apparently i have a court now

>random guy in shit tier iron armor shows up one day saying a dragon is burning down a city.
>don’t know why the guards let him in.
>figure I can throw another body at my court wizard so I shuffle him over.
>Comes back with arrows sticking out of his body and holding the tablet out for my court wizard like its nothing.
>Hear reports someone killed literally every bandit, rat, wolf, and rabbit between here and the spot he was sent.
>I now need to get this pain immune lunatic murderer out of my city.
>Dragon shows up.
>Send the guy out on a suicide mission to kill a dragon.
>End of my worries.
>He comes back, apparently having killed the dragon and eaten its soul.
>According to reports just stood there and let the dragon burn him while chugging addictive and dangerous health potions he made himself.
>Now standing in front of me eating an entire bushel of apples, two loaves of bread, and an entire side of beef while everyone looks on in horror and disgust.
>Need to get him away from my children as fast as possible.
>Tell him he needs to climb the tallest mountain in Skyrim and stay with the Graybeards.
>He leaves without a word.
>Hopefully thats the last I’ll see of him…

  • First impression- I actually can’t remember having much of a first impression on Cass actually, I didn’t think about him that much, which isn’t surprising because he’s not what I’d typically describe as my ‘type’ of character. 

  • Impression now- Cassian is a character that I shouldn’t be this deeply in love with but I am. He’s got that typical hulking, muscular, greatest warrior ever blah blah blah exterior but the interior is all heart and emotion. He’s incredible compassionate, emotionally sensitive, self-aware, supportive, loyal and committed.

    Also, fandom talks a lot about Rhys’ feminism but I actually think Cassian would make a more interesting argument on that front. Cassian doesn’t give the women around him titles and empty gestures and the illusion of power that he ultimately still controls. Cassian trains them, teaches them how to defend themselves and fight for themselves and doesn’t make them reliant on him but shows them how they can rely on themselves.

    One of the first things Cassian does for Feyre is to tell her that she’s found herself a teacher if she wants one. No mess, no fuss, just, I see what you’ve been through, I see how you’ve suffered, I see why, I’m going to give you the ability to make sure that never happens to you again

    Same with Nesta - he gives her a blade and gives her basic self-defence tips to take care of herself. He affirms her agency and her power and how she is in control and how she chooses, and not through a middle-man. If she doesn’t want a man to touch her, she dictates that. He doesn’t offer to be her shield, he puts a blade in her hand and tells her she can damn well look after herself) He supports and empowers without smothering or directing, he’s a pillar, not a pedestal and that’s important. 

  • Favourite moment-  He studied Nesta for a long moment. She was still glaring at the queens, her eyes lined with tears—tears of rage and despair, from that fire that burned her so violently from within. When she finally noticed Cassian, she looked up at him.
    His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.” 

    The nessian content is good but from a Cassian point of view I think this just embodies who he is. Because this actually is not about Nesta in the sense that Cassian is not standing there saying he will protect her, at no point does he ever say that to her, he promises to protect her house, her people, people who cannot protect themselves. This is for Nesta in the sense that it mirrors her ideals and it mirrors what she wanted and argued for a few moments before but it’s bigger than her. 

    This is the heart of Cassian - protecting those who cannot protect themselves - is what his character embodies. The warrior who fights without expectation of glory or riches or power but because there is a frightened child behind him that he will give his life to defend.

    Same kind of idea in the “I know” scene with Feyre and the scene where he supports Mor in ACOWAR after the CoN travesty. 

  • Idea for a story- I might actually want to take Cassian’s wings from him and see how he copes and what he does, how it changes him and how he stays the same in spite of that. Cassian has, I think, a deeper connection to his Illyrian heritage than either Azriel or Rhys. I don’t think it’s blind, I think there’s condemnation and awareness in there, but there’s a bit of pride as well.

    I also think this could have made an interesting and powerful statement with regards to the female Illyrians. Hundreds, probably thousands of those women have had their wings clipped and mutilated to prevent them ever flying again. Where’s the outcry for them? People lost their minds when Cassian’s wings were threatened, when he might not be able to fly again, but all of those women have their wings clipped and are not allowed to fly, are forced to breed.

    I want a narrative where Cassian loses his wings and can’t fly anymore and he returns to the camps and gets a very serious reality shock from the thousands of women who still have their wings, who were not allowed to sacrifice them to shield a loved one, who there was no outrage and agony over and so he forms a new legion - the Illyrians who cannot fly but who can still fight. The females with clipped wings, the Illyrians born with deformities, the Illyrians who lost their wings to battle scars or infection. Cassian trains them and rallies them and rediscovers purpose in himself.

    The female Illyrians who can fly stand with their clipped sisters and join this legion too. Cassian appoints a young daemati female soldier to his command and uses her and the other females who are more fierce and loyal than any others he’s ever worked with, to command and direct his aerial troops. 

  • Unpopular opinion- Erm…I don’t think I have one?? Maybe ‘Cassian is a more interesting feminist study than Rhys’ but idk. 

  • Favourite relationship- Nessian intrigues me and delights me a hell of a lot. But I think his relationship with Az is something that should get more attention - there’s a definite ‘two sides of the same coin’ kind of yin and yang between them and comparing and contrasting them is really interesting tbh. Also Cassian/Mor (even though I have some minor regards with how this was handled in regards to ACOWAR and Moriel) it is Good and Pure and there’s a lot of supportive unconditional love there that I’m here for. 

  • Favourite headcanon- Cassian designs and personally gives his soldiers their Illyrian tattoos. The Inner Circle all have a variation of the Night Court insignia specific to the Court of Dreams somewhere on their bodies. After the war he adds it to Feyre’s spinal tattoo. He and Nesta have matching tattoo designs inked onto their bodies to mark their mating bond acceptance. Nesta saw the designs doodled at the side of one of his reports and announced that she wanted them. Cassian was shocked but didn’t argue. He gave her hers; she gave him his. 

It was perfect, utterly perfect, and Neil felt at once inspired and horrified by the sight of it. How could he possibly play here? He closed his eyes and breathed in, breathed out, imagining the way bodies sounded as they crashed into each other on the court, the way the announcer’s voice would only come through in muffled, scattered bursts, the roar of sixty-five thousand people reacting to a goal. He knew he didn’t deserve this, knew beyond a doubt he wasn’t good enough to play on this court, but he wanted and needed it so badly he ached all over. 

… He’d made the right decision. The risks didn’t matter; the consequences would be worth it. He had to be here. He had to play on this court at least once. He had to know if the crowd screamed loud enough to blow the roof off. He had to smell the sweat and overpriced stadium food. He needed to hear the buzzer sound as a ball slammed inside the white goal lines and lit the walls up red. 

“Oh,” Nicky said … “No wonder he chose you.”

 - The Foxhole Court [Nora Sakavic]

In 2013, the percentage of high school graduates hit an all time high with 81 per cent. All over the world, there are more people than ever searching and applying for tertiary education.
Teen pregnancy hit an all time low in 2013, heavy underage drinking is only at 17 % and the number of children and young people in court is the lowest is has been in 20 years.
Over the last few years, there has been a revival of the civil rights movement, the feminist movement and the lgbt movement. Young people all over the world are more likely to be accepting towards minorities, individuals and foreigners than any generation before us.  

And yet, older generations talk about us in demeaning tones. We have been coined as the ‘me, me, me’ generation, as the ‘I want it now’ generation, as a generation of people who only care about themselves, a generation of narcissists. Apparently, research shows that about 30 per cent of today’s youth has narcissistic tendencies.
Now, one may say that every generation in history has seen the younger generation as reckless, disregardful of the future and lazy. But this is different. This is different because unlike other generations before us, we are not at one, but at many turning points in history. we are the first generation to grow up with the internet. Never has the world been such a globalised community, never have the borders of countries meant so little. Never has technology moved so fast, never has information been as easily accessible as it is today. We are the first generation that, if we do not agree with what we learn in schools, we can educate ourselves, we are the first generation that can connect with people from america, from germany, from china, from south africa, from brazil,  and build friendships all over the world.
But not all is positive. We are also a generation that may be facing more threats to humankind than have ever existed in one time period before. Global climate change, oil and other natural resources running out, and a new face of terrorism in the form of ISIS and Boko Haram. The global economy is falling apart, and is responsible for the fact that we will be the first generation to be less wealthy than our parents, that most students in Australia will start working already in debt because of student loans.
A world in ruins is what my generation has been saddled with. We’re the ones who are holding on to each other despite our differences and telling each other it’s good to be who we are, whether we’re gay or straight or black or white. We have to save the environment, end wars and find homes for the asylum seekers this system has created, we have to cure poverty and wage inequality and food distribution, and as if all that was not enough it is harder than ever to get a job in this society, harder than ever to pay for education.
And we are the lazy ones.
Why? Because we like taking selfies? Because we like spending time on social media? Because we like spending time with our friends? Are we uncreative and stupid because we are not afraid to say “I’m awesome and I truly believe that”?.
We are proud of ourselves. We tell each other to love ourselves. That doesn’t mean we can’t feel for other people. And what good has ever come of being modest? Yes, society sees this as the ideal, but are we really happier if we constantly deny every compliment we get?
As cliche as it sounds, I believe you must love yourself before you can love and have a healthy relationship with anyone. As for the claim that we are uncreative; have you ever seen the internet? It is probably the biggest platform for creativity that has ever existed, because, as trivial as they are, memes are probably one of the most creative things humans have ever come up with. Recycling someone  else’s idea, putting your own twist on it and making it your own is what human civilisation is all about.
Even if you only look at one platform, you see it bustling with creativity. Youtube culture has enabled every one of us to have an audience to spread our message all over the world if we want to, enabled some of the best comedians to have their own space and make their own material, independent from any boundaries a company or studio might restrict them to. 4chan, while maybe not being the best example in decent human beings, has brought up on of the biggest activist groups of recent years, anonymous. On or, users write entire books, that are not restricted by age, usual genres, or any of the conventional book themes. All over the internet, there are small groups and communities bonding over their favourite book, movie, TV Show, video game, over their desire to learn, over everything. And all of them have such a huge creative potential, all of them create so much information every day that it is almost unfathomable to the human mind.
Of course not every person our age is a shining beacon of hope, integrity and creativity, not all of us can change the world. But we all believe that we can. And we have to. Because if we don’t, our world will never be saved from past mistakes.
And that is what I want you all to learn today:
We are not vain because we love ourselves, and we are not bad people because we like using the internet. We are contributing to the biggest pool of information ever created by humankind.
There is a lot resting on our generation, and the problems of the future often seem unsolvable. But I believe that we all have the potential to save the world. Love the person you are and the person you’re becoming, because we will be a generation that people will look back to and say “They did something truly remarkable.”

—  My speech for english

anonymous asked:

What proof do we have that Eris is abusive, other than that characters have said he is? Most held a similar opinion of Rhys, what's the difference? That we have a first person narrator who is privy to the backstory of one but not the other? I'm not trying to be aggressive but I want to know your thoughts. I thought showing was more important than telling in storytelling.

Okay then, like, what ‘proof’ have we got for literally 90% of the things in this series???? Feyre is a 19 year old human girl in a world full of immortal fae. You want an eye witness account for everything in this thing, do you?

 How do I know the war happened the way they said it did? Feyre never saw it, she’s only had characters tell her about it. How do I know Rhys actually hated what he did with Amarantha and didn’t just swap sides right at the end? How do I know Rhys’ dad sucked but his mother was a good person, I’ve only heard him tell me about her, I’ve seen it. How do I know Tamlin’s brothers were awful? Never seen them either. How do I know Beron is really that awful either, I mean maybe he’s wearing a mask too and all the characters are just wrong. How do I know Mor is queer? I’ve never seen her with a girl before, I just have her word for it, maybe she lied. How do I know literally anything in this entire series because WE GET TOLD MOST THINGS NOT SHOWN THEM. 

This is what happens when you have a limited first person pov. The character HAS to get told things in order to tell us things like ???? A little bit of common sense please, do you want me to like, historically fact check Prythian for everything that Feyre tells us about it??? 

And tbh SJM has a pretty crappy habit of doing the whole ‘telling over showing’ thing anyway. See: the entirety of the Throne of Glass series, Mor’s powers in ACOTAR (she’s awesome, really, we promise, we just haven’t actually SEEN her do anything), the assertions that Rhys and co are ~the most powerful ever~ have I actually SEEN that? Can I actually see that? No.  Do I really question these things? No. Because I understand that this is the only way I can actually get some information out of this story and if I only went with what I ‘saw’ and disbelieved everything else I’d have literally nothing?? 

And when it comes to the whole Eris thing, like, dude, it’s not just a couple of characters who’ve said he’s abysmal it’s like, wait let me make a list: 

Tamlin: “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” That would be Eris. So at best you’ve got conflicting statements here. 

Lucien: “Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.M, yes, Eris, HIS OWN BROTHER. If anyone was going to know Eris was ~not a bad person~ it’d be Lucien. Lucien who lived in that court. Who knew him. Who Eris apparently cared enough to protect/save, according to him. Eris who apparently cares so much about his mother (as we have seen Lucien does SEEN that is SEEN with our own two eyes) Why the hell would Lucien not know Eris was ‘wearing a mask’. Or maybe…Eris really does suck. 

Rhys: “Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. […]Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods.” Idgaf how he tries to spin it later, this is what happened.  

Cassian: “You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.” 

Amren: “Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien.

Mor: At Mor, whose face went white with dread. […]Or at Eris, heir to the Autumn Court, as he strolled into the room. 


And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

The sight of him triggers actual real panic attacks and flashbacks that we can literally see from Feyre’s POV. Five hundred years after the fact and Mor is still traumatised enough by what he did to her to react like this even after all that time. 

Then we have Feyre’s POV herself. Through her we’ve seen Eris laughing alongside his other brothers as Lucien was tortured and nearly killed. 

“I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

 Ah, yes, that would be Eris actively promising help to Amarantha in order to damn Feyre and continue her reign. Then there’s the way Eris hunts down Lucien and Feyre in the Winter Court, actively harms them both. So that’s like…Basically every single main character in this book who’s told you Eris sucks. 

What’s the basis for believing that he doesn’t, out of interest? I mean what ‘evidence’ do you have that he is actually wearing a mask, what do you have that’s so strong it goes against the testimony of multiple characters? Oh I know! You have Eris’ word for it and that’s it. Wow. So unbiased. So convincing. Eris tells us he’s not really a bad guy and that outweighs the half a dozen people who tells us he is! That’s just. Damn. What logic. Can’t argue with that. 

Also, like, I’m sorry, but Rhys’ arc was done properly, Rhys’ redemption wasn’t a retcon it was a followed-through on plan. There were hints UtM that Rhys was not as black as he was painted (He killed the Summer Court faerie outright rather than leaving him to suffer, he repeatedly came to visit Feyre in her cell when no-one else would, he was honest with Feyre about the treatment he received at Amarantha’s hands (a vulnerability on his part), he told her why he was making her dance every night as well as the steps he put in place to protect her, he sent music to her and saved her life, he saved her life and Tamlin’s with the kiss (which Feyre is aware of), he tried to save Feyre’s life while Amarantha was torturing her) 

Rhys was a complex, morally grey character UtM and it’s possible to show a different side to him and a ‘mask’ because there were always hints of him wearing one. What if Ianthe told Feyre she was actually a secret agent working for Prythian but she was forced to act the way she did to keep her cover? What if Amarantha said she’d only dominated Prythian that way to save it from something worse and she too was wearing a mask and working for the greater good? What if Hybern said there was a bigger threat facing them and he had an ulterior motive to this war (and also, I mean, how do you really know Hybern is that awful, we’ve only ever had people tell us about him, maybe he’s misunderstood too!!!!)  @valamerys wrote this out far better than I could in this post, read it too. 

My thoughts are pretty simple, tbh: SJM decided to “”””””redeem”””””” Eris, likely to have him set-up to take over Autumn, now Lucien isn’t an option for that before what with the whole dramatic lost son of Day thing and she did a crap job of it. Like this isn’t some grand morality based character debate that’s going on here, SJM just handled this poorly. In order to make him seem not so bad she had to undo all of the canon that she’d set in place before hand and offer ‘alternative’ explanations for what happened that we’ve never heard about. 

If she planned this all beforehand, if Eris was always wearing a mask why weren’t there hints of it before? Why didn’t she have Tamlin tell Feyre he got an anonymous tip-off the day he saved Lucien’s life from his brothers (which is what Eris claimed). Why wouldn’t Lucien defend him a little, say at least he cared about their mother/was sometimes kinder to him than the others? Why wouldn’t Rhys say that in the arranged marriage that petrified Mor, Eris was as unwilling as she was, that he argued against it? (Eris would have gone through with this marriage regardless of what it did to Mor if she hadn’t slept with Cassian) Why wouldn’t Eris stay quiet UtM or not show up to watch Lucien’s torture (which he does repeatedly)? Why, why, why, why, why would SJM not do something to show us that there might be more to Eris? Unless this was just a sloppy, last minute retcon to redeem a gross, abusive character who still to do this day petrifies his victim? 

Like, if you consider showing to be of more importance than telling in stories….You’ve picked a mighty weird hill to die on here with Eris. Because this is literally the worst example of telling not showing in this entire series. There is no basis for anything that happens with Eris’ character in ACOWAR and the only thing we have stacked against the evidence of two and a half books is what Eris says and how he personally spins the story like ????

 Idk dude, we can have a convoluted, let’s bend over backwards to redeem this guy and show he was misunderstood and has been wearing a mask so convincing it’s never ever ever cracked even once this entire time, to anyone! Even people who’ve known him for centuries….Or we go with the simpler: SJM really didn’t plan or execute this story very well at all. Which seems more reasonable?  

nessian acowar part13

collab with the coolest @togreblog thanks for giving me PURE ANGST to work with (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 1011, 12)

“What do I do?”

“Well you can’t just leave him there,” Elain said. Nesta had never heard her voice so disappointed.

She snapped an out of season cosmo out of a row in Elain’s garden. “He didn’t like me before, and now he’s going to feel obligated to want me. After a few months, it will wear off and he’ll be tired of me again.”

“Nesta, that’s ridiculous.”

Keep reading

Feysand Fic (Part 5)

See parts 1-4 here

(Rhys POV)

Mor winnowed us directly into the downstairs living room of my… our townhouse. Reluctantly I raised my eyes to meet the stares of those in the room, whatever conversation they had been having forgotten at our arrival. Amren, met my gaze and nodded her head in welcome she was sitting on the couch conveniently separating Lucien from Nesta. Cassian raised his eyebrows at me, or at Mor I didn’t care enough to discern which.

The smell of my mate lingered in the room, but she wasn’t here. Panic pulsed, through me at her absence. My fear must have been visible on my face, because instantly Cassian whispered, “She’s fine Rhys, she is upstairs resting… but fine.” A breath that I hadn’t realized I had been holding shattered through my chest at his words. She was fine, my mate… my mate was okay, and upstairs. I was vaguely aware that Amren had started talking to Mor and I about what had happened in the Spring Court, but I couldn’t concentrate on the details, all of my thoughts were consumed by one thing… Feyre.

Without saying a word I turned my back on the room, heading towards the stairs. The desire to see my mate, compelling my feet forwards, pushing through my exhaustion with each step. I knew that I was walking at a normal pace, but it felt like it took much longer to reach the door to my… our bedroom than normal.

My hand shook as I reached for the door, cursing I balled my fingers into a tight fist forcing the shaking to stop, as I tried to pull myself together. Tried, and failed, I was too spent. I couldn’t even control my own body. I sighed, this is not how I wanted to look the first time I saw my mate again after months. I wanted to be the strong High Lord of the Night Court that she had fallen in love with, not the crumbling mess I was now. Cringing at the thought that my mate might not want the broken pieces of myself that I had become, I slowly pushed open the door.

Her scent hit me first, the smell of her this close almost bringing me to my knees. Pushing the door open farther, I finally saw her. Lying on her stomach, spread out across our bed, one hand clutching my pillow close. Her head was angled away from me towards the open balcony overlooking Velaris, but I could tell by the deep rhythmic rise and fall of her chest that she was asleep. She was still dressed in that ridiculous pink dress from the Spring Court, I snarled showing my teeth, as I smelled spring on her… smelled Tamlin. I would kill him.

I reached inside me searching for the bond, but still could not feel her. That’s when I saw the bands of silver around her ankles, I vaguely recalled Lucien saying something about it nullifying her powers. This time a growl, fierce and strong ripped through me. How dare they put those chains on my mate, my High Lady.

Tentatively I reached out a finger to stroke the silver metal, the coldness of it surprised me, but what didn’t surprise me was the feeling of repulsion that went through me. My magic screamed at me to move away from it, to stop touching it, so I did. My face grim, as I looked for the first time into the face of my mate.

This time my legs did give out, as I feel to my knees in front of her. How had she survived wearing those horrid chains for so long. A shudder went through me at the thought of what it must feel like to wear them all the time. I raised my gaze again to take in her face. She was beautiful, and she looked peaceful in this moment. My eyes scanned over the rest of her taking note of the bruise that was still prominent around her throat, and the fact that she had lost some weight, but she was alive and finally home.

Exhaustion pulsed through me as the drive to see my mate was fulfilled. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stay conscious much longer, before my mind forced me into sleep so that it could restore the damage I had done earlier.

Carefully, so as to not disturb Feyre, I braced my arms on either side of her on the mattress, and slowly lowered myself beside her on the bed, my arms tightening around her to hold her close against me. The last thing I remembered before giving into the burnout was her warm breath caressing my neck.

(Feyre POV)

I was starting to wake up, my mind slowly catching up the events of day, when the scent of citrus and sea filled my senses. Slowly I remembered that I was in our room lying on our bed, but the scent seemed stronger. My eyes snapped open.


My mate, was sleeping beside me, his arms wrapped around me holding me tightly to his chest. Angling my head backwards slightly I looked up into his face. His hair was disheveled, and longer than I had ever seen it. The muscles of his face were relaxed in sleep, and one could have mistaken it to be peaceful if they didn’t know better. Dark circles lined his eyes that were not there months ago, his strong cheek bones more prominent. He looked as broken as I felt.

Wanting desperately to touch him, to prove that this was real and not a dream, I raised a finger tracing the outline of his face expecting him to stir at the sensation, but he remained asleep. Odd… Rhys would normally snap his eyes open at the slightest movement. In fact he normally could sense when I was awake.

I let my hands roam lower, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling my body closer to his as my fingers continued there descent, grabbing his shirt pulling it up so that I could feel his bare skin against me. Rhys still didn’t stir.

Now I was concerned, something had to be wrong. Bracing my hands against his chest I pushed away as far as I could trying to see him better, but his grip instinctively tightened around me, pulling me against him. Looking back up into his face, I frowned. Was he having a nightmare? Why wouldn’t he wake up?

“Rhys…” I whispered against his ear, my voice much weaker and raspier than I would have liked, but it still hurt to talk thanks to… I shuddered pushing the memories down inside me. “Rhys” I tried again with more volume. My hand cupped his cheek, as I said his name again.

When he still didn’t react, I became frantic, shaking his shoulders, but he remained motionless. The only sign that he was even alive, was the warm breath hitting my face.

“Mor! Amren!” My voice wasn’t loud enough to be considered a scream, but I knew that if they were still in the townhouse they would hear me.

Within seconds Mor was standing beside the bed. She quickly scanned the room looking for any threats, upon finding none her gazed rested back on the bed, where Rhys and I were laying. I noticed that her gaze lingered longer on Rhys, before her eyes found mine.

“Whats wrong Feyre?” She whispered.

I pointed a finger at Rhys, who was still sleeping like the dead beside me. “What’s wrong with him?” My voice cracked with emotion, and I didn’t care as tears sprang to my eyes. I just wanted to speak to my mate, needed to hear his voice, feel his touch, his caress, his lips…

“Oh Feyre…” Mor reached out and squeezed my hand, offering me a comforting smile. “He’s fine, well… mostly. Today, I don’t know… he slipped. He released almost all of his power in a short amount of time. It drained him… I hadn’t realized how much, but…” Mor paused as she glanced over at Rhys. “ It seems worse than I initially thought. He will probably sleep for a while, perhaps days.”

Days… he could be asleep for days. I frowned at the thought and Mor laughed. “Don’t worry Feyre, you will have him back soon enough.” I offered her a small smile, of course I was just happy to be here, happy to be home. Mor smiled back at me, as if she could read my thoughts. I dropped my gaze, readying myself for the question that I needed to ask.

“How was he?” Mor’s smile faltered, as her eyes darted again to Rhys.

“He, umm… He didn’t take being separated from you well. At first, I thought that with time it would get better, but it seemed to only get worse the further you were gone. It was like everyday more of him faded away, until all that was left was the mask of the High Lord of the Night Court.” Mor shook her head, as if trying to clear away memories. “He sent Elaine away with Azril, and it made sense and has been working well to our advantage, but I think he had an alternative motive for sending her away, she reminded him too much of you. He started drinking more, becoming more isolated… today was the most I’ve talked to him in months…”
Pain and guilt ripped through my heart, as Mor talked. My fault… it was all my fault. Her hand tightened around mine, in reassurance as she said, “Nobody blames you Feyre.” I couldn’t respond without crying, so I just nodded my head, and looked back at Rhys.

“I do need to tell you something.” Mor continued, “In the morning members of the Summer, Dawn, and Winter courts will be here for a meeting at the House of Wind. We have been trying to persuade Winter and Dawn to join us for months, but have been mostly unsuccessful, especially with Winter. The news of Amarantha’s possible return has spread quickly, and Winter has agreed for a meeting.” Mor paused, apparently waiting for me to respond, when I didn’t she pressed further. “This is very important, their alliance will be the difference between winning and losing this war”

I knew that. I knew that Autumn and Day court had already aligned themselves with Tamlin and the King of Hybren, we needed all of the alliances we could get, and it still probably wouldn’t be enough.

“Why did they agree to the meeting now?” If they had been working on it for months, why now.

“Azril and Elaine were returning home to see you, and Dawn decided to come along. Winter it seems is interested in why Feyre Curse breaker, would associate with the monsters of the Night Court. Winter is mostly interested in speaking with you, and knowing what happened with Amarantha.”

I shuddered, the thought of having to speak about it to anyone. Rhys and I haven’t even talked about it yet, and to complete strangers. I couldn’t… I… I would worry about it latter.

“What about Rhys?” I asked glancing back at my mate who was still sleeping soundly. Mor shrugged her shoulders, as she appraised him from her spot on the bed.

“He might not fully recover in time for the meeting.” She finally said after moments of silence.

Rhys might not be there, that would mean that I would have to lead the meeting alone, a meeting where the outcome would change the course of history. I felt nauseous just thinking about it. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this alone. Not right now, not without my powers. Not with these stupid chains. I couldn’t… I couldn’t.

Random thoughts after the new promo:
  • Simon got himself a double bed for the boathouse. Smooth. Guess we’ll never know if that canoe would hold. 
  • Jace and Maia being bitter af together. Yes please, I’ll have me some of that.

  • I knew there’d be a scene of Izzy being super supportive! 

  • I’m 99% sure that scene of Jace seemingly getting in bed with Clary is some sort of dream or hallucination for either one of them. I highly doubt they are the surprise hook up.

  • I always assumed Clary’d be telling Simon in that scene on the bench, but apparently not? I wonder how he finds out. Maybe Jace’ll ‘accidentally’ mention it. 

  • Calling it now: That last scene is Clary at Simon’s boathouse after the Seelie Court. Jace and Clary have had their moment and now Simon’s locked himself up, being the wounded puppy that he is. 

“You don’t need to babysit me.”

“I thought you might be having a crisis,” she replies. “Which you are. It’s just apparently much more relaxed than your usual crises.”

“I hate that you know that.” He rubs his face. He should be tired, but right now he seems to have lost the capability to even feel that. He wants to be asleep right now. He wants to say leave me the hell alone, except he doesn’t actually want to be alone.

He wants Jean, to the exclusion of common sense and all rationality.

thick skin, an elastic heart - chapter twelve

read it here

What about a world where Neil never became a Raven, but he never ran either? What if he stayed Nathaniel Wesninski, heir to the Butcher of Baltimore rather than Nathaniel Wesninski, member of Riko’s perfect court? What if he learned everything he needed to know to take over for Nathan but somehow he still became a Fox? What if?

anonymous asked:

How is Louis a great dad when Briana is his primary caregiver. She's the better parent of the two, she's always with him and taking care of him while just goes off and parties.

Anon, I’d like to start you here:

Briana and Louis are not a cohabiting couple. They aren’t together, and they shouldn’t be if being together doesn’t make them happy. Since they are not together they have to share custody of Freddie – actually, they don’t HAVE to because another option of Louis’ would have been to pay Briana off entirely to raise Freddie and give up all rights to him as his parent. Obviously, he did not do that.

Because of Freddie’s very young age, it is likely that Briana and Louis are respecting the above advice guidelines on how to share custody/visitation of Freddie. Briana being the primary caregiver does not mean she is the “better” parent; just that she is the one providing the primary home. We are not entitled to know why this was decided upon between Louis and Briana, but in the interest of a little light, if ill-advised, speculation: Freddie was born in America to an American mother. Briana has, within reasonable distance of her home, two able bodied parent/stepparents, at least one set of grandparents, and a child uncle in the home of her parent/stepparent. With their financial support, she could stay at home full time with her child, not even accounting for Louis’ child support, which he legally has to pay because he is not the primary caregiver.

Because Louis is both a) not the primary caregiver and quite possibly because he is b) a UK citizen without a greencard and c) employed in entertainment which requires him to work erratic hours and travel both cross country and internationally, he is able to take advantage of certain freedoms such as being able to go out at night and, well, travel. This was especially apparent as he traveled frequently and possibly on short notice to the UK multiple times in 2016 during what we now know was Jay’s illness. What larries describe as a callousness in him not seeking full custody (and thus dragging things through court and RISKING MAKING PUBLIC, THROUGH COURT RECORDS OBTAINABLE BY TMZ, the fact that his mother was ill) COULD have been an attempt to make the best of the time he was aware HE had with her, during a year Freddie will be unable to remember.

But enough speculation, and my apologies for indulging it. I never again want to raise the subject of what choices Louis ought to have made that we have NO INSIGHT TO and NO INFORMATION from which to decide. I reject the assumption that having primary care makes Briana the better parent just as I would any parent awarded primary custody. It’s not fair to Briana, it’s not fair to Louis, it’s not fair to Freddie. So when we say Louis appears to be doing a great job: he is not the primary caregiver, all the information we have, which is confirmed by Briana, Brett, Olivia, and Louis’ sisters, and the fact of the visitation advice provided above and Freddie’s trip to the UK and his birthday which was attended by both parents, we mean that Louis appears to be as involved as his work allows him to be, he contributes to Freddie’s wellbeing, he is proud of Freddie’s achievements, and he has an interest in increasing his custody probably at such a time that Freddie is able to understand (as referenced), that some nights he stays with mommy and some nights he stays with daddy.

And if for some reason he is NOT, it is a decision he has made that is in the best interest of his child, which what a great dad does.

I'm not your meal ticket...

Well, this story starts out like quite a few others have. I, being in the U.S. Army, become attracted to a woman whom I end up marrying. At first, she’s all I could ever ask for in a woman. Sweet, caring, one hell of a cuddler. Doesn’t really like video games like I do, but makes an effort to get into them so we can spend time together doing something we both enjoy.

Let’s call her Thundercunt, or TC for short, for reasons you will soon know.

I met TC through one of the other soldiers I worked with, who we will call BB (Battle Buddy), since he was not at fault in this. It was in the middle of the week, and I had just gotten a work order finished up and was taking a quick break for a drink of water. I heard BB asking a few other soldiers if they were open for a date for this coming weekend. Now, I knew from a few other friends that BB was straight, so I was curious as to why he was asking.

Long story short, BB had a female friend who was looking for a date for a movie that coming weekend. I offered to go with his friend (BIG mistake), and she and I hit it off rather well, and continued to see each other. Months pass, it hasn’t been enough time for me to consider marriage yet, but she has some spontaneous ailments (seizues, and they were legit) spring up out of nowhere. Since these only seemed to happen in her sleep, and my command wouldn’t let me stay off-post with her without being married…


We got a courtroom wedding 2 weeks later. The added bonus? Not only could I stay with her while she slept to be ready in case of another episode, but my Tricare would fully cover her medical costs. I was happy, she was happy, I got to tell my command “Now you can’t stop me from staying with her.”, and we all lived happily ever after.

Except we didn’t. Things went well for a while, as I described at the beginning of the post, but after a bit, I started noticing things. Things like her needing to take her mother to the doctor’s office quite frequently (her mother was sickly, so I didn’t think much of it at first), or needing to head to the Walmart 1 town over because the one in our town didn’t have what she needed in stock.

Things like the car I bought and let her use seen parked in a lot next to several different trailer parks in a month.

Well, as luck would have it, right as I started to get suspicious, I came down on orders to PCS to Korea. So, sidelining the investigation until I was able to continue, I packed, kissed my wife goodbye, and let the Army send me where they wanted me. I spent a year in Korea, then came down on orders for Texas. I went there. It was there that I found out exactly what was going on, courtesy of her mom, brother, and her aunt and uncle.

This woman was sleeping with 60 (not even kidding in the slightest) different men, most of them soldiers. Her excuse to her family was “Frizzmaster is gay, and doesn’t want to come out. So, he’s pointing out the men I can sleep with, since he knows that they’re clean.”

So, basically, this woman is using me as a paycheck and meal ticket, and screwing everything with a pulse that happens to be male. The icing on the cake is that 2 weeks after I get the good news, she calls me and confesses to cheating on me….once. The only reason she confessed? She was pregnant, there was no way I could be the father, given that I was in a different state at the time….and the father was African American.

I am very much not African American, having been called “neon white” on more than one occasion due to my Irish ancestry. So, there was no possible way this child would look like me, at all. So, my wife felt the need to break the news to me before she had the baby, because she could no longer hide it.

Well, things happened, I went back home (without her knowing) and removed my belongings from the house I bought, to keep her from selling them once she realized what I was about to do, and started divorce proceedings.

This is revenge #1. I saw her BOYFRIEND (not the baby’s father, new guy entirely) driving my car. So, I enlisted the help of her aunt and uncle to get my car back. They pulled up behind him in a parking lot, got out and talked to him normally, at which time I waked up from the other side of the parking lot. Her uncle asked to see the keys, and upon receiving them, began taking the car key off of the ring, and waved me forward.

I walked up, took the car key from him, looked at the guy, and said “Hi, my name is Frizzmaster, and this is my car. I’m taking it now.” I waved him over to the sidewalk, removed everything from the car that didn’t have my name on it, left the items with him, then got in my car and drove off.

I found out later that day that he had packed everything and left her. Apparently, he had been living in my house, eating my food, sleeping in my bed, and WEARING MY CLOTHES. Plus, she had been using the money I sent her every month to pay for his court costs and child support costs.

Well, months went by, our court date came up, and my lawyer recommended that I file for sole use of the vehicle and the property, since it was obvious that she had committed adultery and didn’t have a leg to stand on. We go to court, she counter-files for the exact same, and since she refused to release the results of a paternity test, I get stonewalled. The exact words used by the judge were “I’m sorry, but without proof of paternity of the child, I cannot, in good conscience, approve either of these motions.

So, we set a new date for a private hearing with the judge, and we wait. Nearly 3 months go by, and the court date was finally near. I walked into the courthouse, met up with my lawyer (who had a demonic glint in his eye at the time, and I was about to find out why), went into the courtroom, and waited. 20 minutes later, she walked in, shot me a dirty look (which I did my best to ignore), and sat down.

The judge came in 5 minutes later, the court was called to order, and the divorce trial commenced. Here, I found out just what had given my lawyer the twinkle in his eye earlier on. He proceeded to ask TC a series of questions, including:

"Is my client the father of your child?”

When was the child conceived?“

"Where was my client during the time at which your child was conceived?”

“Do you know who the father of your child is?”

“Have you received child support from the father of your child?”

Basically, he questioned her into a legal corner in which she either had to answer truthfully, or lie and suffer the legal ramifications of perjury in the face of easily provable evidence. She answered truthfully (lucky for her), and the court case continued. She presented her argument, littered with dirt she was trying to throw on me, insults to my person, questions about my sexual orientation, and claims that I was having a relationship with her 18 year old cousin.

I, falling back on my military training, simply sat up straight, folded my hands in front of me on the table, and stared at a spot on the wall slightly above the judges’ left shoulder. I answered every question asked of me, offered no personal opinions, threw no dirt, and refused to sink to her level and question her sexuality. Subsequently, she had a more and more confused look on her face as I refrained from bad-mouthing her like she was doing me, and the divorce trial went by rather fast.

At the conclusion of the trial, the judge looked over the paperwork submitted one last time, then looked to the both of us. “Are there any closing remarks or claims that need to be made?” TC made one last parting swipe about me currently living with her aunt and uncle (i had rented my own apartment months ago, after finishing my military time and going back home), and I merely shook my head and resumed staring at the wall. The judge took one last look over the papers, set them down, and spoke the greatest words I have ever heard in my life.

“Well, looking over the evidence and testimonies presented, there really is only one decision I can come to. Mr. Frizzmaster, I am approving your motions for exclusive use of the vehicle and property, upon undeniable evidence of adultery. Mrs. Frizzmaster, the only one of your motions I am granting today is your request for a no-contact order, and that is more for Mr. Frizzmaster’s benefit than your own. You seemed very combative and willing to cause him legal damage that he was not due, and your repeated attempts to over-talk me while I was reviewing the paperwork did not speak well of you. You no longer have a claim to either the property or the vehicle, and will not contact Mr. Frizzmaster unless it is to have him clarify which items do not belong to you.”

TC had the audacity to work up a sniffle and ask the judge “B..b.but where do I go? What do I do for a place to live?”

The judge looked back at her and replied “Well, Mrs. Frizzmaster, you have 30 days to figure that out, after which you will not set foot on that property again, or else you will be held in contempt of court.”


Self-Shipper from Hell

This is a really long story and seems awfully dramatic but this is something that actually happened.

Me: cosplaying Blanche from pokemon go

T: my bf!, cosplaying as Spark

W: horrible self-shipper

T and I were having a photoshoot for the PokeGo team leaders with another friend who was cosplaying Candela. It was a beautiful day, clear skies, brilliant lighting, location wasn’t crowded. It was supposed to be a happy day.

Cue lunch time, our group headed to grab a bite when suddenly this girl, W, ran over screaming “Oh my god Spark! So kakkoi! Can I take a photo with you?” We weren’t really in a rush and being the nice guy he was, T obliged and took a selfie with her. She thanked him and walked away and our group went to a nearby family restaurant for lunch.

Just minutes after we sat down and ordered food, W came in with her own group of friends and W immediately came over to our table (or more so right at T) and said “Oh my god we meet again! Hi! Do you remember me?”. She suddenly started introducing herself and all of her friends to T and ignored the rest of us, before she finally went to her own table which wasn’t far from ours. She kept looking back at T and waving to him.

Keep reading


Takahiro is five years old when he meets his first friend.

He has messy black hair, a really chubby face, and caterpillars for eyebrows.

He made sure he told him so, and the boy looked affronted until he looked at Takahiro and saw his eyebrows. Or lack thereof.

“No wonder you want to be friends with me,” the boy told him. “You’re trying to take some of mine, aren’t you?”

“No, why would I want caterpillars on my face?”

“You’re just jealous,” the boy snickers. He grabs Takahiro’s hand and pumps it enthusiastically, telling him, “I’m Issei. What’s your name?”

“Takahiro.” He pulls his arm away and shakes feeling back into it, scowling at his new friend. “Why’d you shake my arm like that for?”

Issei shrugs. “Tou-san does it with some of his work friends sometimes. I thought it looked cool.”

“You’re supposed to bow in greeting to people.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”


They do everything together, school and homework and play, and Takahiro wonders why he never made friends before. Having a friend is fun.

His mother frowns a little every time he says he’s going out to play with Issei, but she doesn’t complain. She does ask him to have Issei over, but the other boy always makes excuses not to go.

Takahiro wonders why, but that’s put out of mind the moment they start playing.

He wishes time would last forever, because Issei is the bestest friend ever, and he doesn’t want to stop playing.


The year he enters middle school, Issei disappears.

Takahiro never found out where he moved to.

(Did he really move though? Why didn’t he tell Takahiro? How could he just disappear?)

He was sad for a long time, and wrote him long letters that he never sends, because where would he send it to?

The letters go in a box under his bed, getting fuller and fuller until one day, he stops writing them.

He misses him, sometimes, but then he dreams, and remembers.


Hanamaki is twelve when he meets Oikawa.

He’s shy and quiet, and keeps playing with his hair nervously. Even after Hanamaki makes him laugh a few times, his hands don’t stop fidgeting, and finally, he is curious enough to ask why.

“I want to play,” he whispers. He lifts his eyes to meet Hanamaki’s, fingers curling and uncurling. “But Iwa-chan moved away and now no one will play with me.”

Hanamaki shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t ask, but Oikawa looks so sad and vulnerable–

“What do you want to play?”

Oikawa takes a small, shaky breath. “Have you heard of volleyball?”

Hanamaki hasn’t, but he’s curious, and when he prods Oikawa for answers, the boy’s eyes light up and the words start pouring out.

Hanamaki half regrets letting him talk now.

“–and then there are setters, and they push the ball up, high up for the spikers to hit them! Iwa-chan–” His words falter, and Hanamaki looks at him curiously, but he presses on, voice only a little muffled, “Iwa-chan was a spiker. But now he’s gone, and no one will hit my tosses anymore.”

Hanamaki shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to see his new friend sad.

“I could hit your uh, tosses?”

Oikawa perks up, eyes bright. “Would you?”

“I– I mean I guess I could, but I don’t really know how to play–”

“I’ll teach you.” Oikawa tells him firmly. “You’ll never be like Iwa-chan, because no one can be like Iwa-chan, but I’ll teach you, and we’ll be the best in Japan!”

Hanamaki is a bit taken aback.

(Just a bit.)

(Okay, a lot.)

“Shouldn’t you aim for something a little easier?”

“That is easy.” Oikawa cocks his head at him. “We’ll practice lots, and we’ll be the best there is.”

He grins suddenly, grabbing his hand and twining their pinkies together. “I promise we’ll make it to the top together.”

Hanamaki should answer to that promise, but his mind is latched on to something else.

“What about Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa’s face falls, and his fingers tighten. “He broke our promise, so he doesn’t matter anymore.”

A deep breath, a hardening of his eyes.

“I’m making a new promise with you, Makki, so just accept me, okay?”

“…alright.” Hanamaki wonders why he accepts his defeat so easily.

“Wait, ‘Makki’?”


They don’t make it to the top.

Not in their first year, or their second, or their third.

By the time they part for high school, they don’t really talk anymore.


Hanamaki is sixteen when he joins the volleyball team, and meets Iwaizumi.

He’s short, but hits a mean spike, quick and powerful.

Hanamaki decides he likes him.

After their first practice, he approaches him, but it is he who speaks first.

“Have you played with someone called Oikawa before?”

Hanamaki startles, because how did he know?

Iwaizumi laughs at his shock. “We used to play together. Your play style reminds me of how I’d hit his tosses. They were so easy to hit.”

“They are.” He shocks himself by speaking up. “He was the one who taught me volleyball.”

Iwaizumi looks amused. “Funny, he did that to me too. Does he still give people weird nicknames?”

“I think they’re cute.”

“You’re nuts.”

Hanamaki thinks he must be, with the next words that fall out of his mouth.

“Well, Iwa-chan, that’s your loss.”

Iwaizumi’s face distorts into one of horror, and promptly throws a volleyball at him. Hanamaki catches it with ease, smiling to himself at the answered question.

It’s not hard to be his friend after that.

Hanamaki wonders if he’ll be able to keep this one friend.

Third time’s the charm, right?


No. Not really.

They’re friends, but not close outside of the court, and by the time they graduate and Hanamaki chooses a university far, far away, they don’t speak anymore.

He wonders what it is about himself that makes him keep losing friends.


College is a bore most days, but his roommate is quiet and nice, and though his words are too harsh sometimes, he knows he doesn’t mean to be malicious.

It hurts, though.

“Ushijima, please. I’m trying to be cordial here.”

“And I do not see the issue. Why do you not talk to your classmates if you want to befriend them?” His face is as impassive as ever, though his brows are slightly furrowed in confusion.

Hanamaki hesitates. “I– I’m not good at making friends.”

“You are on good terms with your classmates.”

“Being on good terms does not mean they are friends!” He takes a deep breath, exhales it slowly. “I haven’t had a single friend stick with me for long. Issei, Oikawa, Iwaizumi – they’re all gone.

Ushijima’s frown deepens a little. “I do not recognise any of those names.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to,” he tells him archly. “Oikawa’s a pretty good setter though, surely you’ve played against him before?”

Ushijima gives him a weird look. “I do not recall facing an Oikawa on court before.”

Now Hanamaki’s getting mad, because fine, even if he had lost contact with Oikawa years before, he’s still an awesome setter and he respects his skill and dedication. “Come on, Ushijima, you’re not that dense–”

“But I have truly never faced Oikawa on court before. I remember strong opponents. I was in Shiratorizawa,” Ushijima reminds, as though Hanamaki could forget that fact.

“I know, geez! Alright, here, why don’t I google him for you, and we’ll see if it rings any bells.”

He grabs his laptop, and Ushijima seats himself on the bed next to him, patiently waiting as Hanamaki throws Oikawa’s name into the search browser.

Hanamaki scans the search results, puzzled when he sees nothing. That’s odd.

He tries again, this time with the added word of volleyball, and the search churns out results with a name now, but with nothing he expects.

He gapes, while Ushijima peers over his shoulder and makes a mild sound of surprise. “Oh. Oikawa.”

Ushijima moves Hanamaki’s limp hand away, and  clicks on the first result.

Hanamaki stares, eyes reading, but not comprehending what he sees.

Promising Teen Severely Injured In Match

Oikawa Tooru (captain, setter) of Kitagawa Daiichi was taken out of the third match of the preliminary matches today, after collapsing on the court. Paramedics were called to the scene, and while it is unconfirmed what injury he has sustained, it is apparent that he will not be continuing the rest of the season.

UPDATE: Oikawa’s right knee appears to have been dislocated, and all supporting ligaments are torn. His overall condition seems to be poor, and it is unknown if he will recover.

Ushijima sighs, breaking him from his stupor. “I remember him now. He was a good setter. If he had taken care of himself better, he would have been a good asset to Shiratorizawa.”

Hanamaki whirls on him and snaps, “It’s not all about Shiratorizawa! Oikawa was injured, and I didn’t know?” His voice breaks towards the end, and he looks at his screen woefully. “How did I not know?”

“You were on the team with him?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Then there should be a picture somewhere.”

Hanamaki wants to scream at him but then his words register. “You’re right.”

They trawl through the internet, finally finding one of Kitagawa Daiichi when Oikawa was still on the team. Hanamaki scans it eagerly, but while Oikawa is there, he doesn’t see himself in the picture.

“You’re not in the picture.”

“I noticed, thanks, Ushijima.”

“Perhaps you were absent on that day?”

“No. I’m never absent, I never miss practice.” The words ring hollowly in the room, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

But where is he in the picture?

He doesn’t realise he’s trembling until Ushijima puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hanamaki, perhaps you were imagining it. There is no evidence of you being on the volleyball team.”

“No, that’s not possible. I have to be. I was. I know I was. I was on the team in high school too.”

“Perhaps we should search for your high school team?”

Hanamaki is already there, Aoba Jousai Volleyball Club typed into the search bar and pictures pulled up. But as he scans each picture, he still doesn’t find himself, still doesn’t spot the pink tinge of his hair in any photo.

“Hanamaki, do you recall any teammates from your time at high school?”

Teammates, teammates.


Ushijima makes a surprised sound. “I know him. He is a strong player.”

“He is. But where am I in this photo?!”

He isn’t.

“You aren’t.” Ushijima says, prying his hands off the laptop and shutting its cover with a click. “Would you come with me for a moment?”

“To where? For what?”

He isn’t panicking, no, he isn’t. So his breathing is a little fast, but he can slow it down – in, one two three, out, one two three, in–

“To the gym. Shall we practice some drills?”

Yes, okay, volleyball sounds like a good idea right now.

He gets up and follows Ushijima.


The gym is curiously empty when they get there, and Hanamaki realises he forgot his volleyball shoes. Ushijima waves it off, setting his phone and water bottle on the bench. “We will not be here for long. If it is alright with you, I asked a friend of mine to come along.”

“What? Who?”

Ushijima regards him for a second, then shakes his head. “You would not know him. But he is a setter and can help us with spiking drills.”

Hanamaki nods, and they begin their drills.

After the tenth ball that he has failed to receive, Hanamaki’s nails dig into his palms in frustration. Surely it hadn’t been that long since he last played?

Ushijima regards him carefully, then tosses him the ball.

(He pretends he didn’t fumble as he caught it.)

“Sorry for the intrusion.”

He turns to see a light-haired guy (with dyed tips?) finish putting on his shoes and walk over to them. He greets Ushijima softly, then raises his hand in a half-wave. “Nice to meet you. I’m Semi.”

Hanamaki vaguely remembers him. “Shiratorizawa’s pinch server?”

Semi nods. “I’ll set for you guys in a minute, let me get warmed up.”

He leaves to run laps, and Ushijima gestures for Hanamaki to throw the ball.

He receives it perfectly, and Hanamaki can almost return the ball this time.

By the time Semi returns, he can receive the balls decently if they fall near him, but anything too far off and he scrambles to get it. Hanamaki takes a short break, cursing to himself as he drinks. He still can’t fathom why his skills are suddenly so bad.

Ushijima gets to spike first, the ball set in a perfectly high arc that gives him ample time to jump. Their lone ball rolls to a stop by Hanamaki’s feet when Ushijima passes it back to him, and Semi eyes him expectantly as he tosses the ball towards him.

He runs and jumps, but the ball flies over his head.

“You jumped too early.”

“I know,” he grits out, retrieving the ball and moving back to the court. “One more.”

He jumps too close to the net the second time. His fingers scrape past the ball on the third. He touches the ball on the fourth, but it hits the net.

Hanamaki’s fingernails would be drawing blood by now, if only they weren’t so short.

He sees Ushijima and Semi speaking in low tones as he retrieves the ball, and sincerely hopes they aren’t judging him too badly for suddenly being a complete amateur.

By the time he returns, Semi looks grim, and even stoic Ushijima looks a little discomfited. Hanamaki stops and frowns at them. “What?”

Semi sighs. “Hanamaki-san. You say you started playing volleyball in middle school, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, as it stands, your skills are on par with someone who just started playing volleyball.” The setter’s eyes are confused, his mouth set in a deep frown. “Neither Wakatoshi nor I remember seeing you on any court at all. We have also played Aoba Jousai multiple times for us to know if you were on the team. Are you certain you have been playing volleyball for so long?”

“Of course!” Hanamaki insists. Of course.

He remembers everything – the hectic practices, the feel of receiving a ball, the satisfying heft of the ball in his hand right before he smashes it. He remembers the sweat dripping down, the squeak of shoes on the wood floor, the faces of his teammates after they lost.

But the longer he looks at Ushijima’s mildly worried face and Semi’s frustrated one, the further the memories go from him, fading and slipping through his fingers like water.

But… Weren’t they real?

Oikawa and Iwaizumi were real. They are real. It happened. All of it had to have happened.

An idea begins to form, little tendrils weaving themselves together.

They’ll remember me. They should remember me.

He turns away and picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts. He hears a frustrated conversation behind him, but ignores it, fingers growing panicked as he doesn’t find the names he’s looking for.

Iwaizumi? Oikawa? No, no, no. Not it, not it, not it.

Where are their names?


A phone is held out to him, a call already in progress. He looks up, connecting the phone to the face.

Ushijima sighs and presses the phone to his ear. “Speak to him.”

Hanamaki hesitantly places his hand over Ushijima’s to steady the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello? Who am I speaking to?”

“Iwaizumi?” That’s his voice, right? It is? It’s Iwaizumi?

“I think that’s my name, not yours. Who are you?”

“I’m Hanamaki.” Don’t you remember me?

“Sorry, Hanamaki-san, why are you looking for me? I don’t recall ever meeting you before?”

Hanamaki feels Ushijima’s fingers tighten, and realise his hand has grown limp. He adjusts his grip, fingers squeezing the other’s desperately. “We were on the volleyball team together?”

“I don’t think so? I’m very sorry, Hanamaki-san. I wish I could help, but I have really never met you before.”

“I’m– Um, sorry. For. Um. Wasting your time.” Hanamaki feels lightheaded.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. I hope you’ll have a good day.”

The line clicks off, and Hanamaki peels his hand and face away, panic tearing through his chest.

He doesn’t remember me? But we spoke, I know we have, I have talked to him before…

Haven’t I?

Haven’t I?

“Hanamaki, breathe.”

“Maybe we should ask his parents about this?”

About what?

There’s nothing wrong with me.

He realises he’s in a ball on the floor, curled up and panting into his hands. There’s light murmuring above him, but he pays it no mind, not until there’s a hand on his back and his phone in front of him.

“It’s your mother.”

“Kaa-san?” His voice is a croak – but why? He hasn’t been screaming, he hasn’t been crying – oh, is he crying?

“Takahiro,” she sighs. “What have you gotten into now?”

“I didn’t do anything!” He protests, but then bites on his lip, because what if that had been it? That he hadn’t done anything?

“Hanamaki-san,” Semi begins – Hanamaki wonders why he’s still here, it’s not his problem, after all – “Does, um, Hanamaki-kun have any medical conditions?”

“No?” She sounds confused, and Hanamaki breathes a sigh of relief. “Is he panicking or anything?”

“He seems to recall untrue memories,” Ushijima puts in. “It is very confusing for us.”

There’s a long silence, before Hanamaki’s mother sighs deeply. “Oh. Yes. I recall that.”

“Would it be too much to pry? Hanamaki-kun isn’t exactly, uh, responsive, and we want to help him.”

I’m right here, is what he wants to say, but he doesn’t, his mouth is glued shut and his memories are vivid leaves falling away in an autumn breeze.

(Help him? He doesn’t need help. He’s fine. Just fine.)

“No, no. It’s fine. Takahiro just isn’t good at making friends, so he makes up his own friendships. I’m surprised to have real people talking to me over the phone. It’s definitely a first.”

Makes up…friendships?

No. No no no no no.

His friendship with Issei and Oikawa and Iwaizumi had been real – they’d talked and laughed and played together–  

Hadn’t they?

I’m sorry, Hanamaki-san.

Um, who are you?

You’re weird, go away!

Turning backs, noses scrunched up in disgust, figures getting smaller as they walk away.


Eep, it’s the weirdo again!

Run, run!

Hands slapping and punching, bodies slamming into him before running away.

No one will ever be your friend!

Go away and leave us alone!

Takahiro, did you make any friends today?

His head hung, a deep blush on his cheeks. A shake for no.

A sigh, a hand tousling his hair.

You’ll make friends tomorrow.

A nod, his fists clenched as he follows her.

The next day, the same.

Did you make any friends today?

A shake, a hand running through his hair, a barely concealed look of disappointment.

Day after day after day.

She looks so tired of asking.

Takahiro, did you make any friends today?

A lie, a falsehood, a bitter curl of his tongue.


His name is Issei.

Bright shining memories, glistening and dripping like snow. Too bright, too vivid, almost unreal.

Running around the neighbourhood with Issei.

Spiking with Oikawa.

Taking on InterHigh with Iwaizumi.

They melt away as soon as he touches them – fragile, brittle, but strangely caustic for something that shouldn’t exist.

He thinks he feels someone shaking him, thinks he hears a voice – but the world is dark now.

Everything is so dark in comparison to those bright, shining, stardrops.

theoneandonlytommymerlyn continued from here

“Well when I was out with you that tended to happen more often than I would have liked. I don’t drink that much anymore.” Accept for last night apparently. The now unfamiliar sensation of the room spinning and the headache that accompanied it, was one reason she hadn’t minded giving up on her nights of binge drinking. Closing her eyes, Laurel laid back hoping that would offer her some relief.

So had she but she hadn’t been a lawyer back then. Thankfully there were still a good couple of days to cure her hangover before she had to be back in court. “If I thought I could walk without falling down I’d grab me some aspirin and water, but I’m not even sure if I’m laying down or standing at the moment.”

How Could You Be Worthy? (Steve Rogers/Thor x reader)

Request:  Steve Rogers fic you’re Thor’s little sister and the night of the party Thor tells Steve that if he can lift the hammer then he’ll be worthy for you (of course he is joking) but Steve takes him seriously so you tell him he gets the date either way

Here you go, doll!  I hope you enjoy!

“(Y/N), you will accompany me to the party tonight, will you not?”  

“Of course, dear brother. I have nowhere that I would rather be than celebrating your victory with your friends.”  Your voice lowered a bit and you were slightly embarrassed at the question you were about to ask.  “Thor, will Steve be in attendance?”

He paused, setting Mjolnir next to him on the nearby table.  “Well, well, do we have a bit of a crush on the Captain?”  He took a few steps towards you, but you tried to hide the flush in your cheeks and turned away.  “You do!  I can see it even though you hide.  Would you prefer that I tell him?”

“No!  Thor, no!  Don’t you dare.” Spinning on your heel to face him again, you grabbed his shirt to hold him in front of you.  “If I find that you’ve told him, my wonderfully mischievous brother, you shall live to regret it.”  Your free hand reached down and lifted the hammer, holding it in his face.  “And the only one left to wield this in all the realms will be me.”


The party was in full swing when you arrived.  You never wanted to be the first to arrive or the last to leave, so you would gauge your time spent here on the dissipation of the crowd.  Unless, of course, you found a better reason to stay; as if on cue, Steve was in your line of vision, enjoying a game of pool with Sam.  You were too nervous to approach him, so you took a seat at the bar and decided to calm yourself first.

“I need the strongest drink that you can provide.  Your alcohol is no stronger than water when compared to our Asgardian mead.”  

“Enjoying the party, (Y/N)?” You wobbled on your chair a bit when Steve approached, feeling a surge of adrenaline as your nerves began to build. To look at him was taking a risk that you might never look away.  His eyes mesmerized you, so much so that it had been well over a minute since he had asked the question.


“Sorry,” you shook your head to clear your mind, “yes, forgive me.  I am having a pleasant evening, thank you.”

“Would you care to dance?” He held his hand out to you, but you didn’t take it immediately even though you wanted nothing more than to do so.

“Yes…well, yes…I would love to.”  He took your hand, his own soft and warm as his fingers intertwined with yours.  He gave you a small spin before pulling you close to him, swaying softly and slowly.  “Steve, before it is made known to you by means other than myself, there’s something that I would like to tell you.”

“I know”

“What do you mean?” Your nerves were growing more evident now, with a small tremor beginning in your hands as you held onto him. “What do you know, Steve?”

The song came to an end before he could answer, and the guests soon began to leave.  He kept hold on one of your hands, choosing to lead you to the couches where the team had begun to congregate.  Thor was sitting across from you, and when he saw Steve take a seat next to you, a smirk crossed his lips.

“Okay, so if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?”  Tony asked, approaching the hammer resting on the table.

“Yes, of course.”

You looked back and forth from Tony to Thor, unclear about what was happening.  Tony stepped up to the hammer and pulled, with no success. “Be right back.”

“What’s going on here? Why is he trying to lift Mjolnir?”

Maria looked up at you from her seat on the floor, laughing at her boss’ failure.  “It’s a testosterone battle, (Y/N).  They’re trying to figure out who’s worthy enough to lift it, but really,” she leaned in close to you, her voice lowered, “it’s all for show.”

Several attempts came after; Tony and Rhodey had no success at all, even working together with gauntlets from their respective suits.  Bruce failed but tried to play it off as not being able to use his Hulk strength. Each attempt drew more laughter from the group than the one before.

“Steve,” Thor called out, “I have a proposition for you, if you care to accept.”

The Captain looked up from his drink, having tried his best to stay out of the competition playing out before him.  “Okay?”

“If you can lift Mjolnir,” he pointed at you with a mischievous look, “only then will I allow you to court my sister.”

Steve’s face was immediately red as he looked at you, your expression showing the equal amount of shock at your brother’s words.  Apparently Thor didn’t take your threat of murder very seriously when you had talked earlier.  Steve’s face quickly changed to a smile and a sparkle in his eyes as he thought about what Thor was offering.  Now you were worried.

“Deal.”  He stood and clapped his hands together, readying himself to make the attempt.

“Steve, you really don’t have to do this.”

Ignoring your words, he pushed his sleeves up and stood before the hammer; he took a long, deep breath and wrapped his hands around the handle.  He looked at you with a crooked grin, and pulled with all of his strength. When it shifted it’s weight and began to move, ever so slightly, you saw the fear in your brother’s eyes.  

Clearing your throat just enough to get his attention, you moved your head with the slightest motion, your eyes trying to convey that he should stop.  He gave it one more pull, but you could see that his effort was only for show to satisfy the group.  You could see Thor’s entire body relax when Steve raised his hands in defeat and stepped away to return to his seat next to you.

“Ha!  Nothing!”

“You know, Steve, all you had to do was ask.  This demonstration was quite unnecessary.”

He leaned in close to you, trying to keep his voice to a whisper, his breath so warm in your ear that it sent shivers through your body.  “Why did you stop me?  I was just about to lift it.”

“Because you can have me either way.  I already know that you are more than worthy, and my brother’s opinion has no bearing on that.”

“Then how else am I supposed to impress you?”  

You smiled at him and stood with your hand extended for him to take, “I have an idea.”  You pulled him along with you as you walked towards Thor, stopping at the table that held Mjolnir.  With a raised eyebrow and a smirk towards him, you easily lifted the hammer and turned to Steve.  “Lift me,” you whispered.

Understanding what you were doing, allowing Steve to win the bet and allowing Thor to maintain his security, he swooped you up quickly into his arms as you casually swung the hammer effortlessly.  Thor’s eyes were wide, and the group clapped and laughed at the realization of what had just happened.

“Come, love.  Let the courting begin.”

Caught at urban outfitters

Haven’t really been active on here because of this. It really messed me up, thinking I was so slick and that I would never get caught. NEVER GET COCKY, GUYS!!!

Basically, yes, there are no cameras, but I live in a very popular area and I guess this particular urban outfitters was secured more than others. There was security officers at the door, and apparently random undercover SA throughout the store. You see, the normal SA have headpieces, etc. You can tell they clearly work there. But there were apparently some other SA without headpieces. They looked like your average customer, they were even picking things up at the store and acting like they were shopping!! I noticed one guy stare at me when I was looking around to conceal, so I stopped and walked to another area of the store. I saw this guy again later on and I started getting bad feelings and decided to bail. I was leaving the store with a group of random people in case the alarm went off (it didn’t). I thought I was Scott free until a security guy grabbed my arm and told me to stand to the side. Then the same guy I kept seeing ran up to me and told me to give him everything I didn’t pay for. Then they brought me downstairs into a room where they went through all my bags and shit. Then they put me into ANOTHER room so they could “think about what to do with me”. I was putting on a whole act, crying and begging him to let me go, telling him it was my first time stealing, blah blah blah. They would have let me go if I didn’t steal so much. Apparently my total was $340 (not even one of my better hauls… LOL) and that they had to call the cops on me. The cops came, cuffed me, drove me to the station and kept me in holding for a few hours. They let me go like 4 hours later but now I have a court date and all that junk.

Anyway, be really careful guys!! Don’t be stupid, and don’t get cocky! Always be aware of your surroundings. This messed me up for a while but I think I’m getting back in the swing of things… lifted a couple of things from petco this morning lmao.

The Problems of Ronald Weasley - Fire Dragon

The Weasley’s are a family of fire-dragons, all of them born in one clutch but hatching slowly, as how it usually is with Molly’s line, the Great Dragons.

Ron thinks his family is weird.

This is attributed to coming across some dragon books and realizing that dragons were apparently supposed to be territorial and resent sharing space. He comes to terms with it though, like he comes to understand that while other dragons might be like that, the Weasley’s were different. He attributes this to his dam’s line, the Great Dragons of the East.

Ron’s hoard is achievements.

Not even great, outstanding achievements like his clutch-brother Bill achieves in Hogwarts School of Magical Creatures, or world-breaking achievements like his clutch-brother Charlie.

No, Ron’s hoard is a small collection of achievements, like watching the dawn through the first time on top of a hill. Making his dam laugh long and loudly after she’d argued with his sire and stank the den with her smoke in anger.

Ron’s hoard is small and understated, something his family struggles to understand. He understands why that is, though it doesn’t prevent the hurt from settling in.

After all, the entire family’s hoards are large, flashy and attention grabbing.

Bill hoarded beautiful things and guarded them. He was good friends with the Veela’s, and even moved there after he’d graduated, much to their dam’s dismay.

Charlie didn’t hoard things, but he chased after dangerous, exciting things. Usually adventures. He’d go through adventures in his human form and enjoyed the struggle of it. It was certainly attention grabbing. Mostly for their dams stress levels.

Percy hoarded facts. Everyone initially assumed he hoarded the printed word – libraries, but after clutch-sister Ginny had accidentally burnt his books and he didn’t get angry, they all realized that he’d already hoarded and memorized everything written and didn’t mind having the hard copies burnt.

The twins hoarded innovation. New things, exciting things and frequently invented them because the world moved too slow for them after all.

Ginny hoarded things that were different, like witch-sprite Luna who showed she was more sprite and less witch than the rest of her clan. This was difficult to their sire’s stress levels too, since sentient things are difficult hoards and there are rules about it that the government

Compared to that, was it any surprise that Ron’s small hoard is negligible? The twins even tease him sometimes, of having no hoard at all, that he wasn’t a dragon after all.

It hurt, but Ron persevered. His hoard may have been small, but it was still beautiful and he guarded it jealously.

Keep reading

Eight for Eight tag meme

Rules: Answer eight questions and tag eight people.

I was tagged by @owl-by-night, whom I thank with all my heart - it’s nice to feel included!

Last movie I watched: Mindhorn! Yep, apparently it was available in Italy and could not ignore that.

Last song I listened to: Cry for Judah of the Mountain Goats. listen, listen to them!

Last book I read: Goodbye to all that by Robert Graves

Last thing I ate: Porchetta and olive bread. but shh I am on a diet and should not have that!

Where would you want to time travel to?: hate to be chauvinist but… 13th century Palermo, at the court of Frederick the 2nd

Fictional character I would hang out with for a day: does Howard Moon count?

If I could be anywhere right now, where would I be?: Well with @pudentilla, easy!

Current fandom obsession?: Strangely, none!

Tagging YOU