#maybe more sad about his legacy dying but ya know

[djarinslover]

Fire Lord Ozai and pre-repentance arc Endeavor would get along great

Zuko and Shoto would be besties

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: I loved doing this one guys, and I hope you love it too. Might do a part 2 not sure yet, as always commissions are still open until 3/10 message if your interested- price list is here

- Okay this is the ship guys this is it-

- This is like Hades and Persephone type of love

- Everyone thinks that Regulus is someone to be feared because of his family, and everyone knows they dabble in the dark arts

- And everyone is so caught up in his family-

- In the estate, and those dark rumors, and their dark magic-

- That no one see’s Regulus is just a boy-

- A lonely boy with no real friends, not really

- It’s worse now that Sirius has been disowned

- He’s got people around him, boys who’s parents are aquatinted with his

- But they don’t really like him

- They just hang around because they want a flicker of his power

- Of that ancient dark magic everyone’s convinced he’s got

- Everyone except you that is

- You’re this beautiful, cheerful, precious thing

- He meets you when you’re lost, looking for the bathroom

- “Sorry to bother, but do you know if it’s down the hall?” You ask, he’s seen you a few times; in class, or around the corridors

- Playing gobstones with your ever growing group of friends

- He would be jealous if he wasn’t so surprised that you’re speaking to him at all, aren’t you a muggle born?

- Shouldn’t you be afraid of him?

- Just like everyone else?

- “It’s in the next hallway, that one is moaning Myrtle’s bathroom” he says quietly

- He watches you nod enthusiastically

- Looks like you’ll be on your way now, probably for the best, he wouldn’t want his parents to know -

- “Would you mind showing me?” You ask

- And it’s awfully pushy, but somehow Regulus can’t turn down that bright smile of yours

- You talk to him so easily, like you’re not afraid of him at all

- And it irritates him a little.

- Honestly, even the professors are a little afraid of him

- Everyone is

- So why aren’t you

- “Do you-“ he stops in the middle of the corridor, and you walk a few steps forward before realizing he’s not beside you anymore

- “Do you know who I am?”

- You must not, that’s the only explanation

- When you find out you’ll go as pale as the moon, and afterward you will regale the tale for your many friends, how you barley escaped the fearsome Regulus Black, right before he was about to curse you with his dark magic.

- But you only offer a quizzical expression and a smile

- “You’re Regulus Black”

- You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world

- It only makes him upset, but he doesn’t know why

- In fact since the moment he met you there’s been this burning irritation lingering in the back of his mind, and he just can’t seem to pin point why

- But regardless of the reason, it seems to be boiling over right now, in an empty corridor in the middle of the night

- “Shouldn’t you be afraid? I could curse you right here if I wanted”

- But the smile on your face remains

- “Maybe, but you won’t” you muse

- He laughs

- “Why because you think I’m afraid getting expelled?”

- Honestly his parents would welcome him with a feast if he came home for attacking a muggle born

- It would be a sign he wasn’t going to become like Sirius after all

- Because that’s the worst thing a person could be according to his parents-

- A blood traitor

- But instead of quaking in your shoes you flash him a quizzical smile

- “Nah, I just don’t think you’re that kind of person” you shrug

- The words echo in his mind long after you’ve said them

- And though he’s looked at you before

- He’s only really looking at you now, the easy way your lips curl into a smile, the sparkle in your eye, the glow around you-

- Like you’re made of sunlight

- Like you breathe life into all things wherever you go

- Like an ancient witch he heard of , heralded as the goddess of spring

- Like Persephone

- Ah, so that’s it

- It’s not that he hates you

- It’s that he envies you

- Because seeing how natural it is to see you do good, makes him hope -  it makes him yearn to be like that too

- To be more than an heir to his family’s dark legacy

- “I could be wrong though” you shrug, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve been right about something

- But still, you just don’t buy that the shy kid in front of you is some evil prodigy bent on destroying the world

- “No” Regulus’s voice cracks, and it’s soft, so soft you almost don’t hear it.

- But your turn to him, eyes jumping from one of the many paintings in the corridor to his pale face

- His eyes seem glossy as they look into yours, and it’s not just because of the light from the torches

- “No, I’m not that kind of person” he says with a bit more strength this time, and you grin

- And while you feel that there’s something important about the moment, you don’t realize the monumental significance this chance meeting holds for Regulus

- “Oh, we passed the washroom” he realizes after a moment, he was so caught up in talking to you he hadn’t realized

- “Ah, that’s okay I didn’t have to use the bathroom anyway” you say with a wave of your hand

- Huh?

- Noticing his expression you get a sheepish look on your face

- “Well I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but you’re always with people-“

- Yeah he’s sure his “friends” would give off an especially murderous aura if you ever tried to approach them

- “So when I saw an opportunity, I just took it” you admit with a slight laugh

- “I wanted to see what everyone was talking about when they mentioned the ‘Dark Prince’ “ there’s a teasing flint in your eye, and the nickname alone is enough to make him flush red

- “And what’s your assessment?” he manages to ask, a smile stretching across his face

- “Very underwhelming, I came expecting several hexes and a duel, and all I got was a cute boy with pretty eyes”

- This time he really does flush bright red, eyes trained on his shoes

- You laugh, you were mostly teasing

- But he is quite cute isn’t he?

- What’s everyone so scared of anyway? He’s like a shy kitten

- He watches you walk to a particular portrait, whispering a word before it swings open

- “Well see ya around Mr. Dark Prince” you say, sending a teasing wink his way

- Regulus is glowing red, even when he’s tucked in bed, in his common room hours after the meeting. the mere memory of the words you said send his heart racing again

- “They said I’m cute” he’ll recall with a goofy smile spreading across his face

- After that, things are brighter for Regulus

- You pull him into your group of friends, quite literally

- “I-I don’t think this is a good idea” he manages, catching the terrified glances of passerby’s as you tug him forward by his arm 

- What a sight you must be, the literal personification of spring pulling the Dark Prince  himself by the arm through the castle

- The aforementioned Dark Prince having a rosy tinge on his cheeks, which most of the other students misplace for Fury instead of what it actually is:

- Embarrassment with a healthy dash of attraction to aforementioned personification of spring

- “Nonsense, everyone’s dying to meet you Reg”

- When you use his nickname his flush darkens

- No ones ever called him that-

- No one except Sirius and Andromeda

- He likes the way it sounds coming from you

- And you’re right, your friends accept him into their fold immediately

- “You know any curses?” One of your friends asks, it’s in a jovial manner that anyone could tell they’re just teasing but Regulus flinches

- “No, not really” he admits, not any he’s good at anyway

- He did see his parents do something akin to a sacrifice when he was younger with an alter in the full moon, but he really wouldn’t know where to start with that

- “What about gobstones, you know the rules to that?”

- Regulus nods

- “Well lets play then!”

- Before he knows it, it’s like this was always his life

- Laughing with you in class, games of gobstones with your friends and trips to Hogsmeade on the weekend

- Regulus didn’t know that he was yearning for this

- How often had he wished for something like this,

- A place that feels like it’s full of sunshine, where everyone feels accepted, and no one has to feel sad

- This is the happiest Regulus has ever been

- But all dreams must come to an end

- The end of the semester comes around, and he has to go home for Christmas vacation

- You’re standing side by side on the train platform waiting for the train, your trunk lying next to you

- “You’re not taking anything back with you?” You ask

- Regulus shrugs

- “There’s no point, everything I need is at the manse”

- You’ve always been a bit curious about what the Black manor is like

- Probably something grand, large library’s, they probably have one of those record players with the gold horn thing

- And a ballroom

- It probably makes Hogwarts look like a pile of dirt

- But the way Regulus’ face darkens when you ask him about it tells you that- yes they probably do have a ballroom, but there’s other things too, things that are far less pleasant 

- And when he starts talking about his home life, how it’s worse - lonelier- Now that Sirius is at the Potter’s all the time, and there’s no one around to stand between him and his parents

- He notices your heartbroken expression and rushes to comfort you

- “It’s not so bad, Mum’s got her tender moments every so often and-“

- “Regulus” you cut in, and the sound of his whole name leaving your mouth makes him stutter to a stop

- “You’re supposed to feel safe and loved all the time not just sometimes”

- It’s such a basic thing, but when Regulus hears this, he feels like he’s being allowed something

- He feels, for the first time, he’s allowed to be safe and happy

- He’s allowed to be good

- “Why don’t you come home with me for Christmas? It’s probably not as grand as you’re used to-“

- You fidget awkwardly, maybe it’s silly, the prince, Regulus Black, himself sitting on your worn sofa, holding yarn while one of your family member’s knits

- You can picture it though

- You can picture a big smile across his face, indulging the younger children in your extended family in their requests for piggyback rides and for him to participate in their games

- “I want to,” he says, really the fact that you’re offering is enough, more than he could ask for

- “But I can’t”

- And it’s the truth, after Sirius, he can’t make any mistakes, his family won’t stand for it

- He especially doesn’t want to think what would happen to you if they found out he had been spending all of his time with you, a muggle born

- He doesn’t want to think what curses they might inflict you with

- He doesn’t want you to ever be hurt because of him

- “You’ll write to me?” You say it with the fervor of a demand, and it makes a smile curl onto his mouth

- “Everyday” he promises

- And things are exactly as they always were at 12 Grimmauld Place, his mother is distant, only livening up when one of the other ladies shows up for tea

- His father is squirreled away in council meetings

- His cousins are no fun, not really, and Andromeda’s not around anymore since she ran off with Ted

- He likes Ted, though he would never admit it to his family

- Ted is a lot like you, someone with an infinite amount of kindness

- He wonders how they’re doing

- He wonders how Sirius is doing

- He’s probably happy, he always looked happy when he was with his friends

- And so- with a picture of you discreetly kept on his desk, he writes three sets of letters

- The first is for you, to assure you he’s fine, and live vicariously through your spring, through your lovely Christmas moments and imagine himself there too. 

- The second for Andromeda, to ask if she’s doing alright, and to tell her he misses her

- And the last, is for Sirius

- Asking how he is, and hoping he’s well.

- And to say that he understands what Sirius was saying all those years, in their childhood and then into adolescence, Regulus understands now- 

- And he wants to be good too

[yewfallen]

the hitman of conote... and febail’s here too ig

it’s april fools day and so i feel like it’s as good a time as any to explain the guy i’m using in my icon in a meta comparing him to the actual golden archer boy featured on this blog. wow n look at u ruining the joke by making a serious post out of it smh smh anyway my thoughts on the two, comparing and contrasting them, are under the cut !!

for those who don’t know, the game genealogy of the holy war has a second generation system. febail is one of those second gen units and his existence hinges upon the idea that you get his mom, brigid, married off, but if you don’t then he will simply Never Be Born. to not screw the player out of missing a unit however, he’s replaced with a substitute character named asaello who shares the same class, the same recruitment time, but they are not the same stat-wise, growth-wise and even differ in conversations they can get. whilst they serve the same function, they are definitely different people.

both begin their journeys as assassins who take jobs to fund the orphans they both have taken under their care. however, asaello has an additional conversation that febail doesn’t get, seen below:

Person #1: “Uwaa!! The hitman from Conote has returned! Everybody, run for your life!” Asaello: “…” Person #2: “…” Asaello: “…Aren’t you going to run, too?” Person #2: “…You look sad.” Asaello: “Hmm? Yeah, maybe I am a little.” Person #2: “Here, take these! They’re berries we gathered in the woods. Cheer up! They’ll make you big and strong!” Asaello: “…Thanks.”

( FE4, Chapter 8, Village Visit with Asaello )

there’s a few things i find interesting with this conversation. first, asaello has a moniker whereas febail does not. given the fact that febail has major holy blood and is thus superhuman and can wield a legendary bow but asaello isn’t yet it’s still him who gets the epithet, i read this as asaello being the more skillful hitman between the two of them. febail has already won the genetic lottery and can brute force his way through jobs, plus his rare blood makes it so he’s coveted based upon that. asaello doesn’t have that advantage, but he still makes it to the same job and position that febail does.

this leads to my second point: asaello had to work for that a lot harder than febail did. he’s earned the title of ‘ hitman of conote ’ and his fearsome reputation is the consequence of his work. asaello has likely taken way more jobs and cannot escape his infamy. he possesses the same pure intentions and heart that febail does, but he arguably leads the sadder life, constantly living in a world where people don’t want to get close to him. they see him as a bringer of death, and for someone as nurturing as him, that likely turned his entire world upside down.

but there’s something else febail gets that asaello doesn’t. febail gets a life purpose.

both these young men are ones who have lost sight of what they ought to be doing in life, driven to their dark lifestyles due to circumstances out of their control. febail in canon finds out he’s secretly the son of a duchess and the only known living person who can wield his holy bow. he has a legacy, and he escapes his misguided life with a renewed sense of purpose: to find out more about his family and to live up to the legacy his bloodline has left behind. he brings this up in one of his conversations with his sister:

Febail: “Patty! Are you stealing again!?” Patty: “Yeah, just a little.” Febail: “Well, knock it off! I don’t care if it is coming from the enemy.” Patty: “You think I like doin’ this!? Do you have any idea just how low our army’s food supply is? That takes money!” Febail: “Yeah, well, I caught a guy making fun of you. He said, ‘It’s no wonder you became a thief with a pirate for a mum’. Of course, I floored the guy for saying that.” Patty: “Let ’em say whatever they want, Febail. It doesn’t bother me. ‘Cause now we know our mother was a warrior… and of Crusader Ulir descent to boot! I was so happy I started cryin’ when Lewyn told me that…” Febail: “Yeah, me too. With all we’ve gone through… growing up as orphans and all… I never would’ve dreamed our mother was of noble rank. Do you remember her at all?” Patty: “Nope, not one bit. How about you?” Febail: “Just a little… just that she was beautiful and very kind.” Patty: “…So she’s dead, then?” Febail: “I don’t know… But you and I are going to look for her when we’re all done here. …And then we can finally find out who our father is.”

( FE4, Chapter 9, Talk with Febail and Patty )

he has no proof that his mother is alive, but you get the sense he hopes and believes in this new dream more than anything, and FE5 implies febail would go on to spend the next seven years trying to make this dream come to fruition. i paste this entire conversation to contrast it with asaello’s equivalent conversation with his own sister:

Asaello: “Daisy! Are you stealing again!?” Daisy: “Yeah, just a little.” Asaello: “Well, knock it off! I don’t care if it’s coming from the enemy.” Daisy: “You think I like doin’ this!? Do you have any idea just how low our army’s food supply is? That takes money!” Asaello: “I know, but…” Daisy: “And the orphans back in Conote need money too, don’t they? I tell ya, I’m beat!” Asaello: “Yeah, it sounds like it. I wonder how they’re all doing…” Daisy: “You gotta pitch in, too! You better not be wasting all your arena prize money, Asaello!” Asaello: “Geez… I’ve gotta learn to keep my mouth shut…”

( FE4, Chapter 9, Talk with Asaello and Daisy )

here, the conversation basically starts almost exactly the same, but it soon enough diverges from febail’s and patty’s. where febail’s ends on a hopeful note, asaello’s ends nowhere near that. there’s no soul searching, only reprimanding him. you get the sense that febail’s truly begun to change as a person from the assassin who was willing to compromise his morals if it meant getting enough money to feed the kids under his care to now someone who knows what he wants to do with his life and is unwilling to compromise on that.

asaello is still stuck, clearly struggling with feeding the orphans and making ends meet. we get this revelation that he has a spending problem, perhaps even a gambling problem, and his gambling is not only deadly to his wallet but also to his own wellbeing. he gambles through the arena, and he’ll risk getting extremely hurt to win. up until he joined the army, he was alone because of his fearsome reputation as the hitman of conote. asaello also doesn’t have yewfelle, febail’s bow which allows febail to heal over time. asaello when he gets hurt must tend to his own wounds.

asaello is living in a life where he likely was driven to gamble because he wasn’t making enough money to help provide for those he cares about, and this was his desperate shot to multiply what money he did have. his story is bleak and revealed to be even bleaker at the same time febail’s is revealed to be turning around for the better.

this is the tragedy that is set with the substitute characters even besides asaello. they are all in similar positions or somehow comparable to these other characters, but because they weren’t born with the right blood in their veins, their life is a lot worse. their happy endings are typically at best bittersweet. asaello isn’t even the most depressing of the lot, but he certainly explores the nature of futility and making do, and this is even shown in the final chapter where everything is leading up to a great triumph after years of oppression and struggles across the whole continent.

Muirne: “Asaello… Look, I know how you feel, but you really should let them handle this.” Asaello: “Man, if only I had a little Crusader blood in me… I’d be tearin’ the enemy up!” Muirne: “Well, lots of us wish we were of Crusader lineage, but look on the bright side. We’ve been fortunate just to be able to come this far. Most commoners like us never get such a chance.” Asaello: “Commoners… Life’s so unfair. Everyone else around here is either of royalty or nobility.” Muirne: “Cheer up, Asaello! You’ve got a whole fan club of kids who are dying for you to get back!” Asaello: “Yeah, I guess I can’t complain. I do have you after all, too.” Muirne: “Hehehe… Asaello…”

( FE4, Endgame, Lovers Convo with Muirne and Asaello )

asaello and muirne have both been major fixtures of the army by this point, but they both tell themselves that they aren’t good enough. they can’t handle this final battle. you, the player, are inclined to agree with them, given the fact they underperform when compared to their canonical counterparts found in febail and lana. they especially underperform compared to the likes of seliph, ares, and other holy blooded people in the army beside them.

fe4 encourages you to be complicit in jugdral’s philosophy that holy blood makes someone better and that everyone else just will never live up to them. the game makes you feel that same sense of futility that the substitute characters do.

when asaello says if only he had a little crusader blood in him, he’d be able to tear the enemy up... he’s right. and that’s what hurts. his self-deprecation is founded. life is unfair. 

the only way for muirne and asaello to end their conversation happily is to accept the fact they will always remain subpar and that they must settle for happiness elsewhere. their happiness is in each other, in people far away from what they’re both involved in right now, and that’s okay.

we make it to the epilogue and we get to the final differences in character i can remark between asaello and febail. though they both had the same reasons for becoming assassins and ended up starting on the same path, their endings couldn’t be anymore different.

febail goes to yngvi in grannvale to chase his new purpose in life. he doesn’t even mention returning home to conote. febail tells seliph that he’ll pledge himself to him, but for asaello, the war’s end signals his return home and the final words he’ll ever say to seliph. this is the end of the road for them.

but their words afterwards with their respective lovers in the epilogue is interesting — well, at least to me anyway! and uh, there’s no real easy way for me to discuss this in a way that isn’t long as hell, so get ready for the misadventures of two boys love lives i guess.

every single febail lovers convo in the epilogue goes basically something like this, with slight word tweaking to try and fit whomever his lover (grabbed larcei+creidne for this just out of convenience of them being first) is:

Febail: “On this blessed bow, Lord Seliph, I swear I’ll be with you every step of the way!” Larcei/Creidne: “So what about what you swore to me?” Febail: “Huh? What did I promise you again?” Larcei/Creidne: “You’re kidding... You forgot ALREADY?” Febail: “Kidding, kidding! It was a joke! Sorry... Wow, that’s a terrifying look you’re giving me.” Larcei/Creidne: “Can you blame me for not being sure?”

( FE4, Epilogue, Seliph’s Grannvalian Talks - Febail )

compare this to the conversation asaello would have with this exact same pairing:

Larcei/Creidne: “Asaello... Leaving Seliph now’s gotta be pretty painful, huh? I know you’ll tough it out.” Asaello: “I know that, Larcei/Creidne. I'm not weak.” Larcei/Creidne: “What's with the attitude? I'm just worried about you!” Asaello: “Don't worry about me. I told you, I'm not weak. You couldn't possibly understand how I feel!” Larcei/Creidne: “Fine, then. I'm leaving you. You can go home by yourself!” Asaello: “Hold on, I didn't mean it... I'm sorry! Just don't leave me!” Larcei/Creidne: “Hmph...” Asaello: “Larcei/Creidne... Come on. I need you.” Larcei/Creidne: “Okay, but I need you to promise one thing: don't talk back to me ever again.” Asaello: “F-Fine... I promise...” Larcei/Creidne: “Then all is forgiven. Let's go.” Asaello: “Sigh... Can't live with her, can't live without her...”

( FE4, Epilogue, Seliph’s Thracian Talks - Asaello )

this is the second instance we see a personality distinction between febail and asaello. go back to their conversations with their sisters that i showed earlier and these traits are repeated. where febail can hold his own in arguments and is quick to make his rebuttals, asaello absolutely crumples. febail exudes confidence and will talk when necessary. asaello is easily overtaken by his sister retorting against him for his scolding her, and here with larcei or creidne, he quickly is relegated to begging and conceding to her. asaello gives me the impression that he might be a bit more starved for affection than febail is, and is consequently a lot more scared to speak back or to have people act coldly to him. he seems to shut down a lot more easily and also opens up more emotionally where febail is more stubborn with sticking to hiding his embarrassment.

this trait of asaello, his tendency to fold to the other, is explored by him having actually multiple unique conversations his different lovers, unlike febail who essentially uses a cookie-cutter convo with all of them.

fee/femina and lene/laylea will first reassure asaello that they’ll be there for him before teasing him by saying they like how he’s cute when he’s shy; lana/muirne, nanna/jeanne, and tine/linda will trick asaello into admitting that the only thing that helps him cure his loneliness is by being with them and even goads him into confessing point-blank just how much they mean to him in his desperation to not cause any miscommunication. 

but i think more than his conversations in the epilogue with his lovers proving this disparity of emotional vulnerability breaking open more easily are his conversations in the case when his sister daisy is dead.

Seliph: “Asaello, I... I’m so sorry about Daisy...” Asaello: “Hey, it wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who stuffed up here. I... I’ll take Daisy home with me. She deserves to rest with her parents. Then... Then I can mourn her.” Seliph: “Asaello...”

( FE4, Epilogue, Seliph’s Thracian Talks - Asaello while Daisy’s dead )

asaello’s epilogue talks change based upon this whereas febail’s don’t, emphasizing how truly bittersweet the ending of the game is for him even more in this scenario. this is a trait shared by all the other guys too, for the record. the canon characters like febail, lester, etc. don’t get conversations depending on whether or not their sisters die, but their substitutes like asaello and deimne do. fe4′s ending is here to remind us every time something bad happens to the substitute kids, and it will force us to stew in it too.

asaello gets a lot of unique conversations with his lovers to follow up on this too, each one exploring his sadness and even one a couple admitting how he openly has cried even as he tries to remain strong when talking about daisy’s death.

he can’t handle daisy’s death. she’s basically all he had left in this world after they had both been orphaned very young. if he doesn’t have a lover, there is no one to comfort him. he is nothing more than the hitman of conote, feared and alone, and he will willingly walk away from the one connection he has in lord seliph after the war is said and done with despite his misery.

this isn’t to say febail’s life is without its own struggles or depressing moments too, but his happiness always feels like it is something he owns and that there is light at the end of the tunnel for him. he will bask in his dreams where asaello is sinking and settling, trudging through a grim reality based upon compromises and scrounging for his more modest joys if he can find them.

the image i drew at the top was, in truth, a bit of a lie. when looking at febail and his substitute asaello, it isn’t febail and the cooler (?) febail; it is in fact febail and the more depressing febail. thanks, kaga.

[madpanda75]

“The Romantics” Part Four

Rafael and the reader reunite ( Reunited and it feels so good...) and take a trip down memory lane ❤️

That voice. That soft soothing voice that for years you had only heard in your dreams. You froze, nearly dropping your glass before slowly turning around. It was him. Your breath softly hitched. The pictures you saw online did not do Rafael justice. His captivating green eyes, aquiline nose, thick dark hair perfectly gelled in place, he was strikingly handsome.

“Mr. Barba...umm I mean, Rafi….I mean, Rafael.” You fumbled over your words, feeling flustered. “Sorry, I don’t know if you still go by Rafi.”

Rafael smirked and rubbed the back of his neck. For a moment, you caught a glimpse of that young man from college you had known so well. “Rafi is fine. In fact, I think you and my mother are the only two people who call me that.”

You smiled, blushing a bit as you subtly looked him over. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” Rafael stepped closer, extending his arms a bit to give you a hug while at the same time you stuck out your hand for a handshake. You both halted your actions and reversed roles, he tried to give you a handshake while you tried to hug him. Awkwardly giggling at the situation, you leaned forward and gave him a polite hug.

You reluctantly stepped back and sipped on your drink, both of you trying to think of what to say. “I heard about Alex and the whole scandal,” you blurted out. “I’m sorry, I know how close you were with him.” Idiot! You haven’t seen this man in 20 years and this is what you decide to say?! Wow, way to go, Y/N.

“Thanks, it’s a long story.” He nodded. A sad smile crossed his face before cocking his head to the side and knitting his eyebrows in concern. “Rebecca mentioned you got divorced. I’m sorry to hear that.” Pendejo, what is wrong with you! Who the hell brings up someone’s divorce like that?! While you’re at it, why don’t you bring up her dog dying when she was seven.

You snorted a laugh while absentmindedly playing with your ring finger. “Thanks, it’s an even longer story. Do you wanna maybe-”

“Sit down,” he replied, finishing your thought.

“Yeah and we can-”

“Catch up?” He added, once again finishing your sentence.

You smiled brightly and laughed a genuine laugh. It was music to Rafael’s ears.

“I’m sitting over here.” He grinned, gently taking your arm and leading you to his table.

*****

Time flew by while you and Rafael caught up on each other’s lives. You picked up right where you left off, as if you had just seen each other yesterday and not 20 years ago. Rafael sat, listening intently while you told him about your work in the publishing world and how you accepted the New York position to live closer to your mom. In turn, he talked about becoming an ADA, the images that haunted him from his work at SVU, the guilt he felt about not having enough time to spend with his mom and abuela. You felt safe confiding in one another. It was familiar and comfortable. You finally had your friend back.

While Rafael left to grab a drink, you sat alone, making a mental note to thank your old roommate for convincing you to come. You sighed in contentment, prodding your apple torte with your fork when you heard someone call your name. You instantly dropped your utensil and looked up to find Cookie Abernathy approaching your table.

Cookie Abernathy was your typical snobby rich girl from New England. She was a legacy student and you strongly suspected her acceptance into Harvard was more based on her father’s wallet than her SAT scores. You had a couple classes with Cookie. She was a beautiful vapid shell who also happened to be a mean girl. You thought after high school that you were done with mean girls. Cookie Abernathy and several other women you encountered throughout your life proved you wrong.

“Cookie!” You said, plastering a smile on your face. “How are you?”

“Pregnant!” She turned to the side, revealing a tiny baby bump. “Baby number two! It’s a girl.”

“Wow, congratulations. That’s great news,” you said, genuinely happy for her although your heart dropped a little. You had always wanted a family, but didn’t want to raise a child in a loveless marriage. As you got older, the likelihood of becoming a mother grew less and less. Seeing Cookie happy and glowing only served as a reminder of your inadequacies, your failures in life.

“Thanks. My husband’s around here somewhere. He never lets me out of his sight. Always making sure I’m taking it easy with this little one on the way.” She patted her stomach and sat down. “So what’s new with you? Married? Kids? Divorced?” She asked with a glint in her eye.  

“Well….no. Actually-” You shook your head, trying to think of a way to put a positive spin on your childless single life when you felt a hand squeeze your shoulder. Looking up, there was Rafael standing behind you.

“Actually, she’s with me. Hi, Rafael Barba.” He gave Cookie a disarming smile and shook her hand, staring at her as if he was trying to place where he knew her. “I know you. Aren’t you the girl who got so drunk she defecated in the middle of the living room floor during a house party.”

You nearly spit out your scotch. Cookie turned beet red, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. “Umm...I’m...sure..that wasn’t me.”

Rafael widened his eyes. “No it definitely was you. I remember they had to burn the rug. Anyways, it’s great to see you again.” He turned to face you and offered his arm. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Sure. See ya’, Cookie!” You stood up and waved, following Rafael. If only you had taken a photo of Cookie’s shocked embarrassed face to commemorate the night the mean girl was taken down a notch.

“Thanks for that.” You smiled and nudged his shoulder.

“Anytime. I’ve always got your back,” he replied, nudging your shoulder right back.

While leaving you met Rebecca’s gaze, who with a knowing smile, gave you a thumbs up. You playfully rolled your eyes, unable to conceal the blush forming on your cheeks. As you walked out of the banquet hall with Rafael by your side, an idea popped into your head. “Wanna go for a little walk down memory lane?”

“Lead the way,” he said with a smirk.

*****

Rafael shook his head, staring up at the large imposing Corinthian columns supporting the austere classical building. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he mumbled.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” you asked while opening a side door to the library.

“I think I left it in that library about 20 years ago.” He glanced around, keeping a watchful eye out, making sure neither of you would get caught. “How did you even know where the key is?”

“Because this is Harvard. They don’t fuck with tradition. Even the student librarians who hide the spare key know that.” You dangled the key in front of his face before leading him inside.

The library was pitch black, any noise that was made echoed against the walls. You shuffled around in the dark, bumping into furniture. “This would be so much easier if we had flashlights,” you hissed, stubbing your toe against a chair leg when suddenly a bright light flashed before your eyes.

Rafael stood next to you, holding up his cell phone, the flashlight function turned on. “You need to get with the times, Y/N. We’re not in 1993 anymore,” he teased.

“Way to put our Harvard education to good use,” you sarcastically said, grabbing his hand and walking down an ominous hall. The moment your hands touched, a spark shot through Rafael. He tried to suppress the feeling and continued to follow you.

A couple more twists and turns down long hallways and you had arrived. There in the dark corner of the library on the bottom shelf near the wall were your initials. Carved in the porous wood as a testament to the love you had for one another during your youth, among the authors who weaved their tales of love, beauty, and nature, who bared their souls and exposed their hearts for the world to see.

“Wow, I can’t believe it’s still here,” Rafael whispered.

Nodding your head, you reached into your purse and grabbed a small bottle of scotch.

Rafael softly laughed, his eyes widening in surprise. “Where did you get that?”

“Nabbed it from my hotel room minibar. Just in case there was terrible scotch at the dinner.” You winked and uncapped the bottle, raising it up to the bookshelf that kept your secret for 20 years. “Here’s to the Romantics.” You took a swig before handing it over to Rafael.

“Here’s to us,” he softly said, holding the bottle up to you and taking a drink.

You blushed and knelt down to get a closer look, gingerly tracing those four letters with your fingers. Tears threatened your eyes as memories of that night came flooding back. Rafael set the bottle down on a shelf and crouched down with you, huddling close as he reached out to caress your initials. Your fingertips brushed against his. You could feel his hair tickling your forehead, your faces were so close that your breath mingled with his. The intoxicating smell of his cologne filled your nostrils. There was an electricity building between your bodies, creating its own powerful energy.

“Y/N.” His voice cracked with emotion as he clasped your hand and faced you, his eyes glossy with tears. “I’m so sorry about everything. About Yelina. I wanted to call you so many times, but I wasn’t sure if you would still want me. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Oh, Rafi.” You cupped his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Of course I want you. I’ve missed you too. I just thought you had moved on.”

“I’ve never been able to move on. I love you. Y/N. I’ve always loved you.” Rafael confessed, unable to hide his feelings anymore. He wanted you to see all of him, to know how deep his love for you still was.

“I love you too. We lost each other once. I don’t wanna lose you again,” you whispered, leaning your forehead against his.

“You’ll never lose me,” he whispered.

Licking his lips, he glanced down at your mouth, moving his hand to the back of your neck, silently seeking permission. You closed the gap and kissed him softly. Rafael sighed and pressed his warm lips to yours, kissing you with every ounce of passion he possessed. You sighed against his mouth and wrapped your arms around him.

He parted your lips with his tongue, sliding it over yours. You softly moaned in response as the kiss quickly gained momentum. He gently laid you down, the cool floor against your exposed skin making you gasp. His taste. His touch. You lost yourself in his kisses, giving into your desires.

The sound of a door slamming brought you both quickly back to Earth. “Who’s there!” A voice boomed from the darkness, a beam of light bouncing around the room. “This is campus security! Come out now!”

You froze and looked up at Rafael, placing your finger over your lips before pointing in the opposite direction from where you entered. He nodded his head, silently following you out the back of the building. As soon as you left the library, you both ran, finally reaching Rafael’s car that was parked nearby. You leaned back against the door, clutching your chest, trying to catch your breath. Rafael stood in front of you, breathing heavy with his hands on his knees.

“I’m too old for this,” you both said at the same time. You locked eyes, laughing and panting. Eventually the laughter died, leaving only silence between you both. Rafael’s eyes darkened, he was on you in less than a second, placing a bruising kiss to your lips. Your bodies pressed together as if drawn by a magnetic force. You slid your tongue across his bottom lip, drawing out a shaky breath from him. “Take me, Rafi. I’m yours,” you whispered.

He pulled back and cupped your face, breathing heavy. “Are you sure?”

Feeling bold, you took his hand and placed it under your dress, allowing him to feel how wet your panties already were. “Does this feel like I’m sure,” you purred.

He groaned in response and kissed you hard before opening the passenger side door for you. “Let’s go.”

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @riodallas @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @raulmonamour @tropes-and-tales

[sweatyato]

my one and only

Noragami one-shot |  2149 words

Characters: Yato & Yukine | General Audiences 

on ao3 by BeatrizCaelum (me)

Yato feels older than he has ever felt in thousands of years.

It is not a matter of being wise or even resilient, at this point, here, in the attic he has grown so fond of, looking at this small form under the blankets he’d do anything for. No, Yato doesn’t think he’s wise — if he were, Yukine wouldn’t be as tired as he is, sleeping through the birds’  melody outside. He suspects he’s alive solely because of love or some other equally incomprehensible feeling that is more human than divine. After all... What is a temple to his home? What is an army of shinki to his kid, or a legacy compared to Hiyori’s memories of him — of them? 

Soft. Yeah, yeah, he knows. Sentimental. Someone willing to make other people happy, Hiryori would say. Hm. That’s what she deserves. And for Yukine, well — the small bump sighs and Yato adjusts the blankets —, the hands that so tenderly ruffle his hair or pat his shoulder, Yato’s calloused, sweaty hands, they can’t have blood on them, can they? They can’t. They won’t. This softness, this love, is for them. Not for a believer or for the Heavens or something his old man can twist. It’s theirs. (Yato doesn’t have a surname to put them under. No umbrellas here. They can’t have Iki, not really. Maybe, one day, he could...)

Ah. You idiot. Hiyori is not marrying you. Well. He can dream. He can dream of so many things, even if they are not for gods, even if many of them make no sense to him as he exists now. He can dream of being a man; of growing up to someday find a soulmate in Hiyori; he can dream of mundane jobs and so much fresh snow on their backyard and joy and freedom; he can even dream of a younger Yukine, safe under his  — their  — care, from baby to child to adult to old man, his shadow taller than Yato’s own. Nowhere near his... that man.

Yato closes his eyes. Yukine knows.

He knows and he is alive. And that’s why Yato is tired. If Yukine hadn’t made it, Yato wouldn’t even be himself anymore. He was too late when Kofuku called him (she did a few times, in two days, and he regrets it so much not picking up the phone earlier), shaky voice bursting a Yukki is crossing the line that he can still hear ringing in his ears.

All seemed small, then. Father, Nora, Bishamon’s comatose state, Kazune, the Heavens. The world, the Near and the Far Shores, it all was Yukine, Yukine, Yukine. Yato left Kazune hidden and teleported so fast as he felt like he was the dying one. He didn’t even have to ponder on releasing Yukine; it wouldn’t make a difference, he already had had the most... crucial flashbacks to his identity and final moments. He was crying, newspapers spread covering the living room’s floor, and was too out of it to react upon seeing Yato.

He gathered his kid into his arms and decided what was the fastest way to kill him.

(There wasn’t one. He had no weapon. He couldn’t use Kazune even if he had brought him along, because then he’d have to come up with an explanation to why Yukine was transforming into an ayakashi. For someone who fought so much to stay alive over the centuries, Yato really didn’t think this through.)

But Yukine stayed very much human. 

Time passed and Yato felt the blond hair tickling his chin — not horns, not claws, not the ragged surface of wings —, Yukine’s rapid heartbeats still like an echo of his own, a boy’s shadow projecting behind him, the name persisting on his collarbone even with all the cracks. The gasping sounds his throat was making were nothing like a phantom’s deep timbre: his kid was his kid, although more lost than he could bear to watch.

When his old name escaped from his lips like a question, Yato just held him tighter.

“Yukine,” Yato murmured, “you’re Yukine.”

At some point, Yukine collapsed, sobs fading out. Yato answered some of his whispered questions of times long gone, memory after memory, and put him to sleep upstairs, as silent as he could, as if to not disturb his miracle.

Yukine should be gone.

Yato doesn’t understand. He almost doesn’t want to to know. Is it because he’s a blessed vessel, like Nana? Is it because even though he feels sad, he doesn’t wish to have his old life back, he doesn’t resent being dead anymore? Is it because nothing can really affect him worse than once being trapped by Heaven? Or Is Yukine’s abnormal strength something else entirely? 

Maybe it’ll be a long time until he finds out. Maybe he won’t, ever, even after countless centuries. But if Yukine can stay with him, he doesn’t care.

“Hhhg,” Yukine’s groan startles him. “Yato?”

“Here,” he answers immediately, hand already reaching out. Just there, just in case, but Yukine’s eyes are closed and he stays still.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse, and it takes some time for words to form, “like I died twice.”

“You kinda did,” Yato swallows. “You got back your memories, your name and you’re here. I didn’t think this was even possible.”

“I don’t feel like I’m here.”

Yato’s heart tightens. “It’ll take you time to... get used to this. Two lives, one mind.”

“I don’t... I,” a sob muffles his words. “I’m so tired. Nothing I saw was good. Nothing I saw was fair. My... He..”

“I know,” he sighs. “I know, kiddo. But, please, you can’t let this get the best of you. You’re okay now, but... If you start having too many negative feelings, your body might give up on being human.”

Yukine cracks one eye open. “What do you mean?”

Yato tells him everything. The God’s Greatest Secret, what happened to Sakura, what should’ve happened to him. Then, his plan of tracking Nora to get to his dad and even about Kazune. At this, Yukine tries to get up to smack him on the head, but he trembles and lays down again.

“You have no idea how much I want to punch you,” he grumbles, even though Yato does have all the ideas. “Dumbass. But, yeah. I get it. You don’t want to use me for that.”

“I really, really don’t.”

“Isn’t Sekki your best option against Chiki now, though? I mean, it’s not like she can — “ Yukine’s eyes widen suddenly. “Shit. Shit. I forgot. You don’t know. There’s no Chiki. Your dad released Nora.”

“What.”

Yato feels his brain short-circuit. There’s no way his old man would do this, even if he found out about the tracker spell. He wasn’t afraid of Yato, that’s for sure. Would he sacrifice his most loyal and most powerful weapon in order to escape the Heavens? Once a shinki is released, the old master can’t name them a second time.

Then again, most rules don’t apply to his dad.

“Shit really hit the fan while you were gone,” Yukine glares at him. After a few seconds, his voice lowers as a slight blush spreads across his face. “Um. Yato.”

He blinks, fearing Yukine is about to ask something he doesn’t know how to answer. “What?”

“Is — is Kazune a better shinki than me?”

Ah. Yato smiles. He does know the answer to this.

“No one is.”

“Duh,” Yukine spats, but Yato can see  — and feel  —  his relief. “I’m still gonna beat you to a pulp, though.”

“You can do whatever you want,” Yato means it. “Just stay with me. Please.”

His kid’s expression grows solemn. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Good. Me neither.”

Not for now, at least.

They share an uncomfortable silence after this, nothing but each other’s presence to ease their thoughts. Not for the first time, he wishes Hiyori was here, but it’s not fair for her to always have to comfort them, as if she’s the Goddess, after so much happened to her, after what she has already done to help.

After Yato’s mistakes.

“I...” Yukine’s voice trails off. 

Yato knows his kid is working on some courage to say whatever is weighing on both of them—, a vicious feeling that has Yato’s weak on his knees even if he’s sitting —, so he waits. 

“Is,” Yukine coughs, “is this why you kept me?”

“This...what?” He asks, not unkindly. 

“You kept me even though I was killing you because you saw yourself in me,” they lock eyes. “Because of our fathers.”

Yato says nothing for a long time. 

A bird flies into the room through the window and lands on Yukine’s nightlight.

“Bakagami,” Yukine calls. “It’s... it’s fine. I’m not mad. I mean. It’s what saved my ass, so it’s not like I can compl— ”

“It’s not that simple,” he interrupts.

“It’s... not?

“It was like that in the beginning, yeah.” He admits. “I wanted to give you something good here because of what I saw in your memories. But, then... Well. Stuff changed.”

“How so?” Yukine slowly moves to a sitting position. This time, he’s the one who reaches out, and Yato takes his hand with a small smile.

“After some of our misadventures, as I got to know you more and more... I realized I wanted you to have a good life this time no matter what had happened.” He says. “Even if you had been the happiest boy on Earth in your past life, I’d find a way to make you even happier with me.”

“Ah,” Yukine blinks, face coloring a little bit. “Yato...”

“You deserve it,” he insists. “Not just to make up for some violent past. You deserve to be happy because you are you.”

His grip on Yato’s hand tightens. “He didn’t think so.”

“Your father was —”, Yato swallows down a growl that belongs to Yaboku. “I’m not discussing his... actions. Just thinking  of how he dared to — it makes me want to —”

“Hey,” Yukine whispers. “Breathe.”

“Sorry,” he clears his throat, but can’t make himself fake even the slightest of smiles.  “Anyway. I’m... I’m sorry that you remember him now. I guess it’s okay if you think about it, but only if you don’t let it consume you, okay?”

“I’ll...try.”

“I’m gonna help ya,” he promises. ““I’ll be here to annoy you out of your bad thoughts. Whenever you feel like crying or whenever you can’t help but wonder what’s like to have an actual dad. I know the feeling.”

“I won’t,” Yukine all but snaps.

Yato hesitates. “It’s okay. There’ll be times when you’ll get sad— “

“Not that,” he rolls his eyes.

"Uh...? What, then?”

Under Yato’s questioning gaze, Yukine suddenly looks panicked. He mumbles something inaudible and dives into the covers again, hiding his face from view. Yato is baffled at the behavior and at the funny emotion squirming inside of him.

“Yukine?” He frowns, one hand above his heart. “What’s this? You okay?”

“I don’t have to.”

“You... don’t have to be okay. Yeah. Take your time. You can— “

He stops when he hears a muffled scream that sounds like, “clueless moron that can’t use his brain to save his life!”

“Hey,” Yato protests. “It has been just one year. I’m not fluent in teenager yet.”

“It's not like I don't know!” Yukine says, a bit too loud and a bit too quickly. “It’s not like I don’t know how a dad is supposed to be. I'm not exactly missing one with you here.”

With you here.

Yukine hides impossibly more under the blankets and at this point it must be hard to breathe, but Yato doesn’t remember how to move his arms to free him. His mouth hangs open, his eyes dance around the room without a spot to fixate on, his thoughts collide with each other in desperate need to make sense, one, two, three seconds pass and he chokes on whatever is that he tries to say.

“Yukine,” it’s the only word he can manage because it’s his favorite one.

He’s already lunging forward before his kid can try to say anything at all. The fall is soft, but Yukine lets out a little oooof that seems both happy and embarrassed, and Yato curls up around him, tugging on the blankets insistently.

“Not letting me look at your face, huh?” He snorts, pressing his forehead to where Yukine’s must be. “Punk.”

“Go. Away.”

“I can feel your smile through the fabric.”

“Maybe you’ll feel me kicking you on the balls through the fabric, too.” 

“I love you.”

The feeling in Yato’s chest does a somersault.

“It’s definitely kicking time right now.” 

Yukine doesn’t kick, or move, for a while. Neither does Yato. For the first time in his life, he’s not sad when he thanks Sakura for teaching him what love is.

[cole-saberhagen]

Now that I’ve had some time to process all the information from The Last Jedi, I’ve written out my thoughts on it and some of the characters.

Spoilers and very controversial character opinions under the cut.

I am sorry if this offends anyone, it probably will. I don’t unfollow people who ship things I’m not a fan of but I understand if people want to unfollow me. This post is going to get dark and may change people’s opinions of me. But these are just my opinions and predictions (and hell, they could take the last film somewhere completely different so I could be totally off).

I believe everyone has the right to an opinion as long as they aren’t using it to actively attack anyone. I’m not part of any pro or anti group, and I don’t like getting involved in ‘shipping wars’, I don’t even ship any of the new trilogy cast, I just ship my OCs. I didn’t have to write this but I feel it’s time.

- Firstly, yes! we got a Luke and Leia scene, god that meant so much to me.

- I thought more about the scene when Poe met Rey. I remembered how Luke did a nod to Han Solo with his ‘see ya around, kid’ comment, then it hit me Poe did as well when he used the ‘I know’ line. I don’t know if this means are they going to develop a romance between Rey and Poe considering that was THE romance line of the franchise, or is it misdirection again? It would be pretty rushed if they did. There was also some symbolism when Finn handed Rey’s tracker to Poe. Then the whole Poe’s mother’s wedding ring thing. Honestly I’d rather Rey follow Luke’s path of the Jedi way and not get married off at all, it wouldn’t reduce her character but it’s not required to tell the story.

- I think we will see a transition from ‘the last Jedi’ to ‘the last Skywalker’. I feel the whole huge point they are trying to make, with the stable boy at the end, and with Rey Random, is that you don’t need to be born of royalty and bloodline to be strong with the force or grow up to be someone important, so as this is the final Skywalker film, I really feel they will end the Skywalkers too. And I don’t feel that is a bad thing.

- Honestly I was pretty sad that Luke is dead. Still struggling with this one and how they did it, (force projection wtf?) but I imagine they’ll be doing some force ghost scenes with him in future. I guess it’s like I’m sad yet I understand why they did it. Like above it’s not meant to be a bad thing. Star Wars shouldn’t stagnate with the same old characters, it should breathe life into the new. You can still nod back to the old characters but let new ones have the spotlight.

- I think if they kill off Kylo, he can still be a great character. Look at Vader. Kids still run around in his outfit even though the character dies. And now look at Luke. His body is gone but his legacy lives on. The new generation of Jedi will have no blood line relation, Luke never left a bloodline legacy, maybe Kylo won’t either (what a horrible history and burden that child would have to take on!). There is no need. There is only the force, in everyone.

- I liked where they went with Kylo because I did have a feeling he would become the next big bad in this and the next film. This is pretty controversial but I think he’s probably going to follow the path of his grandfather and be redeemed before dying. There’s so much mirroring to the old trilogy and look where that went. Snoke is more of a traditional big bad and Kylo is a different breed so his ‘let the past die, kill it if you have to’ comments actually reflect that pretty well. Snoke was disappointing though, where was his backstory/motive?

- Even more controversial, I’ve seen Kylo’s behaviour in people before and that’s what makes him so terrifying a villain. Adam Driver did a fantastic job portraying that. If you’ve ever been emotionally manipulated you’ll most likely recognise the signs in Kylo. (Goodness gracious, look how many boxes he ticks in this how to spot a manipulator list!). Particularly in the part where he made Rey break down in tears at his harsh truths going into unnecessary explicit detail about dead parent graves. Yes it was the truth and yes he tried to teach her that her greatness didn’t have to come from bloodlines, but it was the way he did it that helped push Rey away and back to the light. That scene was awful to watch as someone who’s dealt with manipulation and is meant to teach young people how to be aware of toxic behaviour represented as the dark side.

- Yes Kylo has relatable traits, life is full of conflicting feelings and pain, and it was a terrible terrible thing that Snoke took control of him so early, he was abused himself for years by Snoke and his actions are expected, BUT that should never ever excuse them and it never makes it right. Kylo’s been given  chances to come back, now it’s up to him. We’re living in very sensitive political times and if the film puts so much care into showing how wrong Canto Bight’s arms dealing money was (I thought that was brave given IRL western countries still do that) I doubt they will excuse Kylo’s terrorism and let it go unpunished. Luke shouldn’t have been exiled on that island for so long, that should be Kylo’s fate at the very least if he’s not put on trial and given life imprisonment for his war crimes and countless murders. Vader would have shared that fate too and Poe was demoted for putting lives at risk. Kylo’s a great char, but let’s break it down even more primitively. If Kylo was as ugly as Snoke but still his age, would people still want him redeemed or want him dead? Would his actions seem worse? would his interactions with Rey seem even more wrong?

- I’m so glad they had Rey walk away from Kylo in his current state and not walk off with him at the end of the film for more ‘dramatic tension’. That got resolved. She knew he wasn’t ready to be redeemed that day, and that he didn’t want to be saved. Like Luke, she was struggling whether to kill him then or not. She grabbed the lightsaber, not his hand, she made her choice. But when they both get knocked out, she flees. It’s not the Jedi way to slaughter him while he’s unconscious. He would have killed her had he woken first, like he tried to when they fired on the millennium falcon. She understood Luke’s decision having been placed in the same situation herself and reacting the same way, initially raising a saber to him. She finally realised and learned Luke’s lesson during their training. He snapped at her for so easily being lead to that dark place on the island but now, having been seduced by the dark side, she knows how to resist it. When the falcon door closed, it symbolised her clarity and what she must do, the severance, the chance of being turned. Dead. She chose Luke, she rejected Kylo, she chose the light. There are only 2 ways left, ‘one of us is going to have to change’ and that’s Kylo, to the light side, or his end.

- Overall it definitely felt like a Star Wars film and the effects and the soundtrack were spectacular as were the cast. They did the dark vs light balancing really well and showed how quickly you can change your opinion on a character who starts off seemly nice then shows their true colours (DJ) and vice versa (Holdo). I felt great enjoyment watching it and can’t wait for the final one.

[tysonrunningfox]

The Stressed Calm before the Storm

This chapter is a doozy.  It’s a big-un.  It’s a big old doozy, and also, the last one before everything switches up on us again.  And not parent based this time, but kid based.  (Let’s hope I can get some of the side scenes I want for that out before then so like...if anyone is wondering about Aurelia, please come bug me about it.  I’ve got boulders clogging up that creative pipeline and I’d love some help)

Tumblr | AO3

Fuse gets the charges for the wall ready in record time and they all do a little too much, turning the rock into a surprisingly even pile of small, sharp pebbles.  Sven is understanding but impatient and I end up spending three days flying back and forth from nearest islands with rocks that he needs and only stopping when Bang starts refusing to let me on his back, instead rolling over and asking for belly rubs whenever I get within a few feet of him.  The initial build of the dam seems to go alright and it feels like a big item checked off of the list, that is, until I get back to town and find Aurelia directing Darren Thorston to do something with the academy.  

“Just the wall, we need the rock for the dam—”

“What’s going on here?” I cut her off, standing next to Darren and crossing my arms.  I feel like Mom in a way I’m not used to but she doesn’t look anything like me getting caught.  

“I’m getting rocks for the dam.”  

“The dam is done, don’t touch the academy.”  

“Alright,” Darren wipes his hands and shrugs, “less work for me.  Cool.  See ya around, Acting Chief, I’m assuming you’ll be lurking around my sister’s shed soon?”  

“Lurking is a good word for it,” Aurelia glares at me but doesn’t say anything until Darren walks off. “What’s your problem?”  

“You’re the one giving orders no one asked you to give.”  

“You said Fuse didn’t get the rubble, I was figuring it out.”  She says it like she thinks I’m stupid, like that’ll impact me in some way. And yeah, it kind of does, because she doesn’t say it outright and I thought we used to be close, but…well, I’ve kept things together.  The island is still running and that’s no small feat and at some point, doesn’t that have to make my ability to act like the chief when I have to kind of a good thing? At some point, isn’t some level of confidence inevitable?  

“I spent most of a week collecting rocks from other islands, your information is a little out dated.”

“Mom just told me last night—”

“You know, if you wanted to help with something, you could ask me instead of doing this again.”  

“Fine, give me something to help with—”

“No!”  I snap and a few people turn to look at us.  I realize how small she looks next to me, how furious her face is when her nostrils flare, and mostly, how I feel young in the bad way for the first time since the chief said he trusted my judgement.  I feel like a teenager.  I feel like slamming a door or destroying something just for the sake of it, but I can’t, because this horrible tension between who I fear I am and who I have to be is the only thing big enough to hold the island together. “Not after you went behind my back twice—”

“So you’re lying when you said I could ask—”

“You didn’t ask, you told me.” I look around again and people are leaving the area, casually, quietly the way that Vikings only do for a chief and I hate it.  I hate it that no one takes either of our sides, that they just leave it looking like level ground when it can’t be, because if it were, it doesn’t make any sense why I’m here and she’s there.  “You told me to give you something to help with—”

“You didn’t even let me get to the end of my sentence, you can’t make an intonation argument.”  

“Right, it was the start of a pleasant, friendly, helpful question.  Excuse my mistake.”  

“Yeah, thanks for the sincere apology.”  

“Oh, it wasn’t sincere—”

“I knew that.”  She huffs, shaking her head, “why are we fighting about this?”  

“Because you keep going behind my back.  Because first it was Fuse—”

“The unsubstantiated Fuse argument is getting a little old there, big brother.”  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  I hate how angry this is and I hate how good it feels to be angry.  And it’s better that she deserves it, that this is something I should tell the chief, except I can’t because I hate the way he reacts. I hate the way he looks at me like everything I bring up is the weather.  I could tell him I was dying and he’d hum and look interested like his ears are disconnected from his brain.  

“Nothing,” she sighs, “I just—you decided to help and you started helping and everyone thought that was so great, but when I try to help, suddenly—”

“This isn’t helping, this is just you doing things the way you want to, whether that has any basis in fact or not—”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t have all the facts.”  

“Yeah, because people don’t tell you things because they aren’t supposed to!”  I take a step back and spin in a circle, fighting with everything I’ve got to not walk away.  To stay here and finish this instead of pushing it back under the rug where it has been.  “Look. I—I’m just trying to hold things together, alright, until the chief—”

“Until he what?”  She looks small again, hurt but not like I hurt her, and that’s worse because I should have protected her.  The things I don’t see are worse than the ones I do. “Forgets?”  

“Until he comes back.”

“If it’s so hard, why won’t you let me help?” She sounds halfway sincere but I realize I don’t trust it, I don’t trust my own perception to align with whatever’s in her head and I remember when we used to think the same way.  When we were both lonely and sad and disrupted and that led us to the same outlets.  

“Because I don’t trust you,” I sigh.  “I don’t trust you with more information right now—”

“Because I might do something smarter with it?”  There’s something desperate in her expression and if I thought calling her smarter than me would help, I’d do it, but it doesn’t feel true and that wouldn’t help anything.  It’s not maces and talons, people are involved, and like Fuse, people aren’t something Aurelia navigates with much grace.  Or honesty, in Aurelia’s case.  Everything about her is a contradiction and she’s turned it against me more often than not lately.  

“Because you think smart is all that matters.”  I’m more tired than mad, all of a sudden, and I rub my head, “and you’re treating this like some competition—”

“And you’re worried I’d win.”  

“Yeah, you would, because I don’t know the rules.”  I hate how I’m going to sound.  I hate that trembling, authoritative voice when it comes out of me.  When I sound like the chief trying to order me around last fall and not get punched.  I hate how I don’t know how to sound more official and the fact that I’m using it on Aurelia, who grew up with it and probably hates it more than I do.  “And I’m Acting Chief.  That’s final.  Maybe if you go a couple of weeks without giving some order behind my back, I’ll consider—”

“I used to think you were different,” she shakes her head and stomps off and it doesn’t feel like I won anything.  

It never feels like there’s anything to win anymore.  

It seems like no matter what I do, I always end up missing someone else somewhere down the line.  Next I’m probably going to piss off Stoick, or something, or Mrs. Ack is going to start withholding pie.  

When I get back to the chief’s house, that feeling of having been here before persists, because from outside the window, I can hear yelling inside.  It’s Mom and it’s the hysterical, fast paced yell of someone determined to win and unsure if it’s possible.  I think about going inside and breaking it up, but then the chief starts talking and it’s something louder than that sad, pathetic mumble he’s had lately and I pause by the shutter because maybe I don’t have to be chief here. Maybe I can draw a line like I did with Arvid and this house can be the side where I don’t have to act, no matter what I’m thinking.  

“…because a baby could have fixed everything!”  The chief yells and it reminds me of a dragon in pain.  More than that, a dragon with a family member that’s in pain.  It sounds like the dragon island, condensed into one house that feels bigger and older than ever as I lurk outside of it, staring at the weather worn stain on the shutters.  “Because it was going to, because it proved that trying meant something—”

“You keep saying that!” Mom’s on the edge in the way I haven’t heard since she and Dad split up.  Like she’s frantic to find a way through that doesn’t hurt anyone and she knows it’s impossible because she’s already hurt.  “You keep saying that it was fixing something—”

“It fixed everything.”  

“What needs so much fixing?” Mom slams her hand on some hard piece of furniture and the whole floor creaks with the force of it, “what is so broken about your life?  What don’t you like—”

“Because I’m old!” The chief finally sounds mad and enough of it is directed at himself that I feel it too, I feel my future and past echoing through the same hundred year old wood.  “Because I didn’t have this when it would have mattered, because I was stupid and stubborn when I was young and because I can’t fix it now!”  

“Nothing is broken!” She sounds like she’s doubting it herself and like she resents him all over again for messing with the way that she sees reality.  Because he’s done it before, when I happened and when my impending chiefdom happened and when I was such a failure they had to try and re-create me.  Because this is my fault like they all are eventually, because I’m so tangled in both sides that I can’t ever be external.  “Nothing needs to be fixed except for the fact that you think it does!”  

“We didn’t get to have a family, Astrid, we didn’t get to do any of that—”

“We have Eret!”  She shouts, louder than she has, and my name resonates like a thunderdrum blast, a deafening weapon.  

“He’s practically grown.” The chief doesn’t point out my name. No one needs to.  The house still shakes with it and I place my hand flat against the shutter, feeling it persist even though no one wants it to.  

Does anyone like being a third?  It’s twice the legacy.  It occurs to me that I have five times, because I should have been a fourth too.

“That doesn’t mean that he’s not ours.”  Mom says it how the chief used to say it, when it felt like an earthquake tearing through the ground beneath the quiet Hofferson house. Back when it felt like it was destined to tear me in two.  

But I am.  I am and I’m not enough of it and that makes the third sting even more.  

“I hardly know him.”  

“I…I hardly know him,” Mom laughs and it’s bitter and sad and she sounds old too, “I don’t know when he grew up, he’s out there running the whole damn village.”  

“He doesn’t have to do that—”

“Someone had to.”  She sounds like she’s catching her breath and I take my hand off the shutter in case I don’t want to absorb whatever she says next.  “What is it that you think needs so much fixing, Hiccup?”  

“My life.”  

“Why?”  Mom is on the verge of tears in a way that sounds alien to me.  She was always so strong and steady and larger than life and now she’s shorter than me and if this fight goes bad, she’ll be the one who gets hurt because the chief has already given up.  “Because you can’t—you know you can’t expect me to want that, right?  That’s not something you can ask for—”

“Just…imagine it, Astrid,” he says her name like a prayer and I feel wrong for listening in, “if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t done everything I did, if I’d been here.  If it had been me, us, you and me and a house full of kids—”

“You can’t ask that!” Mom doesn’t sound like she’s going to cry anymore, she sounds like a wall, like a physical cliff face moving forward in the most futile game of maces and talons ever played, because if the chief doesn’t move he’ll get crushed and that’s the kind of odds he’s never respected.  “I had my life, I have my kids, I had my mistakes and if you—they all made me who I am now and that’s who you’re supposed to be married to.  Not the idea of me at twenty, ready to produce heirs—”

“That’s not what this is about and you know it.”  

“Do I?”  She laughs, half hysterical, “because the only part of this marriage that felt like it used to was when the healer said I was—”

“Pregnant.” The chief barks it out like he’s digging something out of a wound, “you can say it.”

“Yeah, I can, I—when I found out that I was pregnant, you forgot about me and us and this thing we’ve managed to find after it was lost for decades, and all you cared about was what I could do for you. That I could make you feel like your mistakes were erased, that you had gotten everything back.  I know you, Hiccup, and there are parts of you I wish I didn’t.”  

“That’s not fair.”  

“What you put on me wasn’t fair either.”  Mom is all the more vicious for her plain honesty, quiet enough that it doesn’t quite make it outside without being muffled.  “I’m old too, I had my kids, I—I’m not ashamed of my life, I’m not ashamed of what we have or how we got here.  And I’m not ok with you burying everything we fought for under sadness over something impossible.”  

“It wasn’t impossible.”

“Maybe if it’d been you.” There’s a smile in Mom’s laugh, “but I’m only human.  And I’m old and I’d just like to be old and love you and not feel guilty about it.”  

The chief is silent for a long time.  I hear Mom move around and shift a pot in the hearth, like she’s waiting for him to fall silent again and stay there.  He walks around closer to the window and I’m scared I’ve been caught, but he shifts, metal leg dragging across the floor as he faces her.  

“I…we can do that.” He’s choked up and I take a step back because for the first time, it feels like something personal between them isn’t because of me.  It feels like I didn’t get in the way, my existence didn’t force anything to happen.

That maybe, in that magical world I’ve thought about where the mistake that made me didn’t happen, Mom and Dad wouldn’t be happy together, taking on the entire world.  That maybe I’m a symptom, not a disease.  

It’s the first time I think that maybe they love each other. That it wasn’t coincidence or convenience or spite or ambition. That maybe they just love each other.  

“Yeah?”  Mom is still challenging him and the chief steps towards her, three thumps of boot and three of metal as he makes it across the floor.

“Yeah.”  He sighs and I press myself closer to the shutters, hating what I might hear the whole time, how it might change things again. “You’re…you’re right.”  

“Ok,” she hugs him. Or I think she does because then her voice is almost too muffled to hear.  “Eret’s going to be home soon.  I made him promise he’d be home for dinner.”  

“I’m glad we got that over with then,” the chief laughs, slowly at first, and it sounds more human than I think I’ve ever heard him.  

“Me too.”  

00000

It’s another, slower change. The chief wakes up before me a couple of days, he takes Stoick to training.  He holds Mom’s hand at the dinner table and I don’t react to it.  He asks me a few surface level questions, things about weather and dragon numbers that don’t seem to stress him out.  He tries to pay attention and after a few days, succeeds.  I stop fretting about coming home, even though Aurelia sits across the table with a frosty, silent expression.  She doesn’t bring up our fight and I don’t either and it starts to feel more and more like she’s having my old growing pains, just a few months behind me.  

A few days after I hear the chief and Mom’s fight, I’m down at the docks, trying to figure out a path for wood bin access after the dock gets built and I get that feeling of someone watching me.  I know it’s not Bang, because this morning he elected to stay with Stoick.  And as much as I miss him, the silence is honestly comforting, or it was until I felt that back of my neck chill.  

I make a couple of chalk marks on the mountainside and there’s that always present nagging feeling that if nothing changes, I’ll be the one to build it.  Except that’s not even true, I’ll just be the one to decide where everything goes and no one will ask why, they’ll just accept it and if it fails, it’ll be all on my back along with everything else.  

The feeling persists after I measure two extra times and I look around, at first pass trying to be subtle, but then practically spinning, scanning the fishermen for someone looking at me.  

I feel stupid as soon as I see my dad.  Or Eret Sr. Eret II.  Whatever I’m supposed to call him.  Dad feels right but I know it’s not, you have to talk to people you call Dad and I haven’t been.  And the idea of thinking that he’s looking at me and then finding that he’s not sounds painful in a way I don’t want to navigate.  

I remember when I used to just feel.  I used to just react.  Feeling important is the best thing that ever happened to my self-control but I’m not entirely sure it was great for my self-esteem, and I find myself staring at my dad and seeing everything I’ve always thought I lacked.  I’m not big.  I’m not strong, not really.  I’m not quiet or right or accepting.  

I’m harsh and not as funny as I think I am and that all sits against what he tried to teach me.  What he failed to teach me.  

What he aimed at me because it was too late for the chief, and at some level, some things are unavoidable.

I must be staring because he looks up and I’m forced to jump from jilted almost-son to Acting Chief in a second and I stand up so straight it hurts my back as I simultaneously try to puff up my chest.  I feel like I need to be big even though I’m not, even though I feel small.  

I wave.  

He stares for another moment and I fight deflating like it matters if I look strong even when I’m not.

“Chief,” he calls out, stepping towards me, and he looks old the way that Mom looks old and I hate that I’m the only one feeling steadier.  I hate that this feels like a positive in some direction I don’t entirely agree with.  

“Acting Chief,” I correct, reflexively, and that makes me feel worse because I’m acting for someone else, someone who isn’t him.  

“Acting Chief,” Dad says and I can’t think anything but Dad even if it’d be better for me not to.  

“Yeah?”  

There’s a weird, long moment where I can’t think of anything but late nights at my old home.  The nights we’d stay up and look at maps and he’d tell me about everything I’d never seen.  I can’t think of anything but when he called me his son and said that would make me a better chief.  Even though I haven’t really seen Arvid in weeks, I can’t help but notice the differences between them that were never obvious before.  Arvid is always looking for a fight, at some level, he’s got Mom’s icy way of seeing things before thinking about them, but Dad looks like he’s hoping for the best.  I just wish I knew what his version of the best is.    

“We’ve got a surplus from the North shore that we can’t make sense of.”  

It’s an actual problem and I feel my jaw move silently, because as always, my mouth is ahead of the rest of me.

“Yeah?  A surplus?  How much?”  

“Enough to worry about.”

I sputter, “I…I don’t know anything about surpluses.  I just know about getting enough.”  I swallow, harder than I usually have to when I ask for help.  It’s always hard but this is harder and I hate that it is.  I hate that this is complicated and that I keep thinking of my mom and the chief, on the same level again, like it was something they could get back to.  “Can you explain why it’s a problem?”  

“We could dry it, but that always sells for less.”  He says in a stilted, slow voice and I get the feeling that he’s assuming I’ll be emotionally conflicted.  He’s not wrong but I don’t know how to confront that.  

I don’t know how to navigate the difference between chief and son and the son I never quite managed to be.  

“To who?”  

“I don’t—”

“Sorry,” I apologize and fail at making it sound like it doesn’t mean anything more than I mean it to. “Who do we sell fish to?  I don’t know.  I’ve only ever wondered about how much there was for me to personally eat.”

I can see he wants to laugh. Whether it’s at me or with me, I want to laugh too.  I bite the inside of my cheek because I’m chief right now and that means I shouldn’t, but it makes him feel less human and I hate that the most.  

“Other tribes, mostly. Sometimes in exchange for things.”

“And it’s worth more fresh?” I swallow, stepping closer and trying to treat this like a normal investigation even though it seems like something set up for me to fail.  Some part of me believes that I could pretend that I never knew him, that he wasn’t my dad for sixteen years, that he doesn’t hold the opinion I trust over all others, and that’s terrifying.  

“A lot more.”  

“Ok,” I swallow, trying not to look at him and see how he looks shorter and older and different in the way that means I haven’t looked in a while.  His lack of malice translates automatically to a lack of respect and that’s not fair but also, I don’t know how I can make an exception for him without feeling weak.  “And we’re worried about wasting it because drying it will make it cheaper and someone is going to buy a lot of it soon or something?”

“It is the season for it, down south a lot of their fish dry up this time of year and they end up sending an emergency buyer.  But if that takes more than a couple of days, this will go bad and if our fish dry up, we’ll regret not having it dried.”  He’s got that look on his face like he’s wondering if I’m paying enough attention to understand and I miss him more than I can say, because now people just keep talking even when I’m full and I have to find some way to juggle it. I nod and he continues, almost sheepish, the way that people are starting to sound when they whisper to me about dragons.  “But we’ve got a lot of fish because there aren’t as many dragons eating it.  And if that’s true here—”

“It���s probably even more true down south where there were always fewer dragons,” I cut him off and immediately feel horrible about it, taking a step back like I’m expecting an offensive, like I’m seeing Arvid where he isn’t.  “Sorry—”

“No, chief, you’re right. There were always fewer dragons down south.”  

“I uh…” I swallow the urge to apologize again, to blurt out some big, long thing about interrupting him being bad and how I know I’m bad for it and also how I miss him, but I don’t want to think of how that would feel if he didn’t want to hear it.  Or if he didn’t care.  “About the surplus, dry the fish, I think.  And Hel, I don’t know who sets the prices but maybe we could spare some cheap fish for a couple of days, I wouldn’t mind arguing with a few better fed people.  They’ll be sluggish and it’ll be like a vacation.”    

“I’ll talk to them.”  

“Er…thanks.”  I open my mouth to say something else, something that would put him in a position to be honest, or something, but I still don’t want to hear it.  I don’t want to fight right now, it feels like fighting would steal my grip on all of this away from me.  Like if I remembered that I used to be someone who fought about everything, I wouldn’t be able to do what I have to do to keep everything together.  “Is that all?”  

“That’s all I’ve got right now.”  

I want to tell him that he has me but it sounds corny and childish and fake, because I’m Acting Chief and that means I can’t promise things like that.  

“Cool.  Good.  That’s…I’ve got to go um…”  I point back up the hill and shrug, turning and walking away before he can say anything else.  

When I get back to the chief’s house, I’m tired from climbing the hill all in one go, and I pause outside for a minute to catch my breath.  No one’s fighting inside even though I keep half expecting to hear them re-hashing what I heard the other night and when I open the door, the chief is sitting at the table reading a different document from the one he stared at for more than a week.  He looks up at me and halfway smiles, raising an eyebrow.  

“You’re home awfully early, slacking off?”  

“Always, you know me.” I remember him yelling that he doesn’t and cough.  “Actually, I kind of am.  I had to go down to the docks and now it’s time to stress nap.”  

“Oh.”  He looks at his lap and I wonder if I can edge around him without having to endure more of this conversation.  “Did it—I mean, are you and—”

“I’m nothing with anyone.” I shake my head, “wait, that doesn’t make any sense.  But I’m not—we aren’t getting along and we aren’t fighting, I don’t think.”  I leave Aurelia out because it feels like her problem is with me and if I tell the chief now, I’m tattling instead of dealing with it myself.  “It’s…I’m acting like Chief and he’s not interested in rebellion so…”  

“That’s good,” the chief nods, “that’s—I know you guys were close—”

“I mean, he just raised me to sixteen,” I laugh and it comes out awkward and harsh and that’s how I feel most of the time these days, “not through any of the hard parts or anything though.”  

“Tough day?”  The chief laughs too and there’s an edge to it like everything I’m saying is making it harder for him to hold onto the conversation.  

“Tough year.”  I try to soften it so it doesn’t sound so direct, but I don’t think it works.  I point at the paper in his hands, “anything interesting?”  

“It’s that notice from Freezing to Death.”  

“What notice?��  

He frowns, “oh, I figured you’d seen it because it was open—”

“No, I’m behind on all this shit, what does it say?”  

“Actually, I’m a little concerned, they’re seeking to adjust a trade agreement halfway through the term of the contract.  I thought you might have done something to piss them off.”  He chuckles like that’d be expected and I shake my head.  

“I’ve been trying really hard not to piss anyone off.”  I hold my hand out and take the parchment, skimming and trying to quickly pick up the highlights.  “It’s a little bit like Bang trying not to snore, but…”  

I see a lot about dragons. Dragons and fish and numbers I haven’t familiarized myself with yet.  

“You didn’t open this?” The chief asks again and I shake my head.  “Well, if you’ll take some advice, I think it might be worth calling a council meeting over.  Mid-term trade deal changes are a big deal, I think I’ve only done one a couple of times and both were trying to choke out someone I thought was going to go to war with us.”  

“It’s advice?  Not an order?”  

“You’re still Acting Chief,” he looks guilty about that and it only makes me feel more responsible, if that’s even possible at this point, “and if you need someone to talk it through with after—”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll call a council meeting.  Do I just…yell it from the roof or—”

“Just tack something in the wall in the mead hall and they should all check it.  With dragons, it got to the point where going to fetch everyone just wasn’t worth the time anymore, they’re all supposed to check every day.  The chances of that happening, eh, but…”  

“Ok.”  I nod, “I’ll go do that now.  I…I need to go read up on some of this stuff but—”

“I could tell you about it,” he offers, and he looks hopeful like Dad never quite got to, like I can give him something no one else can and I hate myself a little bit for still not wanting him to know me.  Maybe this doesn’t quite count.  “If you don’t want to go root through books all afternoon while Fishlegs nags you.”  

“I…sure.”  I gesture vaguely at the door.  “Let me go put something up and then I’ll be back.”  

“Really?”  

“I just said sure.”  

“I wasn’t expecting you to go for that.”  He laughs, stilted like he was almost hoping for the silence but knows it wouldn’t be good for him.  And here I am, caring at some foreign level what is good for him because it’s good for all of us.  It’s good for my mom and that’s somehow still a fresh wound.  “But hey, maybe I’ll be quick enough that you can get an actual nap and not a stress nap.”  

“All my naps are stress naps, chief.”  

[survivormarmoreal]

Episode #14: "i literally hate attention (i say as i broke out into song unprompted)” - Bryce

I can't believe that I am here. I made it to the Final 4. It is very crazy. I thought that I was toast in the Final 6. So to be here now is very exciting and shocking. The final 3 is going to depend on who wins immunity. I am really hoping that I could win this immunity to secure my spot in the final 3. If not then I hope that Matt doesn't win it. He needs to be an option just in case. I'm very nervous. I just finished my rites of passage. and its crazy that its almost final tribal.

so im getting 4th. FJKASDHFKJh this comp is so hard and like im literally not gonna be able to do endurance so i need to do well on the other stuff but i just dont see that happening... like this puzzle first try was 70 minutes FJKASDHFKAJS. AND I KNOW COUNTING WILL MESS ME UP BC IM NERVOUS WRECK i didnt even mean to caps that but its tea. like flash game i think when i played this once before i wasnt bad but maybe i was who knows. im so emo like no one is talking to me anymore FKJASHDFKJ like i guess bc its just 1 vote left they dont wanna pretend they wont cut me FJAKSDFH like my game not even that good im gonna get dragged by sharky/nathan/keaton/nicole/ everyone but brian... maybe even brian who knows NNNN. my nnn. is so iconic.. maynor who?. idk like ok so if i win immunity (which i wont) idek what to do like i feel like voting matt is the best option maybe. bc i WONT be voting maynor bc i love him (not that i dont love anna and matt) but i just feel like we've had the best relationship of the f4 and im confident that the jury will like my game more than his (maybe they wont tho... i say confident but i mean 2% (not skim) sure they will) but ok so annabelle prob is hated by jury at least from brian and maybe even sharky? but like she didnt play bad she literally made most iconic move at f6 and i respect that but idk if jurors do like ppl keep saying shes a goat  so maybe she has no chance. and then theres matt where like ppl cant be mad he voted them when everyone and their mom in this game has voted him ASDKJFHASDKJ. like so hes prob liked by jury but i just dont know if hes done anything to deserve to win. he found 2 idols successfully played 1 but that was more on anna/nicks weird sense of leaking when it didnt really benefit them.  but like ok he was least threatening member of trio who got to the end so underdog edit is there even tho he literally wasnt underdog tbh u know who was an underdog... ME. i had NO ONE but nathan for a lil.. then dennis... then he got ROBBED. so then i had brian... but he got ROBBED. and now i have maynor like ive literally flipped and flopped to better my game and idk like i am physically able to meaningfully say ive done anything good ever in life or orgs but like i didnt do too bad i think! KJFAHSDKJF... idk maybe im getting 0 votes 3rd place no matter what and if thats the case im still so happy bc ive had a lot of fun in this game and met some true friends (and keaton) but like im getting 4th anyway so doesnt matter! ugh that sounds like a final goodbye confession but i know me and im gonna confess like 10 more times before this round is over so if i do get 4th/3rd just know that this was my true end...

So like.... I do not think i'm winning immunity. like at all. which makes me pretty nervous ngl. I really want to be there at the finale cause i think I have a good shot. If Bryce loses, i'm fairly sure i'm good to get to FTC but otherwise im scared. Making FTC would be really good for me cause I think i can out argue Maynor and Annabelle fairly well, but otherwise with bryce there idk. So like, BRYCE CAN'T WIN IMMUNITY. Also this FIC is disgusting like no thanks. I've already fucked up the 2 live ones so uh ya am annoyed :(. woo final juror here i come!

Bryce won immunity. Im glad. I wouldnt want to be in the position to vote Bryce. I had to abstained from the counting part cuz it triggered my anxiety. I tried tho but i couldnt. This vote is going to be said. Matt is going to go 4th. And i feel really bad. We got to know each other more during every tribal. This really sucks. I just dont want to give him false hope where there isnt any. Im going to help tomorrow.

I am so getting final juror. fuck. i knew it would happen if bryce won immunity and it fucking is. I am so sad about this. I have worked so hard all game to get here and its just being tossed away like that. I am SO sad. I have fucked up my sleep schedule for this game and now its getting me final juror. ugh. i just wanted to get to the end and like argue my case. but now? not happening :( i hate this

I WON I REALLY WON IMMUNITY ASKDJFHASKDJF I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA LOSE WHEN I GOT 12 POSTS ASJFKHKASJFDHASDKJF THATS SO NNNNN IM SO HAPPY BUT SO SAD BC NOW I TRIED TO TELL MATT IM VOTING HIM BC I WANT TO BE HONEST BUT HE SAYS HES TALKING TO A BRICK WALL LIKE???? SORRY FOR NOT WANTING TO GIVE U FALSE HOPE AJDSFHDKAJ its honestly so rude like ive been in that position before so i know what its like when ur pleading ur case and the person doesnt seem to care and im NOT doing that. but obvioulsy i didnt just make up a plan on what to do at f4 so obviously i have thoughts and plans and im not just gonna switch it up bc u plea to me now. idk KJASHDFKJ also im so scared im gonna lose now NNN hes saying anna played so well and tbh she kind of did maybe i lose no matter what...

So like i am leaving but its ok! why? cause i will preserve my legacy by dropping a whole ass fajita recipe here so that I can feel like i have made an IMPACT on the season. Even though like im still sad its me, im going out with a bang baby! I don't use this recipe personally ( I am a broke student) but its v.good!

Ingredients: 2 large chicken breasts, finely sliced 1 red onion, finely sliced (ready to make you cry) 1 red pepper, sliced 1 red chilli, finely sliced (optional) For the marinade 1 heaped tbsp smoked paprika 1 tbsp ground coriander pinch of ground cumin 2 medium garlic cloves, crushed 4 tbsp olive oil 1 lime juiced 4-5 drops Tabasco

Method: Heat oven to 200C/180C fan/gas 6 and wrap 6 medium tortillas in foil.

Mix 1 heaped tbsp smoked paprika, 1 tbsp ground coriander, a pinch of ground cumin, 2 crushed garlic cloves, 4 tbsp olive oil, the juice of 1 lime and 4-5 drops Tabasco together in a bowl with a big pinch each of salt and pepper.

Stir 2 finely sliced chicken breasts, 1 finely sliced red onion, 1 sliced red pepper and 1 finely sliced red chilli, if using, into the marinade.


Heat a griddle pan until smoking hot and add the chicken and marinade to the pan.

Keep everything moving over a high heat for about 5 mins using tongs until you get a nice charred effect. If your griddle pan is small you may need to do this in two batches.

To check the chicken is cooked, find the thickest part and tear in half – if any part is still raw cook until done.

Put the tortillas in the oven to heat up and serve with the cooked chicken, a bag of mixed salad and one 230g tub of fresh salsa.

hope the random person reading this uses it otherwise gj future me reading this you've officially gone insane! yeet ig?

This is going to be a sad day. I really like Matt and dont want to vote him out but its the best option from the people available. It really sucks. I feel his pain and ahh.

I’m literally going to cry. I want to help Matt. I wish we could all be final 3 but we can’t. I’m dying emotionally. Final 4 always has so much pressure cuz theres only 4 people left. I hope Matt doesn’t hate me. I hope he understands thisnis a game move because he techinically was the underdog in the beginning then was on top then back to underdog. I just hope he doesnt take it personal that I don’t think tie-ing it for him would be good for my game.

OMG IDK WHATS GONNA HAPPEN MATT GO HOME PLS BUT I FEEL LIKE ANNA IS VOTING MAYNOR IM GONNA BE SO SAD AHHHH DJSKFHSDKJF

Matt is voted out 3-1. He becomes the final juror.

ok so i had the worst day of my life today and didnt plan my speech at all so thats where im at NNN time to fake smile and hope the jurors like my ad libbed speech ASFKUHDFKJ ftc starts in 4 minutes.

well.. that was interesting adsjflhasdkfj. Like i always have 0 confidence in myself so i think im gonna lose and i really do respect the game that anna and maynor played. im just sad that i dont think i articulated myself well bc like im so bad with words anajsfhakj and ppl were saying conflicting things and its just not in me to like chime in with my pov to possible sway it in my favor bc i literally hate attention (i say as i broke out into song unprompted) but yaaa like i truly think that maybe i kind of did play super well and deserve to win but either way ill be happy bc i made *some* genuine friendships and also like had so much fun voting ppl out KFADHSKJASHK. i wish i like wrote what all my confessionals were so i could reference sth i said on day 1 but it was prob like i hate my tribe they ignore me so maybe ill just say that again FKJADSHFKJ. we love coming full circle... im so hungry i didnt eat so i will now stop typing to get dinner maybe i will write another confessional. omg wait gotta have some line thats iconic in case theres an episode title... think... love talking to myself FAKSDHFKj im so funny when i was like "i realized hey i respond to myself ill take me to the end" its such a mood KFJASDHFKJ ok but hm... ok. maybe im a snake who doesnt actually care about people and use them to my advantage to get my way but at least im not jayden. OMG jk thats so mean even tho he deserves it ALSO i was gonna like comment on keaton being like "saying the n word doesnt make u racist" but then he was kind of nice to me so i didnt.. love being as fake woke as me... not being confrontational to get a jury vote... so gross NNNN wooh idk how to end this but watch waves music video normani literally snapped so hard is being as slept on as me. omg wait... maybe im a pillow bc i sure am being slept on. iconic line.... i love the hosts so much ignore literally every cringe thing i wrote in this confessional pls FKJADSHKFJ

IM VERY DRUNK AND I DNT KNOW IF I HAD TO. BUT EITHER BRYCE OR ANNA WILL WIN CUZ IM A MES AND DONT DESERVE TO CUZ THEY WERE BOTH AMAZING FOR LETTING ME GET TO FTC. I WANNA THANK ANNA THE HOST FOR BEING AMAZING AND GREAT. I LIKED THE ALICE THEM CUZ HEART CUZ ICANT  EMOHJI, ,LOVED THIS SEASON AND UR ALL AMAZING HOSTS.

Im happy I made it to the final 3. And even though FTC was bad; I enjoyed it. I know I’m probably getting 3rd which is fine. I have so much respect to Annabelle and Bryce and everyone in the jury. I’m more excited to be able to talk to all of them again. Let’s see who is our winner will it be Bryce or Annabelle!? The hosts you guys were amazing and i had a great time this season. Im glad Jones pushed and convinced me to apply. Thank you for giving me a spot in this season. And Jones you da best. 💖💛💙

confession time. everytime i write one of these i put the day as who are u and my name as what day is it.. my mind always having to go change it. but um didnt think i would be writing another one of these FJKSADF but i have no self control and winner reveal is in 4 and a half hours and im literally sick FAKJDSk i feel so anxious and nervous like even if i lose im gonna be happy but i just really want to win also im still trying to process ppl not liking me or my gameplay and saying i played with their emotions FJKASDHFJ i had a blast. anyways this is the anthem of the day apparently https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhzN7SfnNeY

WHATS GOING ON?? IM TIRED IS WHATS GOING ON IM SO ANXIOUS! im sooo anxious i want to win. pls...

Bryce wins Celestial Marmoreal in a 4-3-0 vote!