survive and flourish

And there’s nothing more fascinating than a girl who knows how to love, even after all the trauma ensued. She faced each day with a hope, a hope so deep in her soul that even the devil himself could not take it away from her. She danced with evils and laid with nightmares and survived and flourished and fought her way to the top of wherever she wanted to be. She is resilient in its finest form and she will be momentarily damaged, but she will never be broken.
—  From a Book I’ll Never Write #43
Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Head Boy

1.5k words, G rated

Scorpius’s seventh year letter from Hogwarts contains an unexpected piece of good news, and Draco has never been prouder. 

Beta’d by @abradystrix

Keep reading

Hamilton Star: Michelle Obama Gave Me ‘the Best Compliment I Have Ever Received’ (Time):

[…] I had anticipated that the First Lady might come, one day, when we made it to Broadway, but downtown—at the Public Theater? It wasn’t until after the show ended that they said, “Michelle Obama’s here!” At the time I shared a dressing room with Jasmine Cephas Jones and Reneé Elise Goldsberry, my Schuyler sisters. We hurriedly got out of costume to say hello. Giddy with excitement, we made our way to the greenroom. There she stood. So poised and beautiful. She said hello to each and every one of us. I will never forget what Mrs. Obama said, “This is the best piece of art that I’ve ever seen.” I was floored. She has seen so much art in her life. Coming from her, our First Lady, the modern-day Schuyler sister incarnate, and one of the most inspirational women of our time, it was the best compliment I have ever received.

Hamilton is, of course, closely tied to the Obamas because Lin first performed the opening number at a White House poetry jam. I didn’t know anything about Eliza when I first got the call about Hamilton. Tommy Kail, the director, asked me if I wanted to be a part of it. I knew what he was talking about because I’d seen the video of Lin performing it at the White House for Barack and Michelle Obama. I specifically remember a friend showing me that YouTube clip while I was a student in drama school. Cut to five or six years later when Tommy calls me and asks me to be a part of a December reading of Act II of what was then called “Hamilton Mixtape.” I did what most people do when they don’t know something, I googled Eliza. I saw that she was his wife but there wasn’t a lot more. I just chalked it up to me being a lazy researcher. I thought, Okay. I’ll do digging later. I’ll go and see what this project is and enjoy the experience. Hearing the music for the first time was incredible. It had such an instant cool factor. But it wasn’t until I got into the room with Lin, Alex, and Tommy (I would end up working with Andy a few months later) that I truly discovered what the “Hamilton Mixtape” really was. I thought: These artists and creators that I’m working with … this story … is going to change the world. And I get to be in this room. And it changed me, too. I just didn’t know it yet.

In December of 2013, the end of the play still hadn’t been written. It actually wasn’t until that workshop in January, a day before our presentation, that Lin gave me the last song. In the moment at the end of Hamilton when Eliza steps out and you see her, most people tell me they are so taken aback. “Oh my gosh! She’s the one who is telling us this story, like we’re learning this story because of her.” That was the way that I felt getting that last song. A moment of: Really? And you want me to finish the play? I mean I’d love to but …

Lin went on to explain that in the song you look and see everything that she did after Hamilton died. I was just as surprised and awestruck by the beauty of this woman’s legacy that not many people know about, and how beautiful this moment was that we’re giving her, a voice and a place in history for the first time. It’s huge.


When Eliza says, “I took myself out of the narrative,” in reference to guarding her privacy after Hamilton’s cheating is revealed, her situation feels stunningly contemporary. It took me a while to understand this particular moment in Eliza’s journey. In discovering how to play Eliza, I first asked myself, “What is the difference between the common woman then and the common woman now?” But that proved to be less useful. I was only separating myself from Eliza. So I started to ask the question, “What do all women, past and present have in common?” The answer: survival. Women have struggled a great deal, yes. But it has been their ability to overcome, the way women have chosen to deal with their struggles. Not only survive, but flourish through their achievements. The struggle is real, the struggle has always been real and will continue to be real. It’s just a matter of how you choose to find your way through whatever challenges you face. Eliza is empowered by taking herself out of the narrative. I think that’s why forgiveness is such a huge part of the play.

People seem confused when Eliza forgives Hamilton. I suppose it is because we have more options now. It’s easy to opt to avoid someone, avoid forgiveness, avoid conflict, or avoid complicated feelings, love and disgust, that coexist. But ultimately it doesn’t matter how many options we have; it is a miracle that we choose to survive.


In his last letter to Eliza, Hamilton calls her “the best of wives and the best of women.” If I’m trying to get into Hamilton’s brain, he was saying “best of wives” like “best of who you are to me” and “best of women,” meaning who you are to the world. The letter used to be in the show. I used to read it. I still remember every line:

This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality.

If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me.

The consolations of Religion, my beloved, can alone support you and these you have a right to enjoy. Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world.

Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my darling Children for me.

Ever yours

I used to read it, and I don’t anymore. I think we cut it out for time’s sake, but the idea of the letter still lives. It’s chilling. It gives me chills.

I’m a total believer in the universe and the over soul. Somehow the energy that our Founding Mothers put into our history has lasted and has traversed centuries and found its way to me. Eventually, it will leave me and find its way to somebody else. It does feel like ages have passed by the end of the three-hour play so I definitely use that. Because Hamilton has had such a universal voice, it’s brought some of the most amazing women into my life. Women who are politicians, who are actors, who are writers, who are my family members that I respect so much, strangers—mothers and daughters who have lost their loved ones, all of these women, choosing to survive. And to be able to share it with them in this way, I feel like it’s paying homage to them, it’s paying homage to Eliza, and to all the other versions of Eliza that have existed throughout history and will exist for ages to come.

From “The Best Wives and Best of Women” by Phillipa Soo as published in The Meaning of Michelle edited by Veronica Chambers. 

read Phillipa’s full beautiful essay


“After everything you’ve been through. I would have been proud of you for simply surviving, but you’ve flourished.“ - Draco Malfoy

Slytherin Head Boy aesthetic for @torestoreamends wonderful story 

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Head Boy 


A month ago, i re-started my herb babies after a neglectful attempt last year due to stress and depression. This year I am working twice as hard to make sure my herbs survive and flourish by giving them the extra love and attention they deserve. I feel they are doing their best and I am so proud of them! Thank you to all the lovely beings who have given me the motivation and advice to keep on being a good plant mom. 🌿🌱💜☘🍃


anonymous asked:

Would you consider taking a prompt for Jyn/Cassian? Any number from 1-10 from your last prompt list? Completely up to you since I don't know if you have the muse for them ;)

7. Hand kiss

The story of Jyn’s life is etched into her hands.

The small, curved scar at the bottom of her left palm is from where she fell as she tried to climb up one of the rock faces on Lah’mu. She landed heavily on that hand, a stray, sharp piece of shale piercing the skin. “You need to be more careful, Stardust,” her father said as he gently bandaged it, but she just smiled sunnily up at him. Those were the days before she realised why her mother sometimes glanced at the skies overhead with shadowed eyes, when she thought the way her parents made her practice grabbing the always-ready satchel and running for the hidden shelter was a game. Before she understood that there was evil in the galaxy.

There’s a mole on her right wrist, just where it joins her hand, a small, inconspicuous brown spot. She stared at that mole as she waited in the shelter for someone to find her, feeling the quiet certainty settle in her that whoever it was it would not be her parents. They were gone. If she acknowledged that panic started to swell up inside her, so she focused on the mole on her wrist, trying to shrink the rest of the galaxy down to the size of that spot in her mind, too small for fears and anxieties she wasn’t quite old enough to understand to pierce.

Various callouses adorn her palms and fingers, relics of her training from Saw Garrera. You cannot wield a baton with force without the friction wearing away the skin, and her soft child’s hands had quickly hardened over to match the new sharp edges of her mind and soul. There’s a small line over one knuckle from the first time she punched someone and caught the edge of their tooth. She was twelve when Saw took her hands in his and looked down at them approvingly. “You have a fighter’s hands now, child.”

Numerous cuts and scrapes were collected over the years she was on her own, abandoned by the man that had shaped her hands so they were only fit for breaking, destroying. Most are faded now, but some marks remain.

A ragged scar on the back of her right hand is from Eadu. When the bombs started falling she threw her arm up to cover her head, and caught the edge of some flying piece of shrapnel. Looking at it brings back memories of her father in her arms, his eyes desperately holding hers as the breath left his body.

The scars from Scarif cover her arms more than her hands, but they’re close enough. Burn marks and the thin white lines of healed cuts that remind her how close she truly came to dying. They are also the only scars she is proud of, in an oddly fierce way. Because she got those scars, they retrieved the plans for the Death Star. Because she got those scars, countless lives were saved. Because she got those scars, the Rebel Alliance not only survived but is flourishing.

Perhaps flourishing isn’t quite the right word when they are currently based on a frozen wasteland of a planet. But it’s growing.

Hoth won’t leave any permanent marks on her hands, Jyn doesn’t think, although it’s difficult to believe when she can feel the cold in her very bones. She constantly flexes her hands and figures as she moves around the base, to stop them numbing up. If she doesn’t the cold makes them shake so badly she has trouble even doing up the buttons on her shirt.

Despite the iciness of the air, the atmosphere here seems more charged than on Yavin 4. On Yavin there was a sense of grimness, an aura of fighting because to give in was unthinkable than because they had any real hope for victory. Now, since the Death Star was destroyed, there’s a palpable belief that they are not fighting in vain. A difference can be made.

The idea of the Rebels winning, of a day when Empire will fall, still seems far flung to Jyn. Or maybe it’s more that she deliberately chooses not to think of it. Not out of any desire to remain realistic, or avoid false hope – rebellions are built on hope, after all – but because picturing a life in which she doesn’t have to fight terrifies her.

She doesn’t know what or who she is if she isn’t fighting. Her hands are proof of that. The scars that mark them are tales of destruction, of breaking and burning things to the ground. They are not the hands of a builder, of someone who can grow something good out of the ashes of war.

Those are the thoughts in her mind when Cassian finds her perched in an out-of-the-way alcove. He sits down beside her, the space snug enough that his thigh and side presses warmly against hers.

“Still cold?” he asks, nodding at her flexing hands.

“There hasn’t been a moment on this wretched planet when I haven’t been cold,” Jyn grumbles, but that only makes him smile.

She still isn’t quite sure of the moment when things shifted between them, but at some point the balance swung and even if she hasn’t said it out loud she knows she’s more than a little bit in love with him. He hasn’t said anything either, but the way he looks when their eyes meet makes her think he feels the same.

He reaches out now and takes her hands in his, gently pulling off her gloves and then his own so their skin brushes together. His hands are larger than hers, almost completely enveloping them, the fingers longer and more graceful, but the palms are as calloused and there are at least as many nicks and scars. There must be a story behind each one, and she thinks that one day she would like to hear them.

With infinite tenderness he brings her hands up to his mouth and presses his lips to the backs, the knuckles, the palms. Each light kiss sends warmth pulsing through them, and she can feel her cheeks heating up to match.

He, too, has a fighter’s hands, hardened by war and violence from childhood. But when he uses them like this, touches her with such care, they seem more like a healer’s hands, or perhaps a gardener’s. Precise, delicate, made for repairing and soothing.

It almost makes her believe her hands could be something similar.

Still holding her hands, he glances up, dark eyes sparkling. “Better?”

“Much.” Jyn smiles. “For now, anyway.”

He chuckles. “Well, if you get cold again, just let me know.”

The thought of the future – one in which there’s peace – frightens Jyn. But if she can have Cassian in it, she thinks she will find a way to cope.

“Didn’t I already tell you? I’m always cold.”                

Today we find ourselves in a precarious era. While many of the technological advancements we enjoy make our lives easier and more convenient, we have also sacrificed our relationship with many of the natural processes that must occur in order for us to not only survive, but to flourish. It could be argued that these advances have allowed us more time to enjoy life, since most of us no longer have to toil in forest and field to earn a day’s meal or a winter’s warmth, and we have free time to spend in any way that we choose. However studies repeatedly show that Western peoples are exceedingly unhappy with our existence and sense a great longing for something ‘else’, some unknown ‘other’ that cannot easily be articulated. A portion of our very souls has been lost, something that was at one time a tremendous part of our core being.

In many ways, the grasp that Christianity once held on the Western mind is sloughing off, but in its place we see the dispiriting materialism which has taken root, a profane humanist rationalism which negates all that cannot be scientifically or physically quantified. Our ability to view traditional folklore from an “insider’s perspective” has been grossly impeded, and myth even more so. We’ve placed limitations on our own abilities to truly imagine - to be awed completely and totally by the greater mysteries of our world. The results of this compromise are plain for all to see. In sacrificing this part of ourselves to the gods of an industrial age we have lost a once profound and intimate relationship we shared with the natural - and supernatural - world.

Cody Dickerson, The Language of the Corpse: The Power of the Cadaver in Germanic and Icelandic Sorcery

anonymous asked:

Right to the good parts Prompt #11 MinaSaku

lol, y’all always want angst with these two don’t ya?


Sakura pauses, turning back to look at him. In that small word he sounds like the Hokage she knows he will one day be, assertive, commanding, persuasive. When she looks at him though, he is still the man just shy of twenty, the one she’s learned to treasure in a way she never could his yet to be built monument.

“Sakura,” Minato says, stepping forward and bringing her into the cradle of his embrace. Sakura shuts her eyes against his warmth, trying to shield herself from him. “Stay. I need you here, by my side. I can’t do this without you.”

“You’ll do fine without me,” Sakura replies as she pulls away from him. She knows the future, despite the changes she’s wrought by being here. He will survive; no, he will flourish. And she will be there, in the background unnoticed, to make sure of it.

He catches one of her hands in his own and Sakura cannot help noticing the way it encompasses hers. “I want you here,” he says, eyes imploring. “I don’t want to go on without you. If you aren’t here, nothing else matters. I don’t care about accomplishments or prestige; I just want you.”

Sakura wavers and Minato goes in for the kill, cupping her face in his hands as he pulls her in for a searing kiss. Sakura’s thoughts scatter to the wind and, for a moment, she is blissfully, fully here. After an indeterminable amount of time, Minato pulls away slightly. “Stay,” he breathes.

Sakura leans forward, pressing her forehead to his. Her eyes slide shut as her defenses fall. “Alright.”

She misses his breathtaking grin. She does not, however, miss his breathtaking kiss.

We are comrades in love and heartbreak

So you lean on me, and I’ll lean on you

And together we’ll not only survive, but flourish, in this world of infinite possibilities

—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

An extraterrestrial visitor examining the differences among human societies would find those differences trivial compared to the similarities.

Our lives, our past and our future are tied to the sun, the moon and the stars. We humans have seen the atoms which constitute all of nature and the forces that sculpted this work and we, who embody the local eyes and ears and thoughts and feelings of the cosmos, have begun to wonder about our origins – star stuff contemplating the stars, organized collections of ten billion billion billion atoms, contemplating the evolution of nature, tracing that long path by which it arrived at consciousness here on the planet earth.

Our loyalties are to the species and to the planet. Our obligation to survive and flourish is owed not just to ourselves but also to that cosmos ancient and vast from which we spring.

We are one species. We are star stuff harvesting star light.

—  Carl Sagan (1934 – 1996)

Your heart, the moon-
where love cannot survive,
never allowed to flourish
inside your chest,
to tangle roots across
the labyrinth of your ribs.

You have coated your skin in silver,
painting your body into
something unearthly,
something deadly,
something that shall
never fail you.

Your teeth,
filed sharp into arrowheads,
destined for tearing men’s
hearts out of their chests
because this is the hunt
and they’ve never served you
in any other way.

Holiness for you
was always in the quiet
of the world,
never in the flesh of another.

The blood you lick from your lips
must taste like freedom.

—  Emily Palermo, Artemis
the clexa fic rec post you didn’t ask for

List of some of my favorite Clexa fics mostly for my own benefit so I can reference later but if you haven’t read all of these, you should. Read more link included because this list is hella long.

Modern AUs

the terminal by coeurastronaute

Our flight information got messed up in the airplane company’s computers and we’re stuck at this airport for 24 hours.

somewhere i have never traveled by unicyclehippo

Lexa Wood doesn’t like being woken up at two am when her neighbour comes home from work. But, for baked goods and good company and the offer of no strings sex with possibly the most attractive person she’s ever met, well. Maybe she can make an exception for Clarke Griffin.

cause i know that you feel me somehow by reinclarkenation

People aren’t their mutations, her father had been sure to preach those words to her, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that. Sometimes it takes over your entire being, and with a force as strong as the one that flows through Lexa, Clarke knows that it’s too big of a burden to dismiss as a minor character point. This isn’t an ability, this isn’t getting a beer can to your hand by using your mind or making bigger waves when you go surfing, it’s a weight that interjects itself into every aspect of your life. It’s not something that you can turn off and on or control by yourself.

lifted up (where the sky hangs) by possibilist

hospital!au, because we all need non-tragic versions of those. octavia has very treatable cancer; lexa has sort of treatable heart problems. octavia meets lexa because they’re both stuck in pediatric waiting rooms for another year; octavia sets lexa up with clarke, her best friend.

You See the Smile That’s On My Mouth (it’s hiding the words that don’t come out) by heartshapedcandy

School AU - Clarke and Lexa fall in love at age five but take forever and a day to realize it.

bathroom stalls & late night calls by unicyclehippo 

A Clarke/Lexa fic where one of them either texts a random number or finds the others number in a book or on the bathroom stall in a school (or anywhere) and they start texting it. Turns out the number they texted turns out to be the other one. They don’t know who the other is. They both text each other until they finally meet each other millions of texts later

Keep reading

doctorbluesmanreturns  asked:

What is Hero! The Rock Opera about?


Oh. Oh friend. :D

*rubs hands together*


!HERO is a rock opera modernizing Jesus’s last two years of life, as described in the Bible. The story takes place in New York City, in Brooklyn. The world government in this near-future dystopic Earth is centered under the International Confederation of Nations (ICON). Under the iron fist of I.C.O.N., nearly all religion in the world has been wiped out, except for small occult and mystic sects. Only one synagogue in Brooklyn exists. Currently, New York City is a police-occupied warzone between ethnic gangs and small, isolated revolutionary groups fighting I.C.O.N. Of all the ancient world religions, only Judaism survives and flourishes, at least, as much as it can.

In Bethlehem, PA, a child named Jesus, but referred to as HERO, is born and forced to flee with his family to the small Jewish section of Brooklyn. Jesus grows up and begins to preach and teach the principles of Christianity to the people of New York City, teaching people to love their enemies and care for each other. I.C.O.N. realizes HERO is a threat, and the Chief of police Devlin (a derivative of the Devil or Satan), with the help of chief Rabbi Kai (Caiaphas), conspire to end HERO’s revolutionary teachings.

The Opera is narrated by “Agent Hunter”, a former I.C.O.N. agent who met HERO and was soon thrown into prison for joining him against I.C.O.N. The opera also features Petrov (Peter), Maggie (Mary Magdalene), and Jude (Judas Iscariot) the latter who conspires with Kai and Devlin to betray HERO. The storyline progresses through several stories about Jesus’ miracles and sermons, using references from the Bible’s four gospels, continues through Jesus’ execution, at the hands of I.C.O.N’s angry mob, and eventually ending with his resurrection (source: wikipedia)

Hero! The Rock Opera is the brainchild of Will Farrell, Eddie DeGarmo, and the prolific Pete Stewart. All three are former giants of the Christian music industry who not only had their own successful music careers, but were also creative powerhouses largely influencing and producing for some of the biggest artists of the day, and the former two were founding creatives of ForeFront Records. (Pete Stewart’s name can be found in the liner notes of albums from Toby Mac, Sanctus Real, 7th Time Down, Casting Crowns, Newsboys, Colton Dixon, Thousand Foot Krutch, and etc. to this day.)

They are the ones who asked the question “what if?”

What if Christ had not come when he did? What if he came to Bethlehem… Pensylvania? (it takes a lot of historical liberties, we ignore those; hypothetically, it could work out ok)

Starring (what at least used to be, when I was growing up) the household names of

  • Michael Tait as Hero (dcTalk, Tait, Newsboys)
  • Mark Stuart as Petrov (Audio Adrenaline)
  • Rebecca St. James as Maggie (recording artist, sister to the dudes of For King & Country, whose song Wait For Me is a well-known message for the True Love Waits movement)
  • Michael Quinlan as Jude (prolific producer)
  • Paul Wright as Agent Hunter (solo and contributing artist)
  • Nirva Dorsaint as Momma Mary (TobyMac and the Diverse City Band)
  • T-Bone as Jairus (hip-hop artist)
  • Matt Hammitt (Sanctus Real)*
  • Bob Farrell as Governor Pilate (I’ve said enough about him)
  • Donnie Lewis as Jairus’s wife (voice of an angel)**
  • GRITS as the Wedding Party, and featuring Nathan Lee and John Grey*

**Donnie Lewis also portrays Momma Mary in the live stage version.

*Nathan Lee, GRITS, Matt Hammitt, and John Gray do not appear in the live stage version.

  • I left out Chief Rabbi Kai. Why? In the recorded album, Kai is played by none other than John Cooper, frontman of Skillet (!!!). In the stage version, he is played by the lesser known Billy Buchanan (who had a band, but now devotes himself to teaching music and ministry). I cannot tell you whose portrayal I love more. They are both phenomenal.

And Michael Tait’s portrayal of Hero is possibly his best work in the history of ever, and I am a major dcTalk fan.

Hero tells the gospel story through songs bridging genres through pop, rock, hiphop, and ballad. In what started as an album compilation and quickly moved to a live stage tour, a graphic novel, and a couple books by Stephen and Ross Lawhead.

Although album copies and dvds of the live performance are not the easiest to find, the entire live stage footage version is available on a Youtube playlist, and I would encourage you (anyone) to watch it there, because it needs to be experienced. I know the legality of this is slightly gray but if you enjoy it, you’ll want to buy it to listen to the album and see the full quality version anyway. (Oh, and wait until you listen to the song “Few Good Men” before passing judgement, because it is a tad slow to start.)


Originally posted by etudiant-en-ph2

I seriously love this thing so much. I just. I cannot tell you what it means to me, has meant to me, and the things I continue to learn from it, and the way that I sit around and plot revival casts with both current Christian recording artists and Broadway stars. XD XD

It is beautiful.

“He brings message of love that threatens the powerful - from the religious leaders, to the ICON bosses.

But he was born to speak out, no matter what it cost him. Just what the powerful fear most: a champion of the people.”

A Hero.”


They will overcome this and come out stronger. It will be hard and painful and many many rivers of tears will flow. But… this is Robert and Aaron, nothing will ever keep them from each other, mistakes were made on both sides, but their love is true and pure and will not only survive but will continue to flourish!

I have seen a fair few posts with people scared and struggling with the reveal, and I know it will be painful, but through it all remember who they are, remember what they have been through to get to this point and remember that love is the most powerful force in the world.

Originally posted by sorenkingsley

Part 1 | Part 2

….. I seriously need to practice writing battle/action scenes.

Unlike normal schools, the afternoon classes in UA consisted of classes involving hero trainings, and most of the time that meant special lessons. On other times, such as now, they were instructed to do a light spar with each other. There were good reasons for the seemingly simple activity, but mainly it was to simulate real battles between quirk users and blowing off some steam once in a while.

Oh, and sometimes it’s better to exchange punches to convey something to each other, or so Kirishima had said after a rather heated battle with Bakugou, one that had resulted in many broken bones and burn marks.

“Yo, Todoroki.”

Out of all people, Todoroki sighed inwardly as he turned towards the owner of the rough voice, “Yes?”

Bakugou fumed inwardly at the disinterested reply, “The sparring. Fight me.”

“Why should I?” The ice-fire user asked, still using the same tone.

The other boy grit his teeth in irritation, “What, are you scared? Well, I can’t blame you – at the very least you’re going to escape with an even more disfigured face, if you’re lucky, that is!”

Bakugou knew he touched a nerve when Todoroki’s hand twitched to fix his bangs on his left side. A sinister grin warped his expression when a piercing dark glare returned his challenging gaze. The class had started to notice a rather rare pair having a glaring contest, and when Aizawa asked whether they agreed to be each other’s pair in the sparring match, they both nodded silently.

Everyone cleared away, too afraid to get caught up in the ‘light spar’, especially knowing how messy the fight back at the sports festival had turned out.

“Remember, the goal is to incapacitate or to capture, not to inflict injuries,” their teacher reminded and sighed, as if knowing no one would actually listen to the last part. His students were geniuses, but they all had this tendency to disregard rules, much to his distress.

Bakugou glanced at your direction for a mere second, satisfied at the fact that you were indeed watching intently. He was going to use this opportunity to prove he was stronger by a whole lot of margin and therefore raising your view about him. This was also a good chance to pay Todoroki back for the empty victory he was forced to took the last time they had fought. He was going to win back his pride and your admiration in one strike.

“How childish,” Todoroki’s low and indifferent voice held a venom he had never used before.

Bakugou’s smirk dropped, “What the fuck did you just say?!”

The whistle was blown, signalling the start of the match.

Neither had the leisure to protest at the sudden starting signal. They had learned since the start that nothing were fair in the world of heroes and villains. Only the strong could survive, flourish, and reach the top.

The wall of ice barely caught Bakugou as he used the momentum of his explosions to propel his evasion. The recklessly huge output caused frost to cling over Todoroki’s left side, and the white of his breath as he straightened up showed a repeat of their match few months ago.

And yet this time was unlike the previous time they fought; the two-tone haired boy didn’t hesistate in using his flames to regulate his body temperature, and he was more than ready to defend against Bakugou’s barrages of explosions as the boy charged towards him. Ice shields appeared on appropriate timing and angles nullified Bakugou’s attacks. Truthfully if he hadn’t been pissed out of his mind, Bakugou would have felt an ounce of respect at the insane precision Todoroki was showing.

Soon enough the two were wrapped in a deadly dance – one trying to gain distance and the other closing in like a shark onto its prey. The two had known more about each other’s quirk and fighting style throughout the time they spent together in training and their hero duties. This knowledge burned into their minds and affected the way they faced each other, a huge difference from their battle back several months ago in the tournament.

On the flip side, Bakugou knew his classmate hadn’t been running on full power, and it added more oil to his flaming rage.

“Why aren’t you using both of them at the same time, bastard?!! Think you can make me keel over from these flimsy ice?! Don’t fucking underestimate me, you spoiled daddy’s boy!!”

Taunts and raw combat power had always been Bakugou’s specialty, and if Todoroki were only slightly annoyed before, he was now despising the fact that Bakugou knew about him well enough to knew which buttons to push just to spite him.

Todoroki’s eyes flickered to his opponent’s arms when the blond let out an irritated yell. He saw Bakugou’s right arm muscles contract and swung, just as he predicted. With only a split second span to act, his left arm went to guard, and he held the urge to wince as hot searing pain travelled through his senses.

Amidst the pain clouding his mind and weighing him down, his right hand swiftly touched a particular grenade like automation. Shards of ice enveloped half of Bakugou’s right arm in mere miliseconds, thin yet sturdy block of ice clinging stubbornly despite the hot air from the explosion. While Bakugou cursed and stumbled because of the sudden drop in temperature, Todoroki was thrown backwards by the explosive power, and although his arm hurted like hell he felt thoroughly satisfied with the result.

Todoroki fully knew he was close to copying Midoriya’s move he saw long ago in their first mock Battle mission All Might had been supervising, but that was a part of learning, wasn’t it? Besides, the fact that he had sustained damage from a similar move would surely rile Bakugou even more.

And boy how right he was. Bakugou seemed to recognize the situation, and he looked downright murderous at the nostalgic situation. Todoroki couldn’t help but slipped out a tiny smile, the rush of adrenaline fervent against his veins and nullifying the pain on his left arm.

One arm down, one more to go.

He placed his left palm on the ground and watched as a burst of flame travelled from his palm, baring its fangs towards Bakugou. It was the largest output he could manage as of now, and if it was another opponent he was facing, he would’ve feared for their life.

The awed gasp from you drew Todoroki’s attention, his concentration wavered and causing the flames to flicker for a split second. The small opening made enough time for Bakugou to evade, albeit the burn marks and singed clothes on his side, and he had more than enough time to aim his good left hand towards the distracted boy. Dilated red pupils lit aflame with crazed bloodlust as the blond shouted–

Todoroki felt a shiver down his spine and pressed both of his palms to the ground, his instinct screaming danger. He needed shields, and fast.

– Bakugou ripped the safety handle of his customized armor out from its lock.


Aizawa acted faster than both teenagers. Taking his place behind Bakugou, he instantly erased Todoroki’s quirk and kneed the other, which sent the enraged boy’s aim off by a huge margin. The overly powerful explosion burnt a hole into the training building’s wall, and he knew the principal really was going to chew his head off this time.

Seriously, why did he became a teacher?

“Enough,” Your teacher said with finality in his voice, although he still looked as bored as ever as he easily restrained a shouting-and-struggling Bakugou with his special capturing fibers.

“You both fail,” the announcement made Bakugou stood still, frozen, “I have no idea why you never listen, Bakugou. And I honestly expected better from you, Todoroki.”

The former looked away from his gaze, scowling, and the latter’s gaze locked down at the ground. You along with your classmates watched in worry as the two started to realize how much damage they had inflicted on each other and their surroundings. The pro hero sighed in disdain and turned towards you, catching you in surprise.

“[l/name]. Get moving and bring one of them to the infirmary.”

You blinked at your teacher, “One? But–”

“I’m not risking having these idiots in the same room when they’re clearly after each other’s throat.”

You frowned and your gaze fell upon–

[ A ] Todoroki

[ B ] Bakugou

Cupid’s Downfall

@timepetalsprompts winter fic bingo “Cupid” and “Ice”. Also I sneaked in a questionable response to the “Piercings” prompt.

Pairing: Ten x Rose

A/N: VERY AU! Utopian/Dystopian FIC!? Slight “Matched” (Ally Condie) / “The Giver” (Lois Lowry) Crossover? This idea was inspired by those and many more utopian/dystopian young adult series I read or read about years ago. I don’t know who did it first, they all blur together. I’m sure someone’s already done this in fanfiction too. I apologize if I’m not crediting any of those brilliant authors that might’ve gotten into my head.


He is a Time Lord. He does not have hormones, or desires, or any of those base human urges. They call him “Cupid” because of a legend from long ago about a cherub with arrows who wielded the power of love. He has weapons at his disposal and power, but they’re not tangible and it’s not love. On the first day of every year, any human who is twenty-one years of age is paired off with a companion that is genetically compatible. He does the final analyzation of the research, he makes the decisions, he signs off on the pairings, and he oversees the bonding ceremony.

Time Lords have ruled over humanity for over two hundred years; protecting and nurturing them until they can recover from the deadly plague that wiped out ninety percent of Earth’s population. The human race on Earth would’ve gone extinct if it hadn’t been for the Time Lords who took over in the midst of chaos. After two centuries, the human race has grown exponentially and into a people who are no longer shell-shocked, weak or afraid. And he’s noticed.

He’s taken an interest in them that goes well beyond their DNA. It’s abnormal and abhorrent for a Time Lord, but when he regenerates for the tenth time, something goes very wrong. He’s one of the most intelligent beings in the universe, and yet suddenly he finds himself distracted; obsessively studying and seeing these stupid apes in a very different light.

The humans are getting restless. They now outnumber their rulers and claim that they deserve the right to make their own decisions. Time Lords are not ruthlessly cruel tyrants, but they’re superior in every way. Those “unjust” laws are meant to save humans, and the Time Lords will stubbornly enforce them until their population goals are met, and humanity’s future is fully secured.

But one day, a Time Lord breaks the rules for one brave pink and yellow human.

And everything changes.


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anonymous asked:

Everlark 27 pretty please? :)

Anon, I really hope you are still around. I’m so sorry it took me half an age to get around to this. Long story with lots of excuses, but I finally got around to it. This is from a prompt list I reblogged I don’t even know when, but it was an entire list of different kisses. Anyways! Here it is…an Everlark kiss on the naughty bits. ;-)

Smut and not betad so it may be riddled with mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

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Recovery for victims of childhood abuse

Recovery for child abuse survivors doesnt mean getting rid of the flashbacks
Recovery for us doesn’t mean the nightmares will end
Recovery doesnt mean that we will no longer have heavily upsetting triggers
Recovery doesnt mean that we wont cry ourselves to sleep at night
Recovery doesnt mean we wont cry out in our sleep
Recovery isnt “getting back to your old self”
Recovery doesnt even mean things will get better, easier, or that well be happier.
Recovery is learning to cope with it all
Recovery is learning to have compassion for ourselves when we’re hurting, to rest when tears makes us tired.
Recovery is learning we arent a burden and its not our fault that were often sad or angry.
In short we learn to live with it, deal with it one step at a time. One day, one hour, one minute, even one second at a time.
Through the struggle we just have to find peace with it all.
It’s not nirvana its not fun.
But its what we have to do to survive and to hopefully flourish in our own neuroeivergent way.
People wont understand it, they wont listen and they wont care about the path we have to take to have a decent quality of life. but thats not our fault either.
None of this is fun, its different than most other illnesses. Because during our development its cemented into our brain, and cannot be uprooted. there is no “old self” there is no “before” we have been demolished from day one and only we can think of how to deal with that. 

startwithbaellamyblake  asked:

that bellarke with "our friends are celebrating something big and i arrived late, but they insist that i should do the first shot (coz they havent seen me in a long time) but i cannot coz im pregnant and no one knows abt it but me, now all of you are eyeing & waiting me what should i do how can i say no, i cant just blurt it out coz its supposed to be a surprise for you" au thanks hun!

This is terribly late (I’m so sorry!) but here you are! A future fic of sorts, with one very pregnant Clarke and one very drunk Bellamy.


Eight years on the ground, and they celebrate the only way the know how: with fifteen cases of moonshine and a dance.

“Maybe this will finally purge the memory of Unity Day for good,” Raven tells her, dusting her hands off on her jeans. “The whole notion of peace was a little hard to swallow when they had to blow up a station to achieve it anyway.”

Clarke shrugs, thinks about the one good Unity Day she had all those years ago; the firelight glinting off Bellamy’s hair, the tilt of his mouth when he told her to have more than one, then. “They weren’t all that bad.”

“Please,” Raven goes, dismissive, turning over to smirk at her before adding, “you’re just saying that because you finally get to dance with Bellamy this year. As a couple, that is.”

She bites at the inside of her cheek, tapering her smile. It’s no use anyway, not when her cheeks flame automatically at the mention of them being together, of being happy. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“You mean I’m right,” she declares, smug, reaching over to tickle at her ribs playfully. “I take it that you guys are doing great?”

Instinctively, her hands slide down to her stomach, edges soft and full from having adapted to the ground, going from surviving to flourishing.

“Yeah,” she swallows, letting her hands fall to her sides, “better than great, actually.”

Well, as great as it can be now that she’s pregnant, that is. Not that she was going to tell Raven that.

Not when she hadn’t even told Bellamy.

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