saradomin anymore?” the man asked, a loaded question if there ever was one. “He left our town in ruins. I heard about this Armadyl guy - he seems to be a stand up fella, preachin’ justice and peace and all that.”

“He went to war with Bandos in open conflict,” Father Urhney countered, rolling his eyes. “Not very peaceful if you ask me. But yes, before you say it, Bandos was a threat that needed to be neutralised. He’s dead now. Zamorak is still out there, causing chaos. He’s invaded Ardougne! Where’s Armadyl now? He’s left those people there to fend for themselves, whereas Saradomin has sent his forces to battle the dark Zamorak head on. Peace can only be achieved once Saradomin takes his rightful place as the only god in Gielinor. There is a pattern to the ascendance and collapse of civilisation - a cycle of tragedy. Saradomin has the knowledge to break this cycle, and most importantly, the will to lead everyone forwards. Gielinor, and other worlds, would be brought into a new age. A utopia. Other gods can claim this, but only Saradomin has the experience necessary to make it happen. Alas, utopia must sometimes be built on bones, so let the lesser gods be the foundation. Then, Saradomin can lead everyone to a glorious future!”

“Lead? You mean, he wants to control everyone?” a disgruntled man in the second row called out, earning a few concurring nods and mumbles from the rest of the attendees.

Father Urhney tried his best to keep his tone measured as he replied, “You say that as though it were a bad thing. People need governments, leaders and structures. Just as freedom doesn't mean anarchy, control doesn't have to mean slavery. Saradomin offers guidance and leadership, law and order. Under his 'control', people could thrive. Everyone would have the reassurance that they know where they belong and how they should behave. Deep down, everyone wants to know where they sit in the world. What you call control, I would argue is true freedom. Freedom to know how life should be lived and how to fulfil one’s potential.”

“I heard from my niece in Ardougne that there’s a Mahjarrat-y fellow running around with one of them there elder weapons! He’s gonna use it to destroy everyone!”

This statement came out of nowhere, interrupting the contemplative quiet that had arose following Father Urhney’s response. For all his personal foibles, Father Urhney was incredibly devout and the conviction from which he spoke could turn even the most stubborn of heads.

But now, that peace had been ruined, and naturally, the congregation went into panicked uproar. Some of the Lumbridge folk were rural and quite traditional in their beliefs, but they knew enough to decide that the Mahjarrat were bad, and one having an Elder Weapon was worse. Of course, this was a gross oversimplification, one that a lot of Mahjarrat would take umbrage to, but the public perception was hard to change, and Sliske running around with the Stone of Jas was doing little to help matters.

The lack of Saradominist Mahjarrat didn’t help either.

Having heard Brother Samwell’s tale of Sliske, Icthlarin and the Empyrean Citadel, Father Urhney was a lot more knowledgeable on what was really going on in the world in comparison to his congregation. Deciding that giving at least a little bit of context could assist in both settling the nerves of the churchgoers and prove that he and his fellow priests were in-the-know, Father Urhney once again silenced the crowd and said, “Calm down, everyone. If you let me talk, I can quell some of these exaggerated rumours. Now, firstly, yes, there’s a Mahjarrat who has the Stone of Jas, and-QUIET! For Saradomin’s sake, can you let me finish?! Yes, the rumours are true, but Saradomin is fighting to get the Stone back into his safekeeping, and he WILL succeed. He will take the fight to all the other gods, and this Mahjarrat, and the Stone will be his once again. That’s why he needs your support!”

“Why Saradomin?” one of the men at the back piped up, pushing off from the wall he was leaning against. “Why not another god, or heck, how about NO god?”

“The Stone will fall into someone’s hands, it cannot simply go no-where and belong to no-one,” Father Urhney grumbled, shaking his head with an irritated sigh. “Saradomin has wielded the Stone before, wisely and with care, and he shall do so again. Can you say such of the others? The dark Zamorak would use it to destroy the world; Zaros would enslave it to his will, and grow more dangerous than ever; Armadyl has no idea what to do with such power, and would destroy himself with his naivety; and Seren would use its power only in support of her precious elves. Saradomin, on the other hand, will use its power with wisdom and compassion, for the betterment of ALL life on Gielinor. Now, are there any more questions?”

Once he saw almost every hand in the room shoot up, it took everything in Father Urhney’s power to not storm out and end the service early.

***

The dragonkin were a race of powerful and intelligent dragon-like creatures that originated from the previous cycle of the universe, a handful of them having survived the revision of the universe by hiding in the Abyss. The surviving dragonkin sought out Jas for mercy or retribution, only to end up being bound to her Catalyst - the Stone of Jas - and were tasked with protecting it at all costs. When the Stone was used by a being other than Jas, they were cursed to feel great pain and suffering that could only be eased by violence and rampage. Thus, tales of the dragonkin speak of a malevolent and dangerous species.

There were two factions of the dragonkin on Gielinor. The first, the Dactyl dragonkin, who repress the urge to cause destruction and kill 'False Users'. Instead, they undertake research and perform experiments in an attempt to sever their connection to the Stone of Jas. The other faction were the Necrosyrtes, a war-like faction comprised of those who have given into their urge to cause destruction. Kerapac belonged to the former, and had dedicated his life to ridding the dragonkin of Jas’ curse.

On this night, Kerapac was found huddled over one of the journals he was writing, locked inside his cramped and dimly lit study. He and his fellow draginkin had been forced from their home at the heart of Daemonheim when Bilrach tunnelled deep into its depths. Realistically, they could have fought off any intruder, but were against revealing themselves to the world at such a time. In fact, if Kerapac had his way, they would still be an unknown presence in Gielinor. Unfortunately, Sithaph and Strisath had taken matters into their own hands, succeeding at retrieving the Staff of Armadyl (momentarily) but falling short of safeguarding the Stone. After all, they didn’t have the power to teleport the Stone to safety by themselves. They were brutes, weaklings - kath, as they were known in the dragonkin language. And thanks to them, the world knew about the existence of the dragonkin.

Kerapac had self-proclaimed himself as the ‘Observer’, watching over the affairs of Gielinor with patience and detachment. Until now, that is. With Sliske’s slaying of Guthix and bringing back the gods to Gielinor, the world was in upheaval, and Kerapac could sense the disturbance beneath him. The Elder Gods would awaken soon, they would hatch their spawn, and so the universe would restart once again, just like it did eons ago. Kerapac sensed it then, and managed to hide some of his people away… but he knew he would not be so lucky this time.

But while they were still bound to the Stone, there was very little the dragonkin could do.

Kerapac knew that the time for observation was over, and he formulated a plan. Many plans, in fact - Kerapac was not a being to leave much to chance. If successful, this latest idea would leave the Elder Mirror in his possession. The Elder Mirror was used by the Elder Gods for large-scale creation, being able to create copies of things. Currently, the dragonkin had tracked down its location to a being known simply as ‘V’, the god of the Fremennik people.

As of now, V had kept to himself, choosing to isolate himself and his people from the current affairs of the other deities, along with the chase for the Stone of Jas.

Kerapac had no qualms about killing him. He’d slaughter civilisations if it meant his fellow dragonkin could finally be free.

Other such plans had yet to return positive results; no dragonkin had managed to locate Sliske, as of yet, and the search for the other Elder Artifacts wasn’t going so well. Twelve were known, but only a handful were even obtainable. The Siphon and the Catalyst - colloquially known as the Staff of Armadyl and the Stone of Jas, respectively - were in Sliske’s possession. The Locator, also known as the Crown Archival, was able to find other Elder Artifacts, though only ones of considerably less power. It would prove incredibly useful to any deity, and indeed to the dragonkin, but it was currently held by Saradomin, who Kerapac knew had too much power and support to take on directly. Others, such as The Kiln, were useless to the dragonkin, only used for creating TokHaar workers to shape the world. And then there were the artefacts that were lost to time and space, those that may not even be on Gielinor, such as The Codex and The Template. Kerapac only knew of their existence due to his past proximity to the Stone of Jas, something that granted him knowledge most mortals could only dream of.

So many artefacts, so many gods, so little time.

But for now, Kerapac kept writing in his journal, documenting his work to save his people from the curse brought upon them by a being as old as the universe. If it meant killing a god, or numerous gods, he would do so. If it meant challenging Sliske directly, he would do so. If it meant laying down his own life so that his descendents could live without suffering, he would do so.

***

The small study Sliske had carved out for himself was dimly lit in the glow of only two candles. It made the knife-work he was undertaking much more of a challenge, having to refrain from slicing off his own fingers with the sharp blade, but this helped him focus more, to concentrate on the task at hand instead of letting his mind drift to unwanted realms. Unfortunately, that suffocating feeling always managed to creep inside, rattling with voices that were always his own, always familiar, yet simultaneously alien.

The voices had been there since he was young, and he’d managed to keep them a secret from the rest of his tribe. Except from his brother, that is, who was the only one he could confide in at such a young age. These voices didn’t worry him, and from what he’d gathered from his time amongst humans, many of them were subject to the same conditions.

Perhaps Mahjarrat are susceptible too? Perhaps I’m not the only one?

He didn’t know, and venturing such a notion would have led him down a rabbit hole, perhaps even to the Marker.

So, they were kept a secret.

Well, for the most part; Relomia - Sliske’s emissary, someone who often lurked in Sliske’s lair whenever the Mahjarrat would permit company - had often heard her master mutter to himself when in the depths of deep thought, conversing with himself like he wasn’t the only one in the room. It troubled her, to hear some of the things her master would say, but she didn’t dare confront him, for he might not take too kindly to the notion she had been eavesdropping all this time.

Whittling wooden masks was Sliske’s favourite way to de-stress; whenever he felt overwhelmed by anything and needed to clear his mind, or simply narrow it enough to fix a troubling part of a plan, he would take a knife and carve theatrical masks. Some of them he would enchant, for the humour in it, but the vast majority he would burn.

There was never much subtlety or nuance in Sliske’s masks. For a being that prided himself on being unreadable, his wooden creations undercut that entirely. Sliske had already carved eight masks this evening alone and was working on his ninth. This mask, however, was blank. Not that he had yet to carve an emotion into it, but the mask itself portrayed emotionless.

“You’ve been waiting for this your entire lifetime,” Sliske growled lowly to himself. “If you don’t act now, it may be too late. Gods know you have a target on your back…”

“You shouldn’t have told him. You should have known he would betray you.”

“Why did you tell him? Why did you think honesty would get you anywhere? It never has and it never will.”

“He went behind your back. He was never going to fulfil the agreement.”

“Why did you think he would be any different?”

“You thought you could reason with him? Bargain for something so precious? You fool.”

“What is wrong with you?” he hissed with disgust, causing his knife hand to slip and accidentally slice his into his thumb. The wound wasn’t deep, but claret still trickled across the mask’s face, dripping through the eyehole and into a small puddle beneath him. “He wouldn’t be persuaded so easily. Be reasonable. Plan A was a longshot - you knew that. So, you’ll just have to do things the hard way...”

After a few more minutes of bloodstained whittling, Sliske held the mask up to admire his handiwork, though instead regarded it with nothing more than a heavy glare of disinterest. He tossed it into the corner.

Rising to his feet, he walked over to the pile of masks he’d accumulated over the last few months. It took up a fair bit of space; Sliske was holding off on burning them until he could justify a bonfire. “Everything is ready. Soon, he’ll be ready too. A few hours and it’ll all be over. You’ll be safe, forever. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Immortality is within reach, so don’t let those ridiculous notions of yours get in the way. After all, you’ll forget him in time.”

He reached among the pile and found a mask with a wicked sneer carved into it. Holding it up to his face, he mimicked the expression inside the mask. “Yes, it won’t be long now…”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#armadyl #kerepac #sliske

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yoshi-p · 5 years

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everyone and their dog is doing it and everyone is absolutely allowed to share their opinions so i want a turn but first let me clarify:

hello im yase, been around since 1.0. I am of turkish and nogai descent and i can speak fluently in tatar, turkish but my english doesn’t hold 100% so i will be all over the place.

Unfortunately this will all be word of mouth and may be taken as vague posting, but I have experienced issues since the release of 4.0 and would like to give my opinions. I want to let this all off my chest this is just a huge vent basically so i guarantee my english will be terrible.

the most important point: NEVER EVER SPEAK FOR ANOTHER CULTURE. NEVER EVER SPEAK ABOUT A CULTURE YOU DON’T KNOW. YOU HAVE SPREAD FALSE INFORMATION AND I AM SO HURT.

another point is ITS A VIDEO GAME GUYS (does not apply to everything but some people really need to take a step back because people are concerned.)

Here’s the hot topic I’ll talk of first: garleans. I personally do not play one as I prefer to play characters that would never be involved in a sense with the political agenda because in real life im too stupid to comprehend anything like that so i wouldn’t even know how my character would behave with the hot topics. I really do think people need to take a step back and see that everyone who is putting in their input is making solid points but personally I would never compare them to nazi germany though I see why people are generalising. I always saw it as tsardom of russia with the use of roman influence as well, something obvious in naming conventions and the way the ranks/monarchy(?) works but it’s not so clear what the main influences of most places in this game if you have a look at the bigger picture. Without like full on spoiling, its weird to have this view to me with the knowledge that ascians are behind this. Are you implying anyone who plays or was influenced by ascians is also under this umbrella?

Also why THE HELL WOULD YOU TAG SOMETHING KNOWING IT WOULD GET A LOT OF TRACTION AND RESPONSE THEN BE LIKE “you guys misunderstood, I was expressing my feelings” lol no. “ I don’t understand where this is coming from, and at this point, I don’t really want to.” then why did you even fucking bother do it in private dont tag it.

You are COMPLETELY valid to feeling uncomfortable, it is fine because with how much of this world we have there will be aspects some of us don’t like. You are not inclined to involve yourself with someone if they roleplay as a garlean but you do not need to start publicising it in a way that will paint the community in black and white when its truly a wider spectrum.

YOU CHOOSE WHO YOU INVOLVE YOURSELF WITH AND WHO YOU PLAY WITH, PLEASE GET AWAY FROM PEOPLE WHO GIVE YOU NEGATIVE FEELINGS OR YOU’LL SPREAD IT TO OTHERS.

from that initial and very brief tagged post there popped up many others and new discourse is arising, opening discussions about many things which is better then being blind to it all. but if you have personal grievances with someone and you state its over, let it be over. It’s not healthy behaviour. it’s also troubling to see someone complain a lot about the game and continue to play, no one is forcing you or holding a gun to your head. take breaks if you need to and play less frequently. like, real life is so much more important and there are people in this community that prioritise relationships with players etc.

Also, please stop fucking talking about mongolian/turkic/turkish culture like you know things. 99% of the big mouths in this community are americans. like majority are white americans.

over the course of this expansion i have had many people of varied backgrounds share with me some terrible experiences and i myself have seen some truly stupid shit.

WE ARE HERE TO HELP YOU LEARN OF OUR CULTURE AND WHERE TO CONTINUE DOING SO. DO NOT INTERPRET MEDIA AS ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF CULTURE.

it is absolutely not hard to tag a post and ask around, someone will pop up. I’ve been doing my very best to let everyone i know that i can help with learning about my culture or to find someone who would be more then happy to explain and share with other cultures. But when you go off of a documentary you saw of Genghis khan or only know of the tourist white people scenes of istanbul you as a community say some TRULY dumb shit.

I like to try and be patient because i myself when approaching someone of a culture i admire and am curious about i want that in turn. But if you say to me things like “Ainu aren’t real” or “Tatar people have nothing in common with tribes from the Altai mountains” its hard to do so.

FFXIV regions are not just “Germany” “Turkey” “Mongolia”. If you think this, it’s clear to me you don’t know shit and are too lazy to explore, further just google shit its not that hard. I had someone tell me that my people could never be in this game since its “Straight up mongolia” fucks sake NO ITS NOT. The designs vary and i can see the differences in simple things like words because i actually bother to do research even coming from a turkic culture. There were some beautiful little things dropped that linked to not only my people but others like Uyghur and Altai. The only place in FFXIV i think could only have a singular influence is Kugane, because from a foreigner’s perspective that’s already interesting enough. Many people have grievances and real issues with how SE has handled Doma’s influences and no one ever talks about that. Representation for asia in media has turned into this mess of specific east asian countries, the trio that even then gets categorized into China/Japan with brief mentions of Korean culture.

Its frustrating. There are people who are happy to teach you. Who are willing to show what is wrong with the picture.

I have read several posts about Turkey/istanbul/Antalya. Yall fuckin weird you guys seem to think its in U.A.E or some shit with how you act. It’s in the Mediterranean/Europe/Asia/Middle East and there is no such thing as a specific looking Turkish person. You claim everyone is specifically white/brown, HELL NO. It’s a mixed nation and that’s the history of the land, if you had ever fucking stepped in turkey and spoke to any person on the street they’ll say their heritage that lead them to there. People claim Ala mhigo’s influences are turkey but i have yet to see that. As someone who has lived there and has heritage there and is strongly connected to that culture, i dont see it. sure the ala mhigan gown had patternings but thats also present in my nogai culture too because parts of turkey’s society descended from the line of the Kayi tribe. Just fucking LEARN TO READ GUYS. None of you guys even know what the altai mountains mean and i could sit and explain over and over again if you let people SPEAK.

Look at Thavnairian items. We have outfits that are completely different, a full length dress and then a bustier. you can’t start generalising things in video games to be one culture you have to realise most places in this game have several influences. We don’t know a lot but everything we have been given has been varied enough to pin point it to ONLY one influence.

I don’t want to just keep going about this simply because im growing frustrated.

The thing with Viera complaints. I think some are valid but some are stupid. For one as I make this post it hasn’t even been confirmed so there is no reason for policing Viera to a severe extent. Considering all the Ivalice content in game has been an alternate universe kind of thing its dumb as shit. But feol viera being made without understanding the knowledge that people who have played rw picked up is quite frustrating. As a community, its important to help people when we have information that others may need that they cant understand the context of.

I know people are worried about them being fetishized, that is my legitimate fear too as a huge ivalice fan. But this is a repeated cycle especially when we consider generalizations like miqo’te especially seekers and belly dancing or when au ra arrived and people thought xaela were genghis khan basically.

The game is not solid, there are so many holes in the lore and the plots and i know people hate that but we fill the gaps with our own opinions and theories. While I understand some people think we need to move forward in 2019 because “japan is xenophobic”, its a very difficult thing to do. THEY DO HIRE PEOPLE FOR CULTURE ADVISING. THEY TRAVEL OFTEN AND DEVELOP WITH THIS. IT’S NOT LIKE THEY WENT ON GOOGLE AND SAID “yeah a japan land would be fun” they literally have people hired specifically for this stuff. however, at the end of the day its a company that has yet to show it can evolve with the times. Its becoming more and more evident with the recent patterns of main titles in FF and side projects having so many issues in story/lore/management. remember 1.0 basically died being absolute garbage and this is salvaged from that.

its really late and i had a terrible evening so i may not be making the most sense but theres more important things to worry about then to make this game a miserable experience when it could be a huge learning opportunity for everyone. There’s no need to generalise people into categories because of characters they choose to develop but its important to note with majority of people standing up higher on the pedestal are those speaking for the minorities groups that have direct influences in the game.

also lol if you fucking say ainu aren’t real to me one more time i will fucking throttle you

#this ended up being ramblings which i seem to make monthly lol

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littlenosferatuarchive · 6 years

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‘Harry? I need to talk to you. Call me.’

Not fucking now, Lu.

Another SHOT of whiskey and the burning sensation heightened providing somewhat of a numbing consolation, surprisingly steady hands gripping the glass containing his one true salvation. For what else was there? ( Cantankerous patients, cold surgical instruments, avoidable paperwork? ) If Lucien could damn well inaccurately prioritise his responsibilities then so could be. After all vampire vices were important, right?

Alas tongue ran over teeth; the echo of the VOICEMAIL; hammering against his skull; reminding him that being so selfish lead you on a path to self-destruction; a thing he already walked on a thin line and yet as hypocritical as it was; he didn’t make a move towards the exit. On the contrary, his attention was diverted towards the overcrowded establishment, certain individuals more than others. The couple concealed at the back, tongues moving in a manner Lucien would have certainly mocked. When they finally pulled apart; it was obvious, whoever they were; they had no detectable standards.

Wrinkling his nose, Harry turned away; continuing his exploration, only to freeze; muscles tensing. A familiar scent had wafted across the bar and the only reason he hadn’t noticed it before, was because it was tainted - barely decipherable and oh god he had to know where it was coming from. Scraping back his solitary chair, he began searching through the stragglers remaining, musing that Valentin’s facial-recognition software would come in handy just about now before remembering he was a gifted fucking telepath.

Duh!

Head shaking at his own STUPIDITY; he shifted through abrupt thoughts, hearing the usual mundane moping until he hit a wall? Seriously? What in the name of Merlin did that mean? That another person excelling in thought-transference was in his nearby vicinity? The hell were the odds on that? Prodding provided no explanation and his frustration increased to say the least. What was he supposed to do? Wait until the place was barren? Gritting his teeth; one drink, turned to ten and he still didn’t have the answers but had narrowed it down to a few likely candidates.

Meanwhile, his head was on FIRE; flames licking through his temples, warning him that using so much power would cost him dearly and yet; it was the breakthrough he needed, a blonde man really standing out amongst the rest… as secluded as he and unfortunately by the time he’d convinced himself to stop gawping at him like a moron, his suspicions had been confirmed. Each of the other culprits gone. Blinking back his self-annoyance, he moved; requested a repeat of his liquor of choice and reached to tap him on the shoulder; only for the man to turn.

‘Hey I bought you a dr-’

In a split second the bottle slipped from his grasp, SHATTERING on the floor; his name piercing through the instant panic for the person was in tears?! Yup, there clear as day, crying, and well was that their heart hammering? Swallowing down his shock and disorientation; he forced himself to think, hard. Horrified by his conclusions...for there, standing in a strangers body was…

‘Fucking hell; are you - is it -��Charles?’

Opening and closing his mouth, practically impersonating a GOLDFISH; he threw his arms around him, embracing close and ended up sobbing himself. However he was here, he didn’t care for euphoria radiated through his being.

He was finally home.

#theprofesscr #v; undecided #{ have some...feels.. }

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petewright · 3 years

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Why You Should Come Back to Church

In 2009 I broke my leg playing football for Portadown. I was 19, had recently made my debut for the first team and was determined to do all I could to make a career in the Irish League. Alas, things didn’t work out as I had hoped. I ended up spending a year out with the injury and in truth never really got back to the same levels as before.

The year out was tough. At that point I basically lived for football. I went from large chunks of my week revolving around trips to Shamrock Park, to being housebound and unable to do much at all. That whole year was one of recovery and rehabilitation. It was slow and hard going at times. The days were long. Progress was incremental. Setbacks (and more surgery) made things challenging.

But eventually, 14 months after my leg break, I made my comeback as a substitute in a reserve game. I came on with 10 minutes left…and it was so disorienting. I had been training for months, taking a full part in the sessions and was physically ready to play.

But there is nothing like stepping over the white line and playing in a match.

I made it through those 10 minutes fairly incident (and mistake!) free. But I felt lost. Part of me had almost forgotten where to be on the pitch, what to do when I got the ball, where to run, when to step up or drop back. The change of pace was quite an adjustment for me.

As we get ready to return to church again soon after another period of lockdown, I do think we will have something of a ‘change of pace’ to adjust to. Our regular patterns of being in Church every week pre COVID-19 feel like a distant memory. We have gotten used to church in our pyjamas! Even when we did return briefly last Autumn, most of us were only able to attend services once or twice a month at best.

Our habits have changed - through no fault of our own - but they have changed for the worse.

And now you will find yourself getting invited back to church again. Perhaps this time round you will be invited to attend more regularly than what was possible before. And perhaps, if you are completely honest with yourself, you have mixed emotions about that. Perhaps on the one hand you are looking forward to getting back and seeing people again and being back in the building.

But perhaps another part of you has preferred the slower pace of Sundays at home and none of the histrionics of getting out the door for Church. Maybe you’re thinking to yourself - Yes I know it’ll be good to get back…but every week? That feels like a bit of a change of pace that I’m not quite ready for.

Here are 5 reasons why I think you should prioritise returning to church - particularly if you have kids - although really these reasons work for all members of our congregation(s):

1. Pixels are not People

We’ve been so thankful for technology over this past year. In His common grace, God has provided us with many mediums to continue ‘meeting’ online as best as possible. YouTube services and Zoom meetings have been a blessing to many. But we’re not just pixels and screennames. We are human beings. We are embodied souls, male and female, created in God’s image. We are designed for face to face relationships.

The online world has provided a life line for us in the past year; but we have also felt its limitations. Any meaningful sense of church family cannot be cultivated merely online. In the same way that a loving couple in a long distance relationship long to be together in the same place, so too a loving church family should long to be together to worship our great God.

2. We’re not Spiritual Islands

‘We really need to see less of each other.’ That was the headline on a NHS campaign poster encouraging people to keep socially distanced in order to stop the spread of COVID-19. While I appreciate the sentiment, the language itself seems so severe and even a bit inhumane. Is that really what we need? Perhaps that is true for us in order to avoid contracting the virus but it certainly isn't what we need in the Church.

No-one, and I mean no-one, can make it as a Christian without the Church. There is no such thing as churchless Christianity in the Bible. It just doesn’t exist. God has designed us to be interdependent and we simply cannot grow or change as Christians on our own. Watching services online when we could be gathering with God’s people encourages us to think of ourselves more as spiritual islands rather than as members of a body. We need each other - and our kids need to see that we really do believe that.

Much of the encouragement that we need in the Christian life comes from worshipping with brothers and sisters - from being present with others in the prayers of confession, saying the creed together, singing ‘great is thy faithfulness’ that little bit louder for the edification of the person sitting (2m) away from us!

3. The Power of Imitation

This point is particularly pertinent for those with young families. Our eldest is two this weekend - and he is like a sponge! He is learning new words and phrases all the time without either of us knowing where he has learned them. He just picks them up. That’s how kids learn - as much through imitation as anything else. I am convinced that one of the most significant things we can do both for ourselves and for our children is to enfold them in a congregation that is committed to historic Christian worship and multigenerational gathering.

If your kids are anything like ours then they don’t need anymore screen time right now than what they are getting already. They don’t need to equate Church with Peppa, Blippi or Paw Patrol. They need to be with and around real people - to see them practice the faith.

Communal worship is the very heart of discipleship. We learn the language of the faith and the ways of Jesus as we immerse ourselves in the life of a local congregation. If you’re a parent, then nothing will be more significant for your child(ren) than what they learn about being a Christian from the ordinary habit of regularly being at corporate worship. As I look back on my own life nothing was more significant for me than this, and I am deeply thankful to my parents for making that such a big priority. It might be a struggle getting everyone out the door at 10:45 on a Sunday morning - but you won’t regret it in 30 years time.

4. The Moment of Preaching

I read a tweet recently that said ‘pre-recording talks is like pumping breast milk - both things involve additional set up while robbing you of the opportunity to connect with people (your baby or your congregation).’

Listening to the preacher on TV has been great - unless of course you ARE the preacher - then it’s been pretty excruciating. Not many preachers I know will miss the pain of pre-recording. Why? Well because preaching is intended to be done and heard in person.

It happens best when the Spirit of God uses an appointed man of God to preach the Word of God to the people of God in a sacred moment. And in that moment we are being fed and shepherded by our Pastor. In that moment we are impacted not only by the content of the message but by the significance of hearing it as part of the covenant community of God. In the same way that a feast is enjoyed more with other people (and we are all longing for those days to return!), so too preaching is best experienced when we are together with brothers and sisters.

5. Our Witness to the World

Elton Trueblood in a book called The Incendiary Fellowship said, ‘Much of the uniqueness of Christianity, in its original emergence, consisted of the fact that simple people could be amazingly powerful when they were members of one another. As everyone knows it is almost impossible to create a fire with one log, even if it is a sound one, while several poor logs may make an excellent fire if they stay together as they burn. The miracle of the early church was that of poor sticks making a grand conflagration.’

That’s us isn’t it? Poor sticks and damp logs. On our own - pretty useless. But together, kindled by the Spirit of God, we can be a grand conflagration - an impressive fire that can help warm others to the good news about Jesus.

Our world is a mess. People are looking for meaning and they are also starving for community. One of the most significant aspects of our witness in these days may well be the quality of our relationships together, in spite of all the pain, challenges and hardships of the past year.

There is nothing else like the church in the world today - she is a new kind of community, created by God, called to make the gospel heard and visible in a world that believes anything but the gospel.

When I came back to play football after all that time out - it was a bit disorienting at first. I had to regain my match fitness. But the best thing I could do was play. There really was no substitute for stepping over the white line.

And so it is with us in our walk with the Lord Jesus. The very best thing you can do is get back to Church - every week if you can - soon you’ll adjust to the pace, you’ll regain your spiritual fitness and you certainly won’t regret it.

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littlerose13writes · 6 years

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The First Five Years: 2002

THE BOY WHO WED by Rita Skeeter

If, like me, you remember the days when we all most avidly thumbed the pages of our world’s most esteemed publications to learn of the unravelling love life of Harry Potter, this article will act as a milestone. Secretive and withheld as ever, access to this prestigious event has been limited. Nevertheless, your resident risk taker Ms Rita Skeeter has managed to score what one might describe as ‘a scoop’ with several inside sources offering interviews to fill in the blanks where myself and my photographer were so unceremoniously asked ‘where our invitations were’.

To set the scene, a sleepy village on the outskirts of Hampshire, rolling green countryside, a wizarding manor (rumoured to be the estate of current Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt), a glorious summer’s day. All this idyllic beauty a stark contrast to the fiery temper of bridezilla and overrated Harpies Chaser Ginny Weasley (alas, now inexplicably Ginny Potter) and what could be described as her ‘gang’ of bridesmaids. I’m sure we all remember from our Hogwarts days the cold and unfriendly demeanour of a certain group of girls, everybody knows who I am talking about, and the spirit of these such groups was encapsulated by this bride-to-be and her mish mash of attendants.

Hermione Granger takes the role of Maid of Honour, a choice many have speculated simply cries out ‘attention seeking’ on the part of the new Mrs Potter. Of course, the wizarding world remembers all too well how this insufferably intelligent witch spent a large part of her fourth year at school toying with our beloved Harry’s emotions, eventually casting him aside like a used shrivelfig when a considerably more famous play-thing presented himself in the form of Quidditch legend Viktor Krum. Surely, acting as Maid of Honour at the wedding of one’s first boyfriend - the heart of which one no doubt broke into a million pieces - is not the sort of healthy and stable move we would expect from one of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s top recruits?

Ms Granger is accompanied by the dulcet tones of Quibbler enthusiast (read into that what you wish) Luna Lovegood. Despite the wedding’s colour scheme of soft pastels, Ms Lovegood is enrobed in a violent shade of yellow and has seemingly made her own additions to the bride’s lovely bouquet, in the form of several large and overpowering sunflowers. We’re sure the impeccable arrangements of Prophet favourite florist Susan Bones were not created with Ms Lovegood’s additions in mind. Although, looking at her earrings, we might like to add that Ginny’s bouquet got off lightly.

The disjointed bridal party is finished off by none other than record holder for most swear words used in one Quidditch season, Holyhead Harpies Chaser Millie Hughes. We can only assume Ms Hughes was selected by the bride in an effort to make herself look better. Either that or she took a bludger to the face just minutes before the ceremony. We here at the Prophet wish Ms Hughes the speediest of recoveries if so, and our apologies if that was, in fact, her real nose.

The bride herself, seen in this exclusive photograph, is wearing a dress which one might describe as simple and classic and others would call dull and uninteresting (see page 25 to have your own say in our Prophet poll). It is laughably pure white, and perhaps a bit too low cut for somebody with such obscene amounts of freckles marring their complexion. But I can exclusively reveal from one of my inside sources, that we very nearly did not see the now Mrs Potter step out in this number (rumoured to have been made for her by hand by Madame Malkin herself, who refused to speak to me about last week’s reports that Ginny needed last minute alterations to allow for her secret, hidden baby bump). You read that correctly. The overbearing bride was heard not hours before the ceremony, complaining loudly and unceremoniously about the garment, claiming it was unfit for purpose. Make what you will of that, but we here at the Prophet feel this is only further confirmation we are soon to hear the pitter patter of tiny Potters.

In keeping with this theme, the newlyweds certainly attempted to distract their guests from their own turbulent relationship with what we here call 'the aww factor’. Four-year-old son of a werewolf, and Harry Potter’s godson, Teddy Lupin acted as ring-bearer, managing to most surprisingly fulfill his duties impeccably for a child his age (said an inside source), which begs the question, how is Harry Potter doing it? Raising a small child so successfully can only be an indicator that he is letting his work as an Auror slide. This miniature orphan of war was joined by the young couple’s niece, who unceremoniously littered the area with rose petals, causing the environmentalist within us to worry about the impact this could cause to the surrounding scenery.

The wedded couple emerged a suspiciously short amount of time after the start of the ceremony to general applause, presumably peppered with questioning cries of how on Earth this had been allowed to happen? We approached Mr Bill Weasley for comment on this happy family occasion and I am ashamed to have to report we were rebuffed most cruelly by his French wife, who did not seem to be sharing in the delight of the day, and instead wielded her crying baby in our general direction. Mrs Molly Weasley, mother of the bride, was similarly unwelcoming and brought any further reporting we had intended to a halt, which only further arouses suspicion of what this shady family are trying to hide.

But of course, the man of the moment, the reason young girls over the country have all been crying into their pillows tonight, Harry Potter himself, is the star of my article. As you can see from the accompanying photograph (a Prophet exclusive), Harry has embraced his role as an Auror in looks if not anything else. It can only be an intimidation tactic towards Potter’s enemies which has caused him to choose such an unkempt-looking grooming routine. Perhaps somebody should tell Harry beards are out? Similarly, we here at the Prophet had hoped our favourite Boy Who Lived might have taken the time to get a haircut before the big day but alas, he does not seem to prioritise such endeavours before marrying the supposed love of his life. Mr Ronald Weasley (Harry Potter’s best man) appears overly smart and well-groomed in comparison. Whatever soars your broomstick though Ginny!

We wish Mr and Mrs Harry Potter a lifetime of happiness together, or at least until one of them hasn’t made the front page in a few weeks.

“Why is this in with all the wedding stuff?” Ginny sighed with a grin as she waved the article in Harry’s amused face. “Why did we even keep this?”

“Because otherwise how would we remember what a complete, er, what was the word?” He took the article from her and scanned it briefly. “What a complete bridezilla you were.”

“Yes, because I was the one who almost threw a tantrum when the caterers couldn’t make individual sized treacle tarts.” She rolled her eyes at him where they were sat cross legged on the floor, surrounded by boxes.

“Hey, you only get two weddings,” he teased, reaching into one of the boxes.

“Don’t let Skeeter hear you say that, she thinks this was it,” Ginny grinned, gesturing to the article.

From the moment Harry proposed, they knew they wanted to get married at The Burrow. A small, intimate ceremony with their closest family and friends amongst the quirky settings of Ottery St Catchpole. They also knew they would never in a million years be allowed to get married in peace with, not just Rita Skeeter, but a large majority of the wizarding world snooping around, wanting a look at the Chosen One and Holyhead Harpies first string Chaser (Ginny sometimes attracted more attention than Harry did these days).

The solution was straightforward. They had the wedding they wanted, small and perfect at The Burrow, and then, a few days later, they had their 'public’ wedding. The one the Daily Prophet and most of the wizarding world knew about and the one Rita Skeeter had written her article about.

“She also thinks you’re pregnant, although she seems to have conveniently forgotten about that one in her more recent articles. I’m sure she only wrote that so she could use the phrase pitter patter of tiny Potters.” Harry chuckled as he removed the photo album from the box of wedding memories.

“Oh yes, wasn’t the last one all about how I’m severely underweight and setting a bad example to young Quidditch fans?” Ginny sighed and then noticed what Harry was holding. “Harry, we’re supposed to be packing into the boxes, not taking things out.”

“I know,” he hummed, still looking down at the album and turning over a page. He smiled at it and caught Ginny’s eye; she didn’t have the heart to tell him to put it away so they could get on with packing.

She scooted over on the floor so she was sat beside him and able to see the album too. “I love that picture of you,” she said, noticing the page he was on.

The photograph was of Harry, waiting at the front of the altar and saying something to Ron before turning and catching sight of Ginny at the other end of the aisle. His expression shifts from grinning to stunned speechlessness.

“That’s the memory I use now if I have to cast a patronus,” he said quietly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.

Ginny muttered into his side, “if I knew marrying you would turn you into such a sap-”

He cut off the rest of her sentence by wrestling her down on top of him. “What was that? Can’t hear you!” he laughed as she spat out a mouthful of her own hair.

“Harry, you’re almost as soppy as Ron these days!” she giggled, looming down over him.

He paused for a second and then threw her a wicked grin, sitting up and bringing her with him, holding onto her forearms. “I have only one thing to say to that.”

Ginny gave him a challenging stare; she loved it when they bantered like this.

“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, his hair is as-”

Harry was unable to finish the rest of the song because Ginny had covered his mouth with her own lips and was snogging him into submission.

“I’ve not had that reaction before. Marriage is mellowing you out.”

“You wish, Potter.” Ginny retrieved the photo album from where it had been cast aside in their impromptu wrestling match and opened it in her lap.

“Now this one we need to save for his seventeenth birthday,” Harry said, picking up the photo album and showing Ginny the photo he’d been looking at.

It showed four-year-old Teddy, looking adorable in tiny dress robes, his hair jet black and both his hands holding a small ring box. He was staring at the ring box with such severe concentration that his tongue was sticking out and he was walking at an exaggerated slow pace, as if he were holding a very full cup of potion and he didn’t want it to spill.

“Andromeda told him he had to be careful. He took her so literally.” Ginny laughed at the photo and their eyes met as they both gazed wistfully at the album.

“I could sit here and look at this all day,” Harry started, checking his watch, “but we need to be out of Holyhead by three if we want to make it to The Burrow tonight with anything done.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at her husband, because he had been the one to open the album in the first place, but she obliged and returned the photo album and Rita Skeeter’s hilarious article to their box, moving to pack some other items around them.

She still hated packing, more than anything, but packing with Harry and knowing it was for them to move together was slightly more bearable.

They’d lived in their flat in Holyhead together for nearly three years now, other than the year Ginny had been playing international and they’d been all over the world. But this had originally been Ginny’s flat and Harry had moved in with her (after they both realised they slept better when they shared a bed). Today they would be moving into a home that was completely theirs, from the start.

It hadn’t been part of the plan, to move house only four months after the wedding, and on New Year’s Eve. But when the house in Hampshire came up, with its perfect location, a mixture of wizards and muggles living nearby, just within their budget and with enough rooms to one day start a family, they felt it would be stupid not to go for it. The house was much bigger than what they were used to and Ginny thought they’d probably be rattling around inside it for at least the first year.

“Hello! Your help has arrived.” A voice sounded from the fireplace in the living room and Ginny got up from her place on the bedroom floor, picked her way through the maze of boxes and rushed into the living room to greet her brother. “On second thoughts, maybe I am working today.”

Ginny scoffed as Ron looked around the room at the mess of boxes and bags. “This is nothing, you should see our bedroom.”

“How do you have so much stuff?” Ron asked incredulously, picking up a muggle toaster and inspecting it curiously.

“That was an engagement present from Dad!” Ginny cried indignantly, snatching it from him and stuffing it back into one of the boxes labelled 'kitchen’.

“And have you ever used it?” Ron smirked.

“No, I don’t think it even works,” Ginny admitted.

“That’s not true, she didn’t realise you have to plug it in,” Harry said from the doorway, his arms folded and one socked foot crossed over the other.

“Plug it in what?” Ron looked just as confused as Ginny had been at the time.

“Ask Hermione,” Harry patted Ron on the shoulder sympathetically. “Speaking of, where is she?”

“Stuck at work. Something about a policy redraft? Mate, I do not miss the Ministry one bit.” Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look. “But I got you the next best thing.” He gestured to the fireplace just as it glowed green, as if the timing has been choreographed.

“Luna!” Ginny cried in surprise, running to the fireplace where her blonde best friend was emerging, gazing around the room in wonder. Ginny threw both arms around her and squeezed her tight. “I thought you were still in New Zealand?”

“I could only stay for three full moons, then I had to come home,” she explained in her usual dreamy fashion, giving Harry a hug too. “I was at the Ministry, organising a portkey to Japan. Rolf swears he’s heard the cry of a Grumpallo in a forest out there.”

“Who’s Rolf?” Ginny asked.

“What’s a Grumpallo?” Harry enquired at the same time.

Ron just grinned. “I bumped into Luna as she was leaving, told her what I was doing today, she insisted on coming to help.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” Ginny cried, pulling Luna further into the room. “Sorry it’s such a mess here, moving day.”

“Oh I can tell, this place is full of changing vibes.”

“And boxes,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“You’re coming to mum’s New Year’s Eve party tonight,” Ginny told Luna, making it clear she didn’t get a choice in the matter. “Nobody’s seen you since the wedding, this is great!”

“None of us will be making it to the party if we’re still battling through boxes here,” Harry grumbled, checking his watch again.

“Yes dear,” Ginny teased, kissing him on the cheek and pulling Luna towards their bedroom. “You can help me pack my clothes up.”

“Me and Ron’ll start Flooing the stuff in here through,” Harry called from the living room.

With four of them, it didn’t take long for the boxes of their stuff (including the furniture, which they’d shrunk down for the journey) to move from cluttering up their tiny Holyhead flat, to looking lost and lonely in the middle of the kitchen of their new house.

“There’s a lot of… space,” said Ron, looking around him.

“Are you sure it was this big when we bought it?” Harry joked, bringing the last box to the middle of the room and placing it down.

“We just need to, er, spread out a bit,” Ginny said confidently, but she was looking at the sheer amount of empty space and wondering how on earth they were ever going to be able to fill it.

Ron and Ginny worked together to move the shrunk furniture to the correct rooms, where they returned each piece to its original size. The large living room swallowed up the sofa with ease, and there was only one bedroom which actually contained a bed, the other four lay bare and empty.

“Of course it’ll be a bit of a project, to fill it up and get it ready for when we eventually have kids,” Ginny explained as Ron gazed doubtfully at one of the empty bedrooms.

“Don’t worry, you’ve got around two years before that happens,” Luna spoke from behind them, where her and Harry had finished unpacking the kitchen.

“How do you know that, Luna?” Harry asked, equally confused. Of course they’d discussed it between them, and decided they wanted to wait at least three years before they tried to have a baby.

“Just a feeling,” she replied, wandering into the room and standing in its centre, her eyes closed. “Yes, definitely here. But not for a couple of years.”

Ron shared a confused look with Harry who whispered something in his ear and Ron’s expression cleared. Ginny was more used to Luna’s way of being than the boys were, but that didn’t stop her feeling a bit unnerved that this room was giving Luna 'a feeling’.

Luna’s eyes snapped open. “Can I paint something in here? For when it’s your nursery.”

Ginny glanced at Harry who nodded and Ginny nodded back. “We’d love you to, Lu.”

She beamed angelically.

“Luna, when we said we’d love you to paint our nursery, we didn’t mean you had to do it right now.” Ginny chuckled at her keen friend, who had a smear of sky blue on her cheek and a paintbrush in her hand. Ginny had been unpacking in the kitchen with Harry and Ron, the only room that was bearing some resemblance to a lived-in home.

“Oh it has to be now. Don’t look yet, it’s almost finished!” She rinsed her brush out in the sink and skipped off again.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Gin?” Ron hissed. “What if you end up with Harry’s face painted on your nursery wall?”

Ginny gave him a withering look. “I trust Luna.”

Harry nodded then hesitated. “She wouldn’t do that would she?”

“Come on, we need a bedroom to come home to tonight.” She took Harry’s hand and pulled him from the kitchen and up the stairs to make a start on their bedroom.

About two hours later, when Ron had left and they had a bedroom that looked like a bedroom, Luna appeared in the doorway. “It’s finished,” she said, a paintbrush still dangling from her hand.

“Can we see it now?” Ginny asked excitedly; she knew how artistic Luna was and could only imagine what she had created.

Luna simply beamed. Ginny shared a look with Harry, who looked warier than he needed to. She grinned and took his hand, pulling him forward and following Luna.

“It should bring you good luck,” said Luna, as they reached the doorway and she stepped aside, allowing Ginny to see the room. She entered cautiously, still holding Harry’s hand.

Luna’s painting covered two walls and spread across the far corner. It began as a sky blue tone at the top, patches of fluffy white clouds dispersed evenly, and faded down into greener hues. Tall trees took up the entire height of the room, their leaves spreading wide across the length and gently cascading down towards what was unmistakably a forest floor. It was a soft green, with smatterings of yellow flowers.

Amongst the flowers, was a tiny niffler sat inspecting a gold coin, holding it up to the light with interest. Nearby, a pure gold baby unicorn frolicked in the shade of the wings of a storm grey hippogriff. A scarlet fairy rested on the tip of a baby griffin’s nose, who was attempting to bat the fairy away playfully.

Between the fluffy clouds, a golden snidget whizzed around with ease and a mischievous pixie attempted to catch it. Glowing with gold plumage, a phoenix soared past the large oak tree in the corner of the room. In curly script, just visible amongst all the magical creatures, were the words dream big, little one.

“Luna, it’s beautiful,” Ginny breathed. “Thankyou so much. Harry, look!”

“This is stunning, thank you Luna.” He clasped her hand in thanks.

“The niffler brings good fortune and the unicorn represents purity,” Luna explained, pointing them out. “I’m going to go now, leave you two in your new home.”

Ginny ripped her gaze away from the painting and followed her back to the fireplace.

“Come to Mum’s tonight, around eight. Bring Rolf too if you want?”

Luna smiled. “That would be nice, he is very friendly. You would like him a lot.” She ran her hand down the edge of the mantelpiece lovingly.

“Do you like him a lot, Luna?” Ginny asked her friend. It was impossible to tell what Luna was thinking sometimes.

“Oh yes, he’s very pleasant.”

“Very pleasant, okay. I look forward to meeting him.”

“That’s nice,” she said, reaching for the Floo powder. “Goodbye Ginny.”

“Bye Lu, thanks again for your lovely gift!”

Luna span away and Ginny watched her go until she realised she’d been staring into the flames. The fire burnt low and Ginny watched the small flames flicker for just a second longer, thinking about how this was their fire. It seemed so silly, after all it was just a fire, but it reminded her of the uncertain months where she couldn’t be sure she and Harry would ever heal together, a strong contrast to the stable place they were both in now.

Suddenly, Ginny needed to see him.

She found Harry, still looking at Luna’s painting. He ran his hand over the nose of the unicorn and jumped when he heard her behind him. They shared a smile as he looked up and she circled her arms around him from behind, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. He held onto her arms and rested his head against hers.

“What are you thinking?” she murmured into his ear.

“This room, it’s the best one in the house. Our house.”

“We have a house, with a nursery,” Ginny smiled. “We’re such grown ups.”

“It’s been quite a year,” Harry replied, turning around in her arms so they were facing. “We got married, we got a house, look at us go.”

She laughed and fell against his chest where he held her close and kissed the top of her head. “Who knows what’s going to happen next.”

Both of their gazes fell on the niffler in Luna’s painting and she knew what they were both thinking. Ginny knew she wanted to start a family with Harry, they’d talked about it so many times and she knew how much it would mean to him to become a father.

They wanted more than one child, because Harry wanted them to have siblings. Ginny had promptly shut down his suggestion that seven seemed like a great idea because she’d enjoyed growing up with her six brothers so much. It took her pointing out that she was the one who would have to carry these seven children for him to change his mind.

But they were going to wait, enjoy being a married couple first for a few years before they really did hear the 'pitter patter of tiny Potters’.

“Teddy can stay here, you know, before it’s a nursery. He’ll love this.” Harry gestured to the painting.

“I can’t wait to show it to him,” she replied as he kissed the side of her head.

“We need to get ready,” he murmured into her hair and, instead of pulling away, Ginny tilted her face upwards and kissed him softly.

“THREE… TWO… ONE!” Everybody in the garden cheered and George let off his customary fireworks.

Ginny leaned in to kiss Harry, which wasn’t an easy feat given that he had a sleeping Teddy balanced across his body. He wrapped an arm around her and they watched the fireworks explode above them.

“I knew he wouldn’t stay awake,” Harry grinned, adjusting Teddy on his hip. The little boy stirred at the movement and gazed up at the fireworks, his head tucked into the crook of Harry’s neck. Ginny watched his little face light up with the bright, colourful flashes, his hair identical to his godfather’s and she thought about what Luna had said.

Ginny hoped that one day, she would relive this sight with a child who was really theirs, rather than shared with Andromeda like Teddy was. She imagined Harry holding a little baby, their little baby, rocking him or her to sleep in their new house, Luna’s beautiful painting in the background.

“What is it?” Harry asked quietly, noticing her watching him.

She moved closer towards him and Teddy leant his head on her shoulder as Harry wrapped his arm tighter around her.

It had been five years since the war ended, five years since they’d all had to start from scratch and learn to live again, five years since her and Harry had picked up their schooldays relationship and turned it into something loving and healing for them both.

“I was just thinking what a difference five years makes.”

And it was just the start, just the first five years of their lives together.

<<< Read 2001

Read what happened next!

Happy New Year :)

#the First Five Years #hinny #harry potter #ginny weasley #fanfiction #harry x ginny #F5Y #F5Y2002

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musicals-x-fandoms-blog · 6 years

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The Light and The Dark of Reylo

analysis time !!! :D

so ya girl just saw the last jedi last night and wowowowowow was it GOOD. and this post is gonna be the exploration of the future of Reylo and for you antis to see from the shippers’ POV.

WARNING: HUGE SPOILERS AHEAD (the actual stuff is gonna be beyond the break so that yall who haven’t seen it won’t be spoiled)

Personally, I’m not a Reylo shipper—even after watching TLJ, I simply don’t think they look good together. That doesn’t mean that I can’t look at Reylo from an objective standpoint, nor does that also mean that I have to trash other people’s opinion. Its just my personal taste.

There’s a difference.

However, during TLJ, I finally understood why people ship it. Hard. If its the direction they’re trying to go for, I feel like that could’ve been better set up in TFA, so that everyone comes home a winner.

So, the next part of the post is dedicated to the hardcore anti-Reylo shipper, in an attempt to make them (at the very least) understand why Reylo is being shipped so much.

The Light

Kylo and Rey bring balance to the Force. Their union creates a new Chosen One, since they are seen as one entity that brings balance to the Force. Rey symbolises the light (sorry not sorry: rey as in ‘ray of light’), Kylo the dark.

From the beginning of the movie, we see these two, broken, lost characters forming an extremely strong bond, something that was built on from the shaky introduction of their vague relationship in TFA. (Whether or not it actually was started by Snoke, we don’t know.)

From an anti-Reylo POV, I couldn’t really figure out what this meant. Were they gonna form a romantic relationship? Is something about the both of them gonna be revealed (ala Luke and Leia style)?

However, during the shirtless scene, I immediately thought that: oh, these are the foundations for a very romantic relationship as shirtless scenes tend to be associated with romantic, sometimes sexual connotations (just take a look at any romcom).

The ‘hands touch, eyes meet’ (soz wicked fam) scene was also lathered with romantic tension, as Rey feels his conflict: the call to the light. On the other hand, Rey is called to the darkness during Luke’s training. In doing so, Rey becomes Yin (light with a bit of dark), Kylo Yang(dark with a bit of light).

Moreover, Rey’s (Luke’s) lightsaber is blue. Blue is a colour often associated with peace and hope. She is also seen wearing lighter colours (gray, white), which also have positive connotations. Kylo’s lightsaber is red, a colour associated with power and evil. He also wears black for majority of the movie, a colour with very dark connotations (its literally darkness, i just dont know how to word it well).

In addition, Rey’s desperate attempt to save Kylo from the Dark Side of the Force not only mirrors Luke’s heroic attempt to save Vader from the original trilogy, but is also lathered with romantic tension established from earlier scenes. One thing is clear: she loves Kylo, one way or another, and is willing to save him from the Dark Side.

When Kylo kills Snoke, the audience is shocked. He has turned good and fought against the evil in him. During the battle scene, the audience is in awe of the harmony between the two of them. (it was vvvvvvvv iconic) It is symbolic of the balance in the Force.

That is why people ship it.

Imma just take that one step further and predict this: if one of them dies, so does the other. After all, what is light if darkness doesn’t exist? What is darkness if light doesn’t exitst? Nothing. If one of them dies, there will be a large imbalance in the Force, it could be catastrophic. You can’t have too much light without darkness and vice versa.

(ill admit, i kinda felt the call to the reylo ship during the fight scene, but i was like, nah)

The Dark

However, the future is bleak for the Reylo shippers.

I honestly would’ve been fine with Reylo being canon, if their beliefs and who they symbolise weren’t too contrasting. The whole idea of them getting together is cute, its just that they have very strong beliefs against each other, that that would be such a huge obstacle in their relationship.

Kylo’s desire to bring Rey to the dark side is what causes the downfall of their relationship (don’t believe me? check the anidala and reylo parallels on the reylo tag). As much as these two idiots love each other, Kylo prioritises power, Rey prioritises hope and goodness.

From someone who has kinda experienced the same thing, I understand the hope she has for Kylo. If you love someone, you want them to evade everything that would cause them harm, and you would believe even in the faintest glimmer of hope. but even more so, I understand why she chose to say, “no. I don’t think this is right.”

Rey doesn’t deserve Kylo.

Kylo is written as an arrogant child who, basically, throws a tantrum when Rey doesn’t follow him down the Dark Side. Rey, stubborn as she is, is smart. Although she has feelings for Kylo, she doesn’t let that cloud her judgment of what’s good and what isn’t. Rey doesn’t want power, she wants what is right. If she joined him, she would’ve been a traitor to the rebellion and may have fallen down the evil hole because of her love for him. She doesn’t want that, does she?

When she leaves him, he attacks the rebel forces, as revenge for ‘not getting the girl.’ Whether or not you are a Reylo shipper, you’ve gotta admit, that was pretty pathetic. If you truly love someone, you respect their decisions, even if they go against yours. You go through the pain, the suffering. If they’ve gone too far, you’ve gotta let them go and fight the battles you need to fight. Otherwise, you would’ve ended up going down the same route they did.

Towards the end, when Rey shuts the door of the Falcon on Kylo, people have said that it is symbolic of her ‘ending’ whatever relationship they had. I don’t disagree with that.

I think now, whatever they have in store for Reylo in IX, will result in huge sacrifices. I refuse to believe that they will kill either Kylo or Rey, because, if one of them dies, so does the other. So, they might kill Kylo and Rey, because of the same reason. Doing so will result in the search for a new Chosen One, which means more stories, more exploration and, more money for the Disney fam.

whew! soz if it felt too waffle-y at some points, i kinda lost my opinion while writing, but i hope this post has enlightened you, one way or another.

may the force be with y’all :D

#reylo #star wars #the last jedi #the force awakens #kylo ren #rey #adam driver #daisy ridley

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