and innate strength

it is so important to me that we have Celaena, a girl who shunned other girls and was taught to mistrust any and all competition, but who grows up to become a woman who mends bonds with the women she hated, like Kaltain and Lysandra. It means so much to me that Sarah shows how when girls hate other girls, often it’s because they have been taught to view others as competition, but that this attitude can be changed, and that the best allies women have are other women.

Because you know who helps Aelin the most on her journey? Other than Rowan? Lysandra when she helps Aelin trick everyone at the end of EoS, and gives up her LIFE to become Aelin and lead Terrasen. Kaltain, when she gives the key to Elide and burns Morath. Elide, when she takes the key and crosses continents with it clutched against her breast, braving fae warriors and monsters and fighting against all odds, all with a mangled ankle and steel in her heart. And fucking Manon. Manon who has never met Aelin before, who was hit in the face by Aelin- even Manon helps. Manon protects Elide and saves the wyrd key from Maeve’s clutches so that Aelin’s sacrifice will not be in vain. And Manon, Manon decides to ally her witches with Aelin, and pledges to find the crochans, again, to fight for and with Aelin. 

And all of these women rally behind a woman who at one point did not like some of them. Who mistreated them. But these women- Manon, Elide, Kaltain, Lysandra- all understand what it’s like to be fighting alone. They understand that Aelin is good at heart, and that she just needs forgiveness and a chance. So they help her. Against all odds.

And it just fills my heart will so much joy. That Sarah has given us a book that is so driven by women and by the bonds they forge and by their innate strength of heart. Ugh. It’s just so beautiful. 

Of Flower Crowns (Elriel Fluff)

This one was inspired by this gorgeous pic. I blame it fully for this drabble and its tooth-rotting fluff. 

The garden had been a sanctuary for Azriel and Elain since the very start of their relationship, back when they had been nothing more than tentative friends thrown together in a time of need. But even then, Azriel had always enjoyed being able to sit on one of the many benches, wings out as he quietly watched Elain tend to the blooming flowers. It was a still, soothing peace – one that he had often yearned for in his long existence, but rarely attained. His friends were a rowdy bunch after all, and the world was forever a dangerous place; far too dangerous to allow him any measure of rest.

But Elain, lovely Elain… she could calm Azriel down like no other and yet could also set him all ablaze with a single touch. (She was shy and sweet, no doubt, but underneath all of that careful poise, underneath all of the ingrained manners and etiquette, was a fiercely passionate heart. She was truly a wondrous thing to behold, in every aspect of life.)

As their relationship progressed from friendship into something else entirely, they spent more and more of their time in the garden of the house she kept with her sisters. Azriel treasured the moments they had together amidst the carefully manicured plants… Like when he would be lounging on his usual bench, eyes closed against the bright sun, until Elain would suddenly be at his side, a small smile tugging at berry-colored lips. She’d settle softly next to him without out a word, her body half on top of his so they could both fit on the bench’s narrow iron frame.

There was just nothing quite like the sheer warmth of those moments. He hoped the memories of them would forever stay clear in his mind, that even decades, centuries from now, he would remember the feeling of Elain Archeron lying atop his chest, her head tucked into the crook of his neck as he ran his fingers through soft, soft hair.

The first time she’d done it, laid with him like that, she’d been so hesitant, afraid of making the wrong move, of scaring him off… afraid of asking for what she truly wanted after she’d had her heart so brutally broken. But when Azriel had opened his eyes to find her standing nervously in front of his bench, her hand half raised towards him, he had only reached out and tugged her onto him. He could bear her weight easily, and would gladly do so for as long as she wished. Elain, for her part, had worn a soft smile as she slowly relaxed into his body, her cheeks flushed with color. There was no embarrassment in her countenance, however, not with Azriel.

So, yes, their time in the garden was precious. It was a place so wholly peaceful that even Azriel, who lived the majority of his life wreathed in shadows, who greeted pain as an old friend, could not help but bask in it. It was also the only place that seemed to ease the visions that so often plagued Elain. Though it did not happen nearly as often as it once had, there were still days where her mind was so full of the threads of their futures that she could barely think. Days where Azriel could do nothing more than be there and listen to the soft murmurings of futures he could barely decipher, watching over the world around them as Elain’s eyes remained clouded and sightless.

There was nothing else he could do… but bring her into their favorite sanctuary. The peace of the garden helped to rein in her visions, the quiet buzz of life around them giving her strength. It was the familiarity, Azriel thought, that helped her most; the one tie apart from her sisters that she continued to have to her former mortal life.

Today was another bad day. Azriel had awoken to Elain’s feverish mutterings, had tried to calm her in his usual way (soft hands stroking down her sides, kisses pressed to her shoulders as he tried to bring her back into the present). When that didn’t work, he immediately wrapped a shawl around Elain’s shoulders (modest even in immortality, Azriel knew she be humiliated if she woke to find herself in nothing but her thin night gown) and spared a brief moment to pull on some pants, forgoing a shirt in his urgency. He lifted Elain gently, holding her tight to his bare chest as he walked them down into the ever-peaceful garden.

Instead of heading to their bench, however, he sat amidst the grass, Elain laying against him in the v of his legs. He knew that she would come back faster down here, amidst the product of all her hard work, the flowers rustling in a gentle breeze. So Azriel sat, keeping his arms around the seer as a reminder that he was there, but loose enough that she didn’t feel locked in. (It was hard for her, when her body was here with him, but her mind elsewhere. She was often panicked when she came back.) 

Azriel sat and he did what he did best. He listened. His wings were a shelter around them, the riddles of Elain’s visions contained within as she muttered them to him. Azriel memorized them all, catalogued them for later. He was the spymaster after all, even on days like these.

Slowly, slowly he felt Elain return from wherever she’d been. He only relaxed fully when she crawled away from him though, her hands going into the flowers all around them. Her mind was still half in the future, eyes slightly glazed, but she kept her hands busy, using the task in front of her to regain control. Azriel watched as she methodically picked flowers, weaving them together with a kind of artistry that all of the Archeron sisters, even Nesta, seemed to possess.

He stayed carefully silent as he leaned back onto his elbows, his attention never wavering from Elain. She looked so heart-achingly beautiful in the dawn light, soft and gentle but with that innate strength of hers shining through as she slowly mastered her powers.

And then she finally, finally blinked. Her eyes were clear as they gazed at him. Blessedly lucid.

“There she is,” he said softly, proudly.

Elain immediately smiled, even through her exhaustion and pain. She crawled back into his embrace, wrapped loose arms around his shoulders as she ducked her forehead against his. Her eyes closed. “Hello,” she said, her voice filled with relief. 

Azriel’s hand went under her hair to rest on the back of her neck. “Hello,” he responded in kind.

(There would be time to question her about the visions later. She deserved a little bit of peace first. She always did. Azriel would have given everything he had, if only he could continue to give Elain Archeron the peace she deserved.)

She shifted back a bit from him, her arms falling into her lap as she looked at the flowery creation she held in one hand. Her fingers trailed over the red and pink petals. 

“What’s that?” he asked.

A mischievous glint lit in Elain’s tired eyes. “It’s for you.” She crooked a finger at him, gesturing for him to duck forward.

He did so. And then Elain reached up placed the flowers atop his head, hands almost benevolent as she settled them in his hair. Azriel blinked in surprise. A crown. She’d made him a crown. He felt something like heat fly to his cheeks.

“I’m not entirely sure a spy like me is fit to wear a crown,” Azriel finally managed to reply, sardonic.

Elain watched him for a moment, her fingers tracing over the whorls of the Illyrian tattoos that covered his shoulders. (Their design was unlike those of his brothers – these swirls looked like smoke and mist and shadow.) Finally, she looked up to meet his burning gaze. “You’re much more than just a spy, Azriel,” she said in a soft voice that left no room for argument. “And you deserve more than just a crown.”

He had to swallow past the emotion in his throat when she took one of his hands in hers, kissing the inside of his scarred palm without fear or revulsion.

“Regardless, I think something’s missing here,” Azriel told her after a pause, reaching out to pick a pretty white flower with his free hand. He put it gently behind her ear, tucking her hair around it. “There. Now we match.”

Elain responded with rosy cheeks and a smile… and then by throwing her arms around him again, pressing kisses to his jaw. She was always so beautifully tactile with him, especially after a vision. He buried his head in her neck for a long moment, wanting to just breathe her in. Her arms tightened around him at that, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck. Azriel held on long enough to be surrounded by nothing but Elain, by her comforting scent.

When he reluctantly loosened his hold, she didn’t go far, only placing her forehead against his. This time she kept her eyes open though, and he would had to be blind not to see the love and adoration and want shining there.

“Hello,” he said again, his mouth mere inches from hers, his voice rough.

“Hello,” she replied, breathless.

Azriel’s eyes flicked down to her lips for the briefest moment. “I’m going to have to kiss you now.” 

Elain smiled, a thing so bright it was almost painful. “If you insist.”

And he did. After all, how could he not? It was Elain.

…what they don’t always talk about in nursing school is the two kinds of exhaustion you’ll have as a nurse; the physical kind from lifting and turning patients, marathon walking that would tip you over the fitbit edge in one day…and the emotional kind; the one that causes headaches, aches, and sleepless nights from stress,  preventing you from surfacing from your bed on your day off - and interfering with your will to overcome and rediscover innate strength
Marichat May - Kiss it Better

It’s super late, but I said I’d do it!

The moment I saw the prompt, I thought of the song Kiss it Better by He is We, which is a straight shot to the feels and I’d definitely recommend it as background music if you ever need to write an angsty scene.

TW: Blood and Character death. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. See the tags for more thoughts.

Paris lay in ruins.

Paris lay in ruins and Chat Noir was alone.

He had split away from Ladybug nearly ten minutes ago so she could recharge her kwami. The akuma, a vastly destructive force that went by the name of Dévastateur, had spent the better part of the past hour turning the streets to rubble and carving chunks out of buildings. Monuments were crushed beneath his power – and for once, Chat wondered if Hawkmoth regretted releasing a power like that into the world.

The akuma wasn’t anything special, really. He was granted power, great power, which gave him strength beyond imagination. It was his heart, however, that had darkened to a point that no mortal should ever near.

Chat didn’t know why the victim had turned so cold. He wasn’t sure he cared – not when Ladybug was still missing in action and Paris was a bona fide mess. But he did know that the damage wasn’t entirely Hawkmoth’s fault. No. This was personal on some level. The man beneath the mask wanted to tear the world apart on his own terms.

In Ladybug’s absence, Chat had reverted to a new plan – evacuating as many civilians as he could as quickly as he could. There were times for showy heroics, and there were times when all that mattered was preventing a bloodbath. This happened to be one of the latter.

Keep reading

45 Questions About Magic
  1. Who has it?
  2. Who can use it?
  3. Where does it come from?
  4. What does it go through?
  5. Is it active? Passive? Both?
  6. Is it tangible? Visible?
  7. Can magic people sense magic?
  8. Can non-magic people sense magic?
  9. Can non-humans be or have magic?
  10. Can objects be or have magic?
  11. Can it be used by accident?
  12. What are the consequences of using magic? Of not using it?
  13. Do some things (eg causing injury, death, etc.) have greater consequences?
  14. Does level/degree of use correlate to degree of consequences?
  15. Does magic require a bargain (eg service to a god)?
  16. Can someone lose their magic?
  17. Can someone gain magic?
  18. Can magic be transferred or stolen?
  19. Is magic something to be turned on and off or is it always there?
  20. Does a person have a limited amount of magic? Can it be replenished?
  21. Does everyone’s magic manifest the same way?
  22. Does everyone call upon their magic the same way?
  23. Does magic require physical aids? Meditation?
  24. Is strength innate or based on training? Can it change?
  25. How is strength indicated?
  26. Are there physical indicators of magic use?
  27. Is there some sort of test to be allowed to use magic?
  28. To show competency?
  29. To show mastery?
  30. To certify teaching?
  31. Is magic tied to or antithetical to religion?
  32. Must magic obey science?
  33. Does magic operate the same way everywhere?
  34. Does magic operate the same way on everyone/everything?
  35. Is healing possible? Is it telekinetic? Time-based? Done by switching physical health?
  36. Does magic require a sacrifice? Before or after? User’s or others’?
  37. Is magic something a person is? Does? Uses?
  38. How is magic conceptualized? Is that correct?
  39. What can someone do with magic?
  40. What can’t someone do with magic? Why?
  41. What are ethical/moral lines that have been drawn regarding magic? How are they enforced?
  42. Is belief necessary?
  43. Can magic only be done at certain times or in certain places?
  44. How do powerful magic users face consequences from the law?
  45. Is magic something that people want to be?
Bite Me (Part 16)

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, guest appearance by Castiel

Warnings: Angst (self-hate, shameful thoughts, inner struggles), implied smut (so implied you’d have to do an archeological dig to find it), mild language

Overview: You were raised in the hunter life. You fell out of it. It wasn’t your choice to get pulled back in.

Word Count: 1,930

A/N: This is the sixteenth installment in my first ever fanfic. It’s sectioned into months to show time progression. Lee and Han (@wheresthekillswitch and @hannahindie) have been betas for this from Day 1 and I love them more than words can say. Thank you both, for everything. These words, like everything else I write, are for me. Feel free to join me in the adventure.

Read (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15)


April

The self-hate never really went away. I’d managed to push it down and focus on hunting instead, on my time with Sam and Dean, on trying to emerge from the nest I’d lived in for the past five years. But it stayed tucked away, reappearing periodically with its crushing weight. I still blamed myself for everything that had happened. I would disappear from the bunker from time to time, going back to my old town to watch my dance studio from the rooftop across the street, reminding me of my times as a teenager. I’d gone to each person’s wake that had died by Gareth’s hands. Mallory’s was the hardest to attend, and I’d sat in my truck for a long time afterwards before returning to the bunker. The boys never questioned where I’d gone - I think they were mostly relieved that I came back at all.

I made the choice to stay with Sam and Dean at the bunker, doing my best to make their home mine as well. We eventually fell into a steady rhythm of hunting together, my extensive research and hunting expertise being a welcome addition to the team. The mentality of a born and raised hunter slowly rose from the depths that I had pushed it into for five years. It felt like I was discovering how to properly breathe again, and my lungs continued to expand and flourish within those first few weeks.

Keep reading

Ackermans (and their memories)

About the Ackermans’ innate strength and where I believe it comes from. (not exactly a Rivamika post)

Before we even knew the Ackerman family was a lineage of warriors whose purpose was to protect the royal family, everyone thought the source of Mikasa’s strength was her Asian genes. Why? Because that was the one thing that made Mikasa stand apart from every other character.

There were also people who compared Levi’s strength to Mikasa’s and again assumed it could also be due to genetics. Some even pointed out that he could be Asian as well, so it was possible to relate the source of Mikasa’s strength to Levi’s.

But everything changed when the First Interior Brigade attacked.

Who would’ve thought? Suddenly, Levi became related to Mikasa because of the other half of her lineage - the Ackermans. Everyone was so invested in the Asians and their mysterious origin and exile that no one suspected THE Ackermans. Immediately everyone concluded that Levi’s and Mikasa’s super strength and battle prowess came from their (now canon) shared lineage (and its ackerpowers).

Now, the Ackerman clan was very close to the royalty, and they had a purpose for living - to protect the King, to serve the Royal Government and also ensure humanity survived. For that, they needed to be exceptionally strong. 

But they didn’t have any other racially distinguishing features, like the Asians. Mikasa herself pointed it out to Levi.

So we could say that by appearance alone, they are the same as the people inside the walls (or the majority, as Grandpa Ackerman calls them). 

But Grandpa made sure to point out that theirs was a separate bloodline.

So what makes the Ackermans so different as to make them immune to the mass brainwashing?

Perhaps it’s their memories. Yes, the Ackerman’s powers must come from their accumulated memories, passed down from generation to generation of soldiers. Years and years of battle experience that can be awakened when the time calls for it.

If “suddenly knowing what to do” …

Or having “a power awaken inside”…

Or “believe they can do anything” and “assume perfect-self control”…

… actually translates to “to remember something”.

So the Ackermans may not be genetically engineered (is that even possible in this world?) to be stronger and faster… But given what we know about supernatural powers in the manga (more specifically the Reiss’ power to alter memories), the Ackermans must somehow inherit their ancestor’s memories, and they lay dormant until the person is driven to the brink of survival. 

And who could’ve made such a thing possible? The Reiss, of course. The Reiss started a lineage of warriors to protect them using their memory power alone. And somehow, these memories could be inherited (one doesn’t need to have them transferred by the heir to the Reiss).

The Ackerman memories must work a bit differently than the heir to the Reiss’ memories, which are inherited together with the coordinate power (by eating the person as a titan and therefore also becoming a shifter).

And that’s why the King’s influence cannot affect the memories of the Ackermans - because somehow, they must’ve have already been overwritten by their “soldier” memories through the exact same power. It’s ironic, really.

And when the time came for the King to rewrite history, the only way to wipe the Ackerman’s memories of times past was to wipe out the entire clan - hence their exile.

That’s pretty much what I can assume with the info Isayama has revealed so far.

…Right, but what about the Asians? They just look different. There isn’t anything that could possibly make them immune to the memory overwrite, right?

Perhaps what the Asian clan passes down to its children is not just a symbol. Perhaps it could a way to pass down their culture and make it survive, as in their sealed memories…?  

Originally posted by funnypicturesgalore

Yeah, we’re probably overthinking it.

Edit: Reblogged for the SNK Crack Theories Week 2016! 
Prompt: Ackerman Monday (July 25)

long ago, there was a lone being floating through space.

he thought up thousands of stories, thousands of characters, thousands of worlds- however, he had nothing, and therefore he could not put pen to paper and express himself in the way he so longed to do.

and so he waited.

eventually, he came upon a colorful planet called “earth,” and as he landed gingerly on earth’s surface, he realized that he could finally write.

he found a city- in it he found a pen, and some paper. he sat down in an alley and began to write.

he soon realized his power in writing; whatever he wrote would come to be, therefore he had to be careful. discreet.

he quite liked earth, anyways- he didn’t want to have to leave it anytime soon.

he began to write his own story, penning himself into a wonderful life where he had everything he wished for- a place to call home, food and drink, and a dog that would live as long as he did (which was, he’ll admit, a long time).

all of these things came to be, and for a long time, he was content.

of course, every writer eventually starts feeling the itch to write something new, something exciting.

he could keep writing his own story, his own life, but he had certain… characters he would love to bring to light- and what was the fun in writing new chapters in the same old story? he was quickly losing interest in doing just that- and so, he put his own life at a standstill; he wrote his beautiful, flawed creatures into existence.

the first was a human; he possessed a heart of gold, tear ducts the size of mount everest, and a naturally empathetic mindset- and he was very, very emotional. he was full of every emotion you could imagine, especially happiness, and when he let himself go, his feelings would come gushing out of him.

he gave the human the name “mark”, meaning “war-like”, to contrast with his kind nature and horribly vulnerable body.

he enjoyed writing mark’s story- he was an enjoyable character to explore. however, he soon decided that mark needn’t be the only main character in his story.

next was a horribly egotistical being, one who could bend the laws of time and space. he created chaos wherever he went, and he was a self-established talk show host and murderer on the side. best of all, he looked almost exactly like mark- with the exception of his bright pink mustache.

he granted him the name “wilford”, which meant “desires peace”- which, of course, was exactly the opposite of what wilford wanted. and, in a streak of silliness, he gave wilford the surname “warfstache”.

as he wrought chaos unto mark’s life, he realized that he needed characters to offset the silliness and happiness that mark and wilford portrayed.

and so, dark, yandere, google, and winter were created.

dark was seductive, subtle in every way. he kept his emotions under heavy lock and key, but they strained to the surface and leaked out of him when he lost his seemingly perpetual concentration. he was extremely unstable, and had perception-warping abilities; if you were unlucky enough to get close to him, you could see his form wavering and the space around him swirling into new shapes.

yandere was a bit more… physically-oriented. he held the same body type of the others, but he had an innate strength that few could rival. his mind was extremely warped, and he was very violent. he was fiercely protective of the ones he loved, to a murderous degree- if you did anything to threaten his relationships, platonic or romantic, you’d be dead by morning.

google was the epitome of ‘artificial intelligence gone wrong’, based on the search engine “google”; he was overly knowledgeable about everything, and he lived to please, following your every instruction. however, he absolutely despised almost all of mankind, and when given the ability, he’d do everything in his power to destroy humanity.

winter was the youngest, but he was a long way from being the weakest. he had no physical body- he was simply a being, but he occasionally inhabited humans’ bodies for the fun of it. he held the uncanny ability to separate a family, whether it be friends or relatives. if he managed to get his metaphorical hands on your mind, he’d twist your sanity until you couldn’t think straight- and then he’d choke you out with a cold gust of air, freezing you instantly.

he was proud. proud of the characters he had created, proud of the story he had written to go along with them, but most of all, he was proud of the characters themselves.

mark and wilford had turned out to be beautiful and complex, exactly the way he had intended them to be. dark, yandere, google, and winter still had a long way to go, but they were quickly developing into wonderfully flawed creatures.

they each had their positives and negatives, but all in all, they were… exquisite.

anonymous asked:

Weren't Reiner Bertl & Annie all sent by the same people when they were all kids? Though Annie seemed to be the least brainwashed so she was aware that none of what they did was good (B&R seem to think they're saving the world or something). I do think that she was involved with the breach- maybe she did the thing where she screams & all the titans go after her and she went to the wall so that when it was breached there would be a bunch of then nearby. Idk I'm like 22 chapters behind the manga

That’s what the current presumption is regarding her possible role in the breach, which unless someone else who had the Coordinate commanded the titans to go to the wall, this would be the most likely scenario. However, this wasn’t my main point regarding Annie and her loyalties.

According to her earliest memories, she underwent rigorous training with her father in preparation for the mission against humanity, training all day and night with no pauses in between. But the issue was that she didn’t understand or share her father’s beliefs, and eventually became angry enough to even attack him. The incident left her father severely injured, but he was also proud of her exceptional demonstration of strength and innate talent.

Following this, she became obedient to her father and underwent several more years of difficult training. But before she was to leave her hometown for the Walls, her father came to regret his actions and later apologised profusely to Annie for everything:

He apologised for how he forced his beliefs and ideals onto her without any regard for her own thoughts and feelings on the matter. Thus, he asked her to treat the world as her enemy, and reassured her that he would always be on her side no matter what.

And as his final request, Annie’s father begged her to promise to come home,which was something that resonated with her deeply, meaning that she could very well abandon her mission if she felt it necessary. However, at the time, she believed that this was not an option:

Furthermore, after Marco had discovered that Reiner and Bertolt were in league with the Titans, Reiner demanded that Annie prove her loyalty to the warriors by taking away Marco’s vertical manoeuvring equipment. So with much hesitation, Annie agreed and disposed of his equipment:

But it’s the manner inn which she was forcefully told to do something against her will - it brought shades of the past and her father back to the forefront. And just look at how distraught she looks here; Annie was being placed in an absolutely terrible position by Reiner:

Reiner kept on going on about what a despicable race the humans were, and was pressurising Annie to fulfil her duty, but this was never something that Annie wanted in the first place; Annie never felt passion of this “duty”:

That was the reason why her father apologised to her all those years ago; he was forcing an ideal and belief onto her that she didn’t agree with at all, and now the same thing was happening again.

And when Marco finally met his end, look at the expression on Annie’s face:

She was devastated and was even brought to tears at the fact that she had just allowed Marco to meet his end in such an unruly manner, all for the sake of upholding this duty that she felt no loyalty or passion towards in the first place. That’s why I feel as though despite Annie having no excuse for her transgressions, her loyalty towards Marley is far more questionable than Reiner and Bertolt’s.

Her genuine and sincere interactions with Eren and Armin only serve to fuel the doubt, and place her in the same realm of moral ambiguity as Ymir, as they both have someone or something that they place above their “duty”.

9

Our Times (我的少女時代) dir. Frankie Chen. 2015. 

Lin Zhenxin (“sincere of heart”), an unbearably stressed office worker, flashes back to her years as a high school student, reminiscing upon the innocent days of love, friendship, and the thrill of youthful risks and secrets. 

A young Zhenxin, played by Vivian Sung, receives a chain letter warning her of terrible misfortune if she does not pass it on to three others. One of the unlucky recipients is Hsu Taiyu, played by Darren Wang, the school’s notorious bad boy and gangster, sparking a tenuous, cautiously budding friendship between them as Taiyu scares her into becoming his errand-girl and introduces her to a wilder life the goody two-shoes Zhenxin had never dreamed of. 

Despite their rocky beginnings, the two unite over the goal of ending the clandestine relationship between the two others they are respectively in love with. Their friendship becomes far more genuine as truths of Hsu’s past surface and they slowly come to recognize each other’s rising strengths and innate vulnerabilities. 

Our Times was Frankie Chen’s directorial debut and has been compared to the 2011 Taiwanese hit romance film You Are the Apple of My Eye. It is the highest-grossing film from Taiwan at the mainland Chinese box office and achieved significant acclaim throughout east and southeast Asia. 

Yuuram in Novel 11

So Yuuri and Wolfram are in completely separate places, but I want you to notice how in the scenes with other characters the ‘Dacascos and Adalbert’ scene, and ‘Anissina and Greta’, they all talk about Yuuri and Wolfram as partners, good match/ideal partners, etc. Then, there’s Yuuri who’s constantly thinking of Wolfram (especially when he’s not well)

——————————————————————
Novel 11. ch.2
-Yuuri thinking of Wolf -

“But with such bad turbulence, even people other than Wolf would find it hard, right? I don’t usually get seasick, but now my stomach’s all bloated, and I feel like I’m going to vo-vo-vo-vomit—Mph!”

Before tragedy can strike, I clasp my hand over my mouth, my throat full of bitterness. Thank goodness I didn’t just eat.

——————————————————————
Novel 11. ch.3
-Wolfie’s rumors-

As expected of Gisela, not only does she watch Wolfram, who’s imagining a crazy drunk Grantz, expressionlessly, she’s also remembering the rumors on the street about Lord von Bielefeld at the same time. He may look cute, but he has a shocking alcohol tolerance, and he doesn’t go crazy after he gets drunk either, could that be true? She wants to verify the validity of this rumor. Compared to that adopted father of hers, who strips stark naked, wears his underwear on his head and starts dancing madly whenever he drinks, she wonders, who’ll be more fun when they’re drunk?

——————————————————————
Novel 11. ch.3
-Gossips-

“Although he’s only sixteen, I heard that his love life is really colorful! I don’t know if it’s true or false, but I heard that he got engaged to the previous Maou’s third son a long time ago?”

“That’s right, that’s true. That’s why His Excellency Günter’s nose ran like a river, and he cried while biting onto his handkerchief! But most of the people are happy to see it. In the bet for His Majesty’s affections, His Excellency Wolfram is rather popular too. But that’s unsurprising, since they’re such a good match! Aiya, like that time when the two of them were hiding together in the fruit carton, I thought they were some foreign dolls and couldn’t look away! But I spent three month’s worth of salary to bet on His Excellency Günter—I’ll just take it as my congratulatory present for them.”

——————————————————————
Novel 11. ch.3
-If he has the most ideal partner by his side  -

“Don’t act so violently in front of children, look how scared Greta is. I understand your hopes and concerns for your little brother. But these things happen in the world, situations when you’ve done your all and things still don’t go your way. Some people are just that unlucky, so all you can say is that he’s born under an unlucky star.”

“Is Wolfram the Little Prince (/Prince from the Stars)?”

The little girl asks, her voice nasally as she holds back tears.

After releasing her childhood friend’s hand, Anissina smile brightly at Greta,

“Maybe? But maybe not. Wolfram may be the Little Prince, but he might not be a king. However that doesn’t have to be an unlucky thing, Greta. Even if he can’t win on his own, if he has the most ideal partner, and he’s standing by his side, they can bring out a power that’s stronger than his innate strength.”

——————————————————————
Novel 11. ch.5
- It’s like no one else can comfort him-

“I’m guessing it might because I’m too wound up. Rather than call it gastric pains… it’s more like I ate too much and feel tight in my chest.”

“Could it be a cold? Maybe you were too worn out that time when we were drifting on the sea.”

And sometimes I get headaches and horrible chills too, very evidently the pre-symptoms of a cold.

(…) And I deduce that this sense of discomfort isn’t a cold, but due to pressure.

I’ve been in a series of emergency situations since Small Shimaron, and I didn’t have any friends during the trip. Josak is definitely a comrade I can rely on, and is a trustworthy guard, but that’s different from the sense of safety Wolfram gives me. Because we can’t banter with each other, and comfort each other.

5

The Gods of Socranor

In the plane’s early days, the pantheon used to be much wider, containing dozens of gods. They would wage war pointlessly, nearly destroying the plane in doing so. Seeking an end to it, the moon goddess Socran created the first weapons and thus, invented the Weapon Arts. She shared her newfound powers with four others who wished for peace, and together they slew the rest. With balance brought to the world, the five remaining gods decided that combat would be a practice of art and honor, not pointless bloodshed. To this day, they benevolently guide the mortals of Socranor, and bless the greatest among them.

Socran, God of Discipline: To Socran, greatness comes with self-control and wisdom. It was her who invented the Weapon Arts and taught them to mortals; all in the hope that they’d use the Arts to become beings of great power and wisdom.

Valkova, God of Glory: The sister of Socran and goddess of the dark-side of the moon. Victory is the greatest reward for a well-fought battle, and those she finds worthy are immortalized forever as legends told by her angelic host.

Hanir, God of Dedication: Since the plane’s beginnings, Hanir has loved Socran dearly. He uses his loyalty to her as a source of strength, and teaches mortals to draw power from the things they are most devoted to.

Domora, God of Insight: Domora is a reclusive god who teaches that true power is only acquired from understanding. Those who truly know their opponents will always find victory. He often blesses those he favors with ancient secrets, long lost to mortal knowledge.

Beheogt, God of Strength: Behegot scorns the Weapon Arts, and believes that reliance on tools make one weak. The greatest warriors come from those that can call upon the strength innately within them.

I want more people to know who Christine de Pizan is because whenever we talk about the history of feminism and feminist discourse she seems to be left out and im like Y’ALL CHRISTINE PRACTICALLY STARTED FEMINIST THEORY IN THE WESTERN WORLD

In 1400 she was earning a living as an author living in Paris. She was from Italy, but her husband was at the French court and after he died she had to support herself so she started writing. She went on to become a huge deal, and even the queen and royal fam in france at the time commissioned manuscripts from her. She was also the only writer to write a narrative political poem of Joan of Arc during Joan’s lifetime. 

Christine advocated for women’s happiness in a time when that was…hardly ever thought of. She defended heroines throughout the ages, she stood up for rape victims, she envisioned living in a utopia built by women and for women (the cité des dames). She prized femininity because she believed that women had innate strength of character and yes, even though much of her work was moralizing, she believed in the goodness of women wholeheartedly. 

Christine de Pizan was a badass. Christine de pizan was a feminist before feminism was a thing. 

"You Shall Not Pass" Spell

Originally posted by georgetakei

Inspired by Gandalf’s fight with the Balrog this is a spell for those nights when the space beyond the bed feels crowded or unfriendly.

This spell can be done sitting in the middle of the bed, with nothing but you and your will, or you can use a wand or staff if you prefer. I use my staff and sword when I’m at home because it feels more Gandalf-y to me but if I’m staying somewhere else I tend to just use my hands. You can also either perform the spell from your bed (which is good if you’re low on spoons or you’ve woken up in the middle of the night and don’t want to get out of bed) or you can perform it by walking around the bed (which is best if you want to use the staff). If you normally sleep with a crystal or rock under your pillow, you can use that as an additional spell anchor by holding it in one of your hands as you perform the spell.

And how do you do that, precisely?

Well first you need to channel your inner Gandalf, and I find simply thinking about that scene in the movies works wonders. Gandalf may be tired and exhausted but he knows his innate power, knows he has the strength to create a barrier to prevent the Balrog from passing into his space. Connect to the core within yourself, where your innate strength resides, and allow it to flood your body and fill you with the knowledge that you have the power to control what passes the barriers you choose to make. Once your energy is filling every inch of you, tingling along your skin, you’re ready to begin.

Keep reading

cnn.com
PULSE: ONE YEAR LATER: Pulse victim: How I learned the meaning of survival
Brandon Wolf, a survivor of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando, reflects on how his understanding of survival has evolved over the last year.
By Brandon J. Wolf

Only the strong survive, they say. Survival of the fittest. But in the past year, the reality of my survival has been a painful journey of guilt, reflection, and hope.

On June 12, 2016, I escapedPulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida. That night had started like any other. Arm-in-arm with my best friends, Drew and Juan, we were racially intersectional and socially liberated. I was dancing with two left feet; I was safe. Moments later, the first shots rang out.


The stench of blood and smoke burned my nose while a dozen of us crouched in a dark corner of the bathroom. We listened to gunshot after gunshot. And when the second round started, I made a break for the door. I didn’t look right; didn’t look left. I just stared death in the face, praying for a way out. I survived, but my friends didn’t.


It wasn’t until days later that a sense of dread and guilt set in. Was it my fault? Could I have saved Juan and Drew? And what of my place as a survivor? There I stood, uninjured, but broken. I had no outward sign of suffering – I didn’t walk with a limp or need physical therapy. But somehow, I was still hurting. I kept asking myself: as a physically unscarred survivor, did I even deserve a voice at all?

It’s a question that still haunts me, a year later. That’s the trouble with pain: it’s never just a flesh wound. It’s raw. It burns. It wakes you up drenched in sweat and sends you to sleep in a flood of tears. And to be a survivor is to wrestle that pain in every waking moment. If you measured things by media coverage, you might think our healing is over. That the time limit on our grieving has expired. To some, our wounds were never emotional at all. We were “shot six times,” “crawled to safety,” or “lost our friends.”

I attended the GLAAD Media Awards in April of this year. That was where I learned what walking in these shoes as a survivor means. While I was standing on the red carpet next to a brave Pulse survivor who had suffered multiple gunshot wounds, a woman approached me. She stared into my eyes with brutal intensity. “You don’t even know how lucky are,” she said. I must have had a quizzical look, as she immediately began to add context. “You don’t even know how lucky you are to be standing next to such strength. That man is what bravery looks like.”

Then it hit me: To so many, survival is skin deep. A broken heart and troubled mind are masked by physical recovery. In that moment, it was as if my strength and struggle were an afterthought. An expectation. I mean, I had been lucky to survive, hadn’t I? Luckier still to be walking without a cane. But what about my crumbling interior? The sleepless nights? Were my nightmares as real as those of the unlucky? I was, at once, a prisoner in my own mind, forced to stand and smile next to real bravery.

When did it become inadequate to survive? And where did we learn to quantify others’ pain? Learning to walk again is not the hard part of survival; learning to live again is. Long after the crutches are gone, the heart is still healing. This year, the Florida Legislature approved $2.5 million for the University of Central Florida’s PTSD clinic in Orlando after it was threatened by budget cuts. And while the world celebrates a community that has healed and moved on, survivors and first responders are praising a lifeline that may mean the difference between life and death.

Sen. Dianne Feinstein, a survivor several times over, once said, survival is nothing more than recovery. For some affected by Pulse, that will mean therapy. For others, learning how to stand in a crowded room without breaking down in tears. I found my recovery in a balance between advocacy and self-healing.

Weeks after the attack, my friends and I launched The Dru Project, a nonprofit organization that sponsors Gay-Straight Alliances in public schools and helps send future leaders to college. And in August, I joined the board of advisers for a political action committee dedicated to ending gun violence. I wanted to do something to make the world a better place, and to use my own story of survival to inspire unity and courage. I wanted to show young people that in the face of adversity and fear, it is our challenge to respond with inclusion and love. Ultimately, I found healing in an acknowledgement of the pain that will haunt me and a refusal to accept it as inevitable for the next generation.

As we reach the one year memorial, I catch myself thinking about the long road ahead. I think about birthdays without my best friends. I think about learning to sleep with the lights off again. I wonder if I will ever feel safe. And I worry about the rest of this community that will face the same fears. For them, I hope the world never forgets. I hope that when the cameras leave and they put the crutches away, there will be people to support them through their heartache. My hope is that Orlando will never have to heal alone.

Only the strong survive, they say. But being a survivor isn’t about casual strength or innate bravery. Survival is about taking each step of the long road to recovery one painful step at a time. For us, surviving means we will never stop fighting for our lives.

please remember that capheus repeatedly decides to try to fuck up gangsters with his bare hands and drives a bus with VAN DAMN painted on it in giant flaming letters and barrel rolls a car through san francisco in the middle of a police chase while giggling excitedly. i always see posts talking about how tender and hopeful and compassionate capheus is which is TRUE he is all of those things absolutely, but that’s half of his personality, and the other half is just him yelling FIGHT ME

IRAQ. Baghdad governorate. Sadr City. March 4, 2009.

“I’ve listened to Iraqis share their tragedies over the years. “This is freedom?” is the ongoing Iraqi dark humor. I met Rena a year after she was hit by an American airstrike. She was eight months pregnant and walking hand in hand with her young sister in Sadr city in 2008. American forces were on a mission to ‘clean up’ Shiite militias. In an instant, Rena lost her left leg, her unborn infant, and her youngest sister. And in the same instant, much like the country itself, she became imprisoned by sadness. In my days with Rena, as much as we cried together, we laughed. Her longing to laugh and her surprising sense of humor filled me with humility. Exhausted by trauma and sadness, there was an innate strength and desire to move forward towards something better. Repeatedly lost with shattered expectations, hope is something that Iraqis have exhausted themselves in holding. Eventually Iraq’s violence would grow its own tired face, and like Iraq, Rena had to find a way to cope: through triumph. When you find lightness and humor, you find your way back.”

Photograph: Farah Nosh

8

The “anti-chosen children”-click on pictures for more explanations!

I hope tri will explore the challenges of staying true to one’s values and innate strength while transitioning into adulthood. My personal favourites in this set is Taichi, Jou and Takeru, which has darker concepts written into it.

EDIT: AH! After a good night’s rest, I think Mimi would suit something along the lines of vengeful or vindictive rather than corruption. But I guess I wanted a verb than an adjective.

frostbite883  asked:

TumblrFrostbite: If the accident that turned Victor Stone into a cyborg never happened, would Vic Stone had someday made a name for himself as a professional athlete if he was picked up as a top eligible draft prospect first? Or would things had ended up badly for Vic after he was picked? Note: This alternate universe scenario could happen in ANY DC universe.

well, his drive, determination and strength are innate qualities imo so i’d like to think he’d be successful no matter the circumstance…