More TAZ thoughts

Im relistening to rockport right now and at the end when Merle has the compass, Griffin says “it’s pointing at Taako’s bag, which is weird, but” and Justin interrupts him to say “well I have the monocle in there”, to which Griffin says, “oh!”. I think he was going to suggest taako owned something more valuable than the monocle, which reinforces for me that the umbra staff was Lup’s relic all along.


tessavirtue17 We are gathered here today to get through this thing called practice. 💜 #Prince #Helsinki2017 #VirtueMoir @samchouin15 @cbc.sports

The Root of Orchids

This is something I’ve been wanting to do for awhile to try and help me practice writing out of 2nd person. There are no romantic pairings in this and it will feature all the important characters that molded Chuuya into who he is. It explores his tangled web of a childhood, teenager years, and current canon age. Its all out of order and is plotless, but its Chuuya. This will end up on my A03 eventually. 

A character study revolving around Chuuya at various ages and insights to growing up in the Mafia.

Written in third person limited to Chuuya’s thoughts.
No Pairings (romantically)
Rating : Mature
Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, mentions of violence, mentions of torture, etc. 
His hand trembles; a precious dove with crumpling paper wings fighting through the night. Weighted drops of rain implant their arctic touch inside his skin until his bones rattle. There is no more warm blood flowing through his veins; completely full of ink it paints his insides blacker than whispering shadows passing on the streets. His feet plant themselves firmly on the cracked cement where carmine blood trickles over like a river cutting a current through the mountains. Clouds taper off towards the lush city streets lit with gold and money; but he is stuck in a wormhole of dirt and grime.

Despite the aching in his wobbling knees Chuuya’s eyes narrow. Glistening gems hidden under stacks of coal and scarlet locks tangled at the nape of his neck. The dagger crashes and the smell of bullets hit the air. Light flashes; crumbling brick avalanches around him. He sinks into the earth as crimson tides engulf his body. Tingling and dizzy he plunges the knife into the man’s stomach. His shoulder burns as he wrenches it; his body won’t stop sinking through the cement.

Rain pounds into the city. Red blooms through his tattered shirt and his frigid, pale fingers barely cover the hole. The taste of metal fills his mouth, but Chuuya is still breathing. His focus shifts to the opening a few feet in front of him. Car lights zip past shedding dirty rain water beneath the tires. Everything is covered in filth. He is a child born to nothing but he grabs at the slicked street with knees scraping the floor.

Something is worth fighting for.


He hopes and grits his teeth. Colors spin round in his vision as his brain loses oxygen. The world glistens near the edges as they’re pulled apart at the seams, tunneling his view in pricks of blue and jade toned hues. His stomach heaves and his forehead smacks the pavement; dirt grinds into his hair.

“Such a young boy! He shouldn’t be out in the cold!”

“Poor kid is a bloody mess. He should go home and take a bath.”

The whispers pour into his ears and surge through his ice cold veins. He inhales as sharp as a dagger and pushes himself up on his knees. The world is a blurred carousel. Round and round people untangle themselves from the outside and huddle indoors with their coffees and lovers and well-dressed children. Away from the alleys and the dirt and the blood swirling in the gutter; their concerned façades are merely judgments with no actions; accusations filled with malice.

Nobody steps forward; nobody braves the rain.

Chuuya’s shoulder throbs like a war drum and the tingling sensation from his fingers have gone numb. Grey clouds billow above his figure, stringy orange hair clinging to his face. There’s a hunger etched in his stiffened gaze hidden by burnt out streetlights hovering near the mouth of the alley.
‘I am not a ghost’, he thinks through the pain, ‘I’m still breathing’.


Dirtied nails scrape forward dragging a limp leg behind. His shoulder is useless now; he curses loudly through a hiss and bites back tears brimming at his hollow eyes.

“Are you alone boy?”

He’s ready to bite the hand that reaches forward with such elegance and grace. Her skin is warm and dry as she bends forward to rub her thumb over the muck caked on his cheeks. Barely older than he, she radiates a stunning refinement and indescribable tenderness Chuuya has never felt. Her hair pinned back shows her youth and bright eyes, but there’s a hole behind them Chuuya can’t ignore. However, the traditional umbrella she grips has shifted to him and the rain begins to fall on her nape.

“Now now don’t be afraid. Come with me.”


Stop Drop Selfie
23 March 2017
Feeling the love this morning with two SDS tags! ❤❤ @grandenoirceur and @fatgirlgetsfitatlast here is my sweaty post-workout grinning face.

My friend Karen has been seconded to Sydney & today was her last Thai-X-Fit class with the crew 😢. She & I are the only ranked martial artists in the class (plus our instructor) and are far & away the noisiest ones! Gonna miss my fellow bellows! 😂 I enjoyed a 50-min intense workout class but will have to do my stretching later as last week I stayed to stretch and was late for work 😮. Will have to do my tags later too. Have a great day/night!

Later: okay tags - have fun @insanitytakeover @mikaxmaki @runningmyownrace @h-co3


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