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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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Title: Crown For Two {4}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, Slow Burn, Dialogue Heavy, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 6.6k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride continues. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a reminder, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Picture Heavy***

Previous Chapters: {1} | {2} | {3} |

-Five Days Later-

-Henry-

“Before we get to cut this ribbon, I want to say something. My father—your king.”

He paused, swallowed, and bowed his head slightly, trying to gather his thoughts and reign in his emotions. This was one of the first times he’d spoken about his father since his death, especially in front of the entire country. This unveiling was televised all around Brexendor and probably in neighboring sister countries, which meant he was probably speaking in front of over four million people. Clearing his throat, he tried to continue.

“Eh-em, my father, and your king loved this project. He spent so many nights coming through every detail of it. He particularly wanted to be hands-on with this because he felt this endeavor would bring many people together.”

He looked from face to face in the crowd, making eye contact and giving reassuring smiles—a tactic he’d learned long ago that made speeches more effective.

“He believed though we are individual countries filled with many different races, ethnicities, beliefs, and cultures, he believed we are all one people. He believed that one of the most universal things was connection.”

The crowd murmured their agreement as several heads nodded. He felt the hand of his mother on his shoulder, gently reassuring him and giving him some of her strength.

“As humans, we all crave connection. We all want to make connections in our lives that are worthwhile. That is what this endeavor is, a bridge for our connection across the world beginning with our finances, and he would be so incredibly proud to see it today.”

The crowd before him erupted with applause, giving him a reprieve to bring himself back to his stoic image. He waited for them to quiet down before he continued.

“Without further ado.”

He walked over to the shimmering blue ribbon that was aesthetically tied in front of the bank's doors. Once before them, one of the men handed him giant scissors, and he got into place. The crowd counted down from three. Each second that passed, he could sense the excitement increasing. Once “one” was yelled, he cut the ribbon signaling the crowd to explode with applause and cheers. The camera snapped pictures of him from every angle as he shook hands, waved, and posed with everyone on the bank’s council and the finance commission’s office.

The next hour was spent walking through the location, explaining all the details that his father had put so much time, thought, and energy into. As he pointed things out, he remembered the various conversations they had together about the items and specifications. This was a project just as close to his heart as it was to his father’s. from the corner of his eye, he saw his mother standing in front of the giant grandfather style clock that his father had chosen special. He loved clocks and had collected quite a few in his years. She placed her hand on it, then dipped her head down. He knew her pain.

The following few hours passed with him answering questions and doing his duties as head of the country, never breaking away from the status quo. He could do this in his sleep. That was how well trained he was for this. In a matter of weeks, his duties would be tripled or even quadrupled when he went through his coronation. At that time, he’d really put all that grooming to use. It was an event he’d imagined differently his whole life. For one, he’d always expected to look out to his mother and father’s faces as they’d passed the duties on to him. This future was one he was not prepared for.

“Mother.”

She hummed and spun her head to him with a solemn smile on her lips.

“Are you well?”

She smiled brightly, and any evidence of her previous sadness was only visible in her pale blue eyes, but just a smidge.

“Of course, I am. What about you, my darling boy?”

He smiled. She’d been calling him that since he was, in fact, just a boy.

“Glad to have gotten through that.”

His mother nodded before she looped her arm through his.

“You did beautifully. Your father would be incredibly proud of you, Henry, so incredibly proud.”

The tears welled in her eyes before she kissed his cheekbone.

“I have only ever wanted to make him proud,” he admitted.

“He has been proud of you every single day since you were born. Every day.”

She turned her face away, and he knew it was to hide the tears that had rolled down her cheek. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her, allowing her to dab at her eyes. Several moments passed in silence as he looked out the window at the passing snow-covered hills. After a minute or two, his mother cleared her throat.

“So, what is this I hear of a house guest?”

He smiled to himself, thinking of you, your smile, your tenaciousness, and stubbornness. Since his mother had been away in Sandvell on Queen duties, she’d been absent for the excitement from the last near two weeks. He explained it to her in the vaguest of terms and finished stating you would be remaining at the palace most likely for the duration of the month. He spoke it so flippantly that he hoped it sounded to her ears that it was not a big deal.

“Mm-hm. Well, I am pleased you are showing your charming side rather than your scrooge one.”

He gasped, then snapped his head to her to see her amused eyes dancing with laughter.

“I do not think it is right for a mother to call her son a scrooge.”

She did not look as if she regretted it at all. “It is right for a mother to let her son know how he is perceived or has been for the last seven months.”

“Mother, I do not mean to—I have tried--,” he sighed. “It has only been seven months since--.”

“I know darling, believe me, I know. One of the tragedies of our roles, we are expected to carry on as if we are not human. We are seen as figurines, and we must ever be pristine. The human emotion of grief cannot hold us bad. Oh, how I wish it were different.”

They sat quietly again for a few turns on the drive back to the palace.

“I assume you have taken the necessary precautions with our house guest?”

“Yes.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“I have.”

“Was it my son the scrooge or my charming son who did the talking?”

He scoffed, then shook his head. “I am always charming.”

His mother giggled before she rested her head on his shoulder.

Once they reached the palace and walked inside, the staff swarmed his mother, giving her details for the preparations for the opening ball that was taking place within the coming days for the beginning of the festive month. It was the tradition for a ball to be thrown the first weekend of the month to usher in the month-long festivities. That also meant that many would come to the palace to stay and join in on the jam-packed month of celebration.

“Yes, Carolina, I know we have much to plan in a short amount of time.”

Carolina, his mother’s personal royal assistant, nodded her strawberry blonde head as she gripped the stack of papers and folders in her arms tighter.

“Welcome home, your majesty,” she began. “Shall we begin right away?”

His mother, now free of her coat and outside garments, shook her head. “No. Prepare the necessary details, and we will meet in the pink tea room in thirty minutes.”

“As you wish, your majesty,” Carolina replied with a head bow and curtsy.

“Oh, Carolina, for tonight’s supper, please tell the kitchen I am feeling quite festive and maybe a roast. I hear we have a house guest, and I would like to welcome her properly.”

“Mother, do you really think that I have been anything but absolutely hospitable?”

She smiled and looped her arm through his again as they began ascending the stairs.

“Of course, I am sure you instructed the staff to be hospitable and tend to her needs,” she clarified.

She knew him too well. If only she knew that he himself had been the most hospitable of all, he thought to himself. He reminisced on the last few days. He hadn’t been able to have dinner with you for the last five days because the closer the event got, the more work he had to do. You’d exchanged emails about his speech with you leaving notes on what he’d prepared or even giving him suggestions on where to carry other thoughts he’d begun. He liked all your additions and suggestions. It was your suggestion to bring up something personal about his father, especially since it was his passion project. He’d had every intention to disregard it, but in the end, he’d listened to you, and he still hadn’t regretted it.

Though you were maybe a six-minute distance from his own bedroom and under the same roof, he hadn’t physically seen you in those five days. He did get information from Dr. Alphonsi and even details from McArthur about how you looked, who had been to see you to extend his apologies for getting you into this predicament. McArthur was now your greatest fan. You hadn’t chastised him or belittled him for hitting you with the car. You said it wasn’t his fault, accepted his apology, and even thanked him because you would have probably had a health crisis sooner rather than later with your other ailments.

Everyone in the palace seemed to have grown to like you. When he saw Jemma, his sister, she often sang your praises and chattered on about something you or your sister had told her. It was easy to see that even she’d been captivated by you, just as he had.

“Were you listening to me?”

Shaking his head, he glanced at his mother with a raised brow. “I am sorry, mother. What were you saying?”

“What has got your head so far away? work?”

He sighed, shrugged, and looked forward, realizing they were in the hall leading to your bedroom.

“Where are you leading me, mother?”

“It is you who is leading me, son.”

He scoffed. Even his feet seemed to want to go to you. he made a swift left turn away from your hall.

“Mother, I have some work to attend to before supper tonight.”

“All right, do not work too hard. Supper is at seven…promptly, Henry.”

He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Promptly,” he repeated before continuing on his way.

~~~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

“I am quite happy with your improvement, Xari.”

You smiled.

“I do feel a lot better today than I have in weeks.”

Dr. Alphonsi smiled and began closing his doctor bag.

“That is wonderful news. The direct infusion through IV usually does work better than capsules or any other treatments. You have been a sample patient. If only my other patients would give me this little trouble.”

You snorted, then shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been a teacher’s pet.”

Dr. Alphonsi smiled again before he walked around to the IV rod to disconnect you. You watched as he slowly removed the needle from your forearm, only flinching slightly. He pressed down on the puncture hole for a few moments then plastered a band-aid across your arm.

“There. So as our plan goes. A week IV, a week injections, then repeat,” Dr. Alphonsi reiterated.

“Sounds good.”

Dr. Alphonsi walked over to the stainless steel trey resting on the side table and placed the needle on it, then began taking the emptied IV bag off the pole. Once the items were arranged on the trey, he walked back over to his doctor’s bag.

“Any questions for me?”

You thought for a moment, then began. “Not really since I already know you’re going to say no traveling.”

“You are not a prisoner here, Xari. If you are feeling strong enough, you can go anywhere you choose. The palace has plenty of rooms that would interest you. When it comes to venturing outdoors, I would say be careful, pace yourself, and do not overexert. There have been many who thought they could walk a block only to find they could not make it more than fifteen meters.”

You nodded again.

“Would you like me to speak to the prince about assigning you a lady’s maid?”

“Oh my goodness, no. that is not at all necessary.”

“All right. Well, you have my telephone number if you need me, as does the staff. I have instructed someone to inform you every time you are to take an injection. I have a trained professional here at the palace who can administer it if you are not confident enough to do it yourself. If you feel confident, remember every six hours one vial. I’ve combined them to decrease the number of needle pricks.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Alphonsi.”

He nodded, then prepared himself to leave. As he walked to the door, it opened, and in came Anika.

“Does she have a clean bill of health?”

“Cleaner, but we still have quite a way to go. Slow and steady, says the tortoise to the hare,” Dr. Alphonsi said before walking out of your room.

“Oooh, look who doesn’t have a pole attached to them anymore. How do you feel?”

You took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “A lot better than a did.”

Anika smiled with you, then dropped on the bed beside you. “Does that mean you can finally leave this room and go exploring with me?”

“Nika.”

“Don’t Nika mean, you know you’re curious and want to look behind every door of this place.”

She had a point. You were curious. You’d been in a few palaces from around the world before, but you’d never been in a palace as a guest. At the thought of “guest,” you began to wonder if that was what you were. Patient yes, unexpected and unwanted temporary responsibility, maybe. The look Anika was giving you said she was impatiently waiting for a response.

“Ugggh, fine. Yes, let’s get our Dora on,” you said, slowly getting out of the bed.

A shower took you longer than usual, mostly in part because you couldn't help but marvel at your surroundings. There was marble and porcelain everywhere. The amount of luxury that surrounded you made your jaw dropped. You sampled everything, beginning with the twelve jets in the shower to the heated bidet. The shower even had a switch that you could change the water from fresh to sea saltwater. That part tripped you up because you didn’t know why anyone would want that. Even the sink had buttons you could use to change the water pressure.

By the time you’d showered and changed, an hour had passed.

“What’d you think of the sea salt option in the shower?”

You snorted, then busted out laughing. “Oh my god, I almost lost my shit. Did you try it?”

“You know I did. Then I immediately regretted it when I forgot and began really getting into crevices to wash and rinse. Ouch.”

That only made you laugh harder. The whole time Anika protested and pouted. When you stepped out of the room into the adjoining one, you felt like you saw it in a new light. The first or even second time you’d been in it, nothing registered. Now, you could appreciate the art on the wall, the décor, and color choices. It screamed elegance but also comfort.

“I asked around, and this particular room is called a sitting room. All of the bedrooms have one,” Anika informed.

“Yeah. When I went and toured Versailles, the sitting room was where visitors were entertained. Marie Antoinette loved to also have tea and cake there before turning in for bed,” you added as you walked around, touching different materials and snapping pictures from a few different angles. It was all super high class. You didn’t expect anything less.

You and Anika stepped into the hall, and your jaw dropped.

“Holy Shit!”

The people in the hall stopped what they were doing and looked back at you while Anika tried to stifle her laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. Please carry on.”

They slowly continued what they were doing while you and Anika made your getaway. The halls were gorgeous. The white and gold complemented each other so well you just knew that this was just the beginning. Then when you looked up to the ceiling at the Sistine Chapel worthy mural, you could hear a heavenly hymn in your ears.

“The Sistine Chapel could never,” you muttered while walking and snapping pictures.

It was so beautiful you almost didn’t want to move. Anika’s arm looped through yours was the directing force. She pulled you down the stairs that were on the same level of grandeur as the Russian opera house’s. The carpet that lined them was blue instead of the red that bathed other royal abodes. It even looked like it was silk. When the two of you finally descended the stairs to the main floor, you went down one of the halls on the right.

The first door you both walked into, Anika whistled loudly. “Well, fuck!”

It was the largest dining room you’d been inside in a long while. The table looked like it could seat at least seventy. As you walked around the room, you took pictures from different angles until you got to the window, then you gaped at what you saw.

“Wow.”

“Like a winter wonderland, right.”

“Have you gone out?”

“Heck no. You know me and winter don’t agree. There is a reason I live in Georgia.”

You shook your head and snapped two pictures before you walked off in search of more. Once you and Anika finished looking around the dining room, you walked into a large parlor with several places to sit. You wondered what the room was used for. Your imagination said it could have been where smoking parties happened, or maybe a lounge area before dinners. It honestly could be used to anything.

A library followed that you knew you could get lost in for days and days and lost you got. You touched titles you were familiar with and others you’d never heard of before, making a mental note to come back and have a closer look. The ones you couldn’t pass up, you took from the shelves and took with you. You didn’t know how long you spent in the library. It was hard to tell because you hadn't looked through the whole thing even with all the time you spent there.

Somehow, you found yourself pushing open intricate golden doors and walking into an ornate room filled with gold, marble, and that same blue carpet lining. From the ceilings hung low hanging crystal chandeliers and an even more awe-inspiring mural. At the end of the carpet, you saw a pair of thrones. Immediately you knew you’d happened upon the throne room. You walked the length of it, taking a picture every few steps. When you reached them, you stopped in front and stared.

You could imagine him sitting in the one on the right. You imagined him with perfect posture, a stern face, and tightly clenched jaws with the most regal of crowns. You wondered if this monarchy was as ostentatious as others. Maybe he usually held a scepter and golden orb while being draped with royal furs. At that thought, you imagined him sitting on that throne completely naked with nothing but the royal furs draped over his shoulders. It was a damn inviting vision, one you wouldn’t mind seeing.

A loud sound behind you made you spin around to find a cleaning crew. Quickly you walked back down the carpet and out the room apologizing for intruding. Once back in the hall, you spun around, unsure when you’d lost Anika. You called her name a few times, but there was no answer. It was then you regretted not bringing your cellphone. You walked a little further down the hall then made a left as the scent of flowers captured your attention.

When you stepped through glass French doors, you felt as if you’d walked into some country garden. The room was bathed in soft amber and purples, no doubt from the sunset. Thanks to the glass room, you were able to see peeks of its glory through the fluffy looking white snow resting on it. The more you walked around, the more the exterior contradicted the interior. You knew it being the dead of winter made it impossible for the sight before you. There were flowers of all different kinds. It was a sea of blues, reds, yellows, pinks, and even purples.

“Holy Shit!”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

You spun around, looking for the owner of the voice, but there was no one there.

“Uh--.”

You walked around cautiously.

“A few more steps.”

After three steps, you found a woman sitting at a table decked out with every piece of a tea set you could imagine, along with a few pastries.

“Found me.”

She looked up at you, then looked back down to your feet until she met your eyes again.

“Uh—hi,” said.

“Hello.”

The smile on her face was pleasant, and it matched the kindness in her blue eyes. They were eyes you felt like you’d seen before, only on someone else. Slowly it hit you who she could be.

“Oh my god, your majesty.”

You dropped down to your best curtesy, hoping it would distract her from your potty mouth. She softly chuckled.

“You are quite all right, dear. Stand up, please.”

You stood and tried not to give away that you were slightly unnerved.

“I’m sorry about the cursing. It’s a horrible habit and probably not—dignified,” you expressed.

She laughed again, then took a sip from her golden rose printed porcelain cup. It looked fancy and antique. “No need to apologize. Believe me; cursing is not the worst thing in the world. I have said quite a few in my day.”

You smiled, even though you found it hard to believe, especially with how prime and proper she looked sitting there.

“I have to know, though. How did you know who I was?”

“Um—your eyes.”

She looked even more curious. “My eyes?”

You swallowed and avoided her gaze. “They’re—they’re the same as Henry’s—eh-em, I mean his highness.”

The way she looked at you made you slightly uncomfortable. She looked like she was assessing you. Before she could speak, another woman walked into the room, one with strawberry blonde hair.

“Your majesty,” she began stopping instantly when she saw you.

You cleared your throat and turned to walk away. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

“No intrusion. Carolina, I think that will be all for today. I would like to finish my tea and possibly get to know our new houseguest.”

“As you wish, your majesty.” She curtsied then walked back out of the room, leaving you alone once again.

“Please, have a seat,” the queen said.

Before you sat, you actually thought to dart out of the room but quickly changed your mind. When you sat down across from her, you took note of the open binders and folders sprawled out on the table. Out of nowhere, someone walked into the solarium, took up the matching teapot, and poured it into a new teacup to your right.

“Will there be anything else, your majesty?”

“Thank you, Edie.”

The woman walked back out of the room, and it got silent for a few moments.

“Please, have some. It is a Darjeeling blend that is grown right here in Brexendor. I drink at least a cup a day. I promise you it is delicious.”

She took another sip, but she didn’t look at all worried that you wouldn’t sample it. You placed the books on top of the table and took up the teacup instead, and sipped. Lavender, mint, honey, and rose filled your mouth. A moan escaped you.

“Good, right.”

Nodding, you took another mouthful.

“How are you?”

After swallowing, you placed the cup down. “I am feeling a lot better, your majesty.”

“Please, every time I am called that, it makes it impossible to forget. Call me, Cecelia, please.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, and it must have shown because she smiled then giggled.

“O—kay.”

“I promise. I am not trying to trick you in any way. I just want you to be comfortable. I can imagine what it feels like to come here and be surrounded by all of this. It is—overwhelming…intimidating even. I just want to make your time here peaceful and enjoyable.”

She didn’t look like she was lying or trying to cover something. She came off as genuinely kind, like she truly meant what she said.

“Thank you, your—Ce—Ms. Cecelia.”

She smiled, then nodded. “Alright. I understand.”

“I’m Xari.”

“A beautiful name. It is wonderful to meet you, dear. I do hope your stay has been a good one so far.”

“Yes, yes, everyone has been nothing but kind and hospitable. I appreciate your kindness,” you expressed.

Cecelia nodded and took another sip from her cup. Her eyes landed on something on the table.

“Of Vice and Virtue and Clandestine. Two wonderful selections.”

“I hope it’s alright. I took them. I promise I will put them back,” you began.

Cecelia reached her hand out and placed it on top of yours. “Xari, I could not care less if you kept them. You are free to anything in the palace.”

You slowly nodded and took another sip of tea. As you did, the photos on the table caught your eye. They were of a decorated room. It looked like a mock-up of a ballroom of some sort. The colors of the flowers were orange, and they didn’t look like they belonged with the pastel green that surrounded them.

“This color scheme is all wrong. You shouldn’t pair orange and green. You have to pick one or the other. I’d recommend the green; it’s very pretty.”

She looked curious, most likely wondering who the hell you were to say half of what you did.

“Are you a decorator?”

“Not officially. I took some classes, got some certificates in event planning and interior design,” you admitted.

“Oh, so you design for a living.”

“No, no. It—I am a travel photographer and blogger. It’s not what I planned, but I fell into it. Event planning and design are more of hobbies.”

“Well, this might just be serendipitous. I am in the middle of planning the ball for the opening of the festivities,” Cecelia began adjusting herself in her seat. “I just got back in Brexendor, and the trip was longer than I anticipated. That means I have two days to put together our annual ball that is supposed to open Brexenavid. That is our month-long celebration of what every Brexdorian prides themselves on—our holiday time.”

“What exactly is Brexenavid?”

“It is our month-long holiday celebration that we go all out for. There are tens of events, sometimes games, balls, dinners, and dignitaries within Brexendor and our neighboring countries who will begin arriving to stay with us here,” Cecelia explained.

You were impressed. It all sounded like a lot of work.

“And you’re the one to plan all of it?”

“Yes. That is my role as the matriarchal head of the royal family. It is one of my many roles.”

You released a breath, then finished your cup of tea. Before you spoke, you poured another.

“So tell me, if you were planning this, how would it look?”

You took a few moments to sip your tea and think about how you would do it. Closing your eyes, you tried to visualize the space, but you’d seen so many spaces that you couldn’t really picture it.

“Where will it be? What room? Can you describe it to me?”

Cecelia smiled, then stood. “I can do better. Let me show you.”

Cecelia walked out of the room, leaving you to hurry behind her. she led you through the hall you’d just walked down until you went down another hall you hadn’t before. About a minute later, you followed her into a large ballroom that looked like it belonged in Versailles. The walls dripped gold, and the ceiling housed so many chandeliers you didn’t bother to count past five.

“Wow. What a room.”

“One of my favorites. It is the usual one I use. What do you think?”

“Nice room. I would say with the amount of light that comes in and the views; I’d play that up. since it is December and I’ve seen several of your streets, Christmas is huge here.”

“If you only knew,” Cecelia confirmed.

“Then play it up. Christmas trees, poinsettias, tree lights, tinsel, everything that everyone loves about Christmas. Give your guests what they really love about this country, the beauty, the splendor,” you suggested.

She looked around the room as if she were trying to picture it. “I like it.”

Her smile was bright. “I more than like it. I love it. Carolina thought floral.”

“Floral isn’t a bad idea. You can add some in. Roses are subtle, lilies, even Dahlias, and Tulips.”

Cecelia approached you and took your hand. “I love your ideas, Xari. I have one of my own. How would you feel about taking point on this? I know you are still recovering, but you would have every staff member at your disposal. You would not be doing too much. You give the design orders, and everyone else will execute it.”

You were speechless and couldn’t believe the queen had just asked you to deck out her palace for a ball. “Obviously, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

“Do what?”

Henry’s voice brought your attention to him. he wore a simple white button-down shirt and grey dress pants. While it wasn’t as formal, he still looked put together.

“I have just asked Xari if she would put together the ball.”

“Mother. She is supposed to be resting and recuperating. Dr. Alphonsi has left very strict orders, and work was on the list of prohibited actions.”

His mother looped her arm with his with a smile. “Oh, darling, I am not talking about manual labor. She has quite an eye for design and event planning. I thought it would be fun.”

“Mother--,” Henry began again.

“Plus, what are you doing here?”

“You said supper was promptly at seven.”

“Heavens, is it seven already? All right, Xari, you do not have to answer right away. You can take the night to think about it. we should all go to supper.”

“Uh—I’ll go back to my room,” you began.

“Nonsense, looking at you, you are well enough to dine with the rest of us. Come,” Cecelia pressed as she released Henry to loop her other arm with yours and led you closer to her son.

Henry smirked, and when he realized he was in the middle, he softly scoffed and held out his arm for you. Your eyes locked for a few seconds, and you picked up a hint of amusement behind his blue orbs. You slowly looped your arm through his, allowing him to led the two of you out of the ballroom and down the long hall.

As you walked, his mother chattered on about something that you paid no mind to. All you could focus on was the smell of Henry’s cologne and his towering presence beside you. Your hand rested on his forearm, and the heat radiating off of him tempted you to flex your fingers against him. The minute your fingers moved, you felt his bicep tense. It was an action that brought your eyes to him. You lost your breath when you found his were already on you. Goodness, you thought to yourself, slowly trailing your eyes over the details of his face until they landed on his lips.

“Eh-em.”

Snapping your head forward, you saw that you’d arrived in the dining room. You pulled your arm free and walked away from Henry flashing them out, trying to cool them from his heat and gain some control over your wayward thoughts. This dining room was a different one from before. It looked more intimate.

“This is the dining room we prefer to eat in as a family,” Cecelia explained the closer you got to the table.

Taking your place beside Anika, Henry took his at the head of the table while his mother across from you beside a beaming Jemma. Once everyone was seated, the staff walked in carrying trays of food toward you. Once yours was put down, the silver cover was taken off to reveal a pot roast of some kind.

“I hope you are not a vegetarian,” Cecelia began.

“Oh no, my sister and I love all kinds of meat, Anika blurted out, making you give her a harsh eye.

“Wonderful. Please, dig in.”

Dinner went on uneventfully. Jemma talked about her plans to include a local orphanage in the planned festivities for the month. Everyone seemed to think it was an excellent idea. Then the conversation turned to Anika as the Queen tried to get to know her better. The only ones who remained relatively quiet were you and Henry. Every so often, your eyes met and lingered. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words never manifested. That was when your eyes drifted to some part of him, either it was his lips, or his hands, or even those sprigs of black hair that teased the bounty that laid under his shirt just waiting to be played with.

By the time dinner was finished, and after dinner, coffee and tea were served, things had moved to one of the sitting rooms you’d walked through earlier in the day. After your first cup of chamomile and lavender tea, the queen said her goodnights and left you, Anika, and Jemma to your own devices. It allowed you to crack open one of the books you’d picked earlier. By the time you finished your second cup of tea, exhaustion had caught up with you. When you looked up, it was just you and Henry sitting there. Once again, Anika had disappeared, this time taking Jemma with her.

His nose was buried in a book. Before you could admire the view of him sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, his eyes drifted to you; then he lowered his book to reveal a soft smile. Neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. A yawn sprang from you, making him snort.

“This can’t be regular chamomile or lavender.”

“You are probably right. I do know it is farmed straight from the field and brought here,” he answered.

“Wow, so literally from the earth to your stomach.”

Henry smiled again.

“I um—I think I should probably turn in,” you said.

Henry placed his book aside, then stood. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

He smiled, came closer, and held his arm out to you.

“Are you always such a gentleman?”

“I try to be. It is what I was raised to be,” he replied.

“So—always. There isn’t a time of day where you say fuck it and let it all fall away?”

He smiled and stepped a little closer. It was as close as he was the first night in the bar before you parted ways. His eyes bore into you from his towering height, and you decided you wanted to see what he would do.

“There is about an hour in the morning when I first wake. No one has come in to give me news or updates. It is quiet, and my mind is clear. Then there are those few minutes at night before I fall asleep where I can let everything fall off me. In those two moments—I—I feel like myself.”

There was a pained look in his eyes that you wanted to know more about.

“And what does it feel like to be yourself?”

Henry gave you a melancholy smile. “Lonely.”

A full minute passed then Henry held out his arm again. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm and let him lead the way out of the sitting room, down the long corridor, and up the grand steps. The walk was quiet, but you didn’t feel weird being close to him like this. It felt normal. Halfway to your room, Henry spoke.

“My father told me before he died, the more people that want a piece of you, the less you have for yourself and the lonelier it is at the top.”

“Sounds like the words of a wise man.”

“He was very wise.”

Silence. You’d heard the sadness in his voice the first time he mentioned his father.

“Do you miss him?”

“Every single second of every single day,” Henry answered.

As you turned down the hall that would lead to your room, the silence returned.

“Your speech was amazing.”

“You’re saying that because you helped write it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t matter who helped write it. Words are nothing without the conviction to back them up. You made the speech.”

You could feel his eyes on you, so you met them right before you stopped in front of your door.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He then took a step to you, closing the wide gap between you.

“Do you usually have to approve the plans for big events?”

His crinkled brow said he was confused. “I guess it depends. Why?”

“Well, since you are so busy being his highness and all, the only way we’d ever see each other the next few days would be for me to accept your mother’s offer and plan this ball seeing how his highness would get the final say-so on all plans. Right?”

Henry slowly began smiling then he licked his lips. “That sounds about right, but that would mean one thing and one thing only.”

You leaned against your door and smiled innocently. “And what’s that?”

“That you want to see me almost as much as I want to see you.”

Your heart pounded faster and faster. “Almost as much?”

Henry rested his arm on the door jamb, sort of boxing you in. “You have to know, Xari.”

“Know what, your highness?”

“Henry,” he whispered quite breathlessly as he stared into your eyes.

The tension between you was palpable. It felt like any second one or both of you were going to do something that neither of you could take back. The loud crack of thunder boomed outside, bringing you both to realize your surroundings. Henry cleared his throat and took two steps back.

“Good night, Xari. I look forward to seeing those plans at every decision,” he said with a stern face and plenty of humor in his eyes.

“Your highness.”

He sighed, then walked back down the hall, leaving you to admire the sway of his hips and the plump but firm state of his ass. God help you, you thought to yourself before you stepped back into your room. You’d never been good at fighting off temptation. You liked to put up a fight but eventually, you always gave in.

You knew that it was only a matter of time before you did just that.

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

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years

Note

Ship: Everlark #48

Thank you so much for sending me a prompt! I hope you enjoy! As always, drabbles don’t exist in my world. So it’s a bit longer than I anticipated. :P

Prompt: Meeting again at a high school reunion AU

Ao3: X

Send me a ship and a prompt and I’ll write a fic/drabble!

“If you don’t go over there and talk to him, I’m going to and you know I won’t edit out any embarrassing details,” Madge warned when she saw Katniss looking over at the Welcome table yet again.

Katniss scowled, the alcohol clearly not kicking in yet. “I don’t need your help, Madge.”

“You’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes, Katniss,” her friend pointed out, “watching that table like a scared hawk.”

“Can a hawk be scared?” Madge glared at her and she conceded. “All right, all right. Yes, I am acting like a scared, made-up hawk, but I can’t help it! I made a total ass of myself back in high school. I’m afraid he’ll remember.”

“Of course he’ll remember.”

“You’re no help. Why’d I bring you as my date again?”

Her friend smiled a winning smile and rubbed her swollen stomach. “Because my dearest husband decided a fishing trip with his brothers was more important than coming with me to our ten year high school reunion and he bribed you with anything you wanted from his store as thanks.”

“Right, right,” she laughed. “So why are you trying to pawn your date off on some stranger, Madge Hawthorne?”

“Please!” Madge scoffed. “Peeta Mellark is so not a stranger to you. How many times did you two hook up in high school? In the band room, under the stage in the auditorium, the Home Ec room, and correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you two do it in Abernathy’s office?”

Popping the maraschino cherry from her drink into her mouth, Katniss smiled. “I’m not confirming, nor denying, anything of the sort. We were total saints in high school.”

“Uh huh.” Madge sighed and readjusted herself in her seat. “If you were total saints, why not go over and talk about your sainthood with Peeta, then?”

Because she had broken his heart? Because 18-year-old Katniss panicked and ruined a great thing? Because she knew for a fact, thanks to Facebook and small town busybodies, that Peeta had just gotten out of an engagement with some gorgeous blonde who looked like a model and showing up now felt like cutting open an old scar? Because she was scared of telling him how she really felt then? And how those feelings haven’t really gone away and seeing him there, smiling and laughing next to Delly Cartwright as they welcomed old classmates, reminded her those feelings were definitely still there?

“Because he’s busy working the Welcome table,” she said instead. “Don’t you hate when people chit chat you up while you’re trying to work a table?”

“No, but that’s because I’m not weird about people like you are.”

“I miss the shy, barely-spoke Madge from high school,” Katniss teased, bumping her foot against Madge’s. “What happened to her?”

“I joined a sorority in college and had to do three years of recruitment,” was all she said, still giving Katniss a pointed look. “Go talk to him, Katniss. Rip the band aid off.”

She looked over at the table and frowned. “What if he tells me off? I don’t think I can handle that kind of rejection.”

“He won’t,” Madge comforted, resting a hand on Katniss’ knee. “But you won’t know until you go over and say hello. Here,” she tore off her name tag and ripped it in half, handing the two pieces over to Katniss. “Ask for a new name tag for me as your excuse to talk to him.”

She gratefully took the stickers and stood up, glancing over at the table. Two people were in line, the first person animatedly talking to both Peeta and Delly she didn’t recognize from behind. Yes, she can do this. With one long shot of her drink, she went and stood in line, Madge giving a whoop of cheer in support.

The wait wasn’t long. Five minutes tops before she was walking up to the table, the two pale blondes smiling up at her, reminding her of all those times in high school they’d be managing the ticket table at lunch for Student Council or the ticket booth for football and basketball games.

“Katniss Everdeen!” Delly welcomed in her high-pitched squeaky voice that hasn’t changed a bit in ten years. “I thought I saw you around! You silly goose, how are you? What have you been up to? How has life been treating you? How is that lovely sister of yours?”

“Delly,” Katniss smiled. Even now, after all these years, it was hard not to reciprocate the woman’s warmth and energy. “Life’s been good, thanks. Can’t complain. Still living at home with my mom and sister. Prim’s fine. Going to school to be a doctor.”

“That’s amazing! And you’re a teacher now, I hear, right?”

“Um—yes, I am.” Her eyes shifted to Peeta, who was all smiles as well, before focusing back on Delly. “I’m a high school choral director at the high school next town over.”

“You did always have a beautiful voice,” Peeta stepped in and her legs almost turned to jello at the sound of his familiar yet somewhat deeper voice. “Inspiring students to find their voices.” Ever the wordsman, Peeta Mellark was.

“Yes,” she blushed, unable to help herself. “Um. That’s a really nice way of saying I spend half my time telling my classes to quiet down so we can get some work done.” They laughed and that helped calm some of her anxiety. “How are you both? I haven’t seen either of you since we all left for college!”

Delly answered first. “I’m a proud Stay-at-Home-Mom—”

“Don’t get her started on her triplets or else we’ll be here all night,” Peeta teased, happily accepting Delly’s shove.

“Wow,” Katniss breathed. “Triplets. That’s—that’s a lot of babies!”

“That’s what Thom says—you remember Thom, right, Katniss? We all had gym together in eleventh grade. Well, he’s my amazing husband now and he’s always joking how we nailed it out of the park on the first try.” She held out her phone to show a picture of three chubby toddlers, two girls and a boy, smiling cheekily at the camera in nothing but their diapers. “Gretchen, Analise, and Tommy,” Delly explained, pointing to each happy baby. “They just turned three last month and boy, are they keeping me busy!”

Katniss nodded. “They look adorable, Delly. Look just like you.”

“Thank you. That’s what everyone says.” She put her phone away. “Anyone in your life, Katniss?”

“Oh, um. No.” She looked down at the stickers in her hand, realizing she didn’t need it now with Delly talking a mile a minute. “Work keeps me pretty busy and most guys don’t understand why I prioritize a bunch of high schoolers over—well, everything.” She laughed, feeling a bit awkward now talking about her non-existent love life.

Delly looked over at Peeta, a knowing look in her eyes. “Peeta knows exactly how that is.”

“Delly,” he said, rolling his eyes at her. “I’m a high school art teacher,” he explained to Katniss. “And I run the school’s debate and speech teams for some extra money. So I get prioritizing your students over everything else.”

Oh. She didn’t know he was a teacher, too. Well that made a lot of sense why it was a pain hunting him down on Facebook. How had she not put two and two together? “Elective teachers unite,” she joked half-heartedly, feeling nervous again now that the attention was on him.

“May our program budgets always just barely make the cut,” he joined in, all smiles. She smiled back, unable to help herself. His smiles, familiar despite time away, always made her feel more at ease.

“You know, ever since I had the triplets, my bladder has never been the same,” Delly abruptly said standing up. “I have to visit the potty. The bathroom,” she corrected herself. “We’re working on potty training right now. Peeta, guard the table while I’m away?”

“Oh. Uh, sure thing, Dells.”

“You keep a close eye on him, Katniss. Make sure he doesn’t cause any mischief,” Delly warned with a wag of her finger before walking away, waving to those she knew as she went, which seemed to be everyone.

Katniss stood there for a moment, forlornly watching their buffer leave. She barely knew Delly, but now as the curly-haired blonde left, she felt a bit of a betrayal of being left alone with Peeta.

“You don’t have to watch over me,” Peeta said, her attention snapping back to him. “Delly was just teasing.”

“Oh no, it’s okay.” It wasn’t, not really, but admitting that would make things ten times more awkward. “Madge is my supposed date tonight, but she’s been spending more time in the bathroom than with me. So it’s fine. Um.” Just get it over with! “How are you, Peeta?”

“I’m fine, Katniss. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course, of course.” Wishing she’d consumed more alcohol before pursuing this quest, she went forth, “I heard you moved back into town. With your brother?”

He shook his head. “I forgot how small this town is. Yeah. I moved back. Go on and ask.” He motioned at her, rolling his eyes. “About my engagement. Everyone’s been asking about it.”

Katniss winced. “I didn’t want to pry, but yeah, I heard.”

“As did many others.” He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m fine, really. I broke it off with her, actually. Wasn’t a right fit,” he explained. “I didn’t think it fair to either of us to continue further, but it still hurts a little.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Peeta.” But was she really, though? Was she seriously happy about a guy she hadn’t spoken to in over ten years being single again? God, she was a horrible person. “But it sounds like you did the mature thing. Breaking it off like that.”

He shrugged. “That’s what everybody tells me.”

Someone came up behind her and she stepped aside as Peeta snapped into greetings mode. It was amazing watching him change so swiftly like that. Some people truly never changed, she realized, remembering how quickly he seemed to change moods at the flip of a switch. He did it the day she broke things off with him. How his eyes cascaded down in disappointment and she’d wondered if he might cry after confessing how he felt about her for all this time, but then someone had walked in, calling out to them, and he became all smiles and acted like nothing drastic had happened between them.

It was a bit unsettling, the more she thought about it now.

The line of late comers started growing and Delly still hadn’t returned. Deciding to keep her promise, Katniss took a seat next to Peeta and smiled as another former classmate stepped up, ignoring the quizzical look he sent her as they were asked questions about times for the planned events and how they both were doing. Many assumed they were married now, remembering how close the two were in high school, and thank god for Peeta stepping in and saving her stumbling tongue, explaining how Katniss was just keeping Delly’s seat warm until she returned and that they hadn’t seen each other until tonight.

After the third or fourth classmate assumed their matrimonial union, Katniss laughed, picking at the ripped sticker she’d stuck to her skirt for safe keeping. “I didn’t realize so many people remembered us together.”

“Small town school,” he reminded her, his tone light and joking. Like she didn’t stupidly break his heart. “I’m not surprised they remembered you. You forget how much of an effect you have on people, Katniss.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I think you mean yourself there, Mr. Popular. I was that awkward band and choir girl with the braces who never shut up about why the Baroque style was far superior to Classical.”

“I remember those rants fondly,” Peeta laughed. “Your face would get all pinched because I barely knew what you were talking about, so I couldn’t offer any opinion. And I loved those braces! The silver brackets really brought out the silver in your eyes.”

She rolled her eyes, remembering that line he used to pull every time she complained about her teeth. “Well I’m happy to say those days are gone. I’ve been metal-free since college.”

“Took that long, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure my orthodontist was just milking it for my money those last three years,” she laughed. “My teeth looked pretty straight to me.” Katniss smiled widely, showing off her white, straight teeth she suffered many mouth cuts and rubber band snaps to achieve. He joined her and wow. It really did feel like no time had passed between them. Like they were just a couple of teens back in high school, making fun of a teacher or a douchey classmate.

Peeta looked down at the table, tapping his pen in thought. “You know,” he said after a moment, still looking down, “I am free from this table at 7.”

“That makes sense,” she nodded. “If people haven’t arrived in the first hour and a half, that’s their loss.”

“It is,” he smiled, glancing up at her. Yes, his eyes were still as clear blue as she remembered, and was it possible for eyelashes to grow? His looked longer now. “If you’d be fine with it, Katniss, I’d like to catch up with you some more.” Was it her imagination or did he seem nervous? That made no sense. She broke his heart. If anyone should be nervous, it was her. And she was. The constant flutter in her stomach more noticeable now with her sitting so close to him.

“Oh. Um.” It was her turn to look down at her hands. “Okay. Sure. Yeah, that’d be great.”

Peeta seemed uncertain, though. “Are you sure? Was I too forward just now? Sorry, ever since my break-up, I seem to be a bit rusty talking with people.” That was hard to believe.

“No, no!” Katniss rushed to assure him. “I just—didn’t think you’d really want to catch up after how we ended things.” There. She mentioned it. Old heartbreak was out there now. “I know I messed things up pretty badly.”

To her surprise, Peeta laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, that is water under the bridge, Katniss. I was stupid and should have picked up on the vibes you were sending me.”

“And I was stupid, too,” she said, a bit shyly.

“High schoolers can be pretty stupid.”

“I don’t know,” she smiled. “Mine seem a lot smarter than when we were that age.”

“Mine too.” He pretended to think. “Perhaps we were just idiots and it has nothing to do with how young we were.”

She laughed. “Maybe.”

He tapped her pen with his. “To being idiots?”

“To being idiots.” She tapped his pen back.

And at 7 o’clock sharp, Peeta declared it was time they drank until they got so drunk, it was like they were back at Finnick Odair’s Friday night after-game parties. Katniss happily agreed, sternly reminding him she wasn’t going to make out with him tonight like they used to do in the toolshed during those parties, causing him to burst out laughing. Quickly scrawling out Madge’s name on a new sticker, she told Peeta she’d meet him at the bar.

“I have to give my date her sticker.” He told her the booze waited for no one and headed to where a group of their classmates were chanting for someone to “Chug! Chug! Chug!” She smiled and went back to Madge, who was chatting with Leevy Anderson, an old friend of hers.

“Well,” Madge asked after Leevy excused herself. “You were gone an awful long time. Did you get my sticker?” Katniss handed it to her with a smile. “I take it things went well? Or were you just sputtering out nonsense.”

“It went very well,” Katniss told her, glancing over at the bar where Peeta stood, holding two drinks out, one clearly being hers. “We’re going to get crazy drunk now because this night has been extremely long for both of us. I hope you’re fine driving me?”

“One of us needs to get crazy drunk tonight,” Madge laughed, patting her stomach. “Drink for me, too?”

“Of course.”

“Going to make out with Peeta Mellark like old times?” her friend teased, noticing Peeta now. “I’m sure there’s a closet you two can sneak into.”

Katniss scoffed at her friend’s blatant assumption. “No, we’re not making out tonight, Madge.” Madge nodded, taking a sip of her pop. “We might next Friday, though,” she added a bit coyly. “He’s taking me out to dinner.” And she walked away before her friend could say anything further.

#Everlark #The Hunger Games #Everlark fanfic #The Hunger Games fanfic #Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games fanfiction #my writing #asks #mandelion82 #high school reunion #fluff

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

I’m resending it now! ok so what if for some reason Obi’s lightsaber either gets destroyed or the crystal stops resonating with him & He’s with Jango who goes with him to wherever the force guides him to find his new crystal at & like Obi goes through some wack vision/trial from the force and when he gets through it his new crystal reveals itself and it’s the same type of crystal like in the dark saber? And Jango is just losing it when he sees it bc he thinks “HOW?! but also, That’s HOT” hehe

(my DUDE i’m so flippin glad you re-sent this, i’ve had to force myself not to write this one so i could get other people’s prompts out, and i was at first unsure of how to spin this, but holy FECK is it all i can think about now. i just. i just want to write so much of this obi. i’m sorry i didn’t get to jango much, but you bet your butters he and obi are connected every which way in this, in ways beyond force bonds because i’m a dramatic bitch.

i hope y’all enjoy this one as much as i did!!)

edit 6/26/20: this is now part of a full fix-it! you can read it as it updates here on my Ao3! updates on fridays.

Illum is colder than he remembered, though the last time Obi-Wan had been here, he had not feared wrapping himself up in the Force. It’s been... Force, he hasn’t been back since after Melida/Daan, and something in him breaks again at the thought that he’d lost the ‘saber that had been with him for more than a decade. But, no, a lightsaber is a small price to pay to have saved his master.

His former master. He isn't Qui-Gon’s apprentice anymore, Anakin had made sure of that.

Obi-Wan had been sent to Illum alone, no younglings in need of making their first ‘saber, and no one else needing to replace theirs; Anakin has a few more months in the crèche before he can build his, and Obi-Wan can’t thank the council enough that he doesn’t have to walk the caves knowing his replacement is somewhere doing the same. With Qui-Gon still in the Halls, Master Plo had stepped forward in offer to knight him, and had almost had to fight Master Depa for the honor, which was... strange. He’s used to quite the opposite of masters fighting over him, but an amused Yoda had almost used his lineage status to refuse them both for himself instead, until Mace, as Master of the Order, had given the right to Plo Koon. And Jedi do not gloat, but the Kel Dor had certainly been smiling behind his mask.

The doors to the caves open easily despite the ice, so maybe his great-grandmaster had been right about Obi-Wan rebuilding his lightsaber before his knighting ceremony. This thought doesn’t settle the feeling of intruding when he steps over the threshold, the marrow-deep feeling of being an imposter in one of the most holy places in the galaxy.

The kyber hums around him, as if he wasn’t at this exact moment considering walking away from the Order.

He’s hardly a proper Jedi, is he? Killing a Sith with a sai tok, falling in love with Satine, holding a grudge against a nine year-old freed slave for taking his master away from him. Hadn’t he drawn on the dark side to defeat the Zabrak? Killed him not out of duty to his vow but in revenge for the fallen Qui-Gon? His lightsaber might have cauterised the wounds, but he has blood on his hands all the same.

So he keeps walking, refusing to touch a single crystal he passes. The Force tugs him deeper into the caves anyways, and he has half a thought to ignoring it (does he even deserve to listen to it anymore?) but for all his tumultuous thoughts, Obi-Wan is beholden to the Force, beholden to the grip it has in his viscera.

He follows it as his breath forms clouds before his lips, frost on his skin that he cannot even feel. Where would he go, if he left? Stewjon is insular, they would not want him back, but he cannot stay at the Temple. Naboo, perhaps? Padmé would surely welcome him, but could he really settle down on such a peaceful planet after spending over half his life running around the stars with his master?

Closing his eyes at the memory of Satine, he allows himself to... consider it. Would she still want him? They haven’t spoken since, but sometimes he can feel her in his mind still, a little warm bud that could bloom, if he let it. And even if she threw him out, Mandalore isn’t a bad place to restart.

“Could I really?” he muses out loud, stepping over a great crack in the stone floor and setting his feet to follow a barely-there path towards the lake, only for the Force to have him veer away from it. Could he really give up being a Jedi? After every trial the Force had put him through to even become an apprentice? Oh, but he had tried so. kriffing. hard. to get this far, could he really do anything else?

He swallows thickly and almost desperately pulls the Force back around himself, as if in apology, as if in repentance, as if anguish—

Peace, it whispers, brushing over his mind even as it sinks claws into his ribs and pulls him up short.

Obi-Wan is twelve again, wind whipping around him as the Jedi transport takes off from Bandomeer, Qui-Gon Jinn staring down at him. Force, but he hasn’t ever felt worse than when he feels their raw bond stretching with distance, yanking deep in him until he’s breathless, doesn’t Master Jinn feel it—?

And Obi-Wan is sitting in the living room of their Temple apartment, kneeling on his cloth meditation mat across from Qui-Gon’s bamboo one. His master’s warmth surrounds him in a glittering cloud of comfort and ease, and they’ve been at this for five years now, and still Obi-Wan holds this as his most treasured memory, something to cling to when things seem desolate or he’s been arguing with Qui-Gon, or—

He’s in the glass city of Sundari, brushing a hand over Satine’s cheek as she laughs, and Force, she’s even more beautiful than he remembers— She’s dying in his arms, bruises violent red around her throat, a sizzling ‘saber wound through her middle, and she’s beautiful even now, oh Force not like this—

Obi-Wan is older, his joints a little creakier, his hair grey at the temples, and he has a beskad sticking out of his chest. Above him is a boy that looks suspiciously like him, red hair and green eyes but with Satine’s lips and eyebrows. Korkie, the Force tells him, as the boy leans over Obi-Wan and why is he angry? Ah, so this blade had not been meant for him—

Anakin, little Anakin with a padawan braid beams up at him in a training salle with a practice saber in his fists. Obi-Wan moves to correct his kata, and though he’s... sure he had never learned this from Qui-Gon, he knows it’s Form III, he knows it’s Soresu like he knows his own name, like he knows the padawan bond in his mind and the warm nova glow of Anakin attached to his core—

Obi-Wan is an old man, seated on a perfectly smooth grey stone above a green, green cliff battered by ocean waves and briny air. He meditates with the knowledge he had come from here, the Force here as close to home as he could ever hope to achieve. He had not searched for the family that left him on the Temple steps, and that’s just fine by him, he could not have asked for a better place to begin his seclusion studies than Stewjon—

Obi-Wan is an old man, seated on a perfectly smooth red stone, the desert cliffs around him worn smooth from the sand that batters around him, ripping through his robes but never touching his skin. The Force is feral here, claws and bone and teeth teeth teeth, but somewhere out in the dunes, there shines Luke, pearlescent and good and proof that Obi-Wan has not failed just yet.

Satine is screaming at him as she shoves Korkie behind her back and raises a beskad that seems wrong, wrong in her hands, but he doesn’t have time to think about his heart wielding a blade, when he’s wielding the darksaber, whistling as it cuts through the air against Tor Vizsla, why had they trusted him, he knew he could not be trusted, and now his family is going to pay the price— His ‘saber, black as space, connects with Vizsla's, black as night, and Obi-Wan is not wielding the darksaber, but something else entirely, with a beskad’s edge, with a hum that’s almost a scream, that moves towards the darksaber with the intent to shatter—

A Mando in blue and silver beskar’gam hands him a hilt, hammered durasteel wrapped in black leather, so unlike any Jedi ‘saber hilt he’s ever seen, but Obi-Wan knows it’s his from the way it sings, the way the Force insists it’s his his his—

The blue and silver Mando with his helmet off, a man so unspeakably gorgeous that Obi-Wan wonders how he even copes— The Mando’s gloved hand grips Obi-Wan’s wrist, the face he knows so well twisted into dread and anger. Don’t go, they beg, but Obi-Wan must, he cannot abandon Mandalore, he cannot—, Don’t you realize that Zabrak’s fucking crazy? Obi-Wan, he’s going to kill you—

Obi-Wan is older, but not much, pinned underneath blue and silver armour as Sundari glass and blasterfire rains around them—

Obi-Wan watches the Beautiful Mando sleeping with his head pillowed on Obi-Wan’s arm, a new scar curling through his eyebrow that he hasn’t asked about yet—

A mini Beautiful Mando eyes him suspiciously, hands on his hips while his buir stands behind him and tries not to laugh—

Obi-Wan is on Illum, but he is not, he weaves his way through dusty streets he has never seen before and yet knows the way by heart, following that heart towards the hangar where his aliit waits. He has beads braided messily in his hair, twisted by pudgy fingers insisting Obi-Wan deserves to look just as pretty as his buir; that durasteel and leather hilt bounces against his hip, and he has a single blue and silver gauntlet on his right arm. He is a Jedi, the Force assures him, in the way light bends through him, but he is also Mando’ad, he knows that without needing to ask. He belongs to a planet and to a people that he did not start with, in a strange Force-willed way that he can’t explain, and he’s a Jedi, but he knows he has a family waiting for him in an old police craft. A black-bladed ‘saber hums at his side.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes in front of a rock wall, glittering kyber in every colour rising up the sheer face until their little lights disappear into the darkness far above him. Just above eye-level, there is a small crater in the wall, as if the rest of the kyber cannot grow around the single crystal at the crater’s center.

It is opalescent and space-black, and looks as if it had been cut for a piece of opulent jewellery. The Force whispers heart heart heart, and he supposes it does look the size and shape of a beskar’ta, and isn’t that fitting?

When he reaches out to take it, the white glow at its edges seems to suck in the light from around it, and it sings higher than any crystal he’s ever touched, whistling trials and heartbreak and pain and blood, but also love and laughter and family, if he lets it form the notes just right. It sings in Mando’a, in war gods and clans and beskar, and it sings for Obi-Wan alone.

- Across the galaxy, Jango wakes on Jaster’s Legacy in a cold sweat.

Translations/Other: sai tok — the ‘saber move of cutting an opponent in half, frowned upon by the Jedi for its roots in the dark side. beskad — traditional Mandalorian curved saber made of beskar. allit — Mando’a for “clan” or “family”. buir — Mando’a for “parent”, gender neutral. beskar’ta — Mando’a for “iron heart”, the elongated hex-shape common in Mandalorian armour designs (great post here comparing them to katana tsuba). also called ka’rta beskar or “heart of the iron”. Jaster’s Legacy — Jaster’s old ship that Jango found and used post Galidraan, and pre Slave I.

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snippychicke · 4 years

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I will probably never write this out, but I outlined it and thought it was too cute to share. An Otto/OC(self-insert tbh) story with a happy ending.

Allison's husband Raymond gets a very unsettling surprise when Otto starts trying to get out of the rolled carpet. Turns out he was unconscious but not dead. He freaks out because a beat-up woozy white guy in a black man's house is going to get him in jail, and likely dead.

He helps Otto into his car and races to one of the few allies he knows, a nurse from a local hospital. She helps him get him into her home and promises to keep silent (though doubts the story he tells her, because to her it sounds like gibberish.)

She takes care of him in her old family home. He wakes up while she is cleaning his wounds.She begs him not to kill Raymond, stating he's a good man who got in over his head. That no one should be judged on one mistake.

He leaves and searches for Axel but there is no sign of him at the cat house. Some of their stuff is there, but all of Axel's belongings are noticeably absent. It's been years since he was truly alone. The ache of losing both brothers hits him hard.

Otto wanders around Dallas but ends up back on the nurse's porch, where she finds him sitting on the stairs looking absolutely dejected and lost.She has seen a lot of different people on wrong paths in their life. Offers him a bed as long as he needs it, fusses at his wounds that reopened? Leg wound too? She pointedly doesn't ask questions, and he appreciates that.

They fall into a domestic situation that he is unused to. He is used to living on the road, always travelling and hunting. He needs something to do but isn't ready for an ordinary job. The house is run down, and she explains her father meant to fix it with the supplies in the garage but never did.

It gives him something to do. She of course gets flustered by seeing him sweaty and shirtless but does her best to be respectful. He masters the skills needed by stumbling through the how-to books left behind, with her helping occasionally when he silently points to a word. And of course physical labor is rather easy for him.

She wants to thank him and asks around to find Swedish recipes and such.

The night she makes a sweedish dish as a thank you, he breaks somewhat. She apologizes profusely, saying she didn't mean to. He hugs her. Well, pulls her down into his lap is more like it, desperate for physical touch. She settles in his lap and just lets him cry into her shoulder, soothing his hair and reassuring him it would be okay.

They shift from roommates to friends as the weeks pass. Her obvious trust in people leaves him on edge. He makes a habit of making sure doors and windows are secure because she never does. She fusses at him to take breaks and relax, wondering why he is so paranoid in her opinion. They enjoy early mornings together on days off.

They also adopted all the cats. She wakes up to the half of a dozen cats wandering the house, acting like it's theirs now. When she asks where they came from, Otto just shrugs. She gets use to it quickly when she sees it brings him some sort of peace, and sees the mouse infestation vanish in a fortnight.

She does start to drag him out once in a while on her days off. To the theatre, street festivals, and to other such events. Otto seriously starts to wonder how she hasn't been killed yet because trouble seems to follow her. Especially when white men see her being polite to poc, whom she tends favor more than others. Otto has to stop a few fights from being started with a strong glare. Just his presence diffuses more than one fight, and she has to admit she feels a lot safer with him at her side.

But one time he's maybe distracted at a fair, thinking of buying her a small cat charm she had been eyeing but denied herself, and comes to find some assholes getting rough with her and he loses it. The assholes are on the concrete within seconds. She is barely able calm him and begs him to quit as he's punching the man that smacked her, but manages to pull him away and go home.

She cleans his bruised and cut knuckles with shaky hands and he stops her so he can tend the split lip on her own face.

"They hurt you...I'm sorry."

He has barely spoken monosyllabic words at this point, so she tears up. She enjoys the feeling of him cupping her face, and presses his hand tighter to her cheek as she laughs and says he easily paid them back 10 fold.

He realizes this cute little nurse has become dear to him.

She realizes she's fallen for her housemate.

Then the commission steps in. The new council asks Otto to return because their reduced numbers. Except he's already lost both of his brothers to them, he cannot lose her too. He doesn't feel strong enough to stand on his own. He turns them down, and turns back inside to wrap his arms around her as she is cooking. No kissing or words, just holding her in his arms as she sways.

Herb comes alone a few days later. Otto turns to leave but Herb stops in his his tracks by offering to track down Axel. Not because to get them back for the commission, but as a peace offering for what happened to them. The offer makes him torn. On one hand it's his brother, Axel. The last of his family. But yet he still has nightmares of Axel choking him, even though he knows it's not his brother's fault, which leaves him conflicted. And he's built a life in Dallas. Helps the neighbors both colored and none with any heavy labor needed. And of course his budding relationship with the woman.

But ultimately it's his brother. Family. He cannot give up the chance. He leaves her a simple note asking her to stay safe. (he drafted over a dozen notes which she finds in the trash, ranging from promises to come back and ones where he thanks her for her kindness, and others scribbled out harshly she cannot make out the words.)

And when she realizes he left hurt it breaks her heart. She still fusses over the cats, but can't bring herself to do much more than work and sleep. Her friends try to pull her out for nights on the town, but she cannot.

It takes weeks but Otto finds wherever the hippies have travelled to, the reunion of brothers is heartbreaking. The Cult fear the worse as the two storm towards each other before embracing tightly, trying hard not to cry. Axel thought he was dead, that he killed him. So to see him all be and okay breaks his facade.

He begs for forgiveness, but Otto immediately assures him there is nothing to forgive.

Otto brings Axel back to Dallas. When the woman sees him coming down the street, she forgets propiet and races down the sidewalk to jump into his arms. Axel watches both surprised and amused as his brother holds the tiny woman close. The woman is too emotional to think and ends up confessing her feelings in a jumbled mess. Otto silences her with a kiss, soft and sweet. Which she turns into a rather long intimate one.

Otto awkwardly introduces Axel after his brother clears his throat during the couple's kiss. "Can he stay with us, Älskling?" Otto asks, pushing her hair away from her tear-streaked face.

She happily says yes.

Axel enters the house and the first thing he sees are the cats.

Otto: "What? You think I could leave them?'

Axel: *did leave the cats to fend for themselves* …

Just need to figure out a way for Oscar to show up sans his one leg but otherwise okay. Maybe he was a patient she has been caring for at the hospital?

Axel and Oscar quickly accept her as their little sister-in-law. Ships their brother with her so hard and push them together. Sets up so many cute dates for the two that usually end up not going as planned but still cute

Edited: i lied

#fanfic #ikea mafia #tua swedes #tua season two #tua s2 #tua otto #tua oscar #tua Axel #the umbrella academy #otto/OC #otto/reader

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lingthusiasm · 4 years

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Transcript Episode 44: Schwa, the most versatile English vowel

This is a transcript for Lingthusiasm Episode 44: Schwa, the most versatile English vowel. It’s been lightly edited for readability. Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts. Links to studies mentioned and further reading can be found on the Episode 44 show notes page.

[Music]

Lauren: Welcome to Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics! I’m Lauren Gawne.

Gretchen: I’m Gretchen McCulloch. Today, we’re getting enthusiastic about schwa and stress. First, we made our LingComm grant goal! We’re now giving out three grants to linguistics communication projects. The deadline for those applications is the 1st of June wherever you are, which is very soon, so make sure to get those applications in. That’s 2020, in case you’re listening from the future.

Lauren: We’re actually giving out four. We are giving out more than we originally planned, thanks to Claire Bowern funding a fourth LingComm grant on a project that looks at minoritised languages.

Gretchen: Those grant applications are due on June 1st, 2020. If you’re interested in applying for that, go to the website lingcomm.org. That’s “comm” with two Ms. You’ll see all the details there.

Lauren: If you’re listening to this deep in the future, you can go to lingcomm.org to see what great projects we funded.

Gretchen: Indeed you can.

Lauren: We now have new Lingthusiasm merch. We have little badges for you to wear through Redbubble, which is really exciting. They’re super cute.

Gretchen: Interesting! I think I would call those “pins” or maybe “buttons.” Whatever you call them, they are round circular things that you can pin on your clothes or backpacks that say fun linguistics things on them.

Lauren: Hm. I’d call them “button badges” as well.

Gretchen: I think “buttons” is kind of ambiguous because you don’t know if that’s a kind of button you use that you sew into your clothing or that you pin into your clothing. Maybe I like “pins”? Anyway, you can get these at lingthusiasm.com/merch along with more sticker designs and other Lingthusiasm merch like scarves with the International Phonetic Alphabet on them and other fun things like that.

Lauren: This month’s Patreon bonus episode is about numbers. We look at different counting systems, different number systems, and what using your fingers to count says about you. You can get access to this and 38 other bonus episodes at patreon.com/lingthusiasm.

[Music]

Gretchen: Okay. I have a puzzle for us.

Lauren: Awesome. I love a puzzle.

Gretchen: I’m gonna give you a few words, then you can tell me what they have in common. Our words are “about.”

Lauren: “About.”

Gretchen: “Broken.”

Lauren: “Broken.”

Gretchen: And “council.”

Lauren: “Council.”

Gretchen: Any thoughts for what they have in common?

Lauren: My immediate thought was I’m sad we don’t have Lingthusiasm think time music.

Gretchen: We do have theme music. Maybe we could play it a bit again.

Lauren: Hm. Ah. “About, broken, council” – they all start with different letters. They all have different letters in them. I’m assuming it’s not something about what they mean. They’re all two syllables long.

Gretchen: That’s true. I should give you a couple more examples that also have this thing in common to see if that helps.

Lauren: Okay.

Gretchen: We have “about, broken, council, potato,” and “support.”

Lauren: Oh, “potato.” The goes my two-syllable theory. Definitely nothing semantic about their meaning. They still all have completely different letters. You’ve actually made it harder with more data, Gretchen. Harder. That’s not useful.

Gretchen: The thing we wanna think about is not just what letters are in them but what sounds are in them.

Lauren: Right.

Gretchen: Is there any sound that all five of these words have in common?

Lauren: If I look at the spelling, they all have completely different vowels. They don’t even have the same vowels. But if I listen to how they’re spoken, think about “about, broken,” and “council,” [Gasp] “potato,” and “support,” they all have schwa.

Gretchen: They all have schwa, which I know is your favourite vowel. I have created this quiz just for you.

Lauren: Excellent. Thank you so much. They all have this /ə/ sound. It’s the coolest little letter that doesn’t exist as a written letter in English. It’s one of the coolest sounds in English. I love it. We’re doing a whole episode. It’s schwa time.

Gretchen: It’s schwa time. So, /əbɑʊt/ has that /ə/ in the first syllable. /bɹoʊkən/ has that /ə/ in the second syllable. /kɑʊnsəl/ has that /ə/ there – /pətɛɪtoʊ/ /səpoɹt/. There’s the /ə/ going all the way through. Here’s your second quiz. There’s a special thing about this particular set of five words. They all have schwa in them, but they all have something else that’s different about them.

Lauren: They’re all spelt with the actual different vowels. When I learnt that schwa was the sound that hid across all of the vowels – it doesn’t matter what one you write, if it’s in an unstressed syllable, and we’ll talk about that, it becomes a schwa – it explained to me why I find writing some words so difficult. If you don’t know how to spell “potato” and someone says /pətɛɪtoʊ/, that could be a P-A, that could be a P-U. It’s really hard to tell. But all of those are written with different vowels but sound the same in speech.

Gretchen: Yeah! You get words like /dɛfənɪtli/, which was one of these words that I didn’t know how to spell for the longest time. It would give me this red underline and I was like, “Why? This looks totally reasonable to me!” Then, I had to learn that the schwa – /dɛfənɪtli/ – the schwa there wasn’t spelled with an A, it was spelled with an I. You really can’t tell in English because every single vowel letter can represent this particular vowel sound, which is really frustrating when you’re a kid learning how to spell and yet is really cool when you’re a linguist because it’s one of these mysterious things that once you notice it, it’s everywhere. Yet, you can go your whole life without noticing it.

Lauren: We talked about all the vowels back in Episode 17 with vowel gymnastics and how, unlike consonants, vowels exist in this space and they all shift around like a multi-dimensional slide trombone. I guess that’s why we went with “gymnastics” as an analogy instead of “multi-dimensional trombones.”

Gretchen: I mean, if someone wants to design a multi-dimensional trombone for me, I’ll take it.

Lauren: We talked a teeny bit about schwa in that episode, but I have been wanting to do an episode all about schwa for ages. Here we are. Exciting times.

Gretchen: I think we should also mention what schwa looks like when it’s written in the International Phonetic Alphabet because it is part of your icon or your whole icon on various different websites, is it not?

Lauren: Yes. If you’ve ever seen the upside-down E looking thing that is the Superlinguo logo, that is the sch – so schwa is interesting in that it has a name. It also has, like all of the vowels, a representation in the International Phonetic Alphabet. That representation looks like an upside-down E. I’m not normally one of these people that has lots of opinions about fonts, but when it comes to how it’s written, it is not an upside-down E. This is something I’m very fussy about.

Gretchen: What is the difference between a schwa and an upside-down lowercase E? Please tell the class because I don’t know.

Lauren: If you turn it back up the other way, it looks really unproportioned. It’s like the top of the E is just way too high up. It looks all weirdly stretched.

Gretchen: So, the thicknesses of the letters and so on are weirdly stretched? Is that the thing?

Lauren: Yeah. The height of that little loopy bit of the E, if you turn it back the other way and try and use it as an E, looks a bit – it just makes it look like the E is gonna fall over. It’s really wobbly.

Gretchen: Okay. I feel like we need to point this out that you know this because you made schwa cookie cutters.

Lauren: Yes. I designed and 3-D printed a schwa cookie cutter a few years ago for Christmas gingerbread.

Gretchen: Then, a very helpful person on the internet said, “Couldn’t you just have used an E cookie cutter and turned the cookies upside-down?” and you were like, “No, no, no, because the thickness is different.”

Lauren: No. You absolutely cannot.

Gretchen: I feel like, historically speaking, it probably was an upside-down E though because I know a lot of the IPA symbols are upside-down versions or rotated versions of existing letters because that way they didn’t have to typeset new letters back in the metal printing days. But I believe you that, now that we have digital formats, schwa can have slightly different line thicknesses.

Lauren: Yes. It has its own representation. It has a name that not many other vowels have names. Technically, it’s a mid-central vowel, which just means it’s just in the centre. It’s not high. It’s not low. It’s not front. It’s not back. It’s not any of these dimensions that we talk about. It’s just the most /ə/ vowel that exists, which is why everything ends up going towards it when it’s not stressed because it’s the least exciting thing to do with your mouth. There’s actually a Wikipedia entry for the mid-central vowel – that /ə/ vowel – but schwa is so iconic there’s also a separate Wikipedia page just to talk about it as “schwa.” This is how strong its brand is.

Gretchen: Schwa’s brand is strong. Especially for the vowels, normally if we talk about vowels, we talk about /i/ or /ɛ/ or /ʊ/. You just say the name of the vowel – or sometimes people say the name of the symbol. Like, “small cap I” or –

Lauren: “Open O.”

Gretchen: “Open O” or something like this. Schwa has got this name that doesn’t refer to the shape of its symbol, it’s got its own name. The thing that’s always tormented me about the name “schwa” is, like, it’s a cool name. I will grant you this. But it doesn’t have schwa itself in the name.

Lauren: This is true and very disappointing.

Gretchen: Other symbols, like “theta” – /θɛɪtʌ/ has a theta in it. Great. We’re doing a great job. Good job, theta. Schwa does not have a schwa in it, and I find that kind of disappointing.

Lauren: Disappointing.

Gretchen: However, I looked up the history of the name “schwa.” Apparently, “schwa” used to have a schwa in it and then it stopped, which I now think is even better. The word “schwa” is from the Hebrew /ʃva/ for which the classical pronunciation was apparently /ʃəwa/.

Lauren: Ah, so before modern Hebrew, it had a schwa in it. It was like /ʃəwa/?

Gretchen: Exactly. /ʃwa/, /ʃəwa/ – maybe we should start calling it /ʃəwa/ because then it would have a /ʃəwa/ in it.

Lauren: Amazing. I think one of the things I like about the name of schwa is that the name itself encapsulates its history.

Gretchen: Yeah. Initially /ʃva/ or /ʃəwa/ is the name of one of the sets of dots that indicates this sound – because Hebrew writing, along with Arabic, are normally written with just the consonants. Then, if you want to indicate what the vowels are, you can add these extra little dots and bits above and below the consonants which, most of the time, aren’t used but are sometimes used for children or for contexts where you wanna be super precise. One of the names of these sets of dots indicating the vowels is /ʃəwa/, which was used to indicate either the /ə/ sound, the schwa sound itself, or /ɛɪ/, which in most languages the /ɛɪ/ sound is written with what English calls a letter E. If you think of the /ɛː/ as in /kæfɛɪ/ or /foɹtɛɪ/, those Es are that /ɛɪ/ sound. This kind of explains to me why it’s an upside-down E and not an upside-down literally any other vowel because every vowel letter can become a schwa sound because in this origin it could be used for either one of these two sounds.

Lauren: Nifty. Even though it’s pronounced /ʃva/ in modern Hebrew, the spelling of “schwa” itself is actually from the German spelling for it. I think this was one of the reasons I like the name “schwa” is that it encapsulates its history being borrowed from Hebrew orthography. Then, in the 19th Century, a lot of German linguists used it for that sound. That S-C-H spelling is the German spelling rather than any other language. Most satisfyingly, it was first used by a guy called Schmeller who has his name spelt S-C-H as well.

Gretchen: Johann Andreas Schmeller, who also used the schwa. Maybe that’s why he liked it.

Lauren: It became big in the 19th Century and definitely by the end of the 19th Century/Early 20th Century it was being used in texts to represent that sound.

Gretchen: Schwa is also very common in German. A lot of words that end in E in German have that E pronounced as a schwa. The name what in English would be Gabe – the German name /gaːbə/ – that /ə/ at the end is also a schwa.

Lauren: It definitely pops up in a lot of languages because it’s quite efficient.

Gretchen: You also get this optional schwa sound with Es at the end of the word in French. You can have /lɔ̃ːg/ but also /lɔ̃ːgə/, which is the word for “long.” There’s an E there that can be optionally pronounced. When it is pronounced, it’s pronounced kind of like schwa. This gets to something interesting because German and French have these schwas that are spelled with the letter E at the end of a lot of their words. English, instead, has these completely silent Es at the end of a lot of its words.

Lauren: The bane of all children learning to read in English – the silent E.

Gretchen: Oooh, “bane.” There’s an example! Words like “bane” and “fame” and “fine” and “bone” and “meme” – that one is not one that I learned when I was in Grade 4 spelling class. There’re all these words that end in silent E in English. The rule that I learned when I was in Grade 5 spelling class was the silent E makes the vowel say its own name.

Lauren: Oh, I like that. I never learnt that. That’s very handy, trying to get your head around the rules of reading English.

Gretchen: Yeah. It’s really nice.

Lauren: I’m really jealous that I never learnt that very efficient way of thinking about what E was doing.

Gretchen: But it’s a rule that’s kind of unsatisfying to me as a linguist now because why should adding an extra vowel to the end of the word change how the vowel in the middle of the word is being pronounced? That’s something that I found unsatisfying as a budding linguist. What sort of process is that?

Lauren: I am going – I mean, I know the answer. But if I had not known the answer, I would’ve taken a wild guess at it being retrospectively attempting to make sense of a historical process by pretending that there’s some kind of reason for it.

Gretchen: I mean, that’s not not what’s going on.

Lauren: The reason why they had to retrospectively come up with this rule is because the E used to be pronounced. It used to be pronounced as our friend schwa. They weren’t just one syllable words. The were two syllable words. It was /banə/ – “bane” – and /famə/ and /hamə/.

Gretchen: Oh, so the schwa actually used to be pronounced there. You’d get, instead of “fine,” like /fɪnə/. Instead of “fame,” /famə/. Instead of “home,” /hoʊmə/ or something like that.

Lauren: Yes. You had two syllables instead of one syllable that we have now for “fine,” “fame,” “home.” Those syllables started with a consonant, ended with a vowel. Then, over time, that schwa comes off at the end. It’s not as easy to always pronounce it – a bit like with the French example. In French at the moment, you can pronounce it, or you don’t have to. It’s starting to erode away at the end of a word. That was the process that happened in English.

Gretchen: Right. This is really interesting because in English and in other Germanic languages as well there’s a difference between the kinds of vowels that you can have in a syllable where there’s a consonant at the end and in a syllable where there isn’t. We have English words “hid” and “hide,” which have /ɪ/ and /ɑɪ/ in them both between H and D. But there’s a word like “hi,” but there isn’t a word in English /hɪ/ or /fɪ/ or /kɪ/ or /mɪ/ even though all of these can be perfectly good as long as there’s another consonant in them.

Lauren: This is where the rules of English syllables interact with the rules of what sounds can go into them. We used to have two syllables in words like “fine” and “fame,” and now we have one. That little E sits there to remind us as a written fossil even though we don’t pronounce it anymore.

Gretchen: It reminds us that the vowel that’s in this first syllable, which is now the only syllable, is the kind that can exist without a consonant after it. Because we can have a word like /hɑɪ/ and not a word like /hɪ/, if there’s that E at the end – you have /hɑɪd/ or something – then that reminds us – and by “us” I mean people who know this history, which is not most modern contemporary English speakers – that this is the kind of word that has the vowel that can exist in open syllables.

Lauren: For the rest of us, it’s just a handy way to spell properly.

Gretchen: There was a special reason why it was schwa that was so easily lost at the end of all of these words like “fine” and “home” and “hide.” That’s because schwa is what’s known as a “reduced vowel.” It’s physically produced for a shorter amount of time than a full vowel like /ɑɪ/ or /i/ or even /ɪ/.

Lauren: It’s what allows us to just sneak it in really quickly in syllables that we’re not really focusing on.

Gretchen: If we produce some syllables faster or quieter than other ones, those faster or quieter symbols tend to also have schwas.

Lauren: This is why schwa crops up in all of these words regardless of what vowel they’re spelt with. I’m pretty sure Lauren who really struggled to spell words because she couldn’t distinguish the vowel because it was being pronounced with schwa when she was learning to spell would’ve said, “Why don’t we just spell all the words with schwa and be done with it?” That wouldn’t be the most practical solution.

Gretchen: The problem is, if we respell English to be consistent and every time we say schwa we write schwa, it works in the short term because we have this transparent relationship between the sound and spelling, which is nice. But the annoying thing – this fact that you can write any English vowel letter for the sound schwa – is also a fact about the structure of English. There are all these words that are related to each other where we can see that relationship more clearly based on the spelling than we can sometimes with the pronunciation. The spelling can help us notice when words are related to each other. If we take up a word pair like “acid” and “acidity” –

Lauren: “Acid” and “acidity.” Well, that -ity bit on the end of “acid” that turns it into “acidity” also changes the vowel to a schwa.

Gretchen: Yeah. /æsɪd/ and /əsɪdəti/ – in the first one we have /æ/ as the first vowel and in the second one we have /ə/. Yet, it still seems pretty intuitive that these words are related to each other. It’s just that when we do have this -ity on the end, we pronounce the main word – instead of /æsɪd/, we say /əsɪd/.

Lauren: It would be inconvenient in the even medium turn to lose the relationship between, say, “courage” and “courageous” just because we have that -ous on the end of “courageous.”

Gretchen: It’s the same thing there. /kʌɹəd͡ʒ/ – the second syllable -age, there’s a schwa. But /kʌɹɛɪd͡ʒəs/ – now there’s a different vowel there. It’s just because we’ve added the -ous on the end. Yet, it’s nice that these two words that are very clearly related to each other still look the same.

Lauren: I guess it’s particularly true as well of those word pairs in English that only differ because of stress. Like /ˈɹɛˌkəɹd/ and /ˌɹəˈkoɹd/ – only different because of stress. Then, we’d be spelling them differently because each one has a schwa in the opposite place.

Gretchen: /ˈɹɛˌkəɹd/ – the schwa is in the /-əɹd/. /ˌɹəˈkoɹd/ – your schwa is in the /ɹə-/. You’d have to /ʃwap/ the – swap the [stutters] /ʃwaz/ – /ʃwap/ the /ʃwʌz/? Wow. That’s really hard to say. Swap the schwas. You wouldn’t know what vowel to recover from the syllable once you started stressing it. It’s the same thing with -ity and -ous. When you make “acid” into “acidity” and “courage” into “courageous,” instead of stressing the /æ/ and the /kəɹ/, you’re stressing the /ɪd/ and the /æd͡ʒ/, if you will.

Lauren: Adding the extra bit to the word shifts where the stress is.

Gretchen: It’s these unstressed syllables where schwa – not every unstressed syllable in English is a schwa, but a heck of a lot of them are.

Lauren: I think we’ll keep the spelling system as it is.

Gretchen: This was something that always used to come up for me back when I used to teach Intro to Linguistics. People would be trying to write things in the International Phonetic Alphabet for the very first time, so they’d go through each word, and they’d say it really slowly and carefully. What that would mean is that instead of saying /əsɪdəti/, they’d say something like /æsɪdɪti/. Okay. Or, instead of saying /kʌɹəd͡ʒ/, /kʌɹɛɪd͡ʒəs/, they’d have /kʌɹɛɪd͡ʒʌs/, /kʌɹɹɛd͡ʒ/.

Lauren: They’ve gone back to stressing every syllable, so the schwas evaporate.

Gretchen: Right! They’d write these words and they’d have no schwas in them all over the place. You’d have to say, “You can say this word like this -- if you’re really saying it slowly and carefully, and you were saying each syllable at once maybe to help someone spell it, you do have the full vowel there some level,” psychologically, for a lot of people, especially because of the spelling that’s influencing you to tell you it’s there. But in normal speech at a regular pace, most of the time you do say schwas a lot. It’s an interesting tension where many of our schwas actually represent a sound that we could recover if you say the word slowly and carefully enough, which is also a reason to keep the spelling where it is because there is some psychological reality to the non-schwa version as well.

Lauren: This discussion is very English-focused, I should say, because it’s something that English seems to do in particular in terms of having this kind of stress and this reducing to schwa on unstressed syllables. In fact, it’s a fairly prominent feature of the English accent. I imagine it’s something that gets transferred when English speakers are learning to speak other languages. It’s probably the closest I’ve come to having the ability to understand what the English accent in other languages must sound like to native speakers of those languages. They must just think that we’re failing to hear vowels all over the place.

Gretchen: “Why do all of your vowels become the same vowel?” I think the inverse is also the case is that it’s one of the trickiest things for people who are learning English from a language that doesn’t do this, which is most of them, to do is be constantly trying to hit this vowel that I don’t even have. “Don’t you want your vowels to all be very distinct from each other?” Schwa or not schwa is this very English thing. The stress part about it being very important which syllable’s stressed and which part of which word is stressed – that’s also a very English thing. I find the most interesting place to notice how important stress is in English is when it comes to poetry.

Lauren: Sure. Because a lot of poetry relies on having certain numbers of syllables. Using stress is one way to explore the rhythm of a poem or a poetic construction.

Gretchen: Right. Some of the oldest English Mother Goose rhymes, nursery rhymes, have a consistent number of stressed bits per line rather than a consistent number of syllables. If you have something like “Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock.” There’s three stress bits per line, but the number of syllables is quite different. The same thing with limericks in English, it’s not that there’s the same number of syllables in each line, it’s that the stress pattern is you have to have three stressed syllables, three stressed syllables, two stress, two stress, three stress. You can do that with a varying number of actual syllables in it. Something like, “There once was a man from Nantucket,” three stresses – “once,” “man,” “tuck.” Nine syllables. But “A tutor who tooted the flute,” also three stress – “tu,” “too,” “flute.” That’s eight syllables. And “A wonderful bird is the pelican,” ten syllables but still three stresses.

Lauren: It’s funny. My brain is so tuned to listening to the stress in these, I actually found it hard to count the syllables as you were going because I was so tuned into the limerick structure of stress.

Gretchen: A lot of very English-y poetry styles, as long as you get the stress right, you can really mess with the syllables because English pays a lot of attention to the stress. Whereas, in French, they don’t have this individual, unpredictable stress at the word level the way English does at all. There’s no /ˈɹɛˌkəɹd/ versus /ˌɹəˈkoɹd/ in French. Everything just gets a bit of stress at the end of the phrase or sentence or utterance or whatever you’re saying. You might say something like “Bonjour,” but you could also say, “Bonjour, comment ça va?” and you just stress the “jour” or the “va.” You don’t have to go anywhere in between and stress anything else. This means that French poetry can’t do this stress counting thing because there’s no stresses for them to count.

Lauren: Ah. Normally, I spend a lot of time going, “Oh, poor English speakers. They’re missing out.” But poor French speakers! They’re missing out on limericks.

Gretchen: I really don’t know how you do a limerick in French. I think you’d have to pick a number of syllables that is approximately equivalent and just do that.

Lauren: We talked about this schwa-syllable relationship being very English-focused for this episode, but it’s not the only language in which schwa appears and is a little bit easy to drop once you have reduced the pronunciation of schwa. French was one example you had. In Indo-Aryan languages as well – these are the languages of the same Into-European family as English but they’re over on the Indian subcontinent, so Hindi. I know about this because I had to learn Nepali. They have schwa as a vowel. A bit like the Hebrew writing system, for this vowel in particular, they just don’t write it down. You have to know when to pronounce this vowel by memorising. For some languages in the family it’s just gone altogether. It’s another example of how schwa in some languages can be really eroded. But not in all languages.

Gretchen: This is actually true in Miꞌkmaq as well, which is an Algonquian language spoken in Eastern Canada. In their writing system they use the apostrophe to represent the schwa sound, but the apostrophe is only added when the schwa is quote-unquote “unpredictable.” If you can predict the schwa, then you just put in the schwa where you know it’s supposed to go because as a speaker you say it. Of course, I am not very good – I don’t speak Miꞌkmaq so I’m not particularly good at predicting where it goes.

Lauren: Unpredictable schwa is almost cooler than unstressed schwa.

Gretchen: You can kind of predict it. Speakers actually know how to do it properly, but it’s not always represented in the writing system which is, I guess, something it has in common with Nepali.

Lauren: Schwa has so many cheeky personalities.

Gretchen: Schwa also shows up in English – speaking of being cheeky – as the vowel sound that people end up producing, if you’re an English speaker, when you’re trying not to make any vowel sound at all. If you’re trying to say the sound that the letter B makes, but you don’t wanna say B, you just wanna say that sound by itself, you probably end up with /bə/, which is still a vowel, it’s just schwa. Because that’s the least vowel you can make.

Lauren: Just adding a little bit so you can get that /bə/ across.

Gretchen: Yeah. It also shows up sometimes in people’s names. I knew somebody called /ksɛnjə/ and a lot of English speakers couldn’t pronounce that /ksə/, the KS, at the beginning of her name, so a lot of people ended up saying /kəsɛnjə/ by inserting a little schwa between because that was how they were able to keep both the K and the S.

Lauren: Very handy. Although, I like unpredictable schwa in Miꞌkmaq, one of the best things about schwa popping up in the particular context of unstressed syllables in English means that schwa is set up for being just a really great source of jokes because, when it comes to English, schwa is never stressed. I think that’s a life motto we can all get behind.

Gretchen: This means that there are people who’ve made t-shirts saying, “I want to be a schwa, it’s never stressed.”

Lauren: There’s a great photo from Sandy Abuadas who has made cookies for her students with schwa on them so that her students’ finals will be stressless.

Gretchen: I love it! It’s so good.

Lauren: It was very cute.

Gretchen: I think the stress part – in the technical sense, there’s this very tempting pun with the stress part in the vernacular sense.

Lauren: I think because it’s a sound that is everywhere and ubiquitous but, until you study linguistics, you don’t know that it is all around you. Not only is it around you, but it has its own symbol and it has its own name. I think that’s why it’s a classic linguist iconography to have fun with.

Gretchen: I hope that learning about schwa has not been stressful!

[Music]

Lauren: For more Lingthusiasm and links to all the things mentioned in this episode, go to lingthusiasm.com. You can listen to us on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, SoundCloud, or wherever else you get your podcasts. You can follow @Lingthusiasm on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. You can get IPA scarves, IPA ties, and other Lingthusiasm merch at lingthusiasm.com/merch. I tweet and blog as Superlinguo.

Gretchen: I can be found at @GretchenAMcC on Twitter, my blog is AllThingsLinguistic.com, and my book about internet language is called Because Internet. Have you listened to all the Lingthusiasm episodes and you wish there were more? You can get access to over 30 bonus episodes to listen to right now at patreon.com/lingthusiasm or follow the links from our website. Patrons also get access to our Discord chatroom to talk with other linguistics fans and other rewards. Recent bonus episodes include synaesthesia, numbers, teaching linguistics, and a robo-generated episode of Lingthusiasm. Can’t afford to pledge? That’s okay, too. We also really appreciate it if you could recommend Lingthusiasm to anyone who needs a little more linguistics in their life.

Lauren: Lingthusiasm is created and produced by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our senior producer is Claire Gawne, our editorial producer is Sarah Dopierala, and our music is “Ancient City” by The Triangles.

Gretchen: Stay lingthusiastic!

[Music]

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

#lingthusiasm #language #linguistics #episode 44 #transcripts #podcast #schwa #IPA #International Phonetic Alphabet #stress #merch #never stressed

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padawanlost · 4 years

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I thought it was less ‘choosing not to talk about it’ and more ‘the Jedi want him to disconnect from his past and won’t let him talk about it’ or am i misremembering?

It’s both. Anakin’s ‘I don’t want to talk about my past’ behavior is a result of his inability to express himself without being reprimanded and his unwillingness to face his trauma. When he was a kid Anakin was pretty open about his thoughts and feelings. The isolation he experience as an adult was a learned behavior. Anakin was always proud and refused to allow his slave status to be used against him, something he learned from Shmi. But he wasn’t ashamed of it either. He openly talked about his past with complete strangers when he was a kid.

They sat down to eat Shmi’s dinner a short while after, the storm still howling without, an eerie backdrop of sound against the silence within. Qui-Gon and Padmé occupied the ends of the table, while Anakin, Jar Jar, and Shmi sat at its sides. Anakin, in the way of small boys, began talking about life as a slave, in no way embarrassed to be doing so, thinking of it only as a fact of his life and anxious to share himself with his new friends. Shmi, more protective of her son’s station, was making an effort to help their guests appreciate the severity of their situation. [Terry Brooks. The Phantom Menace]

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Anakin replied, “Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of resentment in Anakin’s voice. He hadn’t considered that Anakin, because of his experience on Tatooine, might be sensitive to calling anyone Master. Obi-Wan sighed, then said, “Please don’t think it gives me pleasure to admonish you, Padawan. I can only imagine what it was like for you to grow up as a slave, and I —” “Do you ever miss your mother?” Anakin interrupted. The question caught Obi-Wan off guard, but he recovered fast to answer, “No. No, I don’t. I never knew her, not really. I was still an infant when I arrived here, at the Temple.” “Then maybe we can make a deal,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan could tell that the boy was trying to keep his voice from trembling. “You won’t feel sorry for me because I was once a slave, and I won’t feel sorry for you because you don’t miss your mother.” [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Fear, hatred, anger. . The old trio Anakin fought every day of his life, though he revealed his deepest emotions to only one man: Obi-Wan Kenobi, his master in the Jedi Temple. The Blood Carver stooped slightly on his three-jointed legs. "You smell like a slave," he said softly, for Anakin's ears alone. It was all Anakin could do to keep from throwing off his wings and going for the Blood Carver's long throat. He swal lowed his emotions down into a private cold place and stored them with the other dark things left over from Tatooine. The Blood Carver was on target with his insult, which stiffened Anakin's anger and made it harder to control himself. Both he and his mother, Shmi, had been slaves to the supercilious junk dealer, Watto. When the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn had won him from Watto, they had had to leave Shmi behind. . something Anakin thought about every day of his life. [Greg Bear. Rogue Planet]

The Blood Carver was not helping. His irritation at the delay was apparently being channeled into ragging the human boy at his side, and Anakin was soon going to have to put up some sort of defense to show he was not just a stage prop. "I hate the smell of a slave," the Blood Carver said. "I wish you'd stop saying that," Anakin said. The closest thing he had to a weapon was his small welder, pitiful under the circumstances. The Blood Carver outmassed him by many tens of kilos."I refuse to compete with a lower order of being, a slave. It brings disgrace upon my people, and upon we." "What makes you think I'm a slave?" Anakin asked as mildly as he could manage and not appear even more vulnerable. [Greg Bear. Rogue Planet]

The Blood Carver had hurt Obi-Wan, threatened Jabitha, called Anakin a slave. For these things there was no possible redemption. [...] "What will you do, slave boy?" It was the connection Anakin had sought, the link between his anger and his power. Like a switch being thrown, a circuit being connected, he returned full circle to the pit race, to the sting he had felt with the Blood Carver's first insult, with the first unfair and sneaky move that had sent Anakin tumbling off the apron. Then, back farther, to the dingy slave quarters on Tatooine, to the Boonta Eve Podrace and the treachery of the Dug, and to the last sight of Shmi, still in bondage to the disgusting Watto, to all the insults and injuries and shames and night sweats and disgrace piled upon disgrace that he had never asked for, never deserved, and had borne with almost infinite patience.[Greg Bear. Rogue Planet]

Obi-Wan could not reassure Anakin that his words were spoken out of haste. He was worried about the effect of this mission on Anakin. If they did engage with Krayn, Anakin's deepest emotions would be tapped. Obi-Wan knew his Padawan had not begun to truly deal with the years of shame and anger he had passed as a slave. Someday he would confront this. Obi-Wan fervently wished that day to be in the future, after Anakin had honed his training. Yet he had the feeling that this was exactly why Mace Windu and Yoda had chosen them. It was not the first time Obi-Wan had suspected the Council of being too harsh. [Jude Watson. Path to Truth]

"The planet's leader, Aga Culpa, has made an agreement with Krayn that its people will remain free in exchange for Krayn's control of the factories," Mazie explained. "There is not much honest work on Nar Shaddaa, and the guards are well paid. So tell me, how do you come to be here? Is this your first experience as a slave?" "I was free when I was captured, but I was raised as a slave on Tatooine," Anakin said. [Jude Watson. Book 01 - Path to Truth]

"Lying again," Deland said to Anakin. "No human can be a Podracer." "One was," Doby said. "A human child. A slave. He won his freedom, and after the race he disappeared. His name was — " "Anakin Skywalker," Anakin supplied. "Pleased to meet you." "Now you're a Jedi?" Doby asked in disbelief. "And you were a slave?" "It's a strange galaxy," Anakin said with a grin. [...] "I'm sorry that your sister is a slave," Anakin said. "Do you know Shmi, my mother? She's a slave, too. Or she was, when I saw her last." [Jude Watson. Dangerous Games]

Unfortunately, over the years Anakin became more private about his feelings. You can see the difference between his interactions with stranges and with Jedi. He was much more open about his past with people he didn’t know. And that’s not an accident. It was a change even Obi-wan noticed.

When they’d met, Anakin had been a warm-hearted nine-year-old boy with an open nature. He was twelve and a half now, and the years had changed him. He had grown to be a boy who hid his heart. [Jedi Apprentice Special Edition: Deceptions by Jude Watson]

Obi-Wan crouched by him. “This isn’t work, Anakin. It’s a hobby. And if you are using it to keep distance between you and your fellow students, it’s not a helpful one.” [...] “They don’t want me,” Anakin said flatly. He walked over and slung the legs of the protocol droid under one arm. “I’m not like them.” Obi-Wan couldn’t argue. Anakin was unique. There was no question about that. He was an exceptional student, much more in tune with the Force than others his age. He had come late to the Temple. It wasn’t that the other students disliked him, they just didn’t know what to make of him. [Jedi Apprentice Special Edition: Deceptions by Jude Watson]

When did it happen? Obi-Wan wondered again. Why did it happen? Was it the loss of his mother, followed so closely by the death of Qui-Gon? Obi-Wan could not replace those people in Anakin’s heart, nor did he wish to. He had hoped that with Jedi training and their own relationship, Anakin would come to find peace. He had not. [Jedi Apprentice Special Edition: Deceptions by Jude Watson]

Anakin’s inability to talk about his past was something Obi-wan recognized as ‘damage’.

[...] Obi-Wan stifled a sigh. Oh Anakin. This was about his childhood. Again. About the indelible fingerprints slavery had left on his soul and his psyche. Qui-Gon, did you never once stop to think of that? Did it never occur to you the damage might run too deep? “Anakin—” Anakin flicked him a frustrated look. “I know you think you understand. I know you want to understand. But if you haven’t lived it, Obi-Wan, you can’t. And you never will.” They really shouldn’t be talking. Even keeping their voices low almost to whispering, it was dangerous. But if he shut down the conversation now, if he refused to hear what Anakin had to say, he’d pile damage upon damage. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Anakin was hurt by his past and his inability and unwillingness to openly discuss it was harming him. And, as we can see above, that didn’t happen naturally. It was the result of years of jedi training (and bullying).

“Thank you, sir,” Anakin said in a quiet voice. Palpatine interlinked the fingers of his hands. “I’m told that you grew up on Tatooine. I visited there, many years ago.” Anakin’s eyes narrowed for the briefest moment. “I did, sir, but I’m not supposed to talk about that.” Palpatine watched him glance up at Obi-Wan. “And why is that?” “My mother—” “Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped in reprimand. [James Luceno. Darth Plagueis]

But Anakin is not aware of that. As a character he can’t be that self-aware. So he rationalizes it as a behavior he chose. It’s much easier for him to admit he can’t talk about something because it might hurt than it’s to admit the tragedy of his life. After 10 years of burying the trauma from slavery from the Jedi in his life, it’s only nature he’d hide it from Ahsoka too.

#ask #anon #sw meta #meta: anakin #anakin skywalker #txt #gffa slavery

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robynmarkius · 4 years

Text

Language Differences

So I have a bit of a long ramble, which involves Spoilers for the end of 5.3; obviously. Some of it’s already out there as I replied on mobile while half asleep, but it led to talking to the lovely @shiro-from-cafeberry about the German text. (Once again, thank you so much! I enjoy talking to you! :D <3 I have discovered I have even more questions for you to help with. lol) I then bothered my friend and co-writer @xehniscreations about French and she said it’d be a good practice to shake off the rust. (She ended up translating the whole ending scene for practice! <33 lol )

This all started because I am married to a man who has a degree in Linguistics and a simple questioning of one line/part led to hours of jokes and discussions. Which then turned into me putting my game client into two languages that I don’t speak a word of just to see what a character said... XD And! And! Learning a few other things along the way. I’ve been having so much fun with this and I hope you all can too. Plopping a cut here so as not to completely destroy anyone still trying to avoid Spoilers... or those who want to prepare some tissues. lol

I have cried a lot in the process of this entire Translation, and keep crying. lol As long as this post/translator ramble got, I made sure to post the ‘screenshot comic’, “Remnant” [as its own post] for the sake of focus. That was the scene that started this trip down the rabbit hole, after all. xD

After three days of editing this post, I decided to split it, so that this was just the ending scene. There’s flashbacks I also covered, but this was getting extremely long and I realize that I had not asked Shiro about the first flashback at all! So I still have things to finish and more to talk about before I have more.

For now, though, let’s talk!

Part One: Elidibus’ Explanation

The lines in question came from when Elidibus picked up the crystals, then told us he heard the voices of despair/cries and lamentations of his friends. After which there’s a slightly awkward explanation about how there were lots of opinions and thoughts about the world/star, which led to Elidibus pulling himself free of Zodiark in order to help his friends. It bothered Hubs because it felt kinda “clunky”; he explained:

“I think it’s because of a general norm of Japanese society we hear so much about. That it’s important to have a consensus and not to stir up trouble or stick out too much; which is how that part kind of reads. Your direct Translation is fine. I just feel like the localization team just kinda gave up when they wrote the English version. They could have give a little more context on it when they wrote it. Instead, what happens is, it feels out of place and awkward where it is. It also doesn’t give the context of when Elidibus freed himself from Zodiark. Is there any context that says that wasn’t when Hydaelyn shattered the star into the reflections or Shards?”

Putting aside his question about when Elidibus actually separated from Zodiark for now; as that’s a whole ‘nother discussion that’s rather interesting; I finally understood what he meant by my Translation felt clunky. It was accurate to a “direct translation” versus a “localization”. I re-translated the whole part just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, and made sure that the final lines I wrote in English still made sense. lol

First, I wanted to note the differences in terms; in case I slip when putting this together. ^^; The literal translation of 「十四人委員会」 would be "Fourteen-person Committee"; but in the context of FF14, (at least in English,) we call it the "Convocation of Fourteen", so I try to stick with that for final translations. What makes anything with the Ancients more difficult, is that they're not speaking a language that we can immediately understand, but rather making sounds that our Echo/超える力/l'Écho/Kraft des Transzendierens interprets into words we/the WoL/WoD can understand. The downside is lack of clarification for actual translation if you don't fluently read or speak another language. lol

For example, when Elidibus speaks, we hear the words spoken, so if there's a kanji that's said more than one way, I can hear which definition is correct by listening to the sentence. But the Ancients' "woop woop wop wah wahp woo" is harder to interpret... but, at least it's the same in every language, right? XD For German, they have “The Convent”, and French has “The Council of Fourteen”.

Second, in English, we called him “The Emissary”, which is another term for “Mediator; Arbitrator; Go-Between” which is the definition of the term 調停者 [shouteisha] , his Japanese title. When translating from German, Shiro used the term “The Advocate”. His French title is “le Médiateur” His role seems to be the same, at least, he settled disputes, found the facts, kept things in check, and generally maintained balance. That was the seat of Elidibus; which is necessary to understand why he said what he said about being needed. (Those titles come from the first flashback as well as the second one; which I’ll get to in the next post. <3 )

The English lines that started this conversation are: “Divided -- over the fate of the star. A rare occurrence, always fleeting. But not this time. Not this time... Reconciliation. Elidibus. I was needed. I withdrew myself from Zodiark. For them...”

Japanese: 世界の行く末について、たくさんの意見が出た…… そんなことは珍しいから、委員会のみんなが悩んでいた。

だったら、エリディブスが手助けしに行かないと…… そう思って、ゾディアークから零れ落ちたんだ。

Final Translation: (after edits and all this discussion) "A great many opinions were expressed regarding the fate of the world, Everyone in the Convocation was troubled, since such a thing was unusual.

That being the case, I could not go help them in my role as Emissary. I believed that they needed Elidibus, so I pulled myself from Zodiark.”

In French, from Xehnis: "Le Concile avait perdu sa cohésion...Face à l’anéantissement, les avis divergeaient sur la marche à suivre pour sauver notre planéte…

Ça ne leur ressemblait pas...Plus que jamais, ils avaient besoin d’Elidibus...Ils avaient besoin de moi...Alors, je me suis détaché de Zordiarche pour voler à leur secours…”

Her final translation: “The Council had lost its cohesion...In the face of annihilation, opinions differed on the way to save our planet…

It does not resemble them...more than ever, they needed Elidibus...they needed me....so, I detached from Zordiark to fly to their aid…”

The German lines, from Cafe Berry’s Shiro, along with the explanations: "Die Zukunft der Welt hing in der Schwebe und Chaos machte sich breit. Die Ascians waren zutiefst gespalten. Der Konvent uneins..."

Here, they are talking about how the Ascians, and most importantly, the convent is divided. How the future of the world was not clear and with that chaos spread.

"Elidibus, der Fürsprecher, musste etwas tun. Ich musste etwas tun. Und so spaltete ich mich wieder von Zodiark ab ..."

Here, Elidibus says that Elidibus, as the Emissary, had to do something. HE had to do something. So he split off from Zodiark.

Their translation they gave me then, was: "The future of the world hung in the balance and chaos spread. The Ascians were deeply divided. The convent divided ...

Elidibus, the advocate, had to do something. I had to do something. And so I split off from Zodiark again ... "

This was the part that my husband had called into question; with my original translation to:

"Many opinions and thoughts came forth, regarding the fate of our world.... The Convocation was worried, as such a thing was unusual."

世界の行く末について、たくさんの意見が出た…… そんなことは珍しいから、委員会のみんなが悩んでいた。

The literal translation of it all, would be: "The world's future/fate concerning/regarding, a great many/a lot (of) comments were brought up/expressed......

such thing(s) are/is curious/rare/unusual because/since, committee of everyone("Everyone on the Committee") (was/were actively being) troubled/worried.”

There was also the lines that followed, which were also rough to word in English, so the whole section had felt awkward.

だったら、エリディブスが手助けしに行かないと…… そう思って、ゾディアークから零れ落ちたんだ。

“if that's the case, Elidibus (from) assistance (as/in the role of) to go/to do (could not),

so/appearing that/seeming that considered/believed/reckoned/judged/decided/desired, Zodiark (from) spilled over/scattered from (n'da - 'no desu' / 'no da' used to add emphasis)"

I had tried: "I decided that they needed Elidibus, but as I was I couldn't help them, so I pulled myself away from Zodiark.

Which was another way to put the idea of: "That being the case, Elidibus could not go rescue/help, I believed, then spilled and fell over/scattered from Zodiark."

It ended up: "A great many thoughts and opinions were expressed regarding the fate of the world, Everyone on the Committee was troubled, since such a thing was unusual.If that was the case, I could not give them assistance in the role of Arbitrator. I believed that they needed Elidibus, so I fell/scattered from Zodiark."

In the end, for this part, it really helped to learn what was said in French and German, because it helped solidify more what was trying to be said, and that there probably is at least a little societal influence in the Japanese text. If it hadn’t been for Xehnis and Shiro’s assistance, I probably wouldn’t have landed on something that felt comfortable enough in English. <3

They all feel different, but have the same general idea: that even after Zodiark was summoned; and Elidibus became his Heart; things hadn’t been fixed. Things continued to grow worse, and they began to fight, and have conflict. As Arbitrator/Emissary/Advocate/Mediator, Elidibus’ job was to maintain balance, and settle disputes, but he could no longer do the job of his seat as the Heart of Zodiark, and it seemed to be destroying the Convocation; making things worse; so he yanked himself out of a Primal to go tell everyone to SIMMER DOWN, NOW.

Sidenote/Side Question here... I wonder what happened with Venat and Hydaelyn...? Perhaps we’ll get clarification in the future, as the only person who’s become/been anything like Elidibus has been Minfilia as the ‘Words of the Mother’, then sent off as an “Emissary” of sorts to the First. lol

This all led to wondering about the last line; as it was clearly different in the Japanese Audio than the English Text. I do want to state that I think what they did in English worked just as well for the emotional gut punch intended from Elidibus’ last words; but it’s very different. It did lead to looking at the flashback in Anemnesis Anyder where we heard the line about the rain, which will be in the next post.

English: “The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day. But you are not here to see it.”

Japanese: 私が最後に残ったって……仕方ないじゃないか……。 Translation: “There’s nothing for it then, is there? I’m the last one left...”

French: Je devais partir en dernier... Comment aurais-je pu abandonner mes amis, esseulés en ce bas monde? Translation: “I had to leave last...how could I abandon (forsake) my friends, lonely in this lowly world?”

German: Es ist vorbei ... Alles verloren ... Ich bin der Letzte ... Translation: "It is over. Everything lost... I am the last..."

Japanese can also be read as “I’m the last one left... I guess it can’t be helped, huh?” but even in context, it didn’t flow quite as well as I’d like.. but that doesn’t take away from the crying, does it... ; A; I got the term “Remnant” from Japanese, where “watashi ga saigo ni nokotta tte” would literally translate to “I’m the final remnant”/”I’m the last leftover”, which I did word as “I’m the last one remaining/left.” (It is also 'Sumo term, cried by the referee to indicate that a rikishi is still in the ring’, but that didn’t quite feel right here, however, you can take the sumo joke if you’d like. <3)

I’m going to repeat that I think referring back to the line he was told back when he’d gotten the title of Elidibus wasn’t bad, and it did still work very well to convey that lost, lonely, longing he was left with as a remnant; what little was left of him, lamented the loss of his beloved people; people that he’d just wanted to save. This is evidenced in French and German; where he states that he’s all that’s left, everything is lost, it is over... that he had to go last, so he wouldn’t abandon his friends.

I appreciate that we gave Elidibus all the constellation stones, which, in a way, let him finally be with all of his friends once more. All the stones, except for ours; we kept that, because Hades made it for us. He made it for us to remember, so that the story of the Ancients wouldn’t be forgotten; the ‘truth’ he made sure he told us when we asked about the past.

At least, that’s what I choose to believe for now.

[Next Post >>]

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dippedanddripped · 4 years

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For more than a year, Los Angeles-based streetwear designer Tremaine Emory had been working with Converse on a red, green and black sneaker inspired by Jamaican political activist and Black nationalist Marcus Garvey’s Pan-African flag and artist David Hammons’ 1990 work “African-American Flag,” an original of which was acquired by the Broad museum in Los Angeles last year.

Emory’s brand, Denim Tears, tells the story of Black people in the United States starting in 1619, when the first documented enslaved Africans arrived in Virginia; according to the designer, the brand’s logo, a cotton plant, is a direct reference to slavery. That’s why the proposed packaging for his Converse sneaker collaboration depicts a coffin covered with Hammons’ flag and a cotton wreath, as a tribute to Black Americans who have died under unjust conditions. The image is based on an art installation, “A Proper Burial, Thanks America,” that Emory debuted in London last year.

However, in late May, as protests spread across the country after George Floyd’s death in police custody, Emory announced on Instagram that he and Denim Tears couldn’t go forward with the partnership until Converse’s parent company, Nike, went beyond its plan to donate $40 million over four years to support the Black community. (Michael Jordan, through his Nike subsidiary Jordan Brand, is donating an additional $100 million over 10 years.)

Emory called the move by Beaverton, Ore.,-based Nike, which reported $37.4 billion in revenue last fiscal year, a very expensive Band-Aid. He said he wanted to use his voice to push Nike to look inward at its own record on diversity and inclusion.

“It’s accountability,” Emory said in a phone interview. “It’s about Fortune 500 companies and how they are run under the guise of white supremacy and patriarchy and how I take accountability, that I need to see the steps — and brands that I work with dispensing that — or guys won’t work with me.”

In recent months, nearly all major industries, including entertainment, journalism and sports, have been forced to confront how closely their statements opposing systemic racism align with their treatment of Black and brown employees. The fashion industry, which has frequently been criticized for cultural appropriation, instances of blackface and a lack of diversity, is no different.

According to a count by trade publication Women’s Wear Daily, Black people make up only 4% — 19 out of 477 members — of the invitation-only Council of Fashion Designers of America, whose new chairman is Tom Ford. In an email to The Times, a CFDA spokesman said, “The CFDA does not record nor require members to state their race upon application, but it is estimated that members of color make up approximately 25% of the total membership.”

June 8, 2020

In anecdotal comments, Black streetwear designers from L.A. to New York told The Times that their subset of the fashion industry is no different.

“You can’t ignore the fact that there aren’t many Black brand owners in the streetwear space,” said Scott Sasso, who founded 10.Deep in 1995 while he was a student at Vassar. “And [at] some of the biggest companies, I don’t know if they’ve even had Black employees.”

Streetwear brands such as Denim Tears and 10.Deep offer casual clothing, primarily for men, that blend the styles of various subcultures, including hip-hop (as popularized in the 1990s by brands such as FUBU, Walker Wear and Phat Farm) as well as surf and skate motifs. It’s an identity that can be found in the clothing from brands such as Supreme and Stüssy. Instead of offering widely available, mass-produced products, streetwear brands tend to offer limited-edition drops for consumers who hear about companies through social media or by word of mouth.

Although Black style — from hip-hop to sneaker culture — has played a major role in shaping the fashion industry while bringing new designers and brands to prominence, Black fashion professionals and streetwear brand owners said in interviews with The Times that the clothing industry has failed to elevate and promote Black creatives in a way that reflects that influence.

Several designers also questioned the sincerity of corporations promising to invest in Black communities. They reflected on their own experiences trying to explain Black art to predominantly white company leaders.

Chicago-based designer Joe Freshgoods started selling T-shirts in high school and has been selling his designs out of Fat Tiger Workshop, the streetwear retail hub he co-owns, since 2013.

“I feel like a lot of these brands are in these boardrooms having these talks about how to fix this or how to just clean up their mistakes real fast, and it’s just like, ‘Hey, let’s just fill in the blanks real quick and see if this will make them happy,’” Freshgoods said.

He said he tried to include the logo of the Black Panther Party on a design for an Oakland-themed collaboration with an apparel brand last year. The company’s legal department rejected his proposal. At the time he went along with it, but now he’d push back, he said.

“A lot of Black collaborators are the reason why a lot of brands are super successful right now, so that’s a lot of power to have,” Freshgoods said.

Emory, who has partnered with New Balance and Levi’s, called on Nike to stop supporting Republicans while President Trump is the party’s leader. He also wants the company to release more information on its record of hiring Black employees and assist in “the defunding and total reform of all the police departments across America.”

Since his initial Instagram post in June, Emory has spoken to Converse Chief Executive G. Scott Uzzell or Uzzell’s team about a half dozen times over the phone or in video-conference meetings. In those discussions, Emory said the company acknowledged it hasn’t done everything it could in terms of creating a diverse corporate structure and laid out its hiring plan, especially in its executive suite. The designer said he discussed current initiatives at Nike to invest in Black communities and to address systemic racism and police brutality. “They want to get involved in all that, and we will see,” he said.

The release date for his red, black and green Converse sneaker has been moved up from February to October, ahead of the November election. Emory said the marketing for the shoe will focus on promoting voting. The shoe will be available in North America, Europe and online for $95 to $100.

“We respect and encourage the efforts of any collaborator or athlete we work with to raise their voice against racial injustice,” a Converse spokesperson said in a statement to The Times. “We have spoken with Tremaine and look forward to working through these issues together.”

At its core, streetwear is about authenticity and the personal connection between consumers and the designers and labels they love.

The push by larger brands and corporations — specifically in the fashion industry — to meet the current moment with statements, donations and new initiatives is in direct contrast to what many Black streetwear designers have been doing since the inception of their brands. Those designers have been hiring diverse staff, speaking up about political issues and infusing their works with references to Black culture.

“Now I feel like everybody’s rushing to make some type of relevant shirt or make some relevant message on their Instagram,” said Zac Clark, a Black designer who started his brand, FTP, while in high school in Los Angeles. “To me, a lot of this stuff right now seems very unnatural and just forced from a lot of these brands, so they won’t get ‘canceled.’”

Olivia Anthony, the designer behind the Livstreetwear brand, said the turning point for her New York-based company was her 2017 My Love Letter to Our Culture collection, which paid tribute to Black trends of the ’90s — think long nails, grills and slicked-down baby hairs — that were largely considered unfashionable until they were adopted by other races.

“It was so beautiful, but it was looked down upon,” said Anthony, adding that she wanted her brand to reflect how those Black trends, now featured in magazines including Vogue, have been “shown in a different light.”

Kacey Lynch said he created his South L.A.-based streetwear company, Bricks & Wood, after years of working at streetwear brands where he felt Black representation was missing.

“They wanted a lot from us, but they didn’t want to do the work, what it took to understand us,” Lynch said of his past employers. “Whether that’s Black culture, South-Central, minorities … wherever the cool came from, they all wanted it but they didn’t really know how to identify with it.”

In May 2019, fashion website Hypebeast and Strategy&, a consulting firm in the PwC network, released its Streetwear Impact Report, based on interviews with more than 40,000 Hypebeast readers and 700 global industry insiders. The survey found that 70% of respondents said they care about social issues, 59% said brand activism is important and 47% said they would stop shopping from a brand because of inappropriate behavior.

“It’s fine as a starting point for corporations to say, ‘This is what we stand for and this is what we believe,’” said Elena Romero, a fashion journalist and author of 2012’s “Free Stylin’: How Hip Hop Changed the Fashion Industry.”“But that’s not going to be enough.”

Romero, an assistant professor at New York’s Fashion Institute of Technology, said companies likely will face questions over where they invest their profits, the diversity of their staff and how they’ve helped build the communities from which their dollars are coming. She said many companies will realize they’ve fallen short because the answers to those questions weren’t a priority until their profits were at risk.

“Now the consumer is saying, ‘You can’t fool us anymore,’” she said. “If you’re not authentic and truly supporting the very same things that these young people believe, your business will suffer.”

The result has been an industrywide push to make those investments now but also to make amends for past inaction. After Black Adidas employees criticized the company’s response to racism, Adidas announced June 9 that it would add more diverse staff, start a scholarship program for Black employees and invest an additional $20 million over four years in programs that serve the Black community. A day later, Adidas upped its $20 million pledge to $120 million. (In addition to those changes at Adidas, the company’s global head of human resources, Karen Parkin, resigned at the end of June after facing criticism for her handling of racial discrimination.)

Adidas also apologized for its past silence. “For most of you, this message is too little, too late,” a tweet from the Adidas account read. “We’ve celebrated athletes and artists in the Black community and used their image to define ourselves culturally as a brand but missed the message in reflecting such little representation within our walls.”

In the broader fashion community, various organizations and members of the industry have offered different strategies for creating a more inclusive environment. Aurora James, a New York-based creative director, started the Fifteen Percent Pledge, which calls on companies to provide at least 15% of their shelf space or contracts to Black-owned businesses.

After the CFDA announced its plan to promote diversity, a group called the Kelly Initiative called for the CFDA to adopt its proposal to conduct and publish a census of diversity in the industry, audit its recruitment practices and release an annual list of top Black talent, the Kelly List. The initiative is named after the late Patrick Kelly, a Black fashion designer who rose to prominence in the 1980s with work that played with Black cultural symbols and racial stereotypes.

April Walker, whose New York brand Walker Wear was worn by ’90s hip-hop stars including Method Man, Tupac Shakur and the Notorious B.I.G., stressed that Black designers need to look outside the fashion industry for success by collaborating, mentoring and sharing resources with their counterparts.

“We just need to not look for the fashion industry, as it’s been very oppressive for the last 30 years, to be the end-all, be-all for our opportunities,” she said, “but to create our own.”

Among streetwear companies, the effort to fight systemic racism in the country and the fashion industry has been on an individual basis, with brand owners of all races deciding how much they’re willing to give back and how comfortable they are using their platforms to discuss and condemn racism.

For some, that means speaking up in solidarity with the Black community. Bobby Kim, cofounder of the Hundreds, a Vernon-based clothing brand, teamed with Pharrell Williams’ brand Billionaire Boys Club to raise money for Black Lives Matter and the Black Mental Health Alliance with a shirt that was available for 48 hours. After the Fairfax shopping district where his shop is located was vandalized in late May, Kim, who’s Korean American, defended the right to protest.

In an interview, Kim said, “If you have been given a lot of money, and especially if that money has come by way of participating, contributing, or even stealing or borrowing from Black culture, then you — more than anybody else right now — need to tithe, need to pay up, in a sense, in order to reflect how influential Black culture has been in your career and your profitability as a company.”

Sasso’s 10.Deep stopped selling its regular collection for most of June and instead offered a new line of 10.Deep products to draw attention to activism against racial injustice and police brutality. The profits went to national bail funds for protesters.

“Streetwear, in its truest form, is about shooting yourself in the foot as often as possible but also just doing what you think is right,” Sasso said.

He said he was drawn to streetwear because it was a multiethnic community of different countercultures, a blend of the skate, surf, hip-hop and graffiti scenes, with a dash of punk rock, united by an exclusive knowledge of where to find and buy certain brands.

However, he has noticed a shift among streetwear consumers. For some shoppers, it’s not about the community. It’s just about the clothes.

He said he lost “several thousand” social media followers after he posted about Black Lives Matter and has received comments asking him to just stick to fashion.

“My thought is: If you want just some regular clothes, go buy Banana Republic, go buy Levi’s,” he said. “Those are companies that aren’t gonna take political stances. They’re providing basic stuff. This space is about a culture. If you want to participate in it, this is what it’s about.”

#@latimes on instagram #black streetwear brands #bobby kim #blm #nike #denim tears #cfda #elena romero #how hip hop changed the fashion industry #streetwear blog #olivia anthony #aurora james #fifteen percent pledge

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precuredaily · 4 years

Text

Precure Day 189

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 40 - “Seek Out the Principal’s Identity!” Date watched: 24 May 2020 Original air date: 18 November 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/7GSsNLa Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Why principal, what bright hair you have!

How do you follow up an episode in which the main antagonist of the show appears to challenge the heroes? If you’re not going to continue that plot thread, then I think the only good way to do it is to go in the complete opposite direction and have a lighthearted episode (see the dichotomy of episodes 24 and 25). This episode does neither, instead choosing just to go back to the status quo, which makes an average episode somehow mildly disappointing.

The Plot

In the latest edition of the Cinq Lumieres Times, Masuko Mika has chosen the mystery of the principal’s identity as her headlining article, and includes an interview with Karen where the student council president says she’s dissatisfied with never seeing the principal and believes that this leads to distrust by the students. She reiterates that she’d like to sit down with the principal to discuss school matters face-to-face.

Extra extra, read all about it! The producer said we needed to resolve this plot thread!

Otaka the lunch lady (and unbeknownst to the characters, the principal) passes by and comments that the principal probably has her reasons for staying hidden. Over at Nightmare HQ, Bunbee decides to ask Hadenya if she’s ever seen Despariah’s face, which she denies. Kawarino appears and confesses that he’s never seen his boss’s face, nor does he have any interest in it. Hadenya remarks that people in authority like to stay hidden because it makes them seem more dignified, and she heads off to try to get the Dream Collet.

Back at school, the girls are eating lunch and Rin remarks that the brick wall by the old school building (last seen in episode 27, the ghost hunt) is falling apart. Otaka overhears this. Two students named Kanako and Mayu approach Karen with a lost shoe that was apparently found in the rear garden. Once again, Otaka can’t help but to overhear. The girls and Coco go to investigate, only to find.... the vice principal, holding a dog which had apparently been stealing personal items and leaving them in the garden. He says the principal advised him to look into the matter.

The next day, the girls are wandering by the old school building and see that the worn-down wall is being repaired. The VP tells them that the dog apparently got in through a hole in the wall, and the principal decided to have it repaired right away. Karen asks if he’s met the principal, and what kind of person she is, to which he simply responds that she’s “a wonderful person.” Karen starts to feel guilty about her negative words in the interview. That afternoon, they’re all hanging out at Natts House, and her sadness doesn’t go unnoticed, so she explains her guilt to the others. Coco remarks that he’s never even met the principal himself, despite being a teacher, so Nozomi decides that this settles it and they should all go see the principal first thing tomorrow, so that Karen can apologize.

Sure enough the following morning, they go to the office, but Hadenya has made it there first, somehow wise to their plan but having waited a few days to lay her trap. (The timeline of this episode makes no sense.) They don’t recognize her at first until she starts insulting them, and then she turns the room into a ruin before turning the brick wall into a kowaina, which takes the shape of a centipede.

it’s so weird I can’t even make a witty caption

The girls transform into Precure and take on the nonsensical creature. Rouge and Aqua do a combo kick that separates it into bricks, but it quickly reassembles. It surrounds the quintet and tries to squeeze the life out of them, but Rouge, Lemonade, Mint, and Aqua keep Dream in the middle of them as they each push the sides just enough to give her room to escape, and then she frees the rest of them. Aqua Tornado and Crystal Shoot make quick work of the kowaina as Hadenya flees, and the girls find themselves back in the principal’s office.

They discover the vice principal and principal unconscious behind the VP’s desk and they recognize Otaka, but they don’t all manage to put two and two together. As they come to, Otaka realizes her ruse is up, thanking the girls for coming to her rescue (if she only knew...). She invites them into her office where it finally sinks in for Nozomi and Urara that Otaka-san the lunch lady is, in fact, the school’s mysterious principal.

She explains how she used to be a teacher and students would come to her with their concerns, but when she became the principal, she lost her opportunities to be around students, and she wanted to always be on top of any troubles at the school, so she took on the guise of Otaka the kindly old lunch lady so she could get close to students to hear their concerns. Karen apologizes for being dissatisfied when the principal actually does so much to help the school, and the principal turns it around and says she has a wonderful student council president, with a good group of friends. Then she asks them to keep her identity a secret from the rest of the student body.

Later that day, or perhaps another day, Mika comes up to the circle of friends, exasperated and exhausted as she hasn’t been able to uncover any information about the principal’s identity. Nozomi starts to spill the beans but Rin stops her, and Karen suggests they stop pursing this subject. Mika knows Karen is right, but she doesn’t have another topic to write about, but that’s when Otaka brings over a bowl of her new sweetbread for them to try out, and Nozomi suggests that Mika write about Otaka’s new menu.

The Analysis

The pacing of this episode is a bit unusual compared to a normal one. Due to the extended conclusion, the conversation in the principal’s office, the fight is abbreviated and everything else before it is a little rushed. The flow of time isn’t conveyed very well through editing, with scenes flowing together that are implied to take place on separate days. Hadenya in particular seems to just disappear for a few days between leaving Nightmare and posing as the principal. It adds up to a somewhat confusing mish-mash of scenes and that reduces investment in the story.

Additionally, one of Karen’s big regrets in this episode is that she said unkind things about the principal, but it’s not explicitly shown what she said. I had to pause the video and manually translate the newspaper article to get a sense of her comments, because all her spoken remarks are along the lines of “I wish I could meet the principal in person to discuss school and student matters, and thank her for all that she does,” and from that perspective it looks like she’s beating herself up a bit too much. Here is my painstaking edit of the newspaper that was on screen for 3 seconds.

I think they should have made Karen’s negative sentiment a bit more clear in the dialog of the episode, perhaps by having one of the girls read that section of the interview aloud for the audience, and then her internal conflict would have made MUCH more sense, because in the text of the episode she essentially transitions from “I’d like to meet the principal,” to “I’m so sorry for what I said, I’d like to meet the principal and apologize.” It just doesn’t track without reading the paper, which would be impossible in real time.

Hadenya’s plot also makes very little sense (not that that’s unusual). She knocks out the principal and vice principal, and then threatens the precures that she won’t tell them where they are unless they give her the Dream Collet. But, it turns out, they were just laying unconscious behind the VP’s desk the whole time, not a hard place to find. Also you’d think by this point the villains would realize that extortion doesn’t work on these girls, but I guess not. The kowaina she creates doesn’t really make much sense to me either. I would have expected a pretty literal wall monster, and we’ll see something similar to that in a few episodes, but no it takes the form of a centipede for some reason. The only benefit that being made of brick gave it was that it could rebuild when Rouge and Aqua kicked it. I did like how it tried to constrict the team, and the supporting cures each pushed on a side to give Dream enough wiggle room to squeeze out, though. That’s about the only interesting part of the battle. There is cross-talk about how Hadenya thinks the principal is useless and the girls are angry because of how much she does for the school but that’s par for the course, it doesn’t elevate this episode or anything.

I do appreciate the girls finally learning the principal’s true identity at least. It’s not really a mystery that they’ve focused on, but ever since they revealed her dual life in episode 14 it’s been fun for the audience to be in on the secret, and watch how she continues to offer sage advice from her seemingly humble station. Now the girls are implicitly rewarded for their efforts of helping out the school both as students and as heroines by learning its best-kept secret. Otaka’s reasons for being secretive are pretty much exactly as I speculated the first time around, trying to keep her ear to the ground but being somewhat prohibited by her position. Unfortunately I don’t believe she shows up much for the rest of this season, as they’re moving into Christmas time and then the endgame, so there’s not a lot of school shenanigans left to cover. We’ll see what GoGo has in store for us.

There’s some nice comedy moments and callbacks in this episode, aside from the implicit ones I’ve mentioned above. The biggest one is that the girls remember that the old school building is where they visited in episode 27, and Rin seems to fondly recall her meeting with Count Rosen.

Rin is a little embarrassed that she’s been figured out, which is cute.

Another fun gag is when they finally uncover the truth that Otaka is actually the principal, Nozomi takes a while to catch on, and she tells Otaka not to sit in the principal’s chair or she’ll get in trouble. Rin has to explain that Otaka IS the principal and both Nozomi AND Urara are surprised.

Rin is questioning her friendship real hard.

And another Rin-centric gag is her reaction to the puppy in the woods. She goes back and forth between trying to pet it and being afraid of it and this goes completely unacknowledged by the dialog of the episode, you have to actually be watching to see it.

She’s so cute when she’s nervous. (as always, better copies are in the gallery)

The sudden introduction of Kanako and Mayu, who we have never seen before and never see again, may seem jarring if you don’t get the joke. They seem a little over-designed for one-off characters, after all.

If you look at the credits, you’ll see that they are played by... themselves.

So yes, Kudou Mayu (right) and Miyamoto Kanako (left) are real people. Respectively, they are the singers of the opening and ending themes of this very show, and this is their cameo. Kudou Mayu will also do songs for GoGo, Heartcatch, Suite, and every All Stars movie from DX1 to New Stage 3, as well as voicing another cameo in Heartcatch and playing the Fairy Tones in Suite Precure. Kanako Miyamoto will do themes for GoGo, Kirakira, HUGtto, DX3, Super Stars, and Miracle Universe, as well as playing Makoto/Cure Sword in Dokidoki Precure. This is them in real life, from about this point in time.

source: Miaymoto Kanako’s blog https://miyamotokanako.exblog.jp/d2007-09-20/

I noticed they gave them different color crests on their uniforms: Mayu has a second year badge while Kanako has a first year badge, reflective of their real-life age difference of about a year, and I think that’s a clever detail they didn’t have to do.

The art in this episode is fine. It never gets above fine. There’s some bad art, but it’s mostly fine. Except this coloring error on Karen’s sleeve.

And really, that sums up the whole episode. It’s mostly fine, with some bad thrown in. It’s not a good episode, it’s just alright, kind of forgettable in the scheme of things. And that made it harder to write about than if it were actually good or bad, so if this is a bit nonsensical and rambling, that’s why.

Next episode, Komachi and Urara bond. Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 1 kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 #YPC540 #PCD189

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fericita-s · 5 years

Text

Into the Unknown

Agnarr and Iduna enlist the help of a trusted friend to help them track down the source and meaning of Elsa’s magic.

@legacy-from-lies @queen-iduna-of-arendelle for Agduna Week’s magic prompt

Part of the When All is Lost series by @the-spastic-fantastic and me. Anything you liked in this probably came from her careful editing and thoughtful suggestions. Thank you @the-spastic-fantastic!

***

Thea and Elias welcomed Agnarr into their home. Thea, caught off-guard by the unexpected visit and a bit flustered by the late hour, brought their daughter and son in to bow and curtsey before taking them up to bed and retiring to her drawing room. Elias began to pour them drinks and Agnarr closed the doors on either end of the room before settling in his chair. He accepted the glass with a word of thanks before Elias sat down to join him.

“What is this about Agnarr? I was surprised when the courier came to say you would be coming by tonight. What couldn’t wait until the council meeting tomorrow?” Elias looked at Agnarr while he spoke, and noted his somber expression, the defeated curve of his shoulders. This was the king at the end of a trying day, of which there had been many lately.

Elias had become used to this version of Agnarr. Preoccupied with the lives of his daughters under constant threat, as he had been for the past four years. Since the attempt on Elsa’s life had ended in Anna’s injury, Agnarr had not let the girls leave the castle, and few people had gone in. Council meetings now happened on properties owned by the crown in the town, and most official events were off castle grounds as well.

It was one of the reasons Elias had stayed on the council as Minster of Trade after his father’s retirement. No one could make Agnarr laugh these days but Elias could at least make him smile. And even though Elias desperately wanted to explore new trade routes and see the lands his father talked about, he was more desperate to help his friend through this long crisis.

Agnarr ran his hand over his eyes and took a breath. “This is about something that cannot be spoken of in the council meeting. At least not in its entirety.”

Elias raised an eyebrow and swirled the contents of his glass slowly. “Well you’ve piqued my interest. Are we removing someone from office? Defying Minister Wollen by proceeding with Weselton negotiations? Oh no, do you need me to get Henrik out of some trouble? Did he finally cause an international incident?”

“No, it’s…” Agnarr set the glass down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees on hand on his forehead. “It’s about Elsa.”

Elias sat up in his chair. “Elsa? Have you found those who wish her harm? Have they made a new threat?”

Agnarr shook his head and breathed deeply. “She is still in great danger.” He licked his lips. “Elias, this is difficult to tell you. Only Iduna and a handful of servants who have seen what we could not hide know what I am about to tell you.” He paused and winced. “And the trolls.”

“The . . .Trolls? Agnarr, are you alright?” Elias smelled his glass, making sure he hadn’t given Agnarr something too strong. Trolls were a nighttime story meant to keep children from climbing out of bed in the dark. It wasn’t something a king believed to be real. It wasn’t like Agnarr to state fantasy as fact.

“Yes, trolls.” He sighed. “I told you it would be difficult. This is . . .going to be difficult to believe. And it’s going to be difficult to say.”

“You can trust me, Agnarr. I’ll remain silent. Just speak.” Elias leaned back into the chair, and tried to keep his incredulous reaction off of his face. He nodded to Agnarr, encouraging him to begin.

“Elsa was born with the gift of ice magic. She can make ice and snow and form shapes out of it.” He reached inside of his coat and pulled out a small coin, and handed it to Elias.

Elias took it and saw that it wasn’t a coin. It was a piece of ice, intricately carved to take on the appearance of a coin; Agnarr’s profile, perfectly shaped in relief on the surface. There were even grooves along the side. It was exquisite. Elias held it up. “What are you saying? She carved this? From ice?”

Agnarr shook his head and Elias could see the frustration in his movements, could hear his sigh of irritation. He tried again to be silent, to let Agnarr explain this bizarre story.

“Elias, she made that. When she was eight. It was before the accident with Anna. Now she won’t make any ice on purpose.”

Elias turned it over, and noticed that it hadn’t left a trail of water on his hand. Nor had it lost its shape in Agnarr’s pocket on the way over. Or in the four years since she made it if what Agnarr was saying was true. It was difficult to keep the surprise out of his face, but he stayed silent, hoping Agnarr would continue to explain.

“She used to make figures from ice and snow. She could also make snowfall - great drifts of it. Enough to fill the ballroom. Only, now she can’t control it. She hurt Anna, once, and we went to the trolls for healing. They saved her. They healed Anna. But they showed us the future and that Elsa would be killed for her magic unless she can control it. That’s the night we closed the gates.” Agnarr took a sip of his drink, and looked at Elias, and Elias could see the grief on his face. “So, it wasn’t a lie we told you. Not really. Their lives are both in danger. And we don’t know who from. But it’s because of this power she has.”

Elias reached to Agnarr, handing him back the ice coin and then clasping his hand. There was a time he would have felt hurt to know Agnarr kept such a great secret from him. But seeing the anguish and knowing how much it had weighed on him, Elias only felt compassion for his friend. “I understand. Or, I don’t completely, but I want to. And I understand why you would keep this a secret. I know you’d do anything for your children, any father would.”

Agnarr kept his hand in Elias’ and his voice became thick with emotion. “We’ve been trying to help her control it, but nothing works. Not gloves, not prayer, not isolation, not ignoring it. She’s grown stronger in her powers and less sure of herself.”

Elias remained silent, his body completely still as he waited for Agnarr to continue.

“There is a place Iduna knows about. It’s something her people told stories of when she was a girl. I…” He looked up. “I think we both need to finish our drinks before I tell you more.”

***

Elias was silent for a long moment. Then he drained his third drink. “Does Iduna know you’re telling me all of this?”

Agnarr took a long drink as well and then wiped hands over his eyes. “Yes. She suggested I talk to you. Entrust you with the truth of the matter. We’ve been trying to find Ahtohallan for some time, but we haven’t given any information on what it is or why we know about it to the agents we’ve sent out. Perhaps, unsurprisingly, our search has yielded nothing.”

“No, I mean she knows you’re telling me that she’s Northuldra?” Elias stood up, lifted the bottle from the table and poured them both more drinks.

“Yes,” he nodded, still wiping at his eyes. “She was very worried about it hurting you, since you lost your cousin in the battle. And Elias, she had every reason to lie and to be scared. Did you know she found the body of a murdered Nothuldra man near Eir’s? She was only fourteen. She buried it herself.”

Elias whispered a curse at that and took another sip, reconsidered, and downed the whole glass. “When shall I begin?”

***

Iduna walked carefully onto the ship, bringing her baskets of medicines and tonics, jars of lingonberry jam and stalks of boska. She knocked at the door to the captain’s quarters and Elias beckoned her inside.

“Better close the door. Some of the men think it’s bad luck to have a woman aboard.”

“Even while you’re firmly docked in the harbor? I just came to bring some supplies.” Iduna walked closer but Elias said nothing, intently studying the map on his desk.

The ship rolled slightly, bumping against the dock, and she stumbled a bit. Her heart thudded and the muscles in her arms and legs felt tight, like she might need to run and hide. “My best tonics for seasickness, preventatives for scurvy, some boska to chew for strong health, and a few others you might need for whatever comes up.”

Elias looked up from the map, rose, took the offerings and placed them on his desk. “Thank you. I’ll see that they’re used properly.”

He still wasn’t looking at her. And she knew why. She kept her voice quiet, knowing sound could easily travel even through the thick wooden beams of a ship. “I’m sorry Elias. For lying to you. For so long. About who I am. I know your family was hurt, maybe even by mine. And I’m sorry.”

He finally looked up, and she saw the tight line of his mouth, his fists on the table. “I’m not upset you’re Northuldra. I’m disappointed you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Iddy, we’ve been close for so long. I thought I’d shown you I could be trusted.”

“I do, Elias. I do trust you. That’s why we asked you to do this for us, for Arendelle. There is no one we trust more.” She put a hand over his fist, squeezing it. “I was scared. A scared girl, and I kept acting like one long after I was fourteen. Can you forgive me?”

Elias was silent for a long moment, and she wondered what he was thinking. Just when she thought she could bear his silence no longer, he gave her a faint smile. “There’s nothing to forgive, Iddy.” He unclenched his fists, and cradled her hand in his hands, bowing his head. “I’m just sorry that you had to go through all that alone. And that you, Agnarr, and the girls have had to go through all of this alone.”.”

She sighed, relieved, and felt her shoulders relax. “May you have an easy journey.”

Elias smiled at her, and it felt like they were fourteen again, about to sail out to the skerries, baskets for berries and buckets for shells in their rowboat. “And may I find what you need to save your daughter.”

***

The first year Elias took his ship and a small crew up the Otra River. The council was told it was to scout for a new trade route, but he was following a lead about water acting in strange ways at its head in the Setesdalsheiene mountains. He hoped it could be the head of the Ahtohollan river of memory. It yielded nothing. Instead of a river of memory, he brought his goddaughter books on sailing and maps of the world.

In the second year of the search, Elias and Askel took a few guardsmen to the stones and walked the length of the mist. It took several months and Iduna was half terrified and half hopeful that the mist would open. The thought of seeing her family again was always tempered by the sobering reality that Arendellian soldiers could again lose their lives in her homeland. But, as it always had been since the day of the battle, the mist remained impenetrable. Ahthollan could not be reached by land.

In the third and four years of the search, Elias visited Corona and the surrounding lands for a witch said to be in possession of a magical flower that grew from a drop of sun. It had the power to heal, if the stories were to be believed, and had saved a queen. But eventually he found that the flower and the witch had vanished, and his search was again fruitless. He brought Elsa and Anna flowers from Corona, but they weren’t magical, and the petals were already curling in death by the time they made it home.

***

They had been so sure they were looking in the right place. Years of dead ends, each one more fraught than the last, as Elsa grew older and gossip spread throughout the borders of Arendelle and beyond about her absence from public life. Anna grew lonelier and lonelier.

Then while on a trip to Russia, Dure had traded some royal jewels for a map with Ahtoholallon labeled on it as though it was as common as the Southern Isles or England. When he brought it to the castle and Iduna took it to the library to study, she realized how singular it was. She went about thanking him with a feast in the kitchens and a sack of gold.

Agnarr joined her shortly afterward, having been to a tradesmen’s meeting by the pier where she had sent the runner for him. “What have you found?”

Iduna looked up and her face was white. “I think we’ve been looking on the wrong side of the sea. I think,” she took a shuddering breath. ”Agnarr, I think this is it. I think this shows the way to get there.”

Agnarr sat down next to her, grabbing her hand and asking in a tightly controlled voice, “And we will find the past there? Do you think understanding the past can save Elsa’s future?”

“No,” Iduna shook her head. Her color was returning and she was already formulating a plan. “But I think understanding what she’s a part of can. And this is where we learn that.”

She leaned into him, and as his hands came around her, her sigh of relief was matched by his own.

“I’ll go get Elias.”

***

He had been thrilled to go. After so many years of searching and finding nothing, he had put his hand on Agnarr’s shoulder and said “On my honor, I will find Ahtohollan for Elsa.”

Thea had seen him off at the docks, their two children with her. “Wave to your Father! Off to look for a new trade route to the Black Mountain!” Iduna packed boska and lingonberry jam and she and Agnarr stood beside Thea and the children as they said goodbye, Thea pleased and proud that the king and queen would grace the advent of the journey with their presence and blessing.

To cross the Dark Sea, Elias needed a bigger crew than the ones he had used in previous expeditions, so twenty sailors boarded with him.

They never returned.

***

Iduna sat in the chapel, her right hand in Agnarr’s left, gripping it tightly to the point of pain and focusing on the throbbing instead of her grief. She was unable to look at Thea who was unable to stop sobbing. Or stop her children from sobbing. She was just now visibly pregnant with her third child who would never know its father. A father who had sailed before he knew he and his wife were even expecting.

And it was her fault.

She had urged Agnarr to enlist the help of trusted friends. No one was more trustworthy than Elias; no one more eager to help.

And now he was gone. Swallowed by the waves and water. His ship lost with all twenty sailors aboard. They had hoped Elias was merely delayed, that he had found something that required further attention before sailing back to Arendelle with the mystery of Elsa’s powers uncovered.

But as two weeks turned into two months and then to three, Agnarr proclaimed the ship lost and commended their souls to the water. He felt like he was a fourteen-year-old all over again, presiding over a country in mourning for those lost on an expedition.

It was a task that had not become easier with age. At least those families knew what their loved ones had been doing. These families only knew that a new trade route was being explored for the good of the kingdom. Small comfort to grieving men and women and children. And the sheer number of funerals, especially one for a citizen as well-known and prominent as Elias – it seemed everyone was grieving in one way or another.

It had been an endless week of funerals, several each day, and Iduna had a harder time breathing at each one, a harder time not confessing to the distraught families that she was to blame, she was the cause.

As the priest intoned a passage from the Bible, Iduna felt an ugly heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks, a weight pressing against her chest.

“Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar, and the fullness thereof…before the LORD: for he cometh, for he cometh to judge the earth: he shall judge the world with righteousness, and the people with his truth.

She would be judged for this. Twenty-one deaths on her account. The guilt over Elias was like an open wound.

As they left, a feeble Captain Calder hugged Iduna tightly and shook Agnarr’s hand and told her how glad he was for their friendship to his son. Thea thanked them for coming and told them how proud Elias was to sail for them and for Arendelle. “I hope the trade route becomes a success. His legacy will live on as our nation prospers.” She covered her mouth with her hands and Iduna and Agnarr clutched each other, silent.

***

That night in their room, Agnarr wept in great heaving sobs. He had maintained an air of solemn stoicism throughout his boyhood friend’s funeral. Had kept his composure even as Henrik, Greet, Maddie and the others had broken down. But there was no audience in their bed chamber. And he fell apart like Anna had when she realized that her separation from Elsa would not end soon.

Iduna held him like she had held Anna then, stroking his head in her lap, running her hand up his arm and whispering soothing words. “He loved you. We’ll take care of his family. They’ll want for nothing. He wanted to do this for us.” But he wouldn’t accept her comfort.

“My mother, my father, Mattias, Elias, all of those sailors…the list grows longer of those who have died for me.”

Iduna’s tears began then and she covered her face with her hands. “Elias and the others, they would be safe if not for this magic I have brought. You say I’m not a curse, but surely this is.”

Agnarr sat up put his hands on hers, his forehead against hers. “I love you. You love me. That has to be enough right now. We can keep going on, knowing that. We can survive this.”

In the following weeks they continued to take turns comforting and being comforted. Iduna was thankful that Elsa did not know the reason for Elias’s trip, but she knew her parents were grieving the loss of her godfather. She gave her mother a pair of gloves that seemed to permanently feel cold, telling her to put them against her forehead when she needed to ease the tightness brought on by tears.

Anna picked them both flowers, leaving them on their pillows and on their dinner plates, scrawling notes in handwriting that remained messy even though she was fourteen and had a penmanship tutor.

Iduna had so hoped that at fourteen her youngest daughter would have a happy and whole family, something Iduna forever lost at the same age. It was an icy stab to her heart when she saw Anna knock on Elsa’s door, and heard Elsa’s “Go away, Anna.”

Even worse was when Anna walked by the door and didn’t even bother to knock.

Iduna couldn’t give up. But she couldn’t ask anyone else to go in their stead. The next time, she decided, she would go. Alone.

#agduna #agduna week 2020 #agduna 2020 #when all is lost #mama and papa arendelle #frozen fan fic #king agnarr #queen iduna #anna #elsa #getting close to the end now

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prophetandprincess · 4 years

Text

Mass Effect #4

We reached the sad part of the program ladies and germs.

The only light in Nova’s quarters came from the small lamp next to her computer. She had been staring at the screen for hours now, attempting to figure out what to type. There were no words sufficient for the message Nova had to send, but Ashley’s family deserved more than the generic military condolences. Ash deserved better.

Nova flexed her hand, knuckles raw and bloody. She hadn’t had the heart to go to the gym, it reminded her of Ashley and all the time they had worked out together side by side. Instead, she had taken her frustration out of the wall of her cabin. A bone might be broken from the intense bruising that was happening, but Nova would have Dr. Chakwas patch her up later if needed. Right now, she wanted to feel the pain physically as well as emotionally. She wanted to suffer.

Ash died because of me. Because of us.

Nova winced as she closed her hand into a tight fist, pain shooting up her arm. Kaidan was right, though she really wished he hadn’t made that particular statement in the middle of a debriefing. She didn’t doubt that the crew had all figured out there was something between the two of them, but it was a completely different matter to drag it out into the open to cite why someone was dead. Nova had recovered and stated that Saren was the one to blame, and he was, but Nova could have saved Ash if it wasn’t for Kaidan being in trouble as well. If it was anyone else on the team, Garrus or Tali, would she have made the same call? Did it matter now?

The logical side of her brain told her that it was an impossible situation, that she was lucky Ashley was the only member of the Normandy that she lost, and that they had struck a blow to Saren by ending the Krogan breeding experiments. None of that mattered. She had left Ashley to die because she couldn’t bear that thought of losing Kaidan. Nova had murdered her as much as if she had pulled a trigger. The worst part was that Ashley didn’t seem at all surprised. She knew it was never a choice.

Still, Nova’s fingers did not start to compose the letter of condolence that she knew needed to be written. What good were her words when her family wouldn’t even have a body to bury? It had been vaporized by the makeshift bomb along with the Korgan, geth, and Salarians. Her mother and sisters would mourn an empty casket and any letter about Ashley’s sacrifice saving the galaxy would be meaningless. To them, nothing would be important enough to have that hole in their family.

That mental clock was still ticking loudly in Nova’s head. The Normaday was currently hurtling toward the Citadel, where Nova was going to have to present her case to the Council about the threat of Saren and the Reapers. She had spoken with one, Saveregin, and was more convinced than ever that the galaxy was in serious fucking trouble. Even if they wouldn’t listen to Nova, they had to listen to her after they heard Captain Kiarrahea and his men's report. It wouldn’t be the Normandy against this threat alone anymore, Nova would not have to shoulder this burden alone. Still, there was so much that Nova had to do before then. There was just not enough time. There was never enough time.

There was no time to mourn or honor Ashley, not when so many other lives were at stake. Ash would have understood. As soon as this was over, Nova would start petitioning to get some sort of accommodation for Ashley. It wouldn’t bring her back, but maybe it would take away a bit of the gaping hole her family would feel if Ashley had regained the military honor her grandfather had lost. Maybe it wouldn’t, but it was the least that Nova could do. If she got the Star of Terra for not dying on her day off, Ashley deserved something for volunteering for a suicide mission to save the galaxy.

Nova would have loved to get up and stretch her legs, even to just walk around the Normandy to clear her head. However, there was nowhere to go that was safe. The gym and the garage reminded her too much of Ashley and Kaidan was stationed right where he always was, which happened to be only a couple feet from the door to her quarters. Nova knew that she would have to talk to him eventually, about everything, but right now there was only so much she could take emotionally before she broke. There was no time to break, they’d be at the Citadel soon and she still hadn’t composed this damn letter.

Still, she got up and did a lap around her quarters, rolling her shoulders and neck, hoping for some brilliant spark of inspiration. As if a life could be boiled down to a page statement. As if that page statement would offer any comfort to anyone. Yet, she had to write it, even though it was only to release some of the guilt she felt. She just had to find the words.

“Commander, we’re approaching the Citadel. We should be in docks in about an hour,” Joker’s voice came into the room. “Figured you’d want a heads up.”

“Thanks Joker,” Nova sighed as she plopped back down in front of the computer. “Give me a fifteen minute warning.”

“Aye, aye,” Joker said before closing the line of communication. Once again she wondered if the pilot didn’t spy on her from time to time or if he just had uncanny timing.

Nova stared at the screen for a couple more heartbeats before she finally started to write. There was a lot of editing and deleting of whole paragraphs before there was finally a statement that she wasn’t embarrassed to send to the Williams family. After reading it twice more, Joker gave Nova the fifteen minute warning. There was no more time, not for this. So, with a shaking finger, Nova sent the message and put on her armor. She would not let Ash’s death be in vain if it was the last thing she did, God as her witness.

To the Williams Family,

There is nothing I can write that will ease the unimaginable pain you are experiencing at this time. There is no explanation that I may be able to provide that will change the fact that you have lost a member of your family. I won’t waste your time telling you about Ashely, about her loyalty and her bravery, because you already know that better than I do. I won’t tell you that her sacrifice has saved countless lives across the galaxy, though it did, because that won’t give you any peace. In the end, all I can give you is the knowledge that your pain is shared with others, with myself and the entire crew of the Normandy, and that we grieve for her and all the good she would have done if her time hadn’t been cut short.

Ashley was a good soldier, anyone could tell you that, but she was a better friend. She never hid what she was thinking or felt, which was needed on the missions that she was asked to go on while stationed on the Normandy. In those conversations she told me that more than anything, she wished to make her family proud, to be the Alliance Soldier that people could look up to, even with the last name Williams. She was. Even before this sacrifice, Ashley was one of the best that the Alliance could ask for and her loss will be felt throughout the ranks. However, I lost a friend, and that is a much deeper wound, though nowhere near the same as losing a daughter and a sister. I feel as if I know all of you from the stories she told about your family, how much she deeply loved you all, and knowing what she gave up to save so many makes the pain harder to bear. She did not make the decision lightly and she will not be forgotten by myself or anyone else on this ship.

I hope knowing that Ashley touched and helped so many lives provides a small comfort to you when you have a moment to come up for air from your grief. If there is anything else I can do to provide some understanding, please let me know. I wish there was time for me to come see you in person, to accept the anger that you must feel toward me, to grieve with you. Maybe soon there will be. However, right now all I can provide is this letter and my heartfelt condolences. May Ashley be resting peacefully in heaven, as I know she believed she would be.

Respectfully yours,

Nova Shepard.

#Mass Effect #ficlet #My writing

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dailyofficereadings · 4 years

Text

Daily Office Readings March 30, 2020

Psalm 31

Prayer and Praise for Deliverance from Enemies

To the leader. A Psalm of David.

1 In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me. 2 Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily. Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me.

3 You are indeed my rock and my fortress; for your name’s sake lead me and guide me, 4 take me out of the net that is hidden for me, for you are my refuge. 5 Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.

6 You hate[a] those who pay regard to worthless idols, but I trust in the Lord. 7 I will exult and rejoice in your steadfast love, because you have seen my affliction; you have taken heed of my adversities, 8 and have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy; you have set my feet in a broad place.

9 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also. 10 For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my misery,[b] and my bones waste away.

11 I am the scorn of all my adversaries, a horror[c] to my neighbors, an object of dread to my acquaintances; those who see me in the street flee from me. 12 I have passed out of mind like one who is dead; I have become like a broken vessel. 13 For I hear the whispering of many— terror all around!— as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life.

14 But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, “You are my God.” 15 My times are in your hand; deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors. 16 Let your face shine upon your servant; save me in your steadfast love. 17 Do not let me be put to shame, O Lord, for I call on you; let the wicked be put to shame; let them go dumbfounded to Sheol. 18 Let the lying lips be stilled that speak insolently against the righteous with pride and contempt.

19 O how abundant is your goodness that you have laid up for those who fear you, and accomplished for those who take refuge in you, in the sight of everyone! 20 In the shelter of your presence you hide them from human plots; you hold them safe under your shelter from contentious tongues.

21 Blessed be the Lord, for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me when I was beset as a city under siege. 22 I had said in my alarm, “I am driven far[d] from your sight.” But you heard my supplications when I cried out to you for help.

23 Love the Lord, all you his saints. The Lord preserves the faithful, but abundantly repays the one who acts haughtily. 24 Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord.

Footnotes:

Psalm 31:6 One Heb Ms Gk Syr Jerome: MT I hate

Psalm 31:10 Gk Syr: Heb my iniquity

Psalm 31:11 Cn: Heb exceedingly

Psalm 31:22 Another reading is cut off

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 35

Prayer for Deliverance from Enemies

Of David.

1 Contend, O Lord, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me! 2 Take hold of shield and buckler, and rise up to help me! 3 Draw the spear and javelin against my pursuers; say to my soul, “I am your salvation.”

4 Let them be put to shame and dishonor who seek after my life. Let them be turned back and confounded who devise evil against me. 5 Let them be like chaff before the wind, with the angel of the Lord driving them on. 6 Let their way be dark and slippery, with the angel of the Lord pursuing them.

7 For without cause they hid their net[a] for me; without cause they dug a pit[b] for my life. 8 Let ruin come on them unawares. And let the net that they hid ensnare them; let them fall in it—to their ruin.

9 Then my soul shall rejoice in the Lord, exulting in his deliverance. 10 All my bones shall say, “O Lord, who is like you? You deliver the weak from those too strong for them, the weak and needy from those who despoil them.”

11 Malicious witnesses rise up; they ask me about things I do not know. 12 They repay me evil for good; my soul is forlorn. 13 But as for me, when they were sick, I wore sackcloth; I afflicted myself with fasting. I prayed with head bowed[c] on my bosom, 14 as though I grieved for a friend or a brother; I went about as one who laments for a mother, bowed down and in mourning.

15 But at my stumbling they gathered in glee, they gathered together against me; ruffians whom I did not know tore at me without ceasing; 16 they impiously mocked more and more,[d] gnashing at me with their teeth.

17 How long, O Lord, will you look on? Rescue me from their ravages, my life from the lions! 18 Then I will thank you in the great congregation; in the mighty throng I will praise you.

19 Do not let my treacherous enemies rejoice over me, or those who hate me without cause wink the eye. 20 For they do not speak peace, but they conceive deceitful words against those who are quiet in the land. 21 They open wide their mouths against me; they say, “Aha, Aha, our eyes have seen it.”

22 You have seen, O Lord; do not be silent! O Lord, do not be far from me! 23 Wake up! Bestir yourself for my defense, for my cause, my God and my Lord! 24 Vindicate me, O Lord, my God, according to your righteousness, and do not let them rejoice over me. 25 Do not let them say to themselves, “Aha, we have our heart’s desire.” Do not let them say, “We have swallowed you[e] up.”

26 Let all those who rejoice at my calamity be put to shame and confusion; let those who exalt themselves against me be clothed with shame and dishonor.

27 Let those who desire my vindication shout for joy and be glad, and say evermore, “Great is the Lord, who delights in the welfare of his servant.” 28 Then my tongue shall tell of your righteousness and of your praise all day long.

Footnotes:

Psalm 35:7 Heb a pit, their net

Psalm 35:7 The word pit is transposed from the preceding line

Psalm 35:13 Or My prayer turned back

Psalm 35:16 Cn Compare Gk: Heb like the profanest of mockers of a cake

Psalm 35:25 Heb him

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Exodus 4:10-31

10 But Moses said to the Lord, “O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” 11 Then the Lord said to him, “Who gives speech to mortals? Who makes them mute or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? 12 Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak.” 13 But he said, “O my Lord, please send someone else.” 14 Then the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses and he said, “What of your brother Aaron the Levite? I know that he can speak fluently; even now he is coming out to meet you, and when he sees you his heart will be glad. 15 You shall speak to him and put the words in his mouth; and I will be with your mouth and with his mouth, and will teach you what you shall do. 16 He indeed shall speak for you to the people; he shall serve as a mouth for you, and you shall serve as God for him. 17 Take in your hand this staff, with which you shall perform the signs.”

Moses Returns to Egypt

18 Moses went back to his father-in-law Jethro and said to him, “Please let me go back to my kindred in Egypt and see whether they are still living.” And Jethro said to Moses, “Go in peace.” 19 The Lord said to Moses in Midian, “Go back to Egypt; for all those who were seeking your life are dead.” 20 So Moses took his wife and his sons, put them on a donkey, and went back to the land of Egypt; and Moses carried the staff of God in his hand.

21 And the Lord said to Moses, “When you go back to Egypt, see that you perform before Pharaoh all the wonders that I have put in your power; but I will harden his heart, so that he will not let the people go. 22 Then you shall say to Pharaoh, ‘Thus says the Lord: Israel is my firstborn son. 23 I said to you, “Let my son go that he may worship me.” But you refused to let him go; now I will kill your firstborn son.’”

24 On the way, at a place where they spent the night, the Lord met him and tried to kill him. 25 But Zipporah took a flint and cut off her son’s foreskin, and touched Moses’[a] feet with it, and said, “Truly you are a bridegroom of blood to me!” 26 So he let him alone. It was then she said, “A bridegroom of blood by circumcision.”

27 The Lord said to Aaron, “Go into the wilderness to meet Moses.” So he went; and he met him at the mountain of God and kissed him. 28 Moses told Aaron all the words of the Lord with which he had sent him, and all the signs with which he had charged him. 29 Then Moses and Aaron went and assembled all the elders of the Israelites. 30 Aaron spoke all the words that the Lord had spoken to Moses, and performed the signs in the sight of the people. 31 The people believed; and when they heard that the Lord had given heed to the Israelites and that he had seen their misery, they bowed down and worshiped.

Footnotes:

Exodus 4:25 Heb his

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

1 Corinthians 14:1-19

Gifts of Prophecy and Tongues

14 Pursue love and strive for the spiritual gifts, and especially that you may prophesy. 2 For those who speak in a tongue do not speak to other people but to God; for nobody understands them, since they are speaking mysteries in the Spirit. 3 On the other hand, those who prophesy speak to other people for their upbuilding and encouragement and consolation. 4��Those who speak in a tongue build up themselves, but those who prophesy build up the church. 5 Now I would like all of you to speak in tongues, but even more to prophesy. One who prophesies is greater than one who speaks in tongues, unless someone interprets, so that the church may be built up.

6 Now, brothers and sisters,[a] if I come to you speaking in tongues, how will I benefit you unless I speak to you in some revelation or knowledge or prophecy or teaching? 7 It is the same way with lifeless instruments that produce sound, such as the flute or the harp. If they do not give distinct notes, how will anyone know what is being played? 8 And if the bugle gives an indistinct sound, who will get ready for battle? 9 So with yourselves; if in a tongue you utter speech that is not intelligible, how will anyone know what is being said? For you will be speaking into the air. 10 There are doubtless many different kinds of sounds in the world, and nothing is without sound. 11 If then I do not know the meaning of a sound, I will be a foreigner to the speaker and the speaker a foreigner to me. 12 So with yourselves; since you are eager for spiritual gifts, strive to excel in them for building up the church.

13 Therefore, one who speaks in a tongue should pray for the power to interpret. 14 For if I pray in a tongue, my spirit prays but my mind is unproductive. 15 What should I do then? I will pray with the spirit, but I will pray with the mind also; I will sing praise with the spirit, but I will sing praise with the mind also. 16 Otherwise, if you say a blessing with the spirit, how can anyone in the position of an outsider say the “Amen” to your thanksgiving, since the outsider does not know what you are saying? 17 For you may give thanks well enough, but the other person is not built up. 18 I thank God that I speak in tongues more than all of you; 19 nevertheless, in church I would rather speak five words with my mind, in order to instruct others also, than ten thousand words in a tongue.

Footnotes:

1 Corinthians 14:6 Gk brothers

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Mark 9:30-41

Jesus Again Foretells His Death and Resurrection

30 They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; 31 for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” 32 But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.

Who Is the Greatest?

33 Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” 34 But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. 35 He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” 36 Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 37 “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

Another Exorcist

38 John said to him, “Teacher, we saw someone[a] casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” 39 But Jesus said, “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. 40 Whoever is not against us is for us. 41 For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.

Footnotes:

Mark 9:38 Other ancient authorities add who does not follow us

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

#March 30 #2020

1 note · View note

sarcastic-sunshines · 5 years

Text

On My Mind

Author’s Note: So this is a continuation of my one shot You Do, which I really enjoyed working on. I was so touched and grateful for the response I got. It drove me to write a second part of Esihle’s story. My song inspiration was On My Mind by Jorja Smith and Preditah. I hope you all enjoy it and I can’t wait to know what you think. Also thank you to my right hand @writingmarvellousimagines for your constant support and taking time out of your day to edit my writing. You challenge me to be a better writer and overall person and I love you for that. ❤❤❤ I also tagged whoever like the last one shot so I hope you don’t mind.

Warnings: None I promise this time lol

________________________________________________________________

Don't want to feel you

Don't want you on my mind

Don't want to feel you

Don't want you on my mind

Don't want to feel you

Don't want you on my mind

On my mind, on my mind

Mind, mind, mind, mind

Esihle sat with a cup of chai in her hand and a plate of mandazi on the side table next to her. She couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t a surprise considering what today was. So she gave up trying to sleep around 5 and headed to the kitchen, hoping the smell of fried dough would help her forget the implications of the day. 2 hours later, Esihle sat at the window enjoying the fruit of her labor and watching the golden city slowly but surely wake up.

The melodic sound of Mereba and JID’s ‘Sandstorm’ played in the background setting the perfect mood for how she felt about the day. If someone had told a newly married Esihle four years ago that she would have to wake up to go and sign divorce papers she would have laughed and asked T’Challa to join her. She laughed dryly at the thought. She heard Adaora leave her room and walk into the kitchen. Very soon, her friend joined her on the balcony with her own breakfast. Adaora sat sideways on the outdoor sofa putting her legs on Esihle’s lap.

“Good morning to you too,” Adaora giggled with a full mouth to her friends sarcasm.

“The mandazi is delicious. Nice and hot, meaning you were up early.”

“I was,” Esihle answered, looking out to the city letting the sound of the hover buses starting their routes drown out her inner thoughts.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Esihle nodded, not wanting to answer so Adaora couldn’t hear the trepidation in her voice. She took a sip of her tea, not meeting her friend's eyes..

“Esi… Don’t tell me you are having second thoughts.” Adaora waited for an answer. She would have loved if Esi could just confidently say no. At this point that should have been the case, right?

“Esi, no.” Esihle finally turned to look at her friend. Just like that, Adaora saw it all; the pain and fear in Esihle’s heart exposed in her eyes.

“Ada… I loved him. I really did. Yes, time has passed and things are different now but this was the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, have children with, grow old.” Esihle’s eyes watered. “So forgive me if I feel something other than joy today. I haven’t changed my mind but it doesn’t make it any easier, okay? A year apart won’t fully change the love that 3 years of marriage built.”

Adaora dropped her mug and moved to pull her friend into a comforting embrace. “I’m sorry.”

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

1 Year Earlier...

Why on earth would I leave

If you were everything I wanted you to be?

When I saw what you did, who you were with

Got me questionin' the things that I believe

Esihle didn’t know what time it was. To be honest, she never did anymore. It was a good day if she was able to get up and open the blinds.

When she had walked out the palace three weeks ago she felt strong. Uncertain, but definitely strong. Once the adrenaline had subsided, the heartbreak seeped in like poison and crippled her to the core. On most days, she didn’t feel like moving. Eating anything other than the sandwich Adaora watched her eat daily, felt like a chore. She was living life passively and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to feel anything but pain again.

Adaora walked past Esihle who had buried herself under the comforters. The wardog pulled the blinds completely open, letting the light change the dark mood hanging in the bedroom. She pulled the blankets off of her friend, making her blind to sunlight. Esihle groaned as she tried to turn away from the window.

“Esi, ” Adaora called softly. Esihle made no move to reply.

“Esihle!”

“What do you want,” she murmured forcefully.

“You know I don’t mind you wallowing in despair for however long you want but you have to go to the palace today.”

“I don’t think I can see him, Ada.” The mere thought of seeing T’Challa brought tears to Esihle’s eyes. How was she supposed to sit in front of him and the council declaring she wanted a divorce? She hadn’t even spoken to him since she left. Not to say he hadn’t tried, but she knew she wasn’t ready for that yet. Adaora had been her messenger which she was grateful for. She knew his words meant nothing to her friend. If anything, they were a reminder of the lies and deception she had to harbour in her heart. But this was something Adaora couldn’t do, and Esihle knew that. She didn’t know how the day had come so quickly but she didn’t have it in her to do it. He had taken all of her and did not even offer a thank you in return.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but you have no other option here.” Adaora moved to the closet and picked an outfit for her. “You will be fine. Just say what is needed and you can come back here. I am sure the council is aware of what happened so it shouldn’t be long. Try and pretend he isn’t there.”

How could she do that? How could she look at the thief who took her heart and not react? To not beg him to return it to her? She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it back at all which scared her. What if she saw him and his smile hypnotized her as it always did? It was easier to run from his apologies when Adaora kept him away from her. Today she would be forced to face the one who somehow still held her heart.

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

Never had Esihle felt so helpless as she did sitting in that throne room. She had not taken her spot next to T’Challa as she normally would have. She chose the stool farthest from him and had come in at the last possible second to avoid him talking to her. That didn’t stop his eyes from drilling a hole into the side of her head. Luckily, they had allowed Adaora to come with her for support. She truly needed it. When she stole a glance at him, T’Challa looked genuinely guilty. She wasn’t sure if it was the commitment to this charade, but she was glad to have her friend who didn’t allow her the time to ponder.

Adaora had picked a red dress for her that added more colour to her skin than she had had in weeks. Esihle also managed to do her makeup, hiding away the bags that the past three weeks had produced. Though, she didn’t look like herself, T’Challa still looked ten times worse. He had lost weight, his own eyes sunken in and available for everyone to see. He seemed to have given up on shaving, even combing his hair. Perhaps that mockery of a marriage had meant more to him than she had thought.

The meeting begun with the river tribe elder reading the laws of the land concerning divorce. Since they had not had children, the process should be quick. Though, the council asked for a year for papers to be officially signed, in case any minds were changed.

Esihle was barely listening. Everything sounded like background noise. Being back in the palace brought up feelings of pain. Questions of the affair were brought to the front of her mind. Had he brought her into the throne room? Had they shared moments of intimacy right here? Where else in the palace could her stain be seen? Esihle was brought out of her thoughts by Adaora shoving her.

“Queen Esihle?” Esihle blinked before turning to the Mining elder.

“I am sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“I was saying that I think it is best for you to come back home and work on your marriage from here.” Esihle face scrunched up with confusion.

“What do you mean? I am not coming back.”

“Your marriage is still young. I feel it is foolish for you to give up based on some simple quarrels that I am sure can be solved with counselling at best.” Esihle’s confusion continued. She looked at Adaora who had catched on.

“He can’t even admit his actions to himself, so why the council and his mother,” she said, making the King squirm in his chair. Ramonda who had taken Esihle’s old spot turned to Adaora,

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Adaora, never being one to back down was ready to answer before Esihle placed her hand on top of hers. The young Queen finally made eye contact with her husband. There he was, and even in this moment, her heart screamed for him to make up for the lost time. For once, her brain was louder, and it made her inexplicably upset.

“You never told them, did you?” Her tone was harsh. One T'Challa wasn’t used to hearing from her and one he didn’t like. He had missed Esihle and to finally be able to see her like this after all his attempts felt awful. She looked sad. She had lost some weight Her dress gave her a glow but he could tell she was covering her stress with makeup. She was so close, yet he felt a clear distance was keeping them apart. All he wanted was to be back in her arms, for her to tell him she forgave him. He missed his Esi so much and he was willing to do anything to get her back.

He had known as soon as he found her ring. He had finally pushed her to the end. He was immediately inconsolable and everyday since then had been miserable. He felt as though half his heart was missing. Everyday without her had been harder than the last. Now, the sight of Nakia did nothing but anger him. How could he have been so selfish towards the one person who loved him selflessly? Her eyes made him feel so shameful. Here, he was in front of his council and her, ready to have his sins made known to all of them, including his mother.

“Esi, please...” he tried softly, moving to sit up in his chair while silently begging. Esihle stood up from her seat. .

“I did not leave because of a few arguments.” Esihle felt insulted. If only they knew how hard she had fought for this marriage. How she had been the only one fighting a lost battle.

“Elders, your King was unfaithful to me.” Queen Mother gasped audibly.

“That cannot be true.... Is it true, T’Challa?” The king had covered his mouth with his hand, avoiding his mother’s disappointed gaze. A single tear fell from his eye before he nodded slowly.

“I fought tirelessly for this marriage. Yet my attempts at salvaging this marriage could not keep Kumkani from breaking our marital vows. I refuse to be a victim of his infidelity anymore.” Esihle blinked away tears. She sat back down and grabbed Adaora hands to stop the racing in her heart.

The room was quiet for a moment before the merchant tribe leader stood. “Very well. Your heart is still hardened by the circumstance. As understandable, a year’s period of separation is still recommended. Do you agree with the terms, ikumkani wam?”

Esihle looked at T’Challa once more. He continued to beg her with his eyes. Unfortunately for him, Esihle had finally switched her heart off and was ready to let her brain take full control.

“I do.”

“Very well. I must ask before we disband, if the divorce goes through, what would you like from us and your husband? Would you be needing spousal support? Perhaps a place to stay over this year until you are able to support yourself?”

“I would like nothing. ”

“Are you sure, Esihle?” Ramonda asked. Esihle looked at T’Challa as she answered. She wanted him to see the vacancy in her eyes. To understand how much he took from her.

“There is no material item on this planet that can ever replace what the king has taken from me. There is also no way for him to ever give it back”

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

9 Months Earlier…

So I ask myself, do I let you go?

Or do I keep you in the frame of my mind?

Now I'm growing wise to your sugar-coated lies

Nothing's sweet about my misery, yeah

Passion fruit was back in season in Wakanda. It was Esihle’s favourite fruit, so it was no surprise to see her waiting for Adaora paying for an assorted amount of spices with a passion fruit treat she had bought from the vendor across the street.

It was the end of raining season. Flowers had finished blooming and school was almost out. The energy was infectious and Esihle felt herself feel absorbed by it. After the council meeting, Esihle was no longer numb to life around her. She refused to mourn a marriage to a man who didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge his role in its demise.

Her revelation did not stop the pain, but it had been easier. She made it a duty to go out and let the sun shine on her at least once a day. It started with her sitting at the balcony to finally being able to step out of the apartment. And now here she was joining Adaora for Saturday shopping. It was a bit awkward when everyone asked her about T’Challa. Considering she could not discuss their separation publicly, she made sure to smile long enough, hoping no one saw through her lies. While walking through the market square, Esihle could confidently say that she felt happy today. It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t a routine she had made for herself. She was just happy.

Esihle stopped Adaora outside a fabric store. With one look Adaora knew they were going in and knowing her friend, they would not be leaving anytime soon.

Once inside, Esihle felt all the fabrics, telling Adaora which ones she could already see designs for.

“Do you sew?” the shopkeeper asked.

“Does she sew?! Esihle may be one of the best design talents that this country produced,” Adaora said dramatically, making Esihle hide her face in embarrassment.

“I used to be a costume designer. I did some costumes for a few movies but mostly theatre.” The shopkeeper had a moment of realization.

“Oh my Bast! My apologies, ikumani wam! I did not recognize you please-”

“It’s fine. I am just your customer, ” she said with a smile.

“I have to admit I am huge fan of your work in Sizwe Banzi is Dead. Your costumes were spectacular!”

“Thank you. That seems so long ago, but it was really one of the proudest moments in my career.”

“Do you still sew then?” Esihle paused for a moment. She thought about the state of art sewing machine T’Challa had bought her on her birthday during their first year of marriage. She had been elated to see it, especially since she had expressed how much she missed the craft. Back then he would do anything to keep a smile on her face. Every garment she made for him, he would wear with pride, bragging to world leaders how skilled she was.

The last thing she had made was the yellow dress she had worn on the day she caught Nakia in his office. She had donated the dress, not wanting any of the memories of the day. “I don’t, and I don’t know why,” she finally said looking past the storekeeper at a pink ankara pattern.

“Can I get 12 yards of that material?” The store keeper turned to get the fabric. “And would you know where I could get a sewing machine?”

“Esi, really?” Adaora asked excitedly.

“An early birthday gift for myself,” Esihle said with a soft smile.

“Yay! Because I have some designs I have been wanting to ask you but I was waiting for you to feel better, like a true friend,” she said holding her friend tight while Esihle rolled her eyes with a bigger smile.

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

6 Months Earlier...

Esihle had felt blessed today. It was her birthday, and although she had initially felt sad to not have T'Challa on this day, her friends had made his presence seem irrelevant. Adaora had planned a girl’s day for her with their friends from university. They had done a spa day, leaving Esihle glowing and fully pampered. She was wearing an off the shoulder jumpsuit she had made using the pink ankara she got from the fabric store. They had lunch at one of her favourite restaurants, reminiscing their favourite Esihle moments. She felt loved, and it was something she appreciated deeply especially when she thought about how she had spent her last birthday alone, not wanting her friends to know T’Challa was on another mission and possibly pity her. Thinking of that now made her feel silly.

By the time her and Adaora had gotten home, she was wiped out. She was ready to put her bonnet on, drink her favourite wine and binge watch cooking shows. They had just settled on the couch with popcorn in their laps when the doorbell started ringing. They looked at each other expected the other to know who it was.

“Did you order something?”

“No, is it your admirer from down the hall?” Adaora threw a pillow at her all of a sudden feeling shy. “Hey! But seriously, Adaora, if you ever need me to disappear so you can have some romantic energy in here I am more than willing to. He seems nice, no?”

“Esi, the door!” Esihle giggled all the way there. She opened it and was met with one of the King’s guard.

“Happy Birthday, Queen Esihle.” A feeling of dread filled her. She hated seeing the guards at the door. It usually meant T’Challa had sent another gift she either would send back or ask to be donated. He hadn’t sent any for a month and she was sure that was the end. He must have remembered her birthday and decided to start again.

“Thank you, Kofi. What did he send this time?” He moved aside and 3 other guards appeared, moving into the house with huge bouquets of flowers. Esihle barely looked at them before Kofi was shoving a small box in her hand with a card. Adaora appeared over her shoulder, curious.

Esihle opened the box and revealed a opal pendant with a gold chain. It was truly beautiful, and she wasn’t shocked. When he was good, T'Challa never failed to treat her like the Queen she was. Who knew she had to leave for him to remember.

“The man can be an asshole but he sure is good at gift giving.” Adaora marveled taking the box from her hands. “What does the card say?”

To the woman whose smile warms my insides,

whose laugh can solely be described as melodic.

Everyday without you, my love, is a day wasted.

Happy birthday, entle.

-T’Challa.

Esihle smiled effortlessly, basking in the words on the page. It were Adaora’s words that made her aware how quick she was to fall into his woven trap.

“If only he had been this romantic when you needed him to be.” Esihle looked up, her smile slowly disappearing. She finally looked at the bouquets of flowers. Immediately, she felt like throwing up. They were the same yellow roses he always bought whenever he had forgotten a date or anniversary, even her birthday. Looking at those flowers reminded her of a version of herself that was sad and afraid to face the realities of a crumbling marriage. She didn’t like how small and insignificant that version of herself was made to feel. No amount of gifts could coerce her into forgetting that, especially since that is what he wanted; for her grievances to be buried away and never brought up as long as he got what he wanted.

She grabbed the box from Adaora’s hand and placed it in Kofi’s with the card on top.

“Would you like me to donate it or return it?”

“Give it back it back to him, and tell him I said thank you for his birthday wishes but I don’t need neither that or his gifts. If he feels the need to be generous, he should find Nakia.” Kofi snickered briefly, trying to maintain his composure. Esihle’s sharpness was something that barely came forward. Though the King had dragged it out of her. She had changed so much since he had been trying to prevent her from entering T’Challa’s office that day.

“Would you like me to say it just like that?”

“If he asks, yes.” Kofi turned away but Esihle called him back. “The flowers too. I want them gone. Tell him they make me sick.” Kofi hesitated before he asked his men to clear out the apartment.

Once they were gone and she had shut the door, Adaora gave her a big unexpected hug.

“I am proud of you! “

“Thanks Ada. Thank you for never letting me forget how much I deserve”

“You should have let me keep the necklace though. You know it would have killed him to know I was the one parading it around.” The pair giggled, walking back to the couch.

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

3 Months Earlier....

You again, why'd you call?

I don't need to hear you cryin' out my name

Unlike before when you and I laid eye to eye

Now it's time for you to taste the bitter end

Esihle was in her element. The sound of the sewing machine was a rhythm that left her in a serene state. The fabric between her hands as it passed methodically through the machine. She felt fulfilled, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She had spent much of her time being T’Challa’s arm candy at different events around the world, and though she didn’t mind, she had missed being able to create. He had promised her that there would still be time for that after they had settled into married life. One thing led to another and it had become a back thought to her.

Here she was, sewing costumes for the university’s production of the South African play Gangsters. Going to the annual production was something she enjoyed during her time as Queen. She would always talk T’Challa’s ear off after about the set design and stitching of the costumes. He would let her ramble while he watched in awe of her and her passion for her craft. She had gone to the play last year with Adaora because T’Challa had claimed to be too busy. By the time she had gotten home he had fallen asleep and never asked so she did not feel like sharing.

This year, she had extra time so she took it upon herself to design the 1970’s themed costumes. She had gone full out shipping fabrics and props from outside of Wakanda. It was not hard, since she was still technically Queen, and T'Challa seemed ready to move the world if it meant she could possibly consider coming home.

They still had barely spoken, and honestly speaking, Esihle did not mind. She felt at peace with her circumstance. Her heart was healing and no longer pined for him like it once did. The flame in her heart was once again ignited but it wasn’t because of him. She was ready to complete the last few months of their separation so she could move on with her life. She deserved that much.

“Are you going to sleep today, Esi,” Adaora asked from the door.

“Yeah, I just want to finish these last few so they can try it on during tomorrow’s rehearsal.”

“Are you going alone or is Kofi coming to get them?”

“Kofi is coming to get me and the costumes. I finally get to see them on the actors and I am excited, ” she said with a large smile never looking away from her work table.

“Look at you! I am glad to see you getting back into it. The stage missed your designs.” Adaora returned her smile.

A hard banging at the door made both woman jump. Esihle turned off the machine looking at the war dog for direction. Slowly, they inched closer to the door. The banging got stronger, a strained voice could be heard from the other side. It only took Esihle a moment to realise who it was. Why was he here?

Every time he attempted to contact her she felt herself age from the stress caused by the forceful reminder of emotions she was trying to rid herself of. He continued to bang on the door, pleading for Esi to give him only a moment of her time.

“What do you want to do, ” Adaora asked. She told her to open the door for him but she would stay hidden. Adaora angrily marched to the door opening it with force, causing T'Challa to nearly fall.

“It is nearly midnight. What are you doing here Kumkani?” He looked awful. He clearly wasn’t taking care of himself and either no one had the heart to tell him or he didn’t care.

“I am here to see my wife.” He slurred his words, his eyes swollen from the tears he had just shed.

“Where is Ayo? I don’t think you are supposed to move around without a Dora.” Adaora said lazily, blocking the entry.

“I am a King and I can come and go as I choose! Where is Esihle? I need to talk to her!”

“She is sleeping so it’s probably best you go back home. You are drunk and shouldn’t be speaking to her like this.” The pair had a staring match for a moment.

“You are lying. Let me in now!”

“You may be King but this is my home and this is an abuse of power if you ask me.” Esihle stifled a laugh at her friend’s dramatics. What would she do without her?

“I am sick of coming here and having to talk to you. You are not Esihle so let me express myself properly to the person it matters most to!” He had sobered up quickly, letting anger and determination course through him.

“Why? So you can say some more lies that will have her believing you are worth the time of day?! Is that it? Because I can promise you that she is far better without you! He who couldn’t respect her enough to keep it in his pants! Using her as something you could fall back on, just using and abusing with no care in the world but your own wants and needs!” T’Challa became quiet. He didn’t like his faults being thrown in face.

“You have no right-”

“Ada, let him in. ” Adaora turned confused.

“Esi, are you sure?”

“Let him in. It’s fine.” T’Challa pushed past Adaora and walked directly to Esihle reaching out to touch her. She took a step back making the boundaries clear. T’Challa sighed, his exhaustion becoming more apparent.

“Why are you here?”

“I haven’t spoken to you since you left. Not properly anyway, and you haven’t let me see you, entle.”

“Well, that is how separation works, isn’t it? We aren’t together anymore, T’Challa.”

“But we can be, Esi.” Hr knelt in front of her. His hands held together like he was praying.

“I am so so so sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I did what I did. I am sorry. I have learned my lesson. Trust me, my life has been miserable without you. You are my one and only and I am sorry I ever forgot that.” His voice started to shake as he struggled to keep his tears at bay. Esihle’s eyes also began to water. She blinked them away looking at anything but his face, refusing to be drawn back into his charm.

“I promise you, entle, Nakia and I have not spoken since, and if you come back I promise that she will never be apart of our life in anyway. She meant nothing to me. It was just sex, that’s it. She could never take your place in my heart.” Esihle did not respond.

“Esi, please, I can’t live without you. I will do whatever you need me to do, counselling, anything you want, my love.” She turned to face him. As always he found her eyes first. They were no longer empty, but filled with rage. Despite the anger, she looked better than she had when they were together. She was glowing, and appeared stress free.

“That is the problem,” Esihle finally said, “you are lying because you were just thinking of yourself. Meanwhile, I was wasting prayers, asking Bast what I was doing wrong for my husband to look for what I was offering somewhere else. Everytime you lied to me, you knew you were breaking my heart but you did it anyways. Because you are selfish. You always will be. The only reason you are even here is because it has finally hit you that no one else is willing to put up with your garbage like I was.” Her words cut him like a knife, but with every syllable Esihle felt freer than she had before. “But that was a different Esihle, one you had morphed so anytime she questioned your actions you would swoop in with your sweet words and pacify her so you could continue to control her. You don’t love me. You loved what I could do for you. Because if it was just sex, you would not need Nakia. I did all I could to leave you satisfied because your happiness meant mine.”

“Esi please-” She put her hand up to silence him.

“But that was then. I do not need you to be happy. In fact, I do not need you at all. So stop coming here because it is selfish. You refuse to let me heal without harassing me with your emotional manipulation.” His tears had finally broken through. He held onto his chest feeling the pain of her words within him.

Kofi finally entered the door. Esihle had sent for him as soon as she realised T’Challa was by himself.

“Esi, please don’t do this, I can’t live without you,” T'Challa begged.

“Well, you are going to have to learn to. Kofi, take him home, please,” she said turning away from him and heading back to her work table.

She heard him yell for her, still begging for her to change her mind. She sat down, picking up her sewing where she left off. She turned the machine on, drowning out his voice and letting the rhythm of the sewing machine carry her back to serenity.

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

Present Day

Esihle sat in the same spot she had sat a year ago. To think then she never even imagined being able to make it through the year. She was thankful for it, because despite the sadness that came with letting go, she could sit here certain that she was ready to say goodbye to this relationship

She turned to look at T’Challa. He looked better than he did a few months ago. Now, when she looked at him, she felt nothing. Not anger or sadness. No love. For that she was grateful.

“Esihle, I saw the play. Your handwork is truly one of a kind, ” Queen Mother said to her.

“Thank you, it felt amazing to get back into it. It was like a breath of fresh air. I am just grateful to be doing things that make me happy again,” She said with a genuine smile, feeling T’Challa’s gaze on her.

The elders walking in one after another calling the meeting. Again, the rules of divorce were read. She held onto Adaora’s hand listening to every word.

The merchant elder turned to Esihle after all was said and done. Her final consent was needed.

“Well then, Esihle, do you confirm that after a year of separation, at time recommended by council for reflection, that you feel you cannot reconcile with your husband?”

Esihle turned to face T’Challa. “I don’t think I can reconcile with him. Our time apart just showed me this marriage cannot work.”

“With that being said, you choose to continue with your requested divorce.” Esihle hesitated for a moment. How she used to love him… She loved him so much she forgot to love herself. If only she had told herself two years ago that his love for her could never replace the love she needed for herself. That her life deserved to have more meaning than being his wife.

“I do.” She heard T’Challa sigh.

She knew it would hurt today. It may even hurt tomorrow, but in that moment she chose herself. She deserved better than anything he could ever offer her. His love could never be enough. There wasn’t any love from anyone that could trump her love of self.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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#t'challa x reader #T'Challa #sunshinewrites #black panther fanfiction

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