#Sliver Medals
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cr7vlogbuddy · 3 months ago
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Tekoa local Susannah Scaroni wins third Paralympic decoration with silver in 5,000-meters
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https://sfl.gl/06R2HMPu
Susannah Scaroni has at last finished her rainbow of Paralympic decorations.
The Tekoa, Washington, local won silver Saturday in the T54 5,000 meters at the Stade de France in Paris, completing in a period of 10 minutes, 45.18 seconds.
Switzerland's Catherine Debrunner guaranteed gold in the occasion, completing just a little ways off of Scaroni in 10:43.62 - a Paralympic record.
https://sfl.gl/PCHeo9X
Scaroni was hoping to guard the gold she won quite a while back in Tokyo in the 5K, however she was unable to hold off Debrunner, who rushed into the lead over the last 300 meters.
Scaroni additionally won bronze in the 2021 Tokyo games in the 800, with Saturday's silver turning into her third decoration in her fourth Paralympic Games.
She could twofold that number toward the finish of the games, however, as she actually has the 1,500, 800 and long distance race occasions in which to contend.
https://sfl.gl/PCHeo9X
It is the main Paralympic decoration of the Paris games for the group of current or previous ParaSport Spokane competitors.
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Susannah Scaroni, right, of Group USA, contends Saturday in the ladies' T54 5,000 meters on the third day of the 2024 Paris Summer Paralympic Games at Stade de France in Paris.
https://sfl.gl/06R2HMPu
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captainfreelance1 · 8 months ago
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Amy Purdy doing what she does best.
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jaylaxies · 10 months ago
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HARD THOUGHT !
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pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader
cw: smut, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, usage of nicknames.
warning: 18+ content, minors dni
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Rival skater!Sunghoon who always keeps you on your toes, never lets you sit down or relax by any means cause you can’t risk him being even one percent better than you, especiallyy with the annual competitions coming up. You hated the smirk he had on his face as he skated past you, doing his usual warm ups on the ice, and soon, it turned into the usual race between you both, and you were the winner this time, by less than a second.
“I see you’re ready to lose this time, Park,” you mocked, your smile vibrant as he scowled, stopping right in front of you, lips pink with cold, head held high despite his unofficial loss.
“Overconfidence is not hot, darling,” he points out. The arena was empty, minus you both—always doing the most to get even a sliver of extra practice in hopes of beating the other one.
“Don’t be a sore loser now,” you coo, and he scoffs, backing you up against the support railings, his cold finger tip on your chin making you look up at him in question, his mouth parted enough for you to get a glimpse of his sharp canines, the dim lights of the arena casting an attractive sort of shadow on his face, making you shut up automatically as you observed him.
“It’s cute that you think you’ll win tomorrow,” he started, “but that won’t happen with me being your rival,” he said, smirking and you rolled your eyes at his own display of overconfidence.
“What if I do win?” You asked, deadpanning, causing him to click his tongue, “then I won’t come close to you, ever,” he whispers, making you look up at him in surprise, “but if I win—I’ll have you as close to me as possible for the whole night,” he proposed.
“What the fuck, Park?”
“Scared you’ll lose?” He chuckles, pushing all your right buttons.
“Fine, we have a deal,” you said, looking at him one last time before skating away with your heart beating faster than ever.
There wasn’t much time to practice, granted the competition took place the very next day. You had won in your respective categories already, leaving the final round, which was the main event. All skaters were lined up for the last race, and the majority of the audience had come to watch the final rundown between you and Sunghoon, which made you want to do better.
“Good luck,” Sunghoon winked your way right before the race started.
You were determined, but Sunghoon’s determination skyrocketed, given that he had to win the bet—to have you in his arms, in his bed.
Which brings you here, right in his cozy bedroom with his gold medal resting on your chest, the cold metal juxtaposing the warmth of your skin, and his body on top of you. He kissed you all over, making you wear the medal he won—winning the bet and driving you back home with him without any delays after the award ceremony.
“You’re so pretty when you just shut up and take it like a good kitten,” he praises, snapping his hips to meet yours in a rushed thrust, making your eyes roll back with pleasure, he rolls his body fluidly as if already in sync with every movement of yours as his cock reached the deepest spots in you, making you feel good no matter how much you tried not to let it show on your face.
“Don’t stop,” you gasped out, only boosting his never ending ego with your whimpers of need, and he complied, “wasn’t planning on to,” he groaned, caressing your cheek gently before wrapping his slender fingers around your neck, fucking you hard as you arched your back and moaned for him, exactly how he wanted you to.
“So pretty,” he murmured, your cheeks heating up at his sudden compliment, paired with no other snarky remark when he pulled out, and then eased back in, his cock twitching just as your pussy clenched around him, signalling that you both were close, however, he wasn’t done with you, not yet.
Because tonight, he was the winner, and you, his reward.
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© jaylaxies | tumblr
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suntoru · 10 months ago
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─ ✰ HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY.
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─ SYNOPSIS: rin misses you. he wonders if breaking up with you was really worth it.
─ WARNINGS: 1.2k words!! angst, regret, pining, exes, perhaps ooc rin, probably bland but!! it’s here
─ AUTHOR’S NOTE: RIN GIRLIES HERE IS UR MAN <3
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— rin’s eyes anxiously dart around, scanning for your face somewhere in the stands, an unconscious habit he hasn’t been able to drop. the roar of thousands of fans cheering him on, yet strangely, the absence of satisfaction lingers within him.
it’s weird, even he knows it, that he still hopes his ex comes to his soccer matches. he’s fully aware that you are unlikely to be present, but even so, a lingering sliver of hope refuses to fade. and it’s strange, because he was the one who broke up with you to pursue his career, he was the one who broke your heart, he was the one who'd made you cry... so why does his heart feel so damn empty when you aren’t there to watch him soar?
fuck. this isn’t the time to be thinking about this. so with an annoyed huff, he pushes his feelings aside, and plays ball.
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as the final whistle blows, everybody in the stadium erupts into cheers, confetti cascading down to honor the exceptional achievement. japan won nationals, rin scoring the winning goal by himself, marking tokyo's historic first-ever victory. his eyes widen with disbelief, puffing from the exertion of the intense match. the weight of the moment settles on his shoulders, and he couldn't help but look up, expecting to see the familiar sight of your proud face in the crowd, your pretty eyes catching onto his— oh. that’s right. you won’t be there anymore.
his smile falls the slightest bit. the sensation of pride and joy seems to snap almost instantly, and he doesn’t know why. this… this was his goal, his dream. the thing he wanted most in the world, in the palm of his hand. and really, he should be more happy, but he can’t seem to shake off the sinking feeling in his stomach.
his radiant smile begins to falter, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the waves of pride and joy that had enveloped him seemed to snap abruptly. this achievement, this culmination of his dreams and aspirations, now lays within his grasp. one would expect satisfaction and happiness to course through his veins, yet an inexplicable unease settled in the pit of his stomach, casting a shadow over the moment. ignoring all his teammates’ cheers and screams, he speeds towards the locker room to get changed and go home.
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his house really isn’t any better. (he questions if it’s really ‘home’ without you.) the concept of "home" now feels strangely foreign, a place that should be comforting but is instead tinged with an undeniable sense of absence. it's as if the essence of warmth has been drained away.
the once-inviting space lacks the comforting sprawl of your giant stuffed animals overtaking the bed or the mountains of your clothes taking over the closet. a peculiar emptiness lingers, a void that cannot be filled by mere physical belongings. the silence within the familiar walls is unsettling.
rin finds it quite odd not feeling your arms wrap around his torso, giving him a peck as you asked about his day. it’s strangely… quiet as well. there’s no you singing along to some laufey song completely out of tune, no alarm going off because you burnt the takoyaki, or the constant hum of the tv playing in the background. it's a quietude that, rather than offering solace, only accentuates the hollowness of the space. he’s not so sure he likes it.
he stares at the shiny, gold metal he had received. his mind, despite receiving a sparkly, golden-hued award— an emblem of achievement— stubbornly fixates his thoughts of you. he finds himself gazing at the metallic surface, a token of success that pales in comparison to the vibrant memories of your presence. he recalls your playful curiosity, imagining how you would have marveled at the gold medal, playfully testing its authenticity with an endearing chomp. he misses it. he misses you.
and he wonders what you might've changed his contact to. stupid ex, maybe? loser bitch? he deserves it. but he can't help but wonder, is there a possibility he'd still be 'rinnie', or 'my love' with a heart that never made sense because it looked more like a cheeky smile to him? (he wishes he had treasured you just a little bit more.) is he blocked? or is he just another number in your phone now? do you reread the messages he sent to you?
because he does. your contact name is still ‘loml’. he has every single photo you sent saved. he stares at the old "i love you" texts night after night after night. it's pathetic, really, but his heart aches for those moments when you'd scold him for overexerting himself, when you'd sleepily wake up at two am just to make him a hot meal when he came back late, when you'd stick those tacky hello kitty bandaids on top of the scrapes he got from soccer. he misses your good luck kisses, the ones where you'd pull his face down to your height and let out a big dramatic 'mwah!' in front of all his teammates— where he'd grumble and complain but his cheeks were undeniably a bright rosy red.
but above all, the vivid memory etched in his mind is the pain he inflicted upon you. your voice trembling, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you desperately clung to his arm, seeking an explanation. "what do you mean, rin? i don't understand. did i do something wrong?" your words quivered, on the verge of shattering, yet he callously shrugged you off, meeting your tear-filled eyes with a chilling glare.
"you're just a distraction. sorry, but soccer's more important to me."
he recalls the way your hand slowly fell away, the slow nod of comprehension, and the sight of your trembling bottom lip as you fought valiantly not to crumble. he was stupid. so, so stupid. he wishes he had pulled you into the shelter of his arms, confessed his foolishness, and reassured you that he didn't mean those hurtful words. or better yet, he wishes he didn’t say them at all. and he wants to ask, have you moved on? do you find your heart fluttering for somebody else, threatening to beat out of your chest like you once made him feel?
to be loved is to be seen. you saw him beyond the carefully constructed mask, piercing through the layers of the egoist the world molded him to be. in your gaze, he wasn't just the world's best striker or sae's little brother; he was itoshi rin. and that was enough for you.
oh, how utterly foolish he was to let you go. are you still as pretty as ever? (of course you are. you’ve never not looked absolutely stunning to him.) do you still smile as brightly as you once shone, his precious shooting star? he hopes you still find a reason to break into a grin every day.
but the question that is constantly on his mind like a broken record player. if he were to grovel and beg, surrendering his pride on his hands and knees, would you accept him back?
for a moment, he considers it. calling you. his finger hovers tentatively over the ‘audio’ call button, mere millimeters away from hearing you again. rin so desperately wishes to hear your sweet voice, see your angelic face, to be able to bask in your presence once more. would you be shocked? happy shocked, or enraged shocked, or maybe you wouldn’t pick up at all. would he go to voicemail? if he left one, would you listen? do you miss him as much as he has missed you all this time? (it’s been a month, but to him it felt like years.) yet, as the gravity of his past actions weighs heavily in his heart, an inexplicable hesitation ensnares him. you… don’t deserve this. you’re healing right now, he’s already chosen himself once, it would be utterly selfish to do it again. with a heavy exhale, he gingerly sets down his phone, fixing his gaze upon the ceiling above.
and suddenly, soccer doesn't feel like his passion after all. he wonders if it was really you.
his bed feels a little bit too cold now.
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© KAEFFEINEE 2022-2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.
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wulfhalls · 4 months ago
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stopppp sliver medal guy staying to get the audience going to support pole vaulter gold medal guy to break the world record is sooooo darling
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lazymonth · 1 month ago
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“ Sliver medal, golden claws. Golden medal, sliver sword.”
Heyya, a little fanart here [ @aninonimosstuff-blog ] 🤲 it’s interesting how their both having some kind of Toxic relationship, but in the øpposite way
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loveandpeaceanddoughnuts · 2 months ago
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Eruri Week Day 3, authority kink prompt!
cw: light bondage, trust kink, bottom!Erwin // wc: 1.5k // [ao3] @nsfweruriweek2024
Levi’s hands shook as he tightened Erwin’s harness, but his voice was low and even. “How long has it been since you allowed yourself this luxury, Commander?” 
Erwin didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the sliver of skin bared at his Captain’s throat where the cravat had been torn away. Levi tapped a hot palm against his cheek, impatient at the silence. 
“I asked how long it had been.” Levi searched Erwin’s eyes, steely gray questioning his sky blues. 
“A very long time,” Erwin admitted, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Levi tugged once more at the leather straps, then stepped back with a satisfied nod. 
“Test them. Try your strength.” 
Erwin strained his wrists against the belt, his belt, removed and repurposed as restraints. A shaky half-smile. “Quite the secure hold, Captain. Are you sure this is necessary? I hardly think-”
“Shhh. You don’t need to think. You’re under my command right now, understand?” Levi tipped Erwin’s chin up with a finger, doing his best to loom over the man in spirit if not in height. 
“I understand,” Erwin murmured obediently. The sound sent a thrill down Levi’s spine. 
“Good.” He nudged Erwin’s legs apart with his knee and stepped between them. A heat settled on the back of his neck as he drank in the sight of his Commander, bound and meek before him, powerful hands pinned behind the chair he sat in.
His voice was softer than Erwin had ever heard it. “You’ve been in charge of so much for so very long. Such weight on your shoulders…” He trailed his fingertips across the shoulders in question as he spoke, relishing in the older man’s shiver. “Never allowed to show weakness, to submit…”
A vulnerable noise bubbled from the back of Erwin’s throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep his composure. Everything the Captain was saying was true, but this vulnerability was utterly alien to him, and it itched under his skin. He shifted, lifting his chin out of Levi’s gentle grip. “It is my duty.”
Levi tsked, allowing him to refuse his touch, for now. “Your duty, yes. And you fulfill it so admirably, Commander.” The title, so often spoken with reverence, suddenly sounded like a tease. “One might wonder how a man of your strength, your integrity, ever finds respite, release…”
Erwin laughed helplessly. “Respite, release. More luxuries.” 
Levi ignored him, deft hands now sliding down Erwin’s broad arms, the planes of his firm chest. “So lonely at the top, isn’t it? Always giving orders, never taking them. No one to give them to you…” He shook his head in sympathy. “I am your loyal Captain. Am I not?”
“Yes. Yes, of course you are.” 
Levi’s fingers dipped below Erwin’s collar. “And you trust me, Commander?”
“More than anyone. More than myself.”
“You honor me,” Levi whispered, his lips at Erwin’s ear. “Allow me this.” He traced the Commander’s sharp collarbones, sliding the shirt off his shoulders. 
Erwin held himself still, eyes falling shut under Levi’s gentle explorations. “What are you-”
“Shhh.” Levi placed his fingers to Erwin’s lips. “Don’t question me, soldier.”
Erwin shuddered, a spark flying down his spine at the low command. “Yes, sir,” came his whispered response.
Levi smiled sharply, his lips now at Erwin’s knitted brow, then trailing the column of his neck. Chaste kisses that burned where they fell, phoenix feather-light. The role reversal made Levi’s skin crawl, his heart soar- improper, delicious, necessary and right. He reached for the medal on his Commander’s neck, yanked his face closer by the thin cord. 
When their lips met, Levi thought he might die, drowned in the tide of Erwin’s ragged breathing, crushed under the weight of his tongue in his mouth. Erwin, for his part, was ravenous for the taste of his Captain, aching to take him in his arms and devour him whole. Tied to the chair, he was forced to Levi take the lead in a way no one ever had with him before.
Levi swallowed Erwin’s moans eagerly, steadying himself with his hands on the man’s hips. The chair threatened to tip as the kiss continued, both men breathless but unwilling to part for air. Levi broke first, staggering back with a gasp as Erwin strained to chase his lips. 
The Captain’s eyes were bright as stars as he knelt before his Commander. Erwin gasped, opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his throat as Levi unfastened his trousers. Erwin’s cock sprang free, greedy and slick with pearls of precum. Levi smiled, touched his tongue to the blonde’s drooling tip. 
“You’re beautiful, soldier,” Levi purred, Erwin’s cock jumping with the heat of his breath. 
“Thank you, Levi,” Erwin rasped. Levi jerked his mouth away and frowned.
“Levi? I don’t think that’s an appropriate way to address your superior officer.”
Erwin bit his lip. “Wh- what do you want me to say?”
Levi considered. “I want you to say please. And use my title.”
“Please, Captain.”
“Mm, much better.” Levi lowered his mouth to Erwin’s cock again, flicking his tongue against the vein that ran beneath his shaft. Erwin fought to roll his hips up, desperate for more stimulation, until Levi finally acquiesced. 
The Commander’s eyes rolled back as Levi took him into his mouth. Levi’s intensity was overwhelming at the best of times, but it was utterly devastating now, directed wholly at Erwin’s body. He hollowed his cheeks as he swallowed him deeper, skillful tongue laving over his throbbing head with each suck. 
Erwin curled his hands into fists behind the chair, crying out as he hit the back of Levi’s throat. Levi choked, the spasm sending Erwin into a frenzy. “Captain, please, you’re killing me…!”
Levi shoved himself all the way down, sharp nose pressed against Erwin’s abs. His entire world narrowed to the moans that wrung from the man above him, the clench of muscular thighs around his head, the musky taste of the cock down his throat. He couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe, didn’t need to breathe. 
Erwin’s smooth blonde hair had fallen out of place, glued to his forehead with sweat as he stared down at Levi through heavy-lidded eyes. He had never seen anything as beautiful as the Captain on his knees, in complete control even as he gagged and drooled onto his own trousers. Erwin’s fingers twitched, wanting to tangle in the other man’s hair and wring the pleasure from him, wanting to stroke his flushed cheek. They adored each other wordlessly.
Levi tore himself off of Erwin’s cock, gasping for air. He didn’t seem to notice the tears that ran down his cheeks, his ever-scowling face smoothed into something like awe. He roughly shoved the Commander’s shirt up, pressing hot, needy kisses to the exposed skin as Erwin whimpered for him to come back, to finish him-
“Shut up, soldier.” There was no real strength behind the words. Levi’s firm voice was ragged with want, and Erwin was no better, whimpering at the command. 
Levi returned to his task, bobbing his head with new urgency as he felt Erwin tense and throb on his tongue.
“Captain, I’m going to- I’m close, you can’t-” Erwin tried to pull his hips away, but Levi clung to him furiously. He swirled his tongue faster, long fingers caressing Erwin’s base whenever his mouth left it, not allowing any part of the Commander to remain untouched. 
“I want you to cum in my mouth,” Levi murmured, cock-drunk and demanding, spit-slick chin propped on Erwin’s knee. 
“What? You want me to-” 
“That’s an order.” Levi’s eyes flashed, no room for argument. “You’re going to cum down my throat, soldier.” 
Erwin groaned, his head falling forward in defeat. “Yes sir.” 
Levi spat on the Commander’s cock, smiling wickedly up from his knees before surging forward to devour him again. Erwin’s whole body was electrified, tense almost to the point of pain as he hurtled toward his peak. The skin around his wrists were rubbed raw as he twisted them, his medal of honor red-hot where it lay against his burning skin.
“So good for me,” Levi mumbled around him. Erwin trembled, ached, thrust himself deeper into the wet heat of his Captain’s mouth. 
“I’m…fuck, L-Levi- Captain..!” Erwin’s voice broke as he fell apart. Levi took him to the hilt, steely eyes locked on the beautiful collapse of his Commander. The burning ache in his jaw, his knees, the sacrificial strain of the act was forgotten with each burst of Erwin’s bitter cum on his tongue. Levi swallowed it desperately, the sticky fluid an absolution, eager tongue darting out to catch the drops that spilled over his lips. 
“Commander…” he groaned. 
Erwin’s eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, an eclipse over the sea. “Erwin,” he corrected firmly.
“Erwin…” Levi repeated it like a prayer, shaky hands undoing the belt that held the blonde’s hands back. As soon as it fell free, Erwin swept Levi into his arms, thumbing away the tears still drying on his red cheeks, his swollen lips. 
The taste of Erwin’s release and Levi’s devotion swirled between them when their lips met, Levi rising from his knees and Erwin falling to his own until they met in the middle, a mutual surrender.
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pixiecaps · 4 months ago
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LETSGOOO sliver medal in skating for brazil
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officalroyalsofpierreland · 4 months ago
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Wedding of HRH Prince Oliver, Duke of Rothsey & HIH Madame Hortense of Francesim Part 2
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Stéphane: Meanwhile, we are seeing King Alexander and Queen Marie-Christine depart for the cathedral from Holyrood Palace. I’m seeing a trend of red today in ensembles! The King and Queen of the Scots are also a union of nations, with Queen Marie-Christine being the younger sister of Emperor David of Pierreland! Travis: So, the two emperors of Europesim are about to be related? Stéphane: That seems to be the case! It is quite beautiful given the levels of mentorship that are between the emperors.
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Stéphane: Speaking of Emperor David, his family is now arriving at the cathedral. Empress Katalina is breath taking as always. This is also the first time we are seeing the green sashes and medals, Travis, what are they? Travis: That is the Order of the Thistle, the Kingdom of Scots’s highest order of chivalry. Emperor Napoleon V, Madame Hortense, and Madame Mere were inducted into the order prior to today with Emperor Napoleon IV being posthumously inducted, reportedly at the urging of Prince Oliver. Which is a first in Scots history and to a very deserving man. Stéphane: And Empress Charlotte? Travis: We have been told she will be inducted at a later date, just as Empress Katalina was when she joined the order on King Alexander and Queen Marie Christine’s 20th wedding anniversary and the imperial children of Pierreland who were inducted when they all turned 15. Stéphane: It is an interesting tradition! What are its roots? Travis: The roots stem to the early 1300s, when King David I of Scots created the Order and said that all members of the royal family are granted status in the Order along with “those who share their blood.” Over time, spouses like Empress Katalina and in the future, Empress Charlotte, were granted status in the Order, out of respect for the hopefully strongly forged union.
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Stéphane: Absolutely fascinating! Loyalty to family seems to be a cornerstone to the Scottish Royal mythology. Meanwhile we see that Her Royal Highness Princess Magdalena of Lunaria has arrived with the Pierreland family, she looks beautiful in light blue while the Crown Prince wears the summer uniform of the Pierreland Imperial Military Academy, where he studies. The uniform has a white uniform jacket and dare I say, he is walking the line between acceptable and faux paus on this occasion. Travis: A bold choice that is for sure! But I am sure that the uniform was cleared with his aunt and uncle. He’s still a student learning uniform protocol and I think the couple understand that. I do say it does look excellent. It is rarely seen outside of Pierreland. Stéphane: Absolutely, protocol must be followed.  And I do believe that the public can forgive him for wearing white if the bride can! Meanwhile, his siblings are keeping it safe with our first kilt spotting on Prince Henri!
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Travis: He has gone for a very traditional look with the kilt providing the majority of the color and a tweed jacket and waist coat. Meanwhile his twin sister Princess Maria Aisha looks beautiful in a light peach color, and I do believe she does have some hair jewelry that is from the Pierreland territory of Oderia which is a lovely nod to Pierreland’s vastness but also her maternal culture.
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Stéphane: And we are seeing the first live look at the Emperor and Madame Hortense preparing to leave Aubigny House in one of the state coaches. And she is looking ethereal today in a dress designed by Lady Evie McPherson, a friend of both Prince Oliver and Madame Hortense. Travis: It is the first time we’re seeing one of Lady Evie’s creations on someone else and it is a big moment to have your design debut! From what we can see, I’m loving the sliver accents and the amazing lace work that came from the Royal School of Needlework. Stéphane:  It is also quite amazing that the place where Madame spent her last night as a single woman was named after Aubigny, the single town that the old kings of Francesim gave to a Scottish soldier as thanks for help in war. The historic nature of this alliance is not lost on anyone today!
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Travis: And we are seeing the first images of Prince Oliver and his best man, Captain Callen MacDonald. The two servicemen are passing the Cenotaph, the kingdom’s war memorial. Stéphane: Why would Prince Oliver choose a non-family member to be his witness today? Travis: Excellent question! Captain MacDonald or Lord Callen has been Prince Oliver’s best friend since they were wee tots. Granted, Prince Oliver could’ve picked his cousin Prince Magnus but I have it on good authority that Prince Magnus stepped back saying that the best friends should do this together.
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Stéphane: Speaking of Prince Magnus, he is now arriving. He is escorting his grandmother Dowager Queen Victoria or the Queen Mum and wearing the uniform of the Blues and Royals which Prince Oliver was seen in at the coronation! Travis: Yes! The cousins share this unit association and it is quite a dashing uniform. With the Queen Mum and Prince Magnus is Prince Dominic who is also sporting a kilt today! Stéphane: So two kilts? Travis [laughing]: Yes! Prince Dominic is the middle child of the Duke and Duchess of Argyll who are now also arriving!
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Stéphane: I find it bold that the Duchess has gone for a bare face today. Meanwhile, HRH the Duke of Argyll is looking distinguished sporting quite a lovely beard. Travis: I gotta say, the Stuarts do very well with their beard growth!
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Travis: Speaking of Uncles, HIH Imperial Prince Henri of the French and his family have arrived to the cathedral with two of his four daughters, meaning that two are most likely in the bridal party. Stéphane: The two daughters, TIH Princesses Amelie and Armance, were definitely on my short list for the bridal party so it is not a surprise. Unlike Princess Olympia’s interesting choice of dress color.
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Stéphane: More key players are making their arrival such as Pope Gregorious XIX who will be the main celebrant today. The Holy Father will be joined by several of the Scots esteemed clergymen such as Cardinal McGregor who is the Archbishop of Edinburgh, Cardinal MacMillian the Archbishop of the Isle of Sky, Bishop McClellan of Rothsey, and Father Andrew Carter who is today’s homilist. Travis: It is quite a swath of clergy doing a once in a life time thing, serving with the Pope. Father Carter especially, quite an honor for this humble paratrooper chaplain.
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Travis: And we are seeing that Madame Hortense and her brother, Emperor Napoleon V, have now reached the Royal Mile with their French guard of honor. Stéphane, who are this guard and why is it significant they’re here? Stéphane: Excellent Question! It is the elite cavalry corps known as the Cent-Gardes, re-established by Napoleon IV as his personal protectors.The French guard has it's historical roots in the Scottish-French relationship that goes back to the 13th century with the Auld Alliance. They are Scots cavalry men who are at least 5'11" who are actively serving with the Scots military.
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Travis: They are very much like the Pope's Swiss Guard but for the French no? Stéphane [laughing]: That is one way to put it! it is very fitting that they are escorting Madame Hortense on her way to marry into the Scots Royal family, to her own Scottish Cavalryman. Travis: It is very poetic, very romantic and seemingly very on brand for this couple! We are getting a closer look into the carriage at the siblings, an emotional day for them I am sure. But back here at the cathedral, I am hearing the screams of the crowd through the windows. That can only mean one thing.
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Stéphane: The arrival of HRH Prince Oliver of the Scots, Duke of Rothsey and his best man, Lord Callen MacDonald. I must say, the screaming is quite intense. Travis: It must be from all the hearts of young women in Scots breaking as Prince Oliver is soon to be officially, religiously, and legally off the market. Stéphane: As long as those are the only hearts he breaks young Travis [Travis laughs] he is looking very regal in his kilt!
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Stéphane: Inside the cathedral we see that Empress Charlotte and Madame Mere are greeting the Scottish cardinals. This is very different than the wedding of Emperor Napoleon V, where there was a legal ceremony and then the nuptial mass. Travis: Indeed it is Stéphane. In Scots for those who are religious, the religious component takes precedence over the legal portion where in Francesim there seems to be a preference to the legal portion. I am loving the shades of blue on the Empress and Madame Mere.
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Travis: Further up in the nave, we see that Prince Oliver is making his rounds with the royal guests, currently in a deep conversation with his aunt and uncle. Stéphane: perhaps some advice is being shared? Travis: Maybe or a funny story to relax the groom.
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Stéphane: And outside, His Majesty King Alexander III and queen Marie Christine have arrived at Saint Andrews to fanfare. His Majesty is looking very sleek in his black uniform of the Royal Aberdeen Regiment while the Queen is looking beautiful in red.Travis: They both look every inch the proud parents.
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Stéphane: And now the arrival of the bridal party! The group consists of HIH Princess Armance of Francesim and Lady Mackenzie MacDonald as bridesmaids; HRH Prince Andrew of Argyll, HRH Prince Lenerd of the Ionian Union, and Mr. Charles Everett, son of the King’s private secretary, as pages; and HIH Princess Amelie of Francesim, the maid of honor. Travis:  An illustrious crew filled with people who are dear to the couple. Stephane: And the uniforms of the pages? Travis: That is the regency era uniform of the King’s Highlanders uniform. And I believe we are zooming into get a better shot
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Stéphane: On Prince Lenerd no less! The cutest model for the uniform. Travis: It has only increased his cute factor! Anyway, the uniform shares some pieces with its modern counterpart, such as the dark green jacket, the tartan pattern, which is known as the Black Watch, an older name for the King’s Highlanders. Their tartan has become the standard tartan for the Scots military due to its history. And Stéphane, I do believe I am hearing more cheers
@empiredesimparte @simsroyallegacy
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sapphire-mage · 7 months ago
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FFXIV Tips for Collecting All The Yokai Watch Weapons
First, the big five:
SORT YOUR INVENTORY BEFORE YOU START FATE GRINDING! You're gonna get a lot of useless enemy drops, so sort your items so you can easily find and sell them.
Spend your seals! Little by little, you're going to amass a lot of seals. Spend them on something! Buy a ton of Ventures. Or Material Containers: Even if you get a minion you already have, you can give them to friends.
Party up! Get friends; Invite complete strangers who are doing the FATES at the same time as you; Set up a Party Finder; If someone invites you to a party, ACCEPT! Just note: Even with a party, you need to get a sliver of enmity to get credit for the FATE.
YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GET GOLD MEDAL ON THE FATE TO GET A LEGENDARY MEDAL! I've gotten so many on bronze and silver ratings.
TAKE YOUR TIME! It sounds like the event is lasting until the preparation of 7.0. You don't have to get all 17 weapons in one day. Maybe do 1-2 a day. For the sake of your sanity.
MORE STUFF BELOW
-Best classes: Blue Mage (you probably see why already), Tanks (enmity grants FATE credit), healers (same as Tank, but you can also heal party members)
-Recommended Blue Mage Abilities: Any ARR Primal Spells (instant damage, securing FATE credit), any AoE spells (cooldown or otherwise, just to get some AoE damage), Goblin Punch (instant attack, giving you sneaky FATE credit), Missile (see next tip)
-Missile is a Blue Mage spell that can reduce the HP of certain enemies by 50%, including SOME (some might be immune) FATE bosses. This is extremely handy and speeds up FATEs, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WAIT A SECOND! Let people do SOME DAMAGE before you rip them a new one!
-Bring healing. You never know. Healing abilities/spells, healing items, support chocobo, healing party member.
-Take note: If you have a map preference, you can just stay there and cycle between the different minions who grant you Legendary Medals there. (ie: I stayed at Western La Noscea and grinded Komasan, Komajiro, and Hovernyan back to back)
-BEST GRIND LOCATIONS:
Western La Noscea: Great teleport options, FATEs spawn RAPIDLY
Central Shroud: Crystal is in the center of the map, allows for easy teleport and travel
South Shroud: Frequent FATEs, two great teleport options
North Shroud: Same as Central Shroud
East Shroud and Middle La Noscea: Not great, but they'll be the easiest to travel for Shogunyan and USApyon
Azim Steppe: Great teleport options for Enma and Demona grinding
Dravanian Forelands: Best for Lord Anata and Zazel, cause every other HW map location is massive and a nightmare.
HAPPY GRINDING!
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rikeijo · 1 day ago
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Today’s translation #822
Animage 2016/12, Toyonaga Toshiyuki x Uchiyama Kouki interview
Part 5.
-- I see! Yuuri's got a very good score at Chugoku-Shikoku-Kyushu Regional Championships and then, as his short program during China Cup, he showed us a performance that was so good that it was deemed to be 'the best he every did'.
Uchiyama: But the competition in Canada that Yurio participated in, was only mentioned in narration like, 'JJ (Jean-Jacques Leroy) won the competition' (laugh).
Toyonaga: (laugh)
-- But actually, the competition in Canada was Yurio's first competition in senior division, and it surely was a gorgeous debut, as all of sudden, Yurio's got a sliver medal?
Uchiyama: That's right! He even placed on the podium, so it was a very good result! But after all that happened, he didn't see Victor or Yuuri even once.
Toyonaga: It doesn't seem like the two of them think a lot about how Yurio's doing either.
Uchiyama: Of course, they probably focus on what is in front of their own eyes - the next competition they are going to participate in.
Toyonaga: And so, Yurio is in this state, that even though he's far far away, he gets agitated when he sees news about Yuuri once in a while, like 'Just wait there! You pig bastard!' (laugh).
Uchiyama: Yeah, that's how it feels. It's a very lonely story....
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just-ray · 3 months ago
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Most unreal irish politics things. Will reblog if I find more.
-sinn féin harmonica
-simon harris wet wipes
-"ohohoh, that's a great line, but unfortunately this graph here shows you're WRONG. YOU'RE WRONG, YOU'RE WRONG, YOU'RE WRONG! LOOK at the increase in social housing since MY party came into office. You are YET AGAIN WRONG. If there- if there was- if a contest in fluency and verbosity was an Olympic sport, you would certainly win a gold medal, but it won't build houses." (Quote taken from leaders questions)
-"I don't need you to Mary-Lou-Splain to me" (Quote taken from leaders questions)
-HEALTH MINISTER (now the taoiseach) references covid 19 as "the nineteenth coronavirus" (taken from radio interview)
-apologises on twitter saying he made "an awful booboo" (taken from twitter)
-Minister falls asleep in the Dáil
-Minister speaks out against short haul flights. Takes one comically soon afterwards.
-Taoiseach explains that chocolate is better out of the fridge
-Opposition Leader makes a tiktok video about struggling to play pool
-Taoiseach makes a tiktok video saying he has "a bone to pick with Taylor Swift"
-Tánaiste slanders ticket master
-Governemnt somehow get's conned out of more than a quarter of a million for a bike shed.
-The oppositions "simonopoly" video campaigning against Fine Gael by editing the Taoiseach onto the Monopoly man
-this 🔽
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-the alan Kelly rap
-"ya ain't seen nothin yet" (taken from interview)
-the fact that the opposition and government genuinely team up whenever anything goes really REALLY badly wrong (which gives me a sliver of hope for this country ngl)
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-michael healy rae and the cataracts thing
-opposition leader accusing the Tánaiste of mansplaining
-Eamon ryan pulling his house rubbish out of a bag and showing it off in the dáil
-the People Before Profit leader dabbing in the Dáil
-Past Taoiseach and Hulk Hogan
-opposition leader doing the macarena on tiktok
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jmagnabo92 · 2 months ago
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First Prince Week 2024 - Day 2 - New Year's Gold
@thebrownstone
Prompt - Silver/Gold
***
“Do you think I could win a gold medal in dick sucking?”
Henry nearly chokes on his drink that he’s holding in his free hand (tea to warm him up) while he’s holding hands with Alex on their walk.
or
A conversation about dick sucking leads to the happiest New Years, yet.
AO3
***
“Do you think I could win a gold medal in dick sucking?”
Henry nearly chokes on his drink that he’s holding in his free hand (tea to warm him up) while he’s holding hands with Alex on their walk. 
Despite being with Alex for five years, the man still manages to surprise him with the way his brain works.  They been out on perfectly normal date, and walking home in the brisk winter air, chatting about Alex’s desire to stay home rather than go out and party tonight (they had completely forgone the White House Trio’s New Year’s Eve party the same year that they’d been forced out because Alex hadn’t wanted any more attention and it stuck for Ellen’s second term).  Still, they’d been invited to Pez’s party (he’s promised that he would take on the attention just to have his best mate and Alex there), but they hadn’t decided if they were attending as of dinner tonight.
“How… how did that thought arrive from our discussion on if we’re going to the party tonight or not?”
Alex hums.  “Well, I was thinking… you’ve had a lot of men suck your dick, and I was just wondering if I’ve gone from adequate to gold medalist?”
He’s still uncertain about how that thought had come up in his head from discussion about a party in which none of the men Henry’s shagged would be invited, but he does note that his teasing about being adequate the first time he’d even blown someone is clearly on his mind.
“Alex, dear, I may have had many a man suck my dick, but none of them could ever compare to you,” he says, sincerely as they reach their front door and he pulls out their keys.
“See now, you had a chance to say something like ‘of course you’re a gold medalist, sweetheart’, and then, I would say that I’d rather be sliver because then I’d match your ring and then –”
“Ring?” Henry asks, suddenly turning back to Alex so see him down on one knee.  There’s a ring box open in his gloved hands with a gorgeous silver ring inside… clearly an engagement ring. 
“I’ve been trying to ask you all night, but I couldn’t think of the best way to do it –”
“– so you thought bringing up your dick sucking abilities would be an excellent lead-in?”
“I mean – yeah.  I’ll be sucking your dick forever if you say yes, baby.”
Henry chuckles, barely keeping himself from nodding yes, and manages, “You haven’t asked yet.”
Alex grins.  “Henry, baby, you changed my life for the better five years ago with a magical kiss in the snow on New Year’s Ever, well, technically five minutes into New Year’s Day, I love you so much and I wanna change your life for the better, too.  So will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”
“Absolutely, yes!”
Henry lets his thermos fall to the ground as he pulls Alex to his feet and kisses him passionately. 
A magical kiss in the snow on New Year’s Eve is definitely everything he needed tonight. 
He pulls back slightly as Alex pulls off his glove to place the ring on his finger.  It looks perfect. 
Henry smiles and pulls a box out of his coat.  “I, too, have been plotting to propose, but you just had to go and beat me.”
“Of course, baby,” Alex says, grinning. 
“So, not to be outdone…”  Henry kneels on the stoop of their home, the home that he never believed that he would ever get to have with the man of his dreams and opens the box.  “… Alex, while I do happen to think you have gold-medalist dick sucking abilities that I would enjoy for the rest of my life, I love you for so many other reasons, including that you have given me the courage to be out and proud and do something with my life that I could be proud of and happy with, rather than something I would look back on and regret.  You’ve been a light in my life that I never knew I needed, and I would definitely want nothing more for you to make me the happiest man alive by marrying me.  Will you marry me, love?”
“Yes.  Yes, absolutely, yes,” Alex says, excitedly.  Repeating Henry’s actions of pulling Henry to his feet and kissing him passionately. 
This kiss takes a little bit longer break apart and they’re panting a little. 
Henry pulls off Alex’s left glove and slips the ring onto his finger.  He’s lucky he chose silver as well since their rings actually match. 
“Perfect, right where it belongs.”
They both smile down at their rings for a second before the wind picks up around them.
“Well, love, I don’t know about you, but I’d like to go inside and celebrate with my gold-medal in dick sucking fiancé and skip the party tonight, just celebrate me and you.”
Alex is grinning.  “Absolutely, agree.”
***
It’s hours later when the clock strikes midnight.  Henry and Alex are all cuddled up in bed, legs tangled together, admiring each other and their rings.  Kissing lazily when admiring isn’t enough, and if he’s honest, Henry can’t believe that he’s going into 2024 with a male fiancé and someone he actually loves rather than some woman that his Gran wanted… but here he is, happy and in love with the man of his dreams. 
“I love you so much, sweetheart,” Henry hums against his lips.
“Love you, too, baby, now and forever.  Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year.”
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goldenfreddys · 3 months ago
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september '04, cont.—lucky number 5
It was dark, now, beyond the kitchen window- pitch black slivers peeking through the half-open blinds. Jeremy blinked, then looked at the sink. There was something he was in the kitchen to do, but he'd completely forgotten in the time it took to walk there.
He took a glance at his watch out of instinct, then lowered his wrist without looking at the time. He took a breath and tried to focus- it was dark out, which meant he had to get ready for work. He had his pants on, which seemed to be a solid start. Wandering to the bedroom, he started sorting out what was left of the ‘getting ready for work’ routine. He had a pair of socks on Nadia’s bed. His purple button-up (courtesy of Fazbear Entertainment) was hanging on the knob of a dresser drawer. He leaned in to smell it, then pulled back and grimaced. Right.
He heard Nadia throw open the front door, then checked his watch again. 11:39 pm.
“Sorry, babe! The wildest thing happened earlier- I'll tell you in the car! Come on, come on, come on!”
Over the course of the short drive to Freddy’s, Jeremy remembered about seven different things he'd forgotten. His water, a fresh nicotine patch, his keys and wallet… There wasn't time to go back. Instead, he tried to stay dialed in on Nadia as she chattered about her day.
“... I can't believe I fell for the ghost hitchhiker thing! I'm supposed to be smarter than that, but they were kids and I- like, I didn't want, like, some fuckin’ weirdo picking ‘em up instead, right?”
Jeremy hummed, “I dunno, maybe you’re friends now.”
He recalled the various reported hauntings he'd researched. In particular, a spirit called the Bell Witch had supposedly plucked a boy from the cave crevice he’d gotten stuck in, then lectured him for being reckless. Her origin, of course, was something about an Indian burial ground—those sorts of explanations always fell apart in Plymouth. His mom said the whole damn county was a mass grave.
“Dude, I hope.” Nadia huffed as she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel.
Mike stood at the doors of the Pizzeria with his arms crossed, glaring as Jeremy approached.
“The fuck took so long, kid? Get in here.” Mike grabbed his shoulder and pushed him inside.
Jeremy found himself speaking before he had time to structure his thoughts, “Woah hey, dial it back, asshole.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said um, d-uh, dial it back? Sorry, I-I just… Don't do that.”
Mike went quiet for a second as they speed walked to the office and he felt a dull pang of impending doom trying to surface. Despite the overwhelming certainty that something very bad was about to happen, Jeremy felt oddly distant, almost calm.
“Kid, are you… Alright?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. Kinda like a babbling brook,” he nodded, trying not to look too disoriented, “like, with a dead body in it.”
Bodies decomposed quickly in forests and waterways, he thought. People disappeared lots along the highways, hikers who crawled into caves and got injured. It was important to keep the boring truth in mind about that kind of thing.
“Fuck me, you're high, aren't you?” Mike’s voice pulled Jeremy from his thoughts, along with a bright light being waved in his eyes. Mike had sat him down in the office chair while he was pondering decomposition. He heard him flick the flashlight off and sigh.
“Alright, fine. Just… Keep the bear head on, stay quiet and watch the music box.”
Wordlessly, Jeremy did as he was told. Though it still smelled awful, it seemed to ground him in the present. The image of Bonnie’s faceless head flickered in the back of his mind. He swallowed, blinking a few times in an attempt to regain his bearings.
“... How are they still functional? The- the old ones.”
“Look, I know it's crazy, but they're genuinely haunted. It’s the only explanation I’ve got.”
Mike reached over to flip the security feed to the stage, then lit up one of the vents.
“Oh no, that sucks.” Jeremy tried to sound serious, though he felt like he'd just won a gold medal at the Olympics— Haunted!
Some of the dread eased off his chest as he mulled over the concept.
“Like, the ghosts wanna kill everyone?” Jeremy asked, “Uh, h-how many other people have worked nights? Just you?”
Mike tensed, barking back, “You don’t know what you're talking about. These-these things– ghosts or whatever, they’ve changed over the years. Sure, maybe I do deserve to rot in hell, but the distinction between me and whoever sits at this desk doesn't seem to—”
Heavy footsteps.
An animatronic began speaking at the end of the hall. Mike shone the flashlight down to get a look, though the light hardly seemed to reach it.
“Uh oh! Looks like someone had a boo-boo!”
Toy Freddy stood facing to one side of the hall. Mike shifted the beam of light to where the bear fixed his gaze, though it looked to be empty space.
“Hello? MR. LECLAIR, are you here?” Toy Freddy asked, suddenly much closer to the office, “Let’s see here… LECLAIR, THOMAS is no longer an employee at Fazbear Entertainment. Overnight Security is now the duty of FITZGERALD, JEREMIAH.”
Mike had donned the Foxy head, like the night before. He was still, almost statuesque if not for his shallow, whistling breaths.
Toy Freddy stepped into the office, stiffly rotating his head from side to side.
“Uh oh! Not here! Let’s keep looking, okay kiddo?”
The animatronic stomped off again, offering to play a ‘patented jingle’ for his unseen companion.
Mike shuddered once the coast was clear, again.
“Any more questions?” he asked, bitterly.
Jeremy let his gaze fall to his hands. He started idly fidgeting with his fingers as he pieced his thoughts together— Mike seemed defensive about whatever was haunting the animatronics, almost guilty.
It was hard to breathe. The animatronic head was heavy, rank and hot. Jeremy felt a lump in his throat.
“So what’s your game, Michael? Where are you in this?” Jeremy started, voice even and quiet, “People clock in, n’ nobody ever sees them again. Tell scary stories, get antsy when pressed for details.”
Mike took a long moment to breathe and swallow nervously before continuing, “I swear to god, I'm not fucking around with this. Back in ‘95, some kids went missing-”
“In ‘94.”
The office fell eerily silent. Jeremy stood, slowly backing away from the desk. The lights flickered and pulsed above them, casting Mike in harsh shadows that drowned out his features under the Foxy mask. He took a few shallow breaths, watching Mike rise from the chair with the cadence of a beat-up ventriloquist's dummy. His thin, bruised fingers curled around the flashlight, with his other hand slowly coming to rest on a taser holster.
Jeremy turned, ripping off the Freddy head and throwing it at Mike before he scrambled away. Cacophony erupted through the overhead speakers as he ran— the tinny notes of Pop Goes the Weasel blared, almost barely audible over a chorus of static and distortion. He skidded around the corner, towards the main party room. Too many tables and chairs to make a clean break to the exit, given his current coordination abilities were barely keeping him on his feet. He glanced back at the flashlight beam grazing the far wall as Mike pursued him.
Jeremy found himself sprinting towards the stage, towards the heavy velvet curtains concealing the wing. He spotted the new Bonnie animatronic on stage in the corner of his eye. Immediately, the beat of a familiar disco track joined the deafening noise as he scrambled for a place to hide backstage.
Mike’s footfalls came to a halt in the distance, followed by a mumbled string of particularly creative expletives. Despite the adrenaline, Jeremy still felt distant and spacy. Almost as though watching a found-footage indie horror movie, rather than participating in one. Towards the stage, some stairs led up to what seemed to be a dressing room. In the opposite direction, warm light spilled from a door, left slightly ajar.
“If we’re not back by the time your mom’s here, just go.” Cassidy told him, quietly. Where Gabriel was concerned with finding the younger kids out of a natural sense of responsibility, Cass seemed really serious. Almost final.
“... Kay, Sammy? I mean it. We’ll catch up later, I promise.”
The parts and service room. Jeremy recognized it from the camera feed, though now it was fully lit. The battered old iterations of Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy were standing expectantly in a loose half-circle around an empty suit. They didn’t respond to his presence. Their gaze remained fixed on the door.
“No, no, no, no! Fuck!” Mike spat, thrashing vainly as the puppet dragged him inside by the ankle. It spun him around, holding him up over the empty suit like a pissed off cat. Jeremy’s focus started slipping again. He wobbled in place, watching as Mike stopped thrashing and went slack in the puppets arms. The man’s gaze flitted over to Jeremy. He scanned the room. Strange, unintelligible music. Various animals bathed in yellow light. Lithe, spindly creature dangling something aloft. The light flickered and dimmed, spotlighting Mike as he hung limply in the puppet’s grasp.
Jeremy took a breath and announced in a deep voice, “Simbaaa…”
The puppet quirked its head to the side to look at Jeremy as he burst out laughing at his own joke. It lowered Mike to the ground beside the suit and glanced quizzically between the two guards.
Foxy’s jaw fell open, then whipped his head back as his speakers crackled out a laugh of his own, while Bonnie put their hand on their hip and bowed their head exasperatedly.
“Sorry, sorry. It's uh… It's super late though, innet?” Jeremy yawned and gestured to Foxy and Chica, “Not to be a buzzkill but ‘m pretty sure it's way past bedtime for you two.”
Freddy placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, nodding in agreement. Jeremy closed his eyes and rubbed his nose, then hummed. God, he was tired.
“... Kid?”
Jeremy kept his eyes shut, once again wavering while he stood as he started to drift off.
“Jeremy?!” Mike snapped with a bit more urgency.
He flinched and opened his eyes, “What?”
Mike had gotten to his feet and backed up to the wall beside the door, “My father. Did— I've seen you with him. Shit, I should've known. Ain’t that fuckin’ dandy– you got me, kid! Showtime’s over… Now tell me who the hell you think you are.”
Good question, Jeremy thought. Mike looked to have the patience of a rabid dog with nowhere to run, and giving another of his classic non-answers wasn't gonna help. Grimacing, he groggily recalled a certain piece of prose- an interlude, maybe. A slow melody looping grimly beneath the singer’s monologue, one that had always made him feel sick to his stomach. More often than not, he listened to it anyway; at three in the morning on a school night, blasting through his broken headphones on loop, scratching that itch in his brain raw.
He swore he saw little outlines in the shadows cast across the floor, now. A little girl with braided pigtails peeked, shyly, from behind Chica’s silhouette.
“… Cassidy Zhang, the birthday girl…”
Bonnie’s rusted joints squealed as they turned to stare at him. Their stature seemed to soften with something akin to relief.
“Fritz and Susie Sullivan, the two youngest.”
Foxy struck a heroic pose while Chica bowed in the best approximation of a curtsy her battered chassis would allow.
“Gabriel Carter-Reed! Best known for his sunny smile…”
Finally, the bear’s eyes lit up with a soft thunk.
“So I guess that makes me… Lucky… Number… Five.”
Jeremy’s head swam as he tried to get the last few words out. He distantly felt himself lose balance, ears ringing with a thousand chimes as he crashed to the floor.
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bobcatmoran · 4 months ago
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Ok, good job, NBC, with the trivia about how each medal will have a tiny sliver of the Eiffel Tower from recent refurbs. More of that, please.
Oh wow, the bells of Notre Dame, ringing out again for the first time since the fire.
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roseromeroredranger · 10 months ago
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Shattered Bonds
The room was dimly lit, heavy with the weight of defeat. Shubman Gill, disheveled and lost, found solace in the corner of his room, his anguish palpable. Silent tears streamed down his face as he replayed the moment of his dismissal in his mind, the four runs that felt like an insurmountable mountain of failure.
The post-match ceremony, usually filled with jubilant cheers and celebrations, now stood in stark contrast — a somber affair where the clinking of medals felt like a distant echo. Shubman, curled up, his phone switched off to shut out the outside world, was drowning in the depths of his own despair.
"Hum match mere vajhse hare hai..." he whispered to himself, the weight of responsibility pressing on him like an unbearable burden. The room echoed with the haunting silence of his thoughts.
Amidst the heavy atmosphere, the door creaked open, casting a sliver of light into the room. A shadowy figure entered, and the air shifted. Ishan Kishan, recognizing the depth of Shubman's pain, sat down in front of him, his presence both comforting and understanding.
"Shub," Ishan's voice, deep and soothing, cut through the silence. Shubman looked up, his eyes red and puffy, mirroring the emotions that lay beneath the surface.
"Ishan...hum haar gye," Shubman uttered, the words catching in his throat. The admission hung heavy in the room, a shared understanding of the collective agony that enveloped them.
In that moment of vulnerability, Ishan reached out, placing a hand on Shubman's shoulder. No words were spoken, but the touch conveyed a silent promise of support and shared pain. The room, though still heavy with defeat, now held a glimmer of connection.
As they sat in the dimly lit room, the silence between them became a bridge for unspoken emotions. It was a moment of shared grief, an acknowledgment that victories and losses were woven into the fabric of their journey. And in that shared vulnerability, the seeds of resilience and camaraderie were sown, promising a way forward from the darkness of defeat.
The room echoed with the intensity of Shubman's emotions, as Ishan's comforting touch failed to immediately quell the storm raging within him. Shubman, still raw from the loss and consumed by his own self-doubt, pushed Ishan's hand away.
"Ishan, you won't understand. You weren't out there on the field," Shubman's voice quivered with a mixture of frustration and pain. His eyes bore into Ishan's, searching for a comprehension that felt elusive.
Ishan, undeterred, maintained his gaze, a silent invitation for Shubman to share his burden. "Shub, I might not have played in the eleven, but that doesn't mean I can't understand what it's like to yearn for victory," Ishan spoke with a calm determination, his empathy unyielding.
But Shubman, caught in the grip of his own turmoil, erupted in a burst of pent-up emotions. "You don't know what it's like to carry the weight of a million expectations, to be in the playing eleven and still fall short. You weren't there when I needed you the most," Shubman's words cut through the air, carrying the sharp sting of bitterness.
Ishan, sensing the escalating tension, chose his words carefully. "Shub, I might not have been on the field with you, but I've seen the sacrifices, the hard work. We're in this together."
The argument unfolded like a tempest, the air thick with charged emotions. Shubman's frustration collided with Ishan's attempt at understanding, creating a volatile atmosphere. Voices rose, each word a weapon in the battlefield of emotions.
"I don't need your sympathy, Ishan! I needed a win!" Shubman's voice reverberated, the echo of unfulfilled dreams resonating in the room.
In the heat of the moment, Ishan's patience reached its limit. "You think you're the only one who wanted to win? We all did! But blaming each other won't change the outcome. We have to rise above this together."
The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a battleground. The heated exchange continued, the echoes of frustration bouncing off the walls. Yet, within the clash of words, there lingered a desperate plea for understanding, a shared pain that bridged the gap between them.
As the argument reached its crescendo, a heavy silence settled, leaving both players breathless. In that quiet aftermath, they stood on the precipice of reconciliation, the emotional tempest subsiding, paving the way for a deeper understanding to emerge.
The room crackled with tension as Shubman's frustration reached a boiling point. "Ishan, just leave me alone! You don't get it. I blame you for this. Your presence, or lack thereof, affected my performance out there," Shubman's accusation hung heavily in the charged atmosphere.
Ishan's expression hardened, hurt flickering in his eyes. "Blame me? Shub, don't act like I'm the reason for your struggles. You were out there on the field, not me. Own up to your mistakes instead of pointing fingers."
Shubman's eyes flashed with anger. "Own up? You don't understand the pressure of being in the playing eleven. You were sitting comfortably on the bench, while I faced the heat. Your absence on the field felt like a void I couldn't fill."
Ishan, feeling the weight of Shubman's words, shot back, "And you think I don't feel the weight of not being there when the team needed me? You're not the only one who wanted to win. We all did, and we all feel the sting of defeat."
The verbal sparring intensified, each word a sharp arrow aimed at the other's vulnerabilities. The room, once a refuge, became an arena for their heated exchange.
"You're quick to blame, Shub, but maybe if you had performed better in the final, we wouldn't be having this conversation!" Ishan's retort cut through the air, the accusation hanging between them like a heavy fog.
Shubman, his face contorted with a mix of anger and hurt, shot back, "Oh, like you're the epitome of success! Your absence didn't make a difference in the final, and your presence wouldn't have changed the result. We lost, and we all played a part in it."
The words hung in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of shared failure. The room, now a battleground of conflicting emotions, echoed with the residue of their heated exchange. In that moment, the friendship that had weathered triumphs and defeats teetered on the edge, caught in the crossfire of blame and frustration.
The tension in the room was palpable as Shubman's frustration boiled over, his emotions spilling out in a torrent of hurtful words. "Ishan, you're my bad luck," he lashed out, his voice tinged with bitterness and resentment. "I hate you!"
Ishan's heart plummeted at Shubman's words, his breath catching in his throat as if he had been physically struck. His eyes widened in disbelief, betraying the pain that welled up inside him. For a moment, he stood frozen, the weight of Shubman's accusation crushing him with its cruel honesty.
Shubman watched Ishan's reaction with a pang of regret, his own anger dissipating in the face of his friend's visible anguish. But before he could retract his words, Ishan turned away, his shoulders hunched in defeat. With each step he took towards the door, the distance between them widened, an unspoken chasm of hurt and betrayal.
Alone in the wake of Ishan's departure, Shubman's resolve crumbled, replaced by a flood of remorse. Tears welled up in his eyes as he sank to the floor, the weight of his own harsh words crushing him with their brutal truth. "Ishan, wait," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, but it was too late.
Outside, Ishan walked with purpose, his steps echoing in the empty corridor like a dirge for their shattered friendship. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, his emotions laid bare for the world to see. The pain of Shubman's betrayal cut deep, leaving behind a raw wound that throbbed with every beat of his broken heart.
Back in their room, Shubman's sobs filled the silence, a haunting lament for the friendship he had so callously discarded. "I'm sorry, Ishan," he whispered into the empty space, his voice choked with regret. But the words fell on deaf ears, lost in the vast expanse of their fractured bond.
As Shubman's harsh words echoed in the room, Ishan felt a surge of pain that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. His eyes, once filled with warmth and camaraderie, now reflected a profound hurt as he turned away, the weight of Shubman's accusations sinking deep into his soul.
With measured steps, Ishan walked out of the room, his expression a mask of emotional numbness. The corridor seemed endless, stretching before him like an abyss of unanswered questions. As he made his way to the terrace, he whispered to himself, a voice barely audible above the echoes of their shattered friendship.
"I can't hate you, Shubie," Ishan murmured, his voice filled with a mix of anguish and resignation. Each step felt heavy, burdened not just by the weight of Shubman's accusations, but also by the unspoken truth that lingered between them. He couldn't bring himself to hate the one person he had held close to his heart.
On the terrace, Ishan stood alone, the city lights below flickering like distant stars. The emotional turmoil within him finally broke through the stoic facade. Tears streamed down his face as he wrestled with the conflicting emotions of love and betrayal.
"I can't hate you," Ishan repeated, his voice breaking with the weight of his unspoken feelings. "Not when I love you, Shubie." The admission hung in the air, a fragile echo of the love he had kept hidden for so long.
As the night sky witnessed Ishan's silent turmoil, the tears continued to flow. Love and hurt entwined in a complex dance, and the terrace became a sanctuary for a heartbroken soul, grappling with the pain of shattered expectations and the silent ache of unrequited love
As tears streamed down Shubman's cheeks, he felt the weight of his own words crushing him with an unbearable heaviness. The realization of what he had done, the pain he had inflicted on the person he cherished most, cut him to the core. His chest tightened with the agony of regret as he sank to the floor, the sobs wracking his body.
"I've hurt him," Shubman whispered to himself, his voice choked with emotion. Each syllable felt like a jagged shard of glass tearing at his already shattered heart. He had wounded not just a friend, but the person he loved more deeply than he had ever dared to admit.
The memory of Ishan's hurt expression haunted him, a ghostly reminder of his own betrayal. How could he have been so blind, so reckless with the feelings of the one person who meant everything to him? The tears continued to flow unabated, a silent plea for forgiveness that echoed in the empty room.
"I'm sorry, Ishan," Shubman cried out, his voice trembling with anguish. But the words felt hollow, insufficient to mend the rift he had created between them. He had let his own insecurities and frustrations drive a wedge between them, and now, he was paying the price.
As the weight of his remorse bore down upon him, Shubman longed for the chance to make things right, to bridge the chasm that had opened up between them. But deep down, he knew that some wounds ran too deep to be healed with mere words. All he could do was pray that Ishan would find it in his heart to forgive him, and that their bond would prove strong enough to withstand the storm.
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