my shame is true

10

..waking from a long and terrible nightmare.

not the lost princess

because somebody said “write it” when i said this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m not the princess,” Liza told the first man who informed her, shocked, how she had the green eyes of the royal family and hair as dark as the late queen’s. She had been joking, of course, pretending to take him seriously as she counted out his change. No one had accused her of being the princess in the first place. Princess Aliara, the last of the royal line of Adamar, had drowned in the Silver Sea ten summers ago. Everyone knew that.

~

“I’m not the princess,” Liza told the old woman, the princess’s childhood nurse, who clutched her hands to her chest the moment she fell off her horse in the castle courtyard. She didn’t want any more confusion than there already was.

There were silver streaks in the woman’s hair and tears in her eyes. “It’s you,” she repeated, as if she hadn’t heard.

“No,” Liza explained, already impatient. “It’s not me. I’m not her.” It was what she had told the royal minister who had been fetched by the man in the shop last week at least seven times by now, but he’d insisted that the other royal ministers had to see her, had to see if she was real, and wouldn’t leave the shop.

“I’m real,” she’d said. “Really annoyed.”

The man’s eyes had filled with tears. That seemed to be happening a lot around her recently. “You sounds just like you did when you were little.”

Liza threw up her hands and told anyone who would listen that this man hadn’t known her when she was a little girl growing up in a costal town far away, but finding out she had lived in some proximity to the Silver Sea only sent everyone into more of a frenzy. In the end she agreed to come, if only because the royal minster would take care of the cost, and the capital city had a real library to visit.

“I’m not the princess, though,” she reminded all the minister’s servants when they bobbed curtsies to her. “Just to be clear.”

~

“I’m not the princess,” Liza told Kara, the girl who had claimed the right to interrogate her first. She was the lost princess’s best friend, or something, and she’d said she was the only one who could possibly tell if this so-called princess was an impostor.

Kara scoffed, hands on her hips and her eyes mistrustful. “Of course you’re not, kid. No one who claims to be Liara is. She’s dead.” But her voice sounded a little more uncertain with each word as she looked Liza over. “So what’s your excuse? What’s your made up story for how you’ve suddenly regained your lost memory and remembered you’re a princess, or whatever?”

Liza glanced around at all the court watching her, still bewildered as to how she was being interrogated as a possible impostor when she’d never claimed to be anyone in the first place, and finally repeated what she’d been saying all day. “My name is Liza. I’m a baker. My parents were bakers before they died. They were not the king and queen. I am not the princess. Can I go to the library now?”

The room filled with deliberating murmurs rather than answers, and Liza leaned back in her seat with a groan.

~

“I’ll give you credit,” Kara said, sounding as if she’d rather do anything else, “you really do look like her.”

“I’m not her,” Liza said, as if repeating it for the hundredth time would make Kara finally believe she wasn’t trying to pretend she was. As if saying it a thousand more times would make half the royal ministers stop thinking she really was.

She wasn’t allowed to go home, not until they’d come to a consensus on her princess-related status. “I’m a prisoner,” she yelled at Alder, the most annoying of the ministers.

“You’re home,” he’d responded fondly, and she’d screamed in a very un-princesslike manner and gone to find Kara, who at least wouldn’t keep asking her if she remember so-and-so-’s name, or how she had tripped on that step and sprained her ankle when she was six.

“When I was six I was frolicking happily on a beach somewhere on the southern coast,” she told Kara crankily. “Not cooped up in this castle.”

Kara laughed derisively. “Oh, honey. Liara’s ship sank near the eastern coast. You don’t even have your story straight.”

But despite Kara’s firm belief that Liza was a liar and a pretender, Liza sensed that her laughter was becoming warmer, and she directed more snide comments at the ministers than she did at Liza. Perhaps, Liza even dared to think, Kara was starting to like her.

Kara noticed that she was being stared at, and half-smiled back. “Don’t be offended. You’re almost as bad of a liar as she was, too. That’s actually a point in your favor.”

Liza rolled her eyes and tugged at Kara’s sleeve to pull her closer. “Show me the way to the library again. I get lost in the halls every time I try to go without you.”

“They say true royalty isn’t capable of being lost in the royal palace.”

“Tell that to the ministers.”

~

“I’m not the princess,” she said automatically, before she’d processed the boy standing in front of her. He was supposed to be the princess’s illegitimately-born cousin, or something. One way or another, he was one of those next in line for the throne if the princess did not magically turn up sometime soon (which she wouldn’t, because she was dead).

“He’d do a rotten job,” Kara had said, curling her lip, when they’d seen him march through the front hall from their little alcove in the balcony. “He can’t be king.”

“Why do you care?” Liza asked, trying to sneak a peak at Kara’s cards.

She pulled her cards away and whacked Liza’s arm lightly with them. “I’m engaged to the throne, silly. The real princess would know that.” But that last sentence was an afterthought. She’d almost entirely stopped accusing Liza of pretending, recently. “And I won’t marry Henry. He makes fun of anyone once their back is turned, and he spreads rumors about whatever he likes, and once he kicked Liara’s puppy because it was in his way.”

“That sounds like an exaggeration.”

Kara shook her head, looking almost grim. This clearly wasn’t one of her jokes. “No. Liara was so angry she threw her shoe at him. Hit him in the head, hard. He was bleeding. It was a big scandal that she would hurt her own cousin, everyone rushed to cover it up with a story about how he fell and hit his head.”

“I take it they didn’t get along?” Now she was worried. If Henry wanted to be king, what would he do to Liara? What would he do to her, if he believed she was the princess? “Is he dangerous?”

“Don’t worry, Liza. I’ll protect you.” She was kidding, her brown eyes soft, but Liza felt a little safer anyway.

~

“I know you’re not,” Henry sneered, and walked past her.

Kara gripped her hand, which was all that kept Liza from running after him to yell about just how many people were pretty sure she was, and how he was a rude, terrible person who would never marry Kara because she wouldn’t allow it, and how someone who kicked puppies was not fit to look at the throne, let alone sit in it, and how, also, he smelled.

He didn’t, but it would have been nice to tell him that. She almost didn’t let Kara pull her away.

~

“I’m not the princess,” Liza said when Alder asked yet again for another retelling of how she’d come to be a baker in a small town far from the castle. She was too tired to go through it again, too frustrated with all these dithering people too scared of having to work out the convoluted succession of a throne that had no obvious heir to accept that their princess wasn’t there to solve the problem.

She was not, however, too tired to notice Henry’s small victorious smile as he sat in the back of the room and listened. Everyone knew that the one year in which the royal throne could remain empty in the wake of the king and queen’s deaths was drawing to a close. An heir would have to be announced soon.

If it wasn’t Aliara— wasn’t Liza— it was almost certainly Henry.

After the horrible, boring meeting was over, she found Kara in the library and bunched up next to her in the window seat too small for two people. “Tell me about the princess,” she said, and Kara complied, because they were both coming to wish, like the ministers, that she was there.

~

One year after the queen of Adamar had passed away with her daughter’s name on her lips, the royal ministers met in the throne room. Liza had denied being the princess to the very last. There was nothing else for it but to declare the heir to the kingdom.

Henry hadn’t stopped smirking since he’d received the message asking him to attend that morning. Kara watched him with a blank face but a sick stomach, thinking how she would never sit on a throne next to his— thinking about running away, grabbing Liza’s hand and running with her back to the beach far from where the princess had died.

It wasn’t fantasy. It was a concrete plan. She had the horses waiting. She felt herself calming as Alder called everyone to attention, knowing that even if they could do nothing for Adamar once Henry was king, at least they could do this.

And then Aliara walked into the room.

No, she glided into the room. She swept in so like a ghost that half the company spooked or flinched, but she was very, very real. She had the green eyes of the royal lineage. She had dark hair braided over her shoulder the exact way the queen used to wear it. She had a smile that was almost, almost smug.

“Please,” Liza said, sweeping a curtsey and lifting her eyes to the sunlight falling through the high glass windows as if she could look any more perfectly innocent. “I must beg your forgiveness. I have been a coward to insist for so long that I could not remember my childhood here, when I have never forgotten my true self. I thought I could bear the shame of never coming forward. I even convinced myself it would be better for Adamar to have my dear cousin as king.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “I’m sorry, Henry, for pretending not to know you, and almost letting this burden fall on your shoulders. But I have seen the light in time. I am here, Alder. I am the princess.”

Henry went pale with fury, meeting her halfway across the wide floor of the throne room and catching her arm so she could not approach the throne.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled. “We both know you’re a liar. Everyone else will soon realize to. Don’t bother trying to pull it off.”

She yanked her arm back so hard that he was almost unbalanced and fixed him with a glare that had no princess in it and all of the fire she used to pump in her huge ovens at the bakery. “Don’t cross me, cousin. Or do you need me to throw another shoe at your head?”

He faltered just long enough for her to walk past, head held high, and up to the dais. “Come here with the crown, Alder. Careful on the steps. I tripped on them when I was six, you know.”

“Y-yes, princess,” Alder said, hastily coming forward.

She raised an eyebrow, indicating with one hand that there was no one else on the dais with her. “I’m not the princess. I’m the queen.”

~

“I’m sorry,” she told Kara, late that night. It had been a very long day, and her head ached from the weight of the crown, and she only wanted to go to sleep, and she didn’t know if Kara was angry, and didn’t want her to be.

“I’m the one who needs to apologize,” Kara said, stepping closer, reaching out for her hands.

“For?”

“For my false accusations over the past year, of course,” she said with a straight face. “I don’t know how I didn’t recognize you from the beginning.”

“The princess,” the new queen said, unable to figure out full sentences as Kara pulled them closer together, gently pushing strands of her hair back.

“My princess.”

“Yes,” the baker-princess-queen sighed. “That.”

Luhan scenario - Lion or lamb?

Originally posted by meiren-menglu

Not requested

Genre: angst, smut, sorority/fraternity feuds

Summary: The leader, the alpha, the king of his pack. No one ever stands up to him, unless someone gives him reason to kneel.

Keep reading

archiveofourown.org
Offer Me Your Hand - Chapter 6 - RiaTheDreamer - Red vs. Blue [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Offer Me Your Hand, chapter 6: “Camp? Camp.”

The warm light of the campfire illuminated the Hawaiian’s focused expression. His eyes were looking at Simmons’ forehead, making sure he got the job right.

Simmons could not help but winch when the antiseptics were applied with the wipes but Grif’s movements were as gentle as they could be. For some reason Simmons imagined the Hawaiian taking care of Kai’s scraped knees when they were younger, tending every sore and cut with practised hands.

Bad Girl: Sad Boy || Kim Namjoon (A)

Picture mine

Story dedicated to the lovely @norikoazami

Namjoon x reader

Genre: Some angst, served with a side of fluffy, sprinkled with a bit of smut, and drizzled with some more heartfelt angst.

Word Count: 3,560

~ Took a quick break from Summer Boy this weekend. Hope you all don’t mind! I wanted to write this story while it was still fresh and I had the motivation for it. Enjoy ♡


I made my way down the alley, short heels sliding on the wet pavement. The humidity after the rain lingered in the warm night. The air hitting through the ripped holes of my jet black jeans. The cars of the busy highway could be heard off in the distance, while everything around me was silent. The white street lights lit my path through the abandoned alleyway, leading to the abandoned lot after the buildings. I heard a small crash from one of the dumpsters at my right, followed by a black cat running from out of it.

Finally reaching the empty lot, almost empty except for a single car. His car only. I could already make of his tall figure sitting up on the hood of his old Chevy Malibu. My steps approaching him was the only nearby noise but he didn’t even try to look. He only moved every time he brought the dull cigarette from his lips. He was staring off into the distance of the city skyline, so far away and yet so close.

I ran my hand over the faded paint of his car, looking up at him as he was illuminated under the street light above us. The light made strong highlights and contours on his beautiful structured face. I walked over to the front of the car, leaning against it and took a look at what he gazed off to.

   “What are you doing?” His voice was deep and sounded dry of any emotions. Yet is was like silk to me and caused a feeling of shudder.

   “Wasting my time and wasting your life,” I answered over-honestly. I could see the smoke that had just left his mouth, die away in the air from the corner of my eye.

  “I meant here, with me.” I knew what he meant. He knew that too. I could feel his eyes burning a hole through me without having to look back. My body always naturally reacted that way from his stare.

   “Does the answer really change Namjoon?” His name tasted like old honey on my lips every time I pronounced it.

He wasn’t my boyfriend because we both hated titles. I did, however, love him, though. He lived for love and loved his addiction and me too. Being a lover on the side might not sound appealing to some but for me, I wouldn’t have any other way. He was worth having in your life in any way. He has a fire and he walks with it, he had a fire but talks with fame. He was a born philosopher and longed for anything and everything. He prayed for love and for peace and anything new. He created big dreams and still settled for small conditions. He never rejected the people he met, he once told me everyone was worthy and full of unknown knowledge and potential. Even someone like me. I don’t know if I believed all that but damn could that boy talk. Talk and talk like he knew it all but most of the timed talked about wanting to know more.

He walked into my workplace about seven months ago. The moment my eyes landed on him and his on mine, it was the first time I had that burning sensation. When I saw the fire he held around him. He sat and watched me through my entire performance, never had I been so distracted, five full songs later and he met me at the bar. Then my broken smile touched him unexpectedly. I was more of a hard rock and he grew up on hip-hop but I had never felt like I’ve gotten to know anyone so well by knowing nothing at all. That was the first night I dreamt of Kim Namjoon and after that, he was everywhere and he was everyone. I did not see him for almost a full month until he showed up once again outside of the bar I worked at. He had approached me with concern as to why my face of an angel was all he thought about. He had first come to the bar on his way to another town and when he got there, all he could think of was coming back. He was convinced there was something meant for him here and it started with me. I clung to him like safety and we could not be separated. I learned more about him and his lust for knowledge and everything he was deprived off as a child. He was full faith believer, opening up to the wonders of his mind and the world we shared.

That’s when I knew he’s what I needed. He was that one percent of the world that didn’t follow the norm. He taught me what no school, no class ever could. He eased my impulsive behavior and made me want to become more like him. So since we’ve met, I’ve tried hard to not get into trouble but there was a war in my mind that I could not contain. I only ever wanted to have fun, letting my immature heart show me the way. I may not be the only one, who regrets the things they’ve done but seems to be only me, who can still stand that reflection that I see. It’s been so long since I’ve been able walked down the street where I grew up and smile at the people who once knew me. Most of them look away or just don’t recognize me during the light of day. I had created myself on pure sin and self-destruction long before Namjoon. He was Plato and I was his Bonnie on the side.

  “Shouldn’t you be working at this hour?” He asked more specifically. A cough erupted from his chest probably after a strong drag from his cigarette. He didn’t offer me any, knowing I would reject it anyway.

     “I quit.” I could hear the bottom of his shoe hit against the metal of the car. I took in a deep breath, the kind you take right before a doctor stabs you with an injection. Preparing for what was to come next.

   “What are you talking about?” His voice had cut off the monotone expression and spoke with angered worry. “You can’t be serious. You need that money (Y/n).”

   “I don’t want it!” He huffed behind me like he was about to laugh, that’s how I knew he was upset. He tossed the remains of his cigarette on the floor in front of me, the car was shifting as he made his way down from it.

   “Don’t be stupid (Y/n). How else are you going to pay for your education?” I rolled my eyes as he was going to begin to lecture me, which I had learned to usually love. but not when it came to this. “You’ve been saving up money to go back to school and now you’re just going to quit?” He took everything I did too personal. As if I were purposely trying to annoy him with my life choices.

  “Yeah okay. That’s how easy it is, right?” He was standing on his feet, facing me but I would only give him my profile. “I go to back school, graduate, get some shit job. Work all my life until I get pregnant, have a bunch of kids and then just wait to die old.” That’s what he wanted. The life everyone wanted and aspired too. “I don’t want that. I want to do more and live in other ways.”

   “You have the chance to go to school. Do you know how much I envy that?” I crossed my arms over my chest. I knitted my brows as my eyes began to water from anger. “Do you want to spend your life like me? Going from place to place, never having a home or a chance?”

   “Yes! I want to leave here Namjoon, go see what else is out there!” I turned to face him with pleading eyes. Pleading for him to understand me.

  “There is nothing out there for people like me, (Y/n). This is your best chance.” I stepped closer to him. Grabbing at the loose material of his shirt, clinging onto him and bringing him closer.

   “Take me with you.” He signed, gently taking my wrists in his hands. “There is nothing here for me Namjoon. Please.” He stopped trying to fight me for a moment, actually looking me in the eyes, not liking how they teared up.

    “What about your family? You can’t just leave them.” He was willing to play any card. Anything that he could think of to make me change my mind.

    “They don’t need me. I’m old enough to go on my own…” It was him who told me that I needed to my decisions for myself and not others, even if that meant causing others pain. I had already done that enough to my family.  “Their lives are better off without me anyway.”

His shirt slipped out of my softening grip, I turned away from his face in shame. It was true and he knew that, he would just never admit it. I was waiting for him to respond with another argument but I was surprised when he grabbed me by my arms and pulled me against him. He pressed his lips against mine, tasting like bitter tobacco and sweetened coffee. He kissed me slowly, like he always did, slow but warm and meaningful. His lips were just as soft and plump every time. His fire aura could be felt in my body when he touched me and kissed me like this. From the beginning, he warned me that he could get up and leave at any time, out of the blue with little to no warning. Which might be why he always kissed like it was the last time.

   “Don’t…Don’t ever say that again.” He had his nose brush against mine, foreheads connected. He hand cupped my cheek, using his thumb to clear my face from a tear, that I hadn’t even noticed slip out. I nodded my head lightly, leaning my cheek against the comforting softness of his palm. Namjoon leaned up and kissed my forehead, pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around me. I could hear his heartbeat, like a drum playing a beautiful melody. His cheek rested on top of my head and messy hair. He didn’t pull away not even when it began to pour rain. “I’ll take you home.”


I opened the door to my small and ragged studio apartment, the sound of our wet shoes muddying up the floor as we stepped in. It wasn’t a nice place but it was all mine and here no one could bother me or be bothered by me. Namjoon walked through my place already familiar with its structure and where everything was. Going straight to my wardrobe to pull clothes for the both of us, while I grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

There was already had a drawer of his clothes in there for him. Namjoon would usually stay in his car or in a motel but since coming here, there was one night where I trusted him enough to allow him to stay the night. That same night I found myself sneaking out of my bed to the couch with him as he laid awake. On that couch is where we made love for the first time. It was a feeling I won’t forget, the feeling of falling in love for the first time. He’s had me feeling everything, from hate to lust, from lust to love and love to truth, that’s where he has me now. Stuck between our fantasy love and the painful truth.

We both got changed into dry clothes before I asked him to spend the night with me. I’ve been growing undependable to not have him close since the first time. We both let ourselves enjoy each others company despite the effect it was having on our lives. He stopped traveling to stay here and I stopped living to keep him here. I was a nonbeliever with a foolish dream to start my life over by not doing anything at. Now believing that having him by side will show me the way out of my mind.

   “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you but,” He laid in my bed with me by his side, legs, and feet entangled under the sheets for warmth. “I will love you more than you will ever know.”

His voice soothed the severe thoughts in my head for a perfect moment. His hands ran up my back with my leg swung over his waist. My head rested next to his as I ran my hand through the thick stands of his hair.

   “I want your love and all of your love without having any regrets.” Namjoon’s hand ran down my back and to my leg that was hooked around him. He grabbed the back of my thigh and pulled me on top of his chest.

   “Baby I want you to know how much I love you,” He held me with no space between us, I was pressed against him by his own demanding hands. “How much I need you.” He guided my lips onto his. Running his mouth over mine with passionate longing. My eyes shut gently, taking in deep breaths through my nose, his hands making goosebumps form over my surface. Taking in the taste only his lips allowed.  I slid myself off his chest, to move up closer to his lips, afraid to disconnect them. He had me in flames.

He pulled off my clothes, positioning my legs on either side of his hips. Not pulling away from his kiss for even a moment. It took my breath away and was the most pleasant feeling of suffocation there was. He admired my body, worshiped it while I gave myself over to him like many times before. I could beg him for pleasure and would go to him blind after dreaming about his every night this week. His hands caressed and his fingers dug into the bare skin of my intimacy. Making every inch of my skin burn up at his command. Soft moans fell onto his lips while they still pressed against mine. They were moist and tender from all the physical friction. He pushed my hips to grind against his hard crotch. Namjoon was mellow when it came to be vocally honestly about how good he felt during our lovemaking sessions. He was loud, grunt and groaned at the feeling as our beautiful bodies collided, bumped, and grind.

He led me to sit on his length, everything in us stood still, our breaths and moans stopped, to enjoy the union of our bodies as one. He was part of me and I was part of him, and the fire that he had in his soul was burning up inside me. He held me close, closer than ever before, bringing my hips to the rhythm of our hearts. Our bodies mixed in sweat and arousal. I watched his eyes, big pools of warmth and mystery. They seem to draw you in, making you feel lost yet at ease. His tranquilizing voice only adding to his attraction and appeal, urging you to try and figure him out even if you can’t.

He spoke my name like is was a secret of the universe; like it was the only name he ever needed to know. His hands tightened around my hips driving me faster and harder to our climaxes. He wanted it more than anything, he searched for the feeling of ecstasy in our pleasure, sharing the high and feeding off each others euphoria. My whimpers became likes cries of pain. The pleasure ripping through my vocal cords as his encouragement. My hands scratched at his soft skin, making him grunt at the slight pain that he enjoyed.

  “N-Namjoon… my god!” I struggled to speak what I wanted. My head was feeling hazy and the words could just barely came out. I wanted to tell him how good he felt, how well he made me feel. How no one had ever taken me like he had but he already knew that.

   “Yes! That’s it (Y/n), baby. Yes!” He tossed his head back, his neck vein throbbing out and gripping my hand tightly. My body began to tremble over his, his fingers were locked with mine keeping me from escaping and only being with him. His fire spread through every inch of my body taking me high out of this world and to our own.

My legs laid numb against his, his arms kept my naked sweat glistening body warm without the covers that were kicked to the foot of the bed. I was back where I started the night, my head by his and leg swung around his waist. I watched how his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, how his hair stuck around his sweaty forehead, eyes being a muted high while sober. He was the most beautiful thing the universe could have created, an absolute dream. He once told me that everything that is beautiful had to be once broken to become that way, that’s what gave it value and worth. He was broken and I couldn’t fix him or make him better but I could wait, wait a million years if he needed. All he had to do was call for me and I would come running, through storms and oceans. One day the world would realize his worth and love him, so I loved him before they all did.

 “So can you love me?” He suddenly said. My hand rubbed on his chest, feeling how it vibrated as he spoke, “When my mystery fades and you’re used to my face, until you can’t love me?”

  “But until then,” I ran my hand down his cheek, turning his face to look at mine, stroking where his dimpled showed in a smile. “Baby I’ve got you.”


I woke up the next morning with the sheets tucked around me, a loud shutting sound is what brought me awake. The sun was barely coming up and it made a light gray color shine in through the blinds. I turned around onto my back in the empty bed to find Namjoon standing by my wardrobe, taking his clothes out of his drawer. He was changed into his dry clothes from last night and his actions seemed slow and hesitant. He stopped, as he felt me staring at him, his eyes found me reading an apologizing sorrow look on them. I felt my heart sink out of my chest and a painful feeling of dread overwhelmed me. Still, I brought myself to foolishly ask him,

   “W-what are you doing?” I gulped as my mouth seemed to dry. He looked down at the bag he clenched in his hand and let it drop to the floor, with a thud on the wood. He stepped over it and took a seat on my side of the bed. The sheets were pressed against my bare chest as he tried to take a hold of my hands. Like he always did, when he was about to speak the cold bitter truth.

   “(Y/n) I-” I yanked my hand away from his touch and bit my lip to keep it from letting out anything stupid. “You knew I couldn’t stay here…” He signed. Namjoon looked down to his lap and hands I had reject for the first time.

   “So you were just going to leave without-!” I stopped myself and shook my head, turning away from him. “Of course you were…” I mumbled to myself.

I knew of this. How love could be mean and how it hurt but it was only his love that burned and bled. So I sat and watched him gather all of this belongings. Packing everything that would ever remind me that he existed and was ever in my life. He was removing himself from me and could not leave anything that I could cling onto desperately.

   “I will love you till the end of time,” Namjoon mumbled against my ear, arms holding me like a python. I took in the scent of his skin, coffee, cigarettes, and honey. “Promise to remember that you’re mine (Y/n)…”

    “I could wait a million years.”

Someone like Kim Namjoon was a like a butterfly, beautiful and fragile. Could only be admired from afar and if you got too close, you risked destroying it. He flew away for his own safety and was a victim to his wanderlust. He left because he was sure he would come back, this was where he knew he was meant to be. But he got here too soon, there was still so much more he needed to see and learn about himself. He left now because now he was sure that he would have something to come back for. He will come back for me one day. He was giving me time to find my own safety and clarity without him. I might be just a low life bad girl but he too, was a sad boy with a lust for everything.


8

This is from my heart.

2

one-true-lloyd‘s been bugging me to draw this because he’s always so proud whenever he embarrasses me!

When he was visiting we went out for sushi, and while we (mostly me) were eating I noticed that a UFC fight was on the tv directly in front of us, behind one of the chefs. I’m not gonna lie, watching UFC fights make me all blushy and grin like an idiot. I like seein’ guys wrassle~

So Alex caught on that I kept ogling the UFC fighters, and so to make matters worse he just openly says “Imagine those UFC fighters as Sonic and Shadow though” AND IT GOT A MILLION TIMES WORSE AND I TURNED INTO A TOMATO AND I COULDN’T STOP NERVOUS-LAUGHING IT WAS LIKE I WAS ONE OF THE JOKER’S VICTIMS!

And the chef was just standing there looking at me the whole time. Now I can’t go there again because one of the chefs knows I’m not only trash but sonadow trash at that.

I can understand why whitewashing may be frustrating to see, but it is not okay to shame artists.

Last night I came across not one, but two, Voltron blogs that were reblogging art they deemed “whitewashing,” and leaving rather rude comments, criticizing the artist for coloring a character too light. Referring to the artist’s Lance as “Larry” for example. 

Most of the arts seemed fine. And before you start writing me an angry ask, I am a POC myself. So long as a brown-skinned character is darker than the white character drawn next to them, it doesn’t bother me. I am not an artist, I can’t draw, but I sometimes color line art. Coloring is hard. I cannot understand lighting for the life of me. You don’t know if an artist is still struggling with figuring out coloring and lighting. Give them a break. 

People who feel the need to publicly shame artists for not coloring a character dark enough in your opinion… who the hell do you think you are? That is so rude. If it bothers you that much, politely and privately message the artist. I’m sure they would much rather appreciate receiving constructive criticism privately, instead of being publicly called out and their art mocked. 

Get over yourselves. I cannot wait until this tumblr culture of “I must publicly call out this person for doing (”problematic” thing), so I can show off how good and woke I am” dies off. 

The club in the warehouse seemed to appear overnight, but it was filled with people, all blurred faces and glaring smiles and sweating bodies. People doing lines of coke, throwing back their heads I’m ecstasy. The music pounded and rolled through the crowd, seeming to affect everything it reached. White smoke slithered around the feet of dancing, gyrating clubgoers, smelling of fun and wine.
“This is like magic,” you say, sitting at the bar alone.
The bartender, his back to you, seems to stiffen as he turns around, grinning. His incredibly good looks stun you. “That’s because it is.”
You recover and chuckle. “Oh? How so?”
“Magic comes in many forms, my dear.” He leans against the surface of the bar so he’s mere inches away from your face. “Alcohol, ecstasy, madness, and merrymaking happen to be my specialty.”
“Because you’re a bartender?”
He shakes his head. “My dear, my dear, my dear, if you really believe that, you’re more naive than I made you out to be.”
The smoke swirls around your feet, snaking up your legs and stroking your bare skin, sending waves of esctasy coursing through your body. “Who are you?” You manage to choke out.
He frowns and suddenly turns his back on you, the quick movement startling you. He grabs several bottles of alcohol and a glass, mixing them together. “It’s a shame that I can’t show you my true form, because you’d turn to ash if you saw me. You see, I find you very, very interesting.”
You blush. “What’s your name?”
“Dionysus, my dear.” He turns around in a flourish, brandishing a colorful drink, grinning like a mad man, but the smile, the mania, suits him. It beckons you closer, hints that it understands you like nothing else before. Something inside you that had been locked away, by you or by society, broke free. The drink is set in front of you, his knowing smile in the background. “And do I have a drink for you.”
—  Modern Mythology: Dionysus (b.a.s)
RWBY’s Four Trials Theory: “This Life is Mine”

Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about the nature of the challenges that each of RWBY’s four main characters faces. Interestingly, I think I’ve found a theme that unites all of them. So, consider this one the first of a 4-part series. I’m going to start by analyzing Weiss’s major trial.

(Warning: this theory will discuss the type of abuse that RWBY has depicted)

After the most recent episodes of RWBY, we now have a very clear picture of Weiss’s home life.

We’ve finally seen on-screen exactly how craven Jacques is, but, the thing is, we already knew that he was despicable, that Weiss suffered at his hands.

Look at some of the lyrics to “It’s My Turn” (not to mention her other songs).


When I was young
If I just closed my eyes, then I could go anywhere
Dream of any place
Imagination set the pace and my heart was happy there

What a shame that you came round and told me
Said my dreams can’t come true
“Don’t be foolish. Give up your wish
Big things aren’t for you”


You were the one
Who held me down and told me I was heading nowhere


That was so long ago when you owned me
I believed it was true
Bend me, shape me, build me, break me
Why was I your fool?


You lose, the time you ruled me’s through
I’m in control, I own my soul, and I’ll never go back there

Wasted years that I spent never knowing
I was kept, I was used


While it was fairly clear that this song was about Weiss and Jacques, let’s examine the language that she uses in the song. First off, it becomes apparent that Weiss once was a warm, happy, and imaginative child. She sings about how when she was a child, she imagined herself doing anything, going anywhere, being capable of great things. But Jacques is the one that crushes her imagination, her heart, and her spirit. She spends her entire childhood being told that she is worthless, that she will amount to nothing. All of that torment arises out of Jacques’s desire to manipulate and use her for his own purposes. We even see him doing this in the show, when he forces her into performing at the charity concert by suggesting that the happiness of others is dependent upon her participation.

This is not the face of a kindly, encouraging father.

So, now we really, truly know exactly how much Jacques has tried to break Weiss. But, the thing is, I don’t think that Weiss was the only one to receive this abuse.

Look at the faces in this portrait, one by one.

Weiss looks saddened at this age already, since she’s already been subjected to Jacques’s constant belittlement, as we know from her various songs.

Look at Winter, though. Winter, the sister that Weiss admires so much, looks every single ounce as weary and despondent as Weiss.

I think Winter received the same mistreatment from Jacques. Not only is she equally miserable in this picture, but she grows up to become even more cold and withdrawn than Weiss, and then she encourages her sister to try to escape their father’s grasp.

Going back to the portrait, look at their mother.

Mrs. Schnee looks as heartbroken as both of her daughters.
All we know about her is that one line from Whitley, who says that she’s out “drinking in the garden” early in the morning. Based off of the evidence we have available to us, I think that Jacques has also abused Mrs. Schnee in the same way he abused their daughters.

And speaking of Whitley, notice something?
Whitley and Jacques are the only two figures in the portrait who appear happy.

Whitley has not been constantly demeaned by Jacques.

If you need further proof…

…have you noticed that only his picture is posted around their mansion?

And did you realize that the only picture that Jacques has on his desk is one of Whitley?

But Whitley is more than Jacques’s favorite. Look, we need to go back one more time to the family portrait-

The only person that Jacques hasn’t tried to break is Whitley.

Even at this point in time, when Whitley and Weiss are hardly anything more than children, Jacques has decided that Weiss cannot amount to anything, and that Whitley can. 

I don’t think that Jacques ever actually intended for Weiss to inherit the company. Why would he tell his heir that she’s worthless and incompetent? 

He had already decided that Whitley was to be his heir; that’s why he never demeaned him. But he didn’t choose Whitley because Whitley showed promise- at this age, neither Whitley nor Weiss could have proven that they were “worthy” of the company. 

I think that he chose Whitley because Whitley is male. I think that Jacques only ever wanted a male to inherit the company. That’s why he passed over Winter, and that’s the real reason why he’s passing over Weiss.

Jacques has only ever demeaned and belittled the women in his family.

Weiss’s Grand Character Arc, then, her major challenge, is about more than just her desire and will to change the meaning of her inheritance

It is about how her inheritance was denied her because of her sexist, abusive father, and about how she will reclaim her place, and not only her place, but the place of women, in her family, in her company, and in her world.

This life is hers.



As always, thanks for reading. The other Four Trials Theories can be found here-

| R | W | B | Y  |
| R- Addendum |
| Conclusion |

If you want to read any of my other writings, check out the corresponding links!
-Lie Ren’s Semblance
-Why Qrow can transform
-Weiss’s Character Arc
-or the deal with the whole Xiao Long-Rose-Branwen family