#LOVE Withers revealing their relationship IN FULL to his mom

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KASS! You’ve been accepted for the role of HORATION. Admin Kaitlin: Kass!!! I was so flippin stoked when I saw that you decided to reapply for my favorite resident of the soft squad, even if they’re not exactly full soft. There’s just something about your version of Horatio that I have always been in love with, and I think you do a fabulous job of really getting across all of those unabashed emotions that plague him. I cannot wait to see them back on the dash!! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Kass

Age | 23

Preferred Pronouns | they/them

Activity Level | i’m currently in the process of moving so things are a little crazy right now, but i can usually be on a few times a week for replies !

Timezone | est

Current/Past RP Accounts | this one baybee

In Character

Character | Horatio, Hector Rivera

What drew you to this character? The way he loves and feels things so strongly, and is so unashamed of those feelings, is something that drew me in to the character. There was also a lot of things regarding his past I felt like I could play with in his present relationships, and is something I’m excited to write out. Also the way his loyalty in the mob would so easily falter were Hassan to switch sides, making him fundamentally unloyal to just about everyone else, I think would be an interesting dynamic in a group like this. Where loyalties are what comes at the forefront of most characters’ minds.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I think while a part of him feels a closeness with Roman, I do think another part of him is jealous too. He isn’t as close to Hassan as he is, of course, but they have their own jokes, have their own relationship outside of him. He doesn’t feel on the outside often when he’s around Hassan, but when he does, it’s when all three of them are together. I want something between them to blow up.

His relationship with Orion I see exploding. Hector isn’t good at controlling his feelings, he has always followed his heart over his head. I think at one point, Orion will push him too far, and Hector will snap. But immediately after, he’ll regret it, and potentially some bond there could form.

I would like for him and Genevieve to get closer, for her to show him what it’s like to have a mother who can actually love, and, when things get bad, when it’s revealed what has happened to Hassan’s father, he has to choose between a love that runs deeper than his blood, or the love of the mother he never really had.

I think seeing Hassan get so lost in himself is going to eventually drive him a little mad. He gives so much of himself to other people, to Hassan specifically, and feels peoples pain as though it is his own. He’s always there to keep him grounded, and on occasion, the favor is returned, but what happens when he gets so lost in himself and his own impossible task that Hector has to take the burden for all that has happened? All that will happen? He feels things inwardly as to not let it bother other people, this is especially the case for Hassan, especially since his father died. I think slowly but surely, his emotions will start to eat him alive. I’m not sure what that looks like yet.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? Yes

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:

cw: alcoholism mention

Sitting by his bed, counting the bottles, watching him as he mumbled in his sleep, it was all he could do at times like this. His heart sunk to his stomach, his arms wrapped around it tightly as though it would help keep him together. As if taking his arms away from himself would mean he would completely unravel. He had to know what this did to him, he had to. The smell, the mumbles, the occasional groan, it was all too familiar, and it brought him back to a time he wished he could forget, his stomach once again twisting at the thought.

The countless days and nights he would watch his mother float through the house after the death of his father, walking around as if she had nowhere to go, no son to take care of. She would sit, and look out at nothing, then stand back up and continue walking, as if she had something else to do in the chair across the room. Hector would spend hours watching her moving back and forth, and back and forth, all while holding whatever her drink of choice was for the day. She would go hide in the bathroom whenever she did anything else.

He would sit by her bed at night, just like this, making sure that she didn’t go off too far, reaching over to see if he could still feel her breathing on the back of his palm. His father always said he felt as deeply as she did, loved as fiercely when things were still good between all of them, when they were still a family. It is still something his carries with pride, for this version of his mother was not the mother he knew. Was not the one he remembered now that she was gone. His mother was kind, and loving, and gave all of herself to people. That was who his mother was, and he had lost her long ago. So, when she died, when her body finally gave out on her, he didn’t go through the grieving process he should have. If anything, he felt relief. Relief that he could say goodbye to the pain that came with seeing a once great woman withering before him.

But that was not what he wanted for Hassan, that would not be Hassan’s fate.

He got into bed, when he was still fast asleep, and curled up in a ball beside him, leaning on the headboard and looking over at him, watching his chest move up, and down, and back up again, putting the back of his hand over his mouth, just to be sure, then rested it back on his knees. He knew, if he were to wake up, he would tell him he wouldn’t have to stay, that he could go home if he wanted, that all he had needed was someone to bring him home. But Hector wouldn’t ever dream of leaving him there on his own. And he imagined Hassan knew that about him by now. Knew that the oath they made when they were younger to always take care of each other was stronger now than it ever was before.

Every slight movement, even in his sleep, felt calculated. The way he would turn, but only when Hector looked away, or mumble something that made him worry, done with an indescribable grace and poise that Hector would recognize from miles away. It was what drew him to him in the first place. He reached down to run his fingers through his hair, something he could only do on certain occasions, most of them being when they were alone. It was moments like this, moments when he looked so small, that Hector wished he could take his pain away, give it to himself. And it was moments like this where he saw him as the broken man he hid from everyone else, that Hector wished he knew how to piece him back together again. But more so, that he felt an irreplaceable feeling of complete and total devotion, something that, for him, was more than love. He would do anything to ease his pain, his worry, his doubt. Anything. Even if it meant erasing himself completely.

Extras: Pinterest board here! (Blood tw) https://www.pinterest.com.mx/kassharoun/ch-hector/

HCs:

Hector’s always loved to draw, and usually would in the corner of his notebooks. Now, he’s taken to carrying a small, leather-bound notebook with him. Something to help him pass the time, and get out whatever emotion he’s been holding in.

He’s a particularly skilled fighter, but is much more talented when it comes to not leaving behind a trace. He’s learned to walk around people, to make himself invisible. He knows people and he knows what they want to hear. And he uses that to his advantage.

He has intense separation anxiety. Something about losing his parents the way he did makes him fear he’ll lose other people he cares for too. At night, it’s all he can think about. It completely encompasses him and stops him from being able to sleep.

When he was a kid, and he would have to spend nights alone, he would go out on his roof and look out at the stars, and pretend that he had a family like the ones he saw on TV. And that his mom would come in and yell at him, like a mom should, and his dad would tell him he needed to be more careful and listen to his mother, like a dad should. It never happened, of course, but those are some of his most cherished moments.

A lot of people like him, because it’s so easy for him to mold himself based on who he’s around. Sometimes, depending on the person, he feels like he completely loses himself. There are very few people in his life who he has ever felt like himself around.

[peakyblinders1919]

Herbs and Constellations

Your long hair fell in your face as you bent over and tended to the roaring fire, yelling at your little brothers and sisters to stay away from it. You calmed down when they listened, the smell of smoke familiar and comfortable to you, making any place you and your family traveled to feel like home.

You were currently camping in a small forest right along a river in the outskirts of Birmingham, one of the biggest cities you had ever been to, though you hadn’t gotten the chance to see a lot of it. The only reason your family was here now was because your dad was doing business with some very powerful men, and your twin brother was living out his childhood dream of becoming a boxer. When you found out Bonnie was going to be allowed to leave the site and enter the city, you threw a fit.

“Dad, that’s not fair. Why is Bonnie the only one who gets to leave?” You protested. All your life you’d been moving from place to place, never staying in a spot for more than a week. It sounds like a dream to some people, but you knew better, knew the downsides that came with the gypsy life; there was never enough time to get to know someone, to make friends or develop relationships, and if you stayed in one place long enough to fall in love with it, you’d be moving the next day. You loved traveling, you really did, but you were starting to get tired of it, never knowing what it was like to have a place to call home. Besides that, out in the middle of nowhere there was rarely anything to do.

“He’s the oldest-”

“By two bloody minutes.”

Your father sighed, “It’s time he gets to see what else is out there.”

“Why can’t I see what else is out there?” You said urgently, curiosity buzzing through your veins as you sat around the fire, no longer hungry as the rest of your family silently watched on. You waited for your father to give you an answer, but the conversation was over. Later that night while you wept silently in the caravan, your mother joined you. “You’re his baby girl Y/N, he’s afraid of losing you. You’re a lot like me you know. I grew up in the city, I loved it. There’s nothing like the rush and night life of a city. He’s just afraid if you get a glimpse of city life you’ll never come back.”

You wiped your eyes, thinking of her words. “Well, there’s not much he can do. If I wanna live in the city, I’ll find a way. It’s either with dad or without him.”

And that was the last of the conversation you had with your mom, threatening to run away from your family. You knew it would work, so your Dad agreed for you to go into the city with him and your brother. You weren’t allowed out of their sights, you couldn’t go where you wanted, but you had seen enough. The tall buildings, the buzzing lights at night, the smoke, it was new and exciting, but once you got back to the country, you laid in the grass by the fire.

“What did you think?” Your dad asked you, catching you off guard as he joined you.

“It was nice, but nothing compares to this.” You said, smiling up at him as he kissed you on the forehead and left you to your peace and quiet.

The screams and shouts of your siblings brought you back to reality, not even realizing you had zoned out while staring into the flames. You bent forward again, poking the fire until the flames grew bigger while you watched the little ones in the distance when you saw the blue caravan rolling over the hills.

“Mum!” You called, watching it approach and stop right at their camp. You stood up, your siblings rushing back, wondering who it was.

“It’s just your dad and brother,” she informed as you watched in the distance as a well dressed man poked his head out. He looked around with his nose upturned, cautiously stepping out and trying to avoid the mud.

“Then who’s that?” you asked as your dad and Bonnie emerged on either side, all of them walking straight towards you. The closer he got the better he looked, his dark hair shaven close to his head, his green eyes popping against the blue and gray of his suit.

“This is Michael Gray.” You father introduced as he approached, everyone greeting him nicely. “He’ll be staying with us for awhile.”

“Why?” You asked abruptly, earning you a stern look from your mother.

Michael cleared his throat, meeting your eyes for the first time. “I’m in hiding.” He said honestly.

“From what?”

He fidgeted a little, putting his hands in his pockets.

“You don’t have to answer her Michael,” you father said, giving you a stern look that mirrored your mother. Michael waved it off, looking back at you through the smoke.

“The mafia.” He said, making you look at him in shock. You two stood there in silence for a little longer. You had no idea what to say in response having no idea what he was really talking about, but you didn’t want to leave wither.

“Right, we’ll Michael’s never had hedgehog, so let’s cook up a feast, yeah?” You father said, eventually breaking the silence and sending you with your mother to get cooking.

Michael had been with your family for just a few days, but he still wasn’t warming up to your lifestyle. You knew he never would. You had talked to Bonnie about him late the night he showed, asking him what this mafia was and why he needed to hide. You had only asked your twin brother because you knew he’d tell you the truth, revealing that Mr. Gray as he called him, had suffered gunshots from the Mafia and had almost died twice at their hand, so he was here now for protection.

You remember how he looked walking up to your campsite, and how he made you feel. You thought you might be in love, though you didn’t know anything about it since you’d never met anyone who wasn’t kin.

Then Bonnie told continued talking about how his Mum thought he’d be safest out here, even though he didn’t want to be, as Bonnie explained to you that he seemed to be an arrogant city folk who wanted nothing to do with “us witches.”

Your blood began to boil at his words, Bonnie eventually going to bed as you stayed up late into the night like usual, thinking about Michael and people like him who thought of you and your people as witches. You could barely sleep at all that night as the thought haunted you. And ever since you hadn’t gotten along with Michael, though a part of you always wanted to.

“The air’s too clean here.” His deep voice drew you out of your thoughts, something that happened to you all too often. He sat next to you on the wood bench, offering you a cigarette which you declined.

“It’s better than that air you breathe polluted by smoke.”

“What’d you call this?” He asked, the white cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he indicated the gray smoke from the fire curling up into the air.

“Well that...that’s different.”

“How so?”

“I….it just is.” You said, trying not to blush out of embarrassment at your comeback while Michael chuckled.

“How can you say bad things about the city if you’ve never been?”

“How can you say bad things about my people if you’ve never met us?” You blurted, catching him off guard. “We’re witches, huh?” You said, waiting for an answer but none came as he swallowed his pride and changed the subject.

“Have you ever even been to the city?” He asked in a tone that made you believe he thought you were a naive little girl.

You could feel your anger rising again, and you kneeled over the fire adding wood to it, if just to create some distance between you and him. “In fact I have,” you said, leaning and blowing oxygen into the flame. “And I don’t know why anyone would ever choose to live there? It’s so noisy you can’t even hear yourself think, not to mention you can’t see the stars…” you began rambling, your eyes scanning the field for your siblings.

“Tillie, be careful.” You called, your younger sister climbing a tree to keep up with the boys. You hoped she wouldn’t fall, leaving you with another pair of stockings to patch up. You sat back again, glancing over at Michael thinking he’d have some retort but he didn’t as he looked at you with awe.

“What?” you asked rather harshly.

“I...nothing.”

“What?” you asked, more eager this time.

“I was just thinking...I haven’t seen the stars since I lived in the country.”

You perked up at this, turning to look at him. “You lived in the country?”

“Yeah, I lived there for the majority of my life. My brother and I would lie in the field at night and look at the stars.”

You cursed yourself now for leaning towards him slightly, wanting to know more about the mysterious man in hiding. “Do you ever miss it?”

“All the time.” He says, a nostalgic look on his face as he stares into the distance. “But if I ever went back I’d blow-”

But his sentence was interrupted by the piercing scream from your sister, no doubt, in the distance as he laid on the grass. You jumped up quickly, calling her name and running out to her as her cries carried to you, your brothers jumping from the tree and crowding around her.

“Back up, back up, to tell mum.” You said, sending your brother running back to the caravan. You kneeled over Tillie, running your hand over her face as she sobbed. “It's ok, shhh it's ok.” You cooed. “Where does it hurt?” She pointed to her leg and you started feeling the muscles and bones in it, moving it and twisting it, resulting in her crying in pain.

You stood up, pacing to try and get your mind straight, noticing Michael was there watching you. “She's in pain, her legs broken, we've got to get her back but she can't move.”

“I can carry her.”

“No you don't -” you tried but Tillie cried in pain again and you agreed, watching him scoop her up bridal style and carry her back towards the caravan.

“It's hurts.” Tillie cried.

“I know, we’re gonna fix it.”

“I can call Tommy right now and get a car here in the minutes.”

You smiled, gracious for his help but you shook your head. “We’re gonna heal her here,” You said, your mum coming out of the caravan. You showed Michael where to put Tillie and stepped back in the small space as your mum started opening cabinets full of herbs and you started getting cloth.

“Michael, can you go wave this in the smoke?” You asked, earning a perplexed look from him but he didn’t have time to say anything as he did what he was told. He didn’t believe the fact that you and your mum or anyone, were healers but who was he to refuse his help when there was a little girl in pain?

He rushed back into the caravan that was chaotic with the smoke-infused cloth. You thanked him over your shoulder and laid it on Tillie’s forehead, turning then and mashing up more herbs in a bowl until it formed a paste as your mother whispered words over your sister. Michael watched in amazement as you took the paste and put it on the cuts that grazed Tillie’s leg from the fall, then your mother masked the whole space in sage. Michael coughed from the smoke but he still watched on from the corner, wondering if it was a hoax or if it was actually going to work. You and your mother joined hands and started whispering a chant that you realized as it was being said would sound like a spell to any outsider. Just a few more minutes and Tillie was completely silent, sleeping off the pain as you and your mum worked a little more. You washed your hands as soon as you were done, only now realizing it was dark and Michael was nowhere to be seen.

You made a warm cup of tea before exiting the caravan, joining him by the warm fire on this cold night. You offered him the drink as you sat next to him, staring into the flames.

“Is she going to be alright?” He asked after a few silent minutes between them passed.

“Yeah, she’s already recovering well.”

“I’m sorry I called you a witch, but what you did in there…”

“It’s called healing.” You smiled.

“Does it actually work?”

“Always has for us.” You smiled, taking in the cold, fresh air and looking up to see the dark sky dotted with a million stars. “You see that constellation there?” You said, pointing up and outlining it with your finger. “It’s called-”

“Ophiuchus.”

“Wow...ok… so you know some stuff.”

“I told you, I used to look at the stars a lot.”

“That’s probably the gypsy blood in ya.” You joked, slightly poking fun at him when he had first shown up and claimed to be the descent of infamous Birdie Boswell only after calling gypsies ‘witches’. “Anyway, he was a healer. Apparently he could bring people back from the dead with snakes, now that’s witchcraft.”

He laughed, looking at you sideways. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a-”

“Jerk?” You finished for him and he just nodded his head.

“Yeah, sorry about all that. I...I didn’t want to come here anyway. I should be with my family but…”

“You can’t be with your family if your dead. Yeah, my brother told me what the Mafia is, you should be here. Your safe.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said after smiling at you. “The air is cleaner. It’s nice to get away but…”

“You can’t wait to go back?”

“There’s something about the city that just...captivates me. You think you’ll ever go back to it?”

You shrugged. “Maybe...but I don’t think anything will ever be better than this. You’ll try camping again once you get back to Birmingham?”

“Maybe, if I could stay with you again.” He smirked and you tried not to blush at his words as you stayed under the stars.

“I uh...I’ve noticed you’ve been limping, and you aren’t taking your meds.”

“Yeah, they uh...they make my head feel fuzzy….even out here I have to be on guard.”

“Well, maybe I can help.” You smirked, sitting closer around the fire as you continued looking at constellations overhead.

I really enjoyed this! Hope y’all like it! @irishhiggins

[utameiday]

Plot & Story Meme:

Uta “Mei” Zetsumei

ONE PLACE

♦ Namai > Uta hails from the village of Namai in Yanxia, through the mountain pass from Doma Castle. It was there she grew up, learned to play her shamisen and bamboo flute, and was taught the harsh lessons war forces upon you. These days she occasionally treck’s between the island of Koshu, from Kugane to Namai where she performs at various taverns and establishments along the way before ultimately visiting her uncle.

TWO VILLAINS

♦ Unidentified Imperial Officer > During the rebellion’s last attempt to free Doma from it’s imperial grasp, before the refugees arrived in Aldenard, Uta’s parents were captured during an imperial interception. They were trying to make for the mountain pass over to the Ruby Sea at the time, but the ensuing conflict lead to public execution of Uta’s mom and dad. ♦ Satoru > Uta’s brother. For many years, he dwelled on hard jealousy as their parents seemed to give more resources and energy towards Uta, considering her a musical prodigy at the time. The redheaded raen’s distaste for labor and ability to talk herself out of work at the time served only to fuel his hatred even more. In the end, he felt unloved and overlooked, and was always too full of pride to come clean about it. He played a big part in ratting out the group who was intercepted before the Ruby Sea.

THREE RELATIONSHIPS

♦ Uta & Kotoken > Despite the loss of family, Kotoken, Uta’s uncle, is still alive and well. After the last rebels were snuffed out and shut down, he remained in Namai doing hard labor for the village along with the rest of it’s residents under imperial rule. After the imperial holds on Othard faded, Uta revisited him in hopes of catching up. The homecoming was bittersweet, as Kotoken harbored some spite towards her for leaving the village behind. Though deep inside himself, he understands her reasons. Alas, he remains a stoic and stern personality towards Uta in fear of the lazy teenage girl in her resurfacing. Beneath all this, he treasures Uta and only wish for her to not repeat mistakes of the past. ♦ Uta & Gank Hon > A man whom Uta met during her refuge to Aldenard. He was the first Uta truly came to love in a romantic sense. They spent a total of two cycles together. After the attempt to free Doma prior, he was left with an equivalent to Crohn’s disease. Medication and conjuration could only be distributed so much between the refugees in Mor Dhona, and thus he met his demise in the infirmary. ♦ Uta & The People Of Namai > Even after being absent for a long time, Uta is still regarded by the villagers who remember her as the Magpie of Namai. Her initial interest towards music stemmed from the disheartened spirits of her people after the Empire occupied Doma. With work dedicated towards rekindling the fire in their hearts, she came to be held in high esteem by those around her.

FOUR ITEMS

♦ Old Shamisen > Uta’s shamisen is as old as she can remember, and has seen it’s fair share of repairs due to time and wear. It has several traditional eastern inscriptions painted in black ink on the shamisen’s kawa(the drum-like portion of the body) which translates to “inside my heart.” She’s rarely seen without it hanging on her back. ♦ Bamboo Flute > Her bamboo flute was the first instrument Uta ever acquired. It was made with the help of her father, whom personally harvested the bamboo plant used to make the flute. Just like her shamisen, Uta is rarely seen without it on her person. ♦ Conical Hat > A simple farmer’s hat made from straws. Due to Namai being a village of rice farmers, Uta likes to carry it as a symbol of her home. Due to being socially inept, it also serves as something to hide beneath. While she has had many conical hats in her time, the one she wears today has been with her since her journey to Aldenard. Whenever the flower upon it withers, she finds a new one to take it’s place. ♦ Rope Bracelet > Uta carries with her a bracelet braided from rope dyed red. It has a soul crystal slot cast in brass dangling from it, though it’s empty.

FIVE CHARACTERS

♦ “Monty” > Monty was an old, snarky moogle whom Uta met in Twelveswood after Gank Hon died. She was approached by this mischievous being after having played for herself on a mossy rock. He would be her mentor for some time after that, eventually granting her a bard’s soul crystal, assured that she would be one whom could bring back the ways of the Bowmen of Eld. Uta never surpassed the ability to provide healing benefits through music, and as time went on, she began to grow suspicious of Monty’s motives. One night, Monty took back the soul crystal from Uta’s bracelet and left. After that night, Uta’s powers have only diminished, to the point where they are near non-existant. ♦ Tsusny > An old xaelic samurai whom holds nothing but spite towards Uta. They met by a random encounter, to which she had overheard an outrage of his that revealed grave things about his past. She tried to offer him comfort, but her social ineptness made it backfire. In truth, Tsusny avoids her like the plague in fear of what she knows. ♦ Akuma > The head of the Red Dragon Syndicate. Uta was first introduced to him and his syndicate after being hired to play at a small celebration of theirs. As he learned that Uta holds knowledge of his priced contractor - Tsusny - he slowly began making attempts to have her work for him. Since then, she has done arguably innocent work as an eavesdropper where information of his needs can be found. ♦ X’myra > A blonde, muscular alleycat from Thanalan. Uta met her by chance on Pearl Lane while practicing her shamisen. They clicked well rather quickly, as X’myra was on her way to practice too. Later that day, the miqo’te offered Uta a place to stay as she was without gil and roof during the time, and was thus introduced to The Cat’s Meow Bar & Grill, where she delivered a bit of an awkward performance during a stage night. They shared a bed innocently, and her respect for Uta’s repulsion towards physical contact at the time had her quickly grow fond of X’myra. They’ve been spotted together various times after that, the last being at an underground theater in Kugane. She’s the first Uta has begun to harbor romantic feelings for since Gank Hon, but she’ll hardly admit it. ♦ Jorogumo > Jorogumo is a palm-sized spider seemingly from the jumping spider family. It behaves rather weird, acknowledging Uta as a living being rather than just another large piece of the environment. Acting as her pet, she occasionally pets it in her palm. While Uta is convinced that the spider is a magical entity or spirit of some sort due to it’s odd behaviour, she has yet to uncover anything, and thus it remains a mystery. Regardless, she has appreciated Jorogumo’s company ever since they met in the Gelmorran Ruins.

SIX MOMENTS

♦ The Rice Field Murder > Uta bore witness to a dead body in the rice field surrounding her village as a child. Thinking the man asleep as she was barely the age of six, she left him there since he wouldn’t wake up, not taking notice to the blood that distilled through the water of the rice fields. Later that day, her mother demanded that she stay inside as there was a murderer in the village. Uta was then terrified over having touched and kneaded a dead man. ♦ Crescent Party > Accompanied by X’myra, Uta attended a party at Crescent. Initially very shy and stuck in her own bubble, the comfort of X’myra’s arm and a healthy amount of alcohol soon had her inner party animal wake up eventually. She vaguely remembers participating in some sort of contest involving clothes being swapped. How she managed to do that so quickly remains forgotten to her… Along with the rest of the night in general. ♦ A Moogle With ill Intent > After having been lead to an overgrown room in the Gelmorran Ruins by Monty, Uta was at first fascinated by the endless amount of old music sheets accompanying the harpsichord. However, it turned out that Uta was not very good at playing the harpsichord, to which Monty saw fit to glamour the exist, keeping her captive ‘til she could play what he deemed worthy. ♦ The Scum Of Eorzea > Uta was once paid to keep an eye on Tsusny by Akuma, which she accepted void of hesitation, due to her great need for gil at the time. Trailing him to a run-down cove on an isle west of Kugane, she was surrounded by every time of criminal one could possibly imagine. As she made her way through this uncomfortable, heinous place, she eventually found Tsusny in a tavern chamber. She will never forget what she bore witness to, nor could anything possibly change her view on him after that. ♦ The Kingpin > A late night on the corner of Pearl Lane, the freckled bard was approached by a one-eyed miqo’te who seemed to take pleasure in the music she had brought to Ul’dah. There was not much interaction between them, and he soon disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. She is still wondering to this day who he was. ♦ A Golden Opportunity > At one point, Uta had an interaction with Savo, which resulted in securing a spot on Night At The Cliffs. However, the raen was absent for a long period of time due to urgent matters surrounding her uncle, and could not stomach travel through aetherytes and still be able to perform when the time arrived.

SEVEN QUOTES

♦ “Wow. Okey, first of all, screw you, and your pubic moustache.” > Uta’s response to a lalafell drunkard dissing at her music. ♦ “I-I know y-you are sick, Gank, b-but I r-re… Refuse to leave your side ‘til death d-do us ap-apart.” > Stuttered words through Uta’s tears, once she came to realize that Gank Hon’s illness was something he would succumb to sooner or later. The words soon proved themselves to be true. ♦ “You know, we would be the /illest/ band if you could play drums.” > Uta talking to the unresponsive Jorogumo while sitting atop a mossy rock on the border of Gridania’s forest. ♦ “IT’S CALLED A BAMBOO FLUTE YOU UNCULTURED SWINE! ” > Yelled in a squeaking voice as an unimpressed xaela refered to her flute as a “whiny stick.” ♦ “If he really could resist my company, I’d be thrown out a long time ago.” > A response given to the rest of the people present in the room as Akuma called Uta down to his office. ♦ -grumpy mumbling- > Various profanities uttered under aggressive mumbling as Uta was banned from a particular bar. The reason being that she sung just about every song she was not supposed to sing at the owner’s wedding. ♦ “Please don’t, I beg you… They are not all the same!” > Uta pleading for a Flames trooper to refrain from executing a wounded imperial soldier, after having gained more insight into his motives and moralities. They didn’t listen.

Tagged by : @nightmaze thank you so much! It took me quite some time, but it was fun to do♥ Tagging : first and foremost @dmlynx , @rockodopolous and @nharuya for mentions, and @rokachan @jadestormbrand @cleaver-xiv @alfiavinn @cutemilee @kulain @mekamage @pearlofhope @pearlescent-scales @fheylahaken @lordofcrowns @avetterayohffxiv @gunnarsvard Blank Template : <html> - <basic>

[shefa]

When Will We Make the Time?

WHEN WILL WE MAKE THE TIME? SERMON YOM KIPPPUR YIZKOR 5778 – 2017 Rabbi Stephen Weiss, B’nai Jeshurun Congregation

One of my all-time favorite singers is Harry Chapin. It’s not that he had such a magnificent voice, or that his melodies were so rich, though they certainly are catchy and get stuck in my head. What makes Harry Chapin stand out above all the rest for me are his lyrics. Chapin had a magical way of using his songs to teach valuable life lessons. Okay, maybe not so much in his song “30,000 Pounds of Bananas,” though I love that song. But songs like “Flowers are Red,” which speaks to the importance of encouraging creativity and independent thought, manage to touch us deeply by uncovering every day truths that we too often overlook. Perhaps Chapin’s most famous song is “Cat’s Cradle.” It was in the top ten for 15 weeks back in 1974 and it was Chapin’s only number one hit, but 40 years later it remains a song almost everyone knows.

The song is about a father that is too busy to spend time with his son. As the son grows he asks his father to spend time with him, but the father always postpones the son’s request to the future. The son idolizes his father and wants to become like his father. At the end of the song, the father realizes his son has become like him. It is the son, now who has no time for his father. Throughout, the song is peppered with phrases of nursery rhymes to remind us how quickly this time is going by. Here are a few verses:

My child arrived just the other day. He came to the world in the usual way. But there were planes to catch and bills to pay. He learned to walk while I was away. He was talking before I knew it, and as he grew He said, “I’m going to be like you, Dad. You know I’m going to be like you.”

My son turned ten just the other day. He said, “Thanks for the ball, now come on let’s play. Can you teach me to throw?” I said, “Not today, I’ve got a lot to do.” He said, “That’s OK.” And he walked away and he smiled and he said “You know I’m going to be like you, Dad, You know I’m going to be like you.”

The final verse says:

I’ve long since retired and my son’s moved away. I called him up just the other day. I said, “I’d like to see you, if you don’t mind.” He said, “I’d love to, Dad, if I could find the time. You see, my new job’s a hassle and the kids have the flu, But it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad. It’s been real nice talking to you.”

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, He’d grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.

That’s the song. But there is more to the story. Harry Chapin’s wife, Sandy, was the one who actually wrote the words to that song. Her poem was inspired by watching her ex-husband try to reconnect with his absent father. Harry wasn’t really interested in the poem until after their son Josh was born. It was then that he put the words top music. But sadly, Harry Chapin himself became the father in the song.

When their son was seven, Harry was performing 200 concerts a year. Sandy asked him “When are you going to spend some time with our son?” Harry promised he would make some time at the end of that summer. But he never made it. That summer, on his way to a business meeting, his car was rear-ended by a truck. The car burst into flames. Harry died in that accident before he could fulfill his promise to Sandy to make time with their son.

Just as in the song, I’m sure if Harry Chapin had it to do all over again, he would have used his time differently. The question we should be asking ourselves today is “How well do we use our time?”

We tend to live as if we had all the time in the world. But the Psalmist reminds us that is not so. In Psalm 90, we our lives are compared to the fragile grass: “In the morning it sprouts afresh, by nightfall it fades and withers.” Our time on earth is limited, and what we do with that time matters. We only have a finite amount of time to do the things that really count.

And yet we squander that time and let it slip away from us. We don’t mean to. It’s just that our lives are so busy. We rush after so many things: trying to get that job or promotion, launching a new business or project. There is shopping to do, and laundry. The house doesn’t just take care of itself. So many demands press in on us every day and it seems like there just aren’t enough hours to get it all done. At the end of the day we are so exhausted that it is hard to find the energy to do much else. As a result, we put off the very things that most deserve our time. But postponing life’s true priorities comes at a cost.

Too often we are like the farm boy, Joe, who accidentally overturned his wagonload of corn in the road. The farmer who lived nearby came to investigate. He offered to help the boy but he said to him, "Hey, Joe, forget your troubles for a spell and come on in and have dinner with us. Then I'll help you get the wagon up."

"That's mighty nice of you," Joe answered, "But I don't think Pa would like me to."

"Aw, come on, son!" the farmer insisted.

"Well, okay," the boy finally agreed. "But Pa won't like it."

After a hearty dinner, Joe thanked his host. "I feel a lot better now, but I just know Pa is going to be real upset."

"Don't be foolish!" exclaimed the neighbor.

"By the way, where is he?"

"Under the wagon."

How many times have we left a family member or friend “under the wagon,” knowing they need us but not making the time to be present for them?

According to a 2013 Pew Study, parents – no surprise – say they feel increasingly stressed about juggling work and family life. 56% of working moms and 50% of working dads say they find it very or somewhat difficult to balance these responsibilities. Though time with our children is thankfully on the rise, half of all fathers and one out of every four mothers say they spend too little time with their children.

A 2010 study in the Great Britain revealed that one in ten of us spends more time talking to our other half on the phone or by email than in we do in person. Couples now spend on average less than an hour a day talking while together, with one in five of us spending just fifteen minutes a day chatting in person. Fifteen minutes. More than a quarter of couples said they did not get the chance to have a proper chat until the weekend. That’s six days without spending meaningful time together.

We all know in our hearts that there is no replacement for spending time being fully present with others. Just ask the ingenious teenager who, tired of reading bedtime stories to his little sister, decided to record several of her favorite stories on tape. He told her, "Now you can hear your stories anytime you want. Isn't that great?" The little sister looked at the machine for a moment and then replied, "No, not really. It hasn't got a lap."

What those we care about need most from us is not things. What they need most is us. They need us to be fully present in their lives. If we are absent from our relationships how can we expect those relationships to flourish? If we fail to be present in the lives of those we love, how can we expect to them to feel our love and be transformed by it?

The same can be said for our relationship with God. A 2007 study found that the average American spends a total of three minutes on religious or spiritual activities on a normal weekday. Three minutes. No wonder then that we struggle to feel a relationship with God in our lives, or even to feel God’s presence at all. The Kotzker Rebbe taught “Where is God? Wherever we let him in.” The problem is that we don’t let him in very often.

It is not that we do not know what is important. We do know. If I asked you to list your priorities in life, most of you would not list shopping, or commuting, your job or your home. The proof that we know what is truly important is that toward the end of our lives we suddenly start scrambling to attend to all those things that we have ignored.

A rabbi waited in line to have his car filled with gas just before a long holiday weekend. It was a full-service station and the attendant worked quickly, but there were many cars ahead of him. Finally, the attendant motioned to him to move forward to a vacant pump. Rabbi, said the man, I’m sorry about the delay. It seems as if everyone waits until the last minute to get ready for a long trip. The Rabbi chuckled. Oy. I know what you mean. It’s the same in my business!

That’s us isn’t it? Like the father in Harry Chapin’s song, suddenly, we get older, we realize what we are missing and we stand in line seeking to fill up on the love and good that we passed by so many times. We want to heal our broken relationships. We want to make up for lost time. The problem is, we can lose time but we can never restore it. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever The rabbis of our Talmud tell us that when we stand before God in heaven for judgment of our lives, we will be asked five questions:

Did you conduct your business honestly? Did you set times to study Torah? Did you engage in procreation? Did you hope for deliverance? Did you seek wisdom and discern one thing from another?

I think there is one more question God will ask us: How do you explain those times when projects and things were more important to you than people? If we want to be prepared to answer that question, we need to ask ourselves now: Who do we need to spend more time with? What do we need to cut out of our schedule to make that possible? What sacrifices do we need to make?

The psalmist pleads with God: “Teach us to number all our days, so that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” But God has already provided the teaching. It’s up to us to heed it.

Let me close with a poem by Charles Hanson Towne:

Around the corner I have a friend In this great city that has no end; Yet days go by, and weeks rush on, And before I know it, a year is gone. I never see my old friend’s face, For life is a swift and terrible race. He knows I like him just as well As in the days when I rang his bell And he rang mine. We were younger then, And now we are busy, tired men; Tired: with trying to make a name. “Tomorrow,” I say, “I will call on Jim. Just to show that I’m thinking of him.” But tomorrow comes – and tomorrow goes… And the distance between grows and grows. Around the corner! Yet miles away… “Here’s a telegram sir… Jim died today.” And that’s what we get, and deserve in the end. Around the corner, a vanished friend.”

So be present – truly present – in the lives of those you love now, because you just do not know how long you will have the opportunity. Circumstances change. People die. Children grow up. You have no guarantee of tomorrow. If you want to express love, you had better do it now.

[1989dreamer]

Everything You Had Got Destroyed

AO3

Summary: The funeral of the Hales, through Laura's eyes.

General Kate Argent warning. Also, this story does not place Deaton in a good light. Searching for title, settled on a line from Beyonce's If I Were a Boy. Full tags and warnings available at AO3 link.

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The ceremony is lovely. The mayor makes speeches about the accomplishments made possible by the generosity of the Hales, people applaud, cry, and hug the remaining Hales, and Laura hates it with her whole being.

She keeps a hand on her brother’s back, feels the minute tremors racing through his muscles. She can’t even comfort him because all the townspeople keep coming, empty words falling from their lips while the cool wind of a mild January blows across their faces.

Derek is wrapped in Dad’s jacket, left in the Camaro after another dumb argument about his mid-life crisis. Laura has a coat handed to her by a nurse from Emergency Care. She finds a pack of gum tucked inside a hidden pocket and squeezes it to pulp when the sixth grade class stumbles over Amazing Grace.

The whole thing lasts three hours. Eleven eulogies. Eleven laid to rests. Eleven “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.” Derek breaks his own hand when the priest won’t shut up.

The sheriff standing next to him looks stricken and unsure while a deputy on the other side adopts a stormy glare directed at Father Donovan’s head.

The wake. They should have had a wake instead of this bullshit circus.

Not a dry eye around them except her brother and herself. But, Laura’s all cried out, doesn’t have the liquid available and Derek…Derek seems broken, small and withered, like he was in the flames too.

The ceremony is lovely and lasts too long and Laura can’t be grateful enough when it ends after she and Derek each toss eleven handfuls into the single plot that will house the bare remains of what used to be eleven people.

The crowd disperses quickly after they, one by one, offer condolences that mean nothing to Laura (Laura only because Derek isn’t listening, hunched down and breathing harshly through his mouth).

Finally, the only ones left are the sheriff and his deputy, the veterinarian Mom liked to take stray animals to, the priest, and Derek and Laura.

Sheriff Calhoun is the first to say anything, and it’s just to jam his hat back on his head, stroke his handlebar mustache and grunt, “Rain’s coming.”

Laura wants to yell at him, scream obscenities because no shit, rain’s coming, she can fucking smell it.

Father Donovan agrees with a simple nod of his head before he claps Derek on the shoulder (and Laura glares at him for startling her brother enough that he jerks and lets out a gasp).

“I wish it was a better time,” he says, absently, and Laura stares at him in horror.

The deputy hustles him away, saying, “Father Jacob, why don’t you go back inside for now?” Then he comes back and leads Derek away, one hand hovering over her brother’s back while they head deeper into the cemetery, no doubt heading for the deputy’s wife’s headstone.

The vet steps up next, offering Laura a hand. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” he offers. Laura thinks his name is Deepo or something. “I used to work with your mother.”

“Right,” Laura says, because what else is she supposed to say? Mom loved saving those strays, usually ones that had been struck somewhere close to Hale property and then either dragged themselves to the porch or were found by Derek or Cora (oh, god, Cora, the only thing left of her little sister was the bows Laura had braided into her hair the morning of the fire).

“I’m Dr. Alan Deaton,” the man offers. His gaze is perfectly sympathetic, and Laura tries to shake the unsettling feeling his bright eyes inspire. He glances dismissively at Derek in the distance before turning back to Laura. “I worked with your mom,” he stresses. ��I was her emissary.”

Laura stares at the man before her. Only recently had Mom started explaining what Laura would need to know when she took over the mantle of alpha. An emissary is an advisor, someone trusted who can offer an objective viewpoint and counsel should an alpha require it. Mom had said only the alpha knew who the emissary was to ensure that the emissary would be safe in case of another pack attacking.

Deaton’s heartbeat is steady, his scent unchanged.

He’s not lying.

“You were my mother’s emissary?” Laura confirms, and Deaton nods. “Why are you offering to be mine?”

Deaton holds up a hand, curled as if scooping water. “Your mother did not have time to set up the contacts necessary for you to find your own emissary so I am merely offering my services until such a time that you no longer require them.”

A sudden blip in his heartbeat makes her ears perk. “But?” she says.

Deaton’s eyes dim and his mouth sets in a grim line. “But, I refuse to be emissary of your pack as long as your brother is part of your pack.”

“And why would I kick him out?” Laura asks.

“Because,” Deaton leans closer, sharing a secret, “he is the reason your family is dead.”

Laura draws back, angry.

Deaton holds up his hand again, cupped in the same way. “Kate Argent orchestrated the fire but she received the information about how to get into the house from Derek. They were in a relationship and Derek revealed himself to her. To an Argent.”

Laura finds where Derek is curled down by another headstone, the deputy holding onto him as Derek sobs loudly. The first time he’s broken since that night. Laura’s heart clenches painfully, skin itching with the need to go to her beta, soothe his pain.

“And when did this Argent approach my brother?” Laura has been at college the last few months—she’s going for a degree in child psychology since there aren’t enough therapists in the know. Maybe that was her mistake, leaving her future betas alone for so long.

“A few weeks ago,” Deaton answers.

“And you watched this ‘relationship’ grow without mentioning it to his alpha, my mother?”

Deaton’s heartbeat rises and settles quickly, but it’s his tell—that and the overwhelming stench of guilt rolling off him.

“Excuse me, my beta needs me.” She pushes past the vet, and he grabs her wrist.

“Don’t,” he says, eyes boring into hers. “Don’t push away your best contact.”

“My best contact?” she says icily, jerking her hand free. “My best contact failed to mention that an adult was seeking out an illicit relationship with my underage brother.” A sudden, horrifying thought occurs to Laura and she freezes. Faintly, through the blood rushing in her ears, she can hear Derek whining, reacting to her distress.

“Did you let my family die because you wanted to punish Derek?”

Now it’s her turn to grab Deaton’s wrist. The man barely winces in pain as Laura squeezes his wrist, the bones cracking under her fingers.

“Get the fuck away from us. Don’t ever offer your brand of help again.”

Derek crashes into her back and wraps his arms around her waist. He’s been a whole head taller than her for almost a year now, but he shrinks into her warmth, face pressed against the back of her neck.

Deaton uses the distraction to pull away, his broken wrist cradled to his chest. The deputy watches him go, a knowing look on his face.

“You kids doing all right?” He winces as soon as he speaks and stammers an apology.

“It’s okay,” Laura tells him and only means it a little. As long as she has Derek with her she knows they will be okay even if it isn’t okay right now.

Besides, she can smell the alcohol on his breath, faded, like he hasn’t had a drink in hours, but still there. He’s still grieving his wife. He at least understands where the Hales are at mentally.

“We can’t stay here. Not with that still here.” Laura could probably run Deaton out of town, make sure he never works as an emissary again. Of course, the best solution would be to kill him, but Laura doesn’t think she could do that to her beta. In fact, she isn’t sure she even wants to expand her pack. It wouldn’t feel right. Their family hasn’t even been dead a week yet. She’s not ready to take in new people, train them while she’s still new to her control, to her grief.

Derek tightens his arms around her, his tears soaking through her coat, leaving indelible marks on her skin.

“I understand,” the deputy says. “I hope you find your peace without losing too much of yourself.” He eyes his patrol car sadly, and Laura sees a spindly boy sitting in the front passenger seat. She recognizes him from Cora’s class, from the choir.

“I hope you don’t lose more of yourself,” she offers to the deputy. “And thank you, for all you’ve done for us.”

“Keep in touch, kiddo.”

Laura doesn’t respond, leading Derek, who still hasn’t relinquished his hold on her, to the Camaro. She can’t really say anything right now, still shocked and angry that Deaton, her mother’s emissary, would rather watch the whole family die than help Derek out of a situation that Laura is positive he was pressured in to.

It’s her job as his alpha to protect him, and she can’t do that in Beacon Hills.

There isn’t room to heal when they can’t go anywhere without reminders of their family everywhere. She doesn’t know how the deputy and his son have managed, but she knows it helps that they can’t smell where the people who no longer walk lived and breathed.

“We’re getting out of this town,” Laura tells Derek when he slides into the passenger seat. She reaches across him and buckles him in. Derek just stares at her.

“Peter?” he finally says.

“Do you remember Mom’s friend, Alpha Satomi? I’ll call her, have her check in on him. She’ll also take care of our territory while we’re gone.”

Satomi is the only nearby alpha her mother told her to trust. Ennis and Kali on the west and north sides are power hungry, more of an assembled family than one of blood, not that Laura thinks there’s anything wrong with that. And the Teller pack to the east is bloodthirsty and cruel even to their own pack members.

Satomi is their neighbor to the south, and she has had a long, respectable relationship with Talia. Satomi had offered to take them in for a time, but Laura couldn’t start her tenure as alpha in debt like that and had turned her down.

She wonders if it was the right call.

One way to find out.

She stops at the Quik-Mart on the way out of Beacon Hills, gets a full tank of gas and those chocolate crème things Derek used to like when he was ten. She also buys an atlas and a road map.

The farther they get from town, the easier it is to breathe until the windows are down, and Derek’s hanging out like a dog, sniffing everything new. Laura sometimes forgets that he hasn’t ever left home, a sheltered puppy just waiting to be plucked off the vine by a cruel, remorseless hunter.

Laura vows then, if she ever comes across Kate Argent, she’ll rip her throat out with her teeth.

For now, though, she laughs when Derek pulls his head in and scrapes bugs off his face. And it doesn’t hurt much.

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