#and like. nothing is a burden if it’s croix

[dwellordream]

“…If young Eleanor experienced the worldly civilization of the south exemplified by troubadour poetry at the Poitevin court, she also had exposure to the Christian teachings that dominated court life in northern France. Like other children growing up in twelfth-century Europe, she saw all around her ever-present reminders of the power of the Church. The lives of Eleanor and the ducal family were punctuated by the liturgical calendar with its feasts and fasts; and the great festivals of the Christian year—Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost—called to mind the Church’s central doctrines. 

…Instruction in the tenets of the Christian faith would have formed an important aspect of Eleanor’s early education, conforming to the pattern for daughters in other medieval aristocratic families. A thirteenth-century guide to children’s upbringing sets down that the first thing to be taught to children is belief in God, and that they should learn by heart the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, and the first two of the Ten Commandments. Little Eleanor would have learned to make the sign of the cross and to cross herself each night before going to bed. 

Mothers were charged with helping their young daughters to memorize these fundamental texts of Christianity, but nothing can be known of the role of Eleanor’s mother Aénor, whom she lost so early in childhood. Perhaps the motherless child’s godparents saw to her religious instruction. Once she learned her ABC, her basic knowledge of Latin would have enabled her to read devotional handbooks. She likely received a psalter for personal devotions in quiet moments alone, and her constant repetition of the psalms that she knew through public devotions in the palace chapel would also have aided in improving her skill at reading Latin.

Eleanor would have learned stories of the saints’ lives as part of her childhood religious education. Among them was Saint Radegonde, whose life foreshadowed one aspect of Eleanor’s own—a loveless marriage ending in separation. A Thuringian princess taken captive by the Frankish king, Clothair I, Radegonde was forcibly married to him in 531. It was hardly a happy marriage, and the queen found consolation in religious devotions. After her husband’s murder of her brother, she separated from him, dedicated her life to Christian devotion and founded the abbey of Saint-Croix; and on her death in 587, she was buried nearby in the church bearing her name. 

An important aspect of young Eleanor’s religious life was attendance at daily masses in the palace chapel, or in some nearby church, possibly Notre Dame-la-Grande. She would have occasionally confessed her sins privately to a chaplain in her father’s household, a pious practise gaining ground in the twelfth century, but that would not win the formal status of a sacrament until 1215. Surveillance of individuals’ morality was also fostered by a society composed of people living crowded together with no privacy either in isolated rural communities or in large noble households; both peasants and their lords prized group solidarity and frowned on any unconventional conduct. 

At aristocratic courts, those who violated customary norms of behavior inspired ugly gossip and risked social isolation or even banishment. They were expected to feel both guilt at being condemned as sinners and shame at their exposure to censure by their lord or lady and their noble companions. At the court at Poitiers, however, where Duke William IX had set the tone, behavioral norms hardly met the serious moral standard prevailing at the royal court at Paris, Eleanor’s future home. 

Early on, Eleanor encountered the medieval Christian mentality, largely defined by monks, that was suspicious of human bodily needs, especially sexual activity. Reforming moralists and theologians intent on enforcing priestly celibacy sharpened their attacks on the supposedly sinful nature of women, reinforcing the early Church Fathers’ pervasive mistrust of the gender and burdening them with guilt on that account. Christian teaching, however, held up the sinless Virgin Mary as the model for women, at the same time idealizing and anathematizing women, trapping them in double jeopardy. 

In discussions of Christian married life, moralists and theologians reinforced patriarchal traditions that stressed the wife’s duty to accept subordination to her husband and condemned women daring to challenge the masculine monopoly on power. Yet during Eleanor’s childhood, the Church had not yet succeeded in codifying the early Fathers’ misogyny into its later restrictive definitions of women’s roles. By the mid-twelfth century, canon lawyers would redefine women’s proper sphere to restrict their public roles more and more; they would dismiss Old Testament depictions of women acting as judges as the old law, no longer binding in the Christian era.

It was not only religious teaching that prejudiced males against females in medieval society, stripping from aristocratic women power in the public sphere that they had held in previous centuries, if only precariously. The classical scientific tradition taught in the schools also encouraged masculine superiority, teaching that males were more rational, more capable than females of overcoming their passions. Ideas about female anatomy at the Salerno medical school reinforced the clergy’s notion that women were “raging volcanos of sexual desire,” and scientific theories followed Aristotle’s finding that women were incomplete or imperfect males.

Another factor contributing to the reshaping of medieval notions about women’s proper place was a militarization of society as the aristocracy adopted the chivalric values of their fighting men. At princely courts, a bellicose environment often existed where rivalries between courtiers resulted in violent confrontations; and rude knights feared women who resembled clerics in their skill with non-violent verbal weaponry, using words and sexual wiles to engage in plots and intrigues.

Yet Eleanor, reared in a household under her sensualist grandfather’s influence, would succeed in escaping the feelings of guilt and shame that society expected to restrain women from pursuing their personal fulfillment. As a girl, Eleanor learned that previous dukes of Aquitaine were founders of some of Poitou’s most important religious houses, among them Montierneuf at Poitiers outside the old Roman walls, founded by Duke Guy-Geoffrey as recompense for setting aside his first wife to take a second one. 

Young Eleanor would have visited other monasteries with her father and his household as they circulated about the county, certainly Saint-Maixent, a house not far from Poitiers closely associated with the ducal family. On festival days, Eleanor would have viewed the precious relics of the saints housed in monastic chapels, and she would have heard accounts of miracles performed by the saints for the faithful who venerated their relics. This taught her and other Christians that God was active in the material world, not only in the past but in the present, continuing to intervene in people’s lives with miracles when they called on him or his saints. 

Little Eleanor was taught that eternal salvation was not easily attained, and that a Christian owed definite duties to God. She would have equated these obligations with the loyalty and service owed to one’s lord, a conviction held by most early medieval aristocrats. Any failure to carry out the duties owed to one’s lord, either an earthly one or the heavenly Lord, would mean taking steps to regain his goodwill. Just as the powerless in judgments before a medieval lord’s court needed an influential friend to intercede on their behalf, even more did the dead standing before the heavenly tribunal need a saintly intercessor. 

For the eleventh- and early twelfth-century nobility, “Salvation was a matter of negotiations with God represented by his ministers on earth.” Like other aristocrats, Eleanor knew the importance of purchasing the saints’ goodwill with gifts to monastic houses, and throughout her life she recognized the importance of monasteries for offering perpetual prayers for intercession with God and the saints. As a queen, Eleanor would be punctilious in providing funds for religious houses for prayers for the salvation of her living kin and for the souls of deceased ancestors. 

Eleanor would have grown up with an awareness of earlier duchesses’ special place in the sacred sphere. Some aristocratic ladies found in the devotional life of the Church a means of transcending limitations that society imposed on women, winning control over a corner of their lives. In an age of family solidarity, the wives and mothers of princes played an essential part in securing their families’ eternal salvation with their devotional practises, their friendships with holy men and women, and their patronage of monastic houses.”

- Ralph V. Turner, “Growing Up in the Ducal Court of Aquitaine, 1124–1137.” in Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of France, Queen of England

[three-word-count]

Bitter Thoughts and Drinks to Match

Zelda hates formality and uses a slightly-drunk Link to get the hell out of attending responsibilities. This is based on a prompt someone sent to my main but I realized at the end that the “affection” aspect is more like la croix rather than direct..

Word count is 1881

Read it on ao3 if you want

Overly pretentious would be her first words to describe it.

"You must look your utmost best," her father had said to her. Of course, though, she prepared herself the same way as any other day. It's not like he would notice a difference in her anyhow. 

Her hair swept down her back, pulled away from her face like drapes by a delicately woven band. She was adorned with the classic royal garb she would normally wear to these events, her vibrant irises standing out against the deep blue. Golden crests fringed the edges of her robes and stood proudly on her jewelry to represent her lineage. She hated it. 

She didn't recall having these disgustingly over-the-top galas when her mother was still here. Perhaps the queen preferred to be more comfortable. Or perhaps she just kept Zelda's father in check. With his better half departed, perhaps he'd finally lost it and decided to cope with cheesy extravagance. Zelda had of course become accustomed to the formality of things, living her life as a princess of Hyrule. But you can only tolerate so much in so many years before you begin to despise it. What she wouldn't give to have any other life. These events especially reminded her of it all. Whereas getting dressed in extravagant formal wear and glorifying yourself would normally be viewed as a fun night out for most people her age, Zelda experienced it all as just another tedious, official obligation. 

And this event was even worse than most.

Her father had organized this celebration to bring light to the princess and the "progress in her diligent prayers, calling to our Goddesses and strengthening her power to abolish the Calamity." She truly loathed him.

He has to keep spirits in the kingdom high, he says. The people must have hope, he says. You are their hope, he says.

She wishes she wasn't. 

She sat a bit straighter, wishing she could let out a sigh. Her father remained seated beside her, rigidly formal as ever. Two senior knights were posted beside them, scanning the crowd for any nitwit that would even consider threatening the royal family at a celebratory event, of all scenes. The absurdity of being guarded for one's entire life. The only knight she could tolerate was the little, quiet, reserved boy she had grown to care for who was currently chugging a mug of Hylia-knows-what while being cheered on by a circle of peers. That was a sight she'd never thought she'd see.

Normally, knights would attend events rather seriously, a long table of them in the dining hall sitting rather proudly and eating their well-deserved fill with a single glass of wine. However at tonight's celebration, her father had told the younger members of the Brigade to enjoy themselves, as he was thankful for the work they had done to watch over the princess. Now, when officially granted the freedom to "enjoy yourself", any given person would naturally, fully, enjoy themselves. The king likely considered this beforehand, but as he glared at the boisterous table, Zelda assumed he had expected them to maintain at least some decency. 

She turned her attention back to Link himself as he slammed down the empty mug into the table, making the silverware clatter as his friends let out congratulatory whoops. As he was her personally assigned knight, she spent the most time with him compared to the rest of the royal guards. Before meeting him, she knew him to be "the silent knight" and expected him to stay this way as he irritatingly chased her shadow wherever she went. However, the two began to bond after always being in such close proximity throughout the days. She recalls the first time he spoke to her, his soft voice clashing with his rigidly stoic personality. He slowly began to open up, and Zelda in turn took down her walls. As he was the youngest royal knight, barely older than Zelda herself, she felt a true connection to him. Both were burdened by pressure and expectations at such an unfair age, all public eyes watching their every move. It was a special kind of kinship they shared. 

However, she had never seen this side of him and didn't even think he had this side. She'd heard rumors that his platoon had dared him to eat a platter of rocks, and he had done so quite enthusiastically, but she didn't dare believe it. Now she found herself second-guessing. 

But maybe she could use this to get out of here. 

"Father," she said, "It was quite kind of you to allow the guards to enjoy themselves this night."

He let out an irritated huff of air from his nose, glancing at her as if asking Where are you going with this?

"However," she continued, "I worry that my knight will not be fit to guard tonight if this continues." 

The king turned forwards once again, eyes set on the knights' table like stone. He let out a deep humm as if he was actually considering his daughter's concerns for once. 

"Are you asking for an excusal?" he finally asked, remaining facing forward and as rigid as ever.

That usually wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, father."

Silence.

"If you would be so kind, father, I shall return to my room and pray. My knight may remain posted with me as always." 

Promises of prayer and diligence. He always liked that. He seemed to further mull this over, and then stood. Silence befell the hall and all eyes turned to him before he even spoke.

“I would like to thank you all for attending this gala for our princess. It truly means a lot to her and I, her confidence and abilities improving each day due to your prayers and encouragement. However, our princess must retire early this night, as she has a vigorous prayer routine in order to prepare for her coming journey to the spring of wisdom. We shall allow our princess to return to her devotion, and she offers her appreciation before her departure.” 

And with that, Zelda took her cue to get up and leave as quickly as possible, without either causing confused murmurs or without her father deciding to call her back. She skirted the edges of the room, steadily approaching the knights at the easternmost wing of the dining hall as she ignored the crawling sensation of hundreds of eyes tracing her movements. She halted at the head of the table, expecting Link to automatically rise from his seat and depart with her, but she was disappointed to find that he was lying face-down on a placemat with his arm sprawled across the surface, gripping onto an empty mug in his delirium. His peers were doing an excellently awful job at attempting to shield him from sight, presumably one of them kicking Link from under the table as he gave a periodic little jolt. Sir Link, who would promptly lose consciousness after only one drink, was truly the most valiant and courageous knight of them all. The hero of legend indeed. 

“Hero,” she said curtly. That was sure to snap him awake. She hadn’t spoken to him like that in months. 

Link gave a startled snort and made a sound that appeared to be a mix between heyyyyy and noooo.

Zelda sighed and held back a smile with all her willpower. “Try to appear… fit. Let’s go.”

She thought she heard him mutter “Hylia…” before getting up to full height and keeping his head down, sure to either avoid eye contact or to hide his miserable expression. Imagine attending a royal gala and getting to see the hero of legend get wasted. Surely that would bring comfort to the denizens of Hyrule. 

Zelda began to head off at a slow pace as to allow her knight to steadily follow. As the pair left, Zelda kept her gaze set forward firmly. She didn’t want to see what anyone else was thinking. She hated these galas anyway. As soon as she was out of here she could relax. 

Her shoulders went slack as soon as the door was closed shut behind them. Finally free. Link seemed to agree with her thoughts, as he leaned against the wall with a thud, glaring at the ceiling with a scrunched face. Zelda smirked. 

“Too much for you, hero of legend?” 

He responded with a disgruntled moan. 

“Perhaps I should be the one guarding you instead,” she joked, moving to lean against the wall next to him. 

He closed his eyes and let a puff of air escape from his nose. “Never let me drink again.”

“Alright, I hereby formally declare you as banned from ‘partying hard.’”

Link let out a single bark of laughter. “A life sentence, eh princess?”

“You did say ‘never’ after all.” She smiled at him as his glazed blue eyes met hers. “Though, I may even have to change it to ‘partying mild’ by the looks of you,” she added. 

Link hummed in content as his back slid down the wall so he could sit comfortably. “Wait with me a bit,” he said weakly, though it sounded more like a hopeful question. 

Zelda of course obliged, and sat down next to him, tucking her dress under her folded knees. They sat in comfortable silence as Link's eyes began to flutter closed and his breathing became deeper. Zelda was glad that he could be so comfortable around her now. He wouldn't dare to fall asleep in her presence a mere month ago. 

But now, all Zelda could do was stare ahead at the wall. Her thoughts ran free, jabbing needles through her head. Her hatred for galas. Her hatred for this. For everything. For her father. For herself… 

“Worthless…” she whispered to no one. “Dedicating my life to prayer and yet cannot receive a single answer. Nearly ten years… And yet father pretends that everything is fine by maintaining this masquerade with galas to cover. A fine set of never-ending distractions…” She sighed, resting her chin on her knees. “Just a good-for-nothing king and his good-for-nothing daughter at the head of it all.”  

She sat in her frustrated silence a second more, and turned her head back to Link to see a single sapphire eye clouded by alcohol and sleep gazing upon her. Compassion. Understanding. He didn't need to utter a single word to convey his emotions. We share these burdens together. 

Zelda gave him a melancholy smile and stood. “Let’s be off, hero.” 

And with that, the memory began to fade. 

She opened her eyes. Nothing to see but a golden hell of her own making. Sweat poured down her brow. The intense light seared her skin. What a time to recall something as minor in her life as that… Clinging to seemingly insignificant memories in order to harvest any available scrap of hope she can get her hands on. 

Though to her, any memory of him was quite the opposite of insignificant. She prayed he was coming soon. Not that prayer ever did a single thing for her anyway. She wished he was coming soon. 

She wished none of this had ever happened this way.

She wished she were anywhere else but here. 

She wished she were at a gala.

[lovehotelreservation]

Formulaic

Summary: There was a process to every solution.

And while Cid was aware of one particular solution he so dearly wished to attain, the process was simply too formidable to even attempt:

To confess his feelings to Maria, the Warrior of Light.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: WoL!OC/Cid

EVERY TIME I SEE CID I GET WHIPLASH THAT HE’S ONLY 34 HEWWO ??? MANS LOOKS LIKE HE’S GOT WERTHER’S ORIGINAL KISSES NOT LA CROIX MAKEOUT SESSIONS!!!

ANYWAY HFLKAFHAKL THANK YOU TO MY DEAREST COMMISSIONER FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY--ESP SINCE I PROGRESSED FURTHER ON THE OMEGA SERIES BECAUSE OF THIS!!!

---------------- Cid regretted ever fixing that damn kettle.

While doing so finally got the whinging pursed lips of Nero to finally hush up so he could hone his focus upon Garlond Ironworks’ current endeavor of seeking out Omega, the repair of the Mark XIV Thermocoil Boilmaster only served to give his lifelong rival all the opportunity to cozy up to the very person that Cid wanted him to stay the furthest away from.

Or attempt to at least.

A personality utterly kind and demure, eyes grey like rain clouds on a cozy morning, soft and silken locks of gold that cascaded to the middle of her back, a mind so brilliant and witty.

Eorzea’s Warrior of Light, but his own precious weakness.

She was Maria and oh how his heart yearned for her.

All while his eyes bore holes into the ground beneath which Nero stood every time he approached her with a mischievous glint in his eyes and an arrogant smirk on his face.

While Cid was more than overjoyed to see Maria fix herself a cup of tea during the lulls between endeavors in the Datascape, whenever she went to pour herself a drink, Nero was sure to be trailing after her, going on about superior blends in Garlemald and how he was more than ready to show her the breadth of his refined palate.

His intentions were clear.

And though Cid was ever prepared to step in as need be to keep Nero from pestering her further, the crux of the underlying issue in face of all this remained present in place:

His own feelings for Maria.

If the situation called for it, he could easily give a fully articulated lecture on the Allagans while inebriated to the point he was face planted on the floor in a drunken and naked slump right in the middle of Sapphire Avenue during peak Starlight shopping season.

But to confess how he genuinely felt about the woman who captivated him so dearly, who inspired him to go beyond any boundary?

The thought of risking the friendship that he treasured with her like nothing else was enough to push him to drink.

After all, with how often that the world relied on her strength to help defend it, he was protective of her--even lamenting that time he jokingly declared his need for her mainly due to her usefulness while he was guiding her through the tumultuous depths of The Praetorium.

Yet with the aftermath of that infamous night in Ul’dah and her subsequent escape to Ishgard, it was then that he began to realize that his fondness for her went beyond mere allies, mere friends.

This was made apparent the moment they were properly reunited after her far too close encounter with the Vundu at the Sea of Clouds, having successfully escaped pursuit by the Bismarck.

What with the way he could not hold himself back from taking her into his arms, hugging her close as all tension within his body was swiftly relieved as he took her in.

Her presence, her scent, her adorably surprised stammers as he embraced her right in front of Hauchefant and Emmanellain.

Along with Wedge and Biggs, with the former letting out a startled “Chief--!” while the other released the hearty chuckle of “Aye boss, demonstration of affection’s handled a whole lot differently in Ishgard, you know!”

For all his intentions to never let her go from the moment he feared the worst upon her disappearance, he was ever quick to relinquish her, a faint dust of pink spreading across his cheeks.

Cid was thankful that she didn’t seem to catch onto Biggs’s cheeky remark, looking so gorgeously flustered more so from his sudden embrace, despite her attempts to look composed in light of their reunion.

And it was from then on that he happily took his place within her journey, whether physically together during their attempts to thwart the return of Alexander, or when they were apart and remained joined together by way of letter or linkpearl.

To hear her say or see his name in her handwriting was a joy that could not ever be replicated by anything else.

As a pursuer of knowledge, he had to abide by what was factual.

There was no denying of his longing for Maria.

Not while he had Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie chiming in to ask if he had been talking to her whenever they handed her letters to him with knowing smiles on their faces.

And now, with Maria dedicating her time and effort to assist him and the rest of Garlond Ironworks with Omega’s ongoing trials, he could feel his heart welling with his increasingly overwhelming desire to express how he felt.

It was just only more irritating that Nero had stoked the flames by his pompous ways, of which left plenty on Cid’s mind, especially with the completion of the first gambit of battles under Omega’s watch and the return to Rhalgr’s Reach for some needed rest and recuperation.

Though, relaxation was in the furthest corner of his mind, whether by the mystery of Omega’s intentions or his current predicament of his feelings towards Maria.

With the hour late, rather than try to force himself back to sleep within the sleeping quarters set aside for Garlond Ironworks, he thought a walk around the now quiet compound would serve him better instead.

A change between sleeping clothes to a light shirt and a pair of pants--more suitable for the arid Ala Mhigan weather.

There was a small grin on his face as he emerged from the sleeping area.

Already he could hear Maria’s voice of exasperated curiosity with the inquiry of “How are you not evaporating?” whenever she saw his usual day to day attire.

Yet the voice that was in his head was heard by his very ears as he entered the common area that led out to the rest of Western Rhalgr’s Reach.

“Cid?”

Seated at one of the communal tables was none other than Maria, her expression curious and mug in her hands steaming, all while the Mark XIV Thermocoil Boilmaster presided by her on the tabletop.

The gods may toy but sometimes their mischief was simply too much.

His heart aflutter and his grin widening, Cid approached where Maria was sitting. “Well now, someone’s up late.”

The corners of her mouth quirked into a small smile as she proceeded to take a sip. “I see it as being up early.”

But though her tone was jovial and her expression relaxed, there was a distant look in her eye that signified a preoccupation.

He knew that look.

“I see--though, a warrior like yourself ought to get her rest, no?” Pulling out the chair beside her, he proceeded to take a seat, all while his grey eyes gazed towards her with concern. “Tell me, what keeps you up on this good night, Maria?”

While it was often joked that Cid was married to the pursuit of knowledge, he liked to think that his devotion to his studies made him especially perceptive of properly assessing emotion.

For surely, who else happily devoted one’s efforts to knowing so much of Maria such as he?

It was then that she set her mug down on the table.

Just before she turned towards him, her lips forming into a pout.

A pout he so dearly wished to kiss.

Huffing, she remarked as her arms folded over her chest, “Are we speaking about the general burden of being the go-to person for everyone’s dilemma, or that Nero is getting under my skin again? Take your pick.”

No words in modern and/or Allagan vernacular could fully describe the relief that washed over Cid’s body.

Still, always wishing for her to be at peace, he responded in turn with a sympathetic grin as he chuckled, “Ahh, one of those pesky reasons to stay up. What has our comrade in reluctant arms done this time?”

Maria turned her attention towards her mug on the table.

Her favorite one of the Garlond Ironworks’s collection, which Cid always made sure to have on hand whenever she was working alongside them.

Though many thoughts were swirling in her mind at this very moment--especially with Cid sitting right beside at an otherwise romantic hour--she continued as disdain intertwined itself with each word she spoke, “Earlier, Nero insisted that I try his cup of tea, and right when I did, he started gloating about an indirect kiss.”

If the thought of Maria’s voice energized his soul to go on a walk at such a late time, the mere utterance of Nero thinking himself to be so charming he could think to flirt in such a way made the inklings of a migraine begin to form within Cid’s head.

With her body visibly cringing at the recollection, the late hour had her lamenting out loud, “Is every brilliant mind from Galemand as big of a pompous know-it-all like him?”

“Well I like to think of myself as a humble servant to the majesty of study,” Cid teased with a shrug.

Setting her cheek against her palm while her elbow set upon the table, she remarked with a shake of her head, “You’re the exception.”

Cid had to wonder if he just gulped down a mug of tea himself with the rush of heat that suddenly surged through his chest. He let out another laugh, richer, deeper. “I take it that you’re not as keen to receive Nero’s odd attempts at courting?”

Maria’s eyes closed as she groaned at the thought, “I’d rather kiss the floor of the Gold Saucer during the summer season.”

“Then, would you prefer a kiss from elsewhere…?”

And then her eyelids fluttered open.

The lightheartedness in Cid’s tone had subsided into one of sincerity, as matched by the look in his eyes while he peered directly towards her.

Though unsure of how to feel or proceed, everything within her body encouraged her to step forward towards what she had yearned for so long.

And so, ever shyly but with her eyes gazing right into his, she murmured, “...If it must come from elsewhere, it can only come from one person.”

His breath caught in his throat. “‘One person…?’”

Her face grew warm from embarrassment. “I think you can figure it out, humble servant to the majesty of study.

Cid couldn’t resist from gasping with delight. “Gods Maria--”

His hands swiftly cupped her cheeks and their mouths met for a long awaited kiss, the warmth of the tea on her lips making them both melt further into their connection.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, bringing the two of them closer. 

It was yearning now fulfilled, a flood of long withheld affection bursting forth, a craving for one another looking to be satisfied, to be changed from midnight fantasy to joyful fruition.

Kisses once shy and careful turned earnest and heated, tongues stumbling against one another as hands groped with need.

Were it not knowing her penchant for reservation, he would have ravaged her right then and there at the commons table.

Instead, he opted to lift her up into a carry, her arms and legs hugging around his shoulders and waist as he hurriedly brought her back to his quarters, his walk and her tea forgotten.

Surely, this had to be a dream in some way, no?

But as her back fell upon his mattress, as their hands continued to undress and feel each other as physical confirmation that what was occurring was very much real, the joys of the present couldn’t have been more sweet.

And how Cid savored her moans like that of an addictive confection.

Even without trying to be mindful of others at this late hour, Maria stifled her moans out of shyness, all while her back arched into warmth of Cid’s lips as they kissed over her dribbling core, the bristles of his facial hair scratching against her quivering as he eagerly lapped his tongue along her slit with long and indulgent strokes.

Though, she couldn’t quite be as quiet when she was eventually seated on his lap, her face buried into his shoulder as she rode his cock, all while one of his big sturdy hands held onto her hip while the other fondled her ass, guiding her up and down the length of his thick dick at a brisk pace.

This provided an ample opportunity to plant his lips along the crook of her neck, gentle suckles leaving red marks in their wake.

While he knew that Maria would do everything in her power to understandably cover up, the thought of Nero thinking twice to pursue her while seeing the marks on her neck was satisfying.

But nowhere near as satisfying as feeling the muffled whimpers of his name from her lips against his skin, the hot and slippery confines of her slick walls squeezing around his cock, up until they reached their orgasms with her core clamping onto his dick and his seed flooding inside her in a lascivious, scorching burst.

Much like as they began, they ended with their lips on one another’s yet again as they fell back onto his mattress, joined together now by their arms embracing one another, fingers intertwining, his lips against her temple, her head nestling upon the sturdiness of his chest.

Though they would have much to fully confide and earnestly convey once their bodies were properly rested, both Cid and Maria were relieved, their hearts feeling warm.

Far warmer than any brewed cup of tea.

[big-bad-ulf]

Untethered || Ulfric & Luce

Location: Dell’s Tavern

Timing: Before the last full moon

Tagging: @big-bad-ulf and @divineluce

Content: Family death mentions, thoughts/discussion of self-harming behaviors, alcohol abuse

Description: Ulfric and Luce lower their guard after a night of drinking and have a more successful heart-to-heart about their respective losses. If swearing loyalty to each other’s revenge plots can be considered a ‘success’

Grabbing the next round of beers from the bar, Luce walked back to the high top table she and Ulf were sitting at in the corner of Dell’s. The noise of the tavern was a comforting sound to her-- the roar of sports games playing on the screens in lieu of a band playing music. Balancing the two large steins of beer in her hands, Luce slid one across the table to Ulf and took her seat across from him. Lifting the large glass up in his direction, she gave him a slightly unsteady grin She’d matched him drink for drink which would have been fine… if he wasn’t a beast of a man. In a literal sense. Werewolf metabolism had to do something for processing alcohol. Whereas she was decidedly neither of those things. Taking a long drink from her glass, she nodded a bit more emphatically than she normally would, “When you’re right, you’re right. This German stuff is pretty fucking good.” Setting the glass back down, she idly pressed the back of her forearm against the glass, pressing one of her bruises to the cold surface.

Walking into Dell's this time had felt disconcerting, the place familiar yet slightly foreign after his prolonged absence. While both Bennets and Layla had resided under his roof Ulfric had always needed to be on watch, always needed a clear head. Now that threat was gone and there was no one waiting up for him, so he was free to unwind, the buzz of activity and alcohol keeping him from dwelling for too long on how that change in situation came to pass. "Those American light beers have no taste, they practically go down like water." Ulfric insisted as he took a long drink from the stein Luce place in front of him, repeating the argument he'd made several times throughout the night with increasing conviction as the beverages kicked in. "That's new, since I saw you last," He mentioned, casting a glance down at the bruised arm she pressed against the glass, the observation that he'd usually keep to himself finding its way out past his lowered inhibitions. "Did sword training get a little hands on?" He continued, providing a half-hearted out as an apology for stepping slightly over the line they'd drawn regarding talking about each other's personal bullshit. "I wouldn't have thought that would be allowed. Doesn't it defeat the purpose of, well, swords?" 

“Yeah, yeah, American beer sucks, Budlight is basically pisswater, Coors may as well be La Croix of beer.” Luce said before drinking deeply from her mug, letting the cold carbonation rush down her throat. The bar around her was just a little fuzzy at the edges, which was just how she wanted it. Made things easier, to see it through a filter like this. And there was no better filter than a beer or four. Glancing down at her bruised forearm, as though she didn’t realize what he was talking about, Luce shrugged. Adam had fucked her up. Granted, she knew he’d been holding back-- Hunter strength and all that jazz. If he had wanted to, he could have broken her arm, broken her ribs without even trying. But, even with the pulled punches, she was still sore and bruised all over. Which was exactly what she wanted. “Nah, me and a dude beat the shit out of each other in the woods.” She said, the truth slipping out easily over the rim of her stein. “No swords involved, otherwise I probably would be really fucked up.” She said with a laugh. Training swords, even synthetic training blades, were still weapons. Still dangerous. Still very capable of knocking out teeth and breaking bone. It was a good fucking thing they’d stuck to hand to hand.

“Yes, it’s all fun and games until someone gets stabbed, I suppose.” Ulfric tried to match her laugh, to restore the bubble of alcohol-infused levity that had previously surrounded them, but it was a little strangled and forced. Somehow he seemed to have crossed the threshold between contentedly tipsy and sad, wallowing drunk, creeping over the line between the two without realizing it. Though in fairness to himself, with the way his vision was slightly blurring it would’ve been difficult to see it. “That sounds like the sort of thing I would do, the woods part, especially,” The werewolf conceded, he could hardly just her for brawling, but it just didn’t fit her style. With her powers, as he understood them, no one should’ve been able get near her, at least without risking a fiery retaliation. Which meant something was wrong, or she’d let herself get hurt, which was even more wrong. “I don’t get why you let this guy touch you without inflicting severe burn damage to his balls. It just doesn’t seem like you, Luce.” He found himself voicing his thoughts aloud, before sighing and running an agitated hand through his hair once he realized what he has said, how he’d skirted their rules again. “Faen, sorry… I know I promised, but it’s not funny for me to see or think about you being in pain.”

“I dunno, a good stabbing makes it all the more fun.” Luce said with a wry grin, not noticing the forced tone that her boss’ voice had taken on. With another large gulp of beer, she looked at her stein for a moment-- fuck, how was it already half empty? Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Luce focused on her boss as the world began to tip pleasantly from side to side. Or maybe her head was wobbling? Uncertain. “It was a good time.” She replied, though the smile that had remained on her face slipped slightly as Ulfric spoke again. A lump formed in the back of her throat at his words and she stared at the rim of her glass for a moment. The thought of her being in pain? It… fuck, it sounded melodramatic even in her head but… ever since Bea had died, her life had been nothing but fucking pain. The worst kind of pain. The pain of the soul, the pain of losing someone who she had spent much of her life relying on. It was the sort of pain that came with agonizing numbness that she would do anything to get rid of. Including fighting Adam in the woods. For a brief moment, Luce contemplated telling Ulfric to fuck off. To mind his own business, that she had this under control. But did she? Was any of this “under control?” Swallowing, Luce looked at him, “Sometimes hurting feels better than not feeling at all. It helps to feel a different kind of pain.” One I deserve. 

Ulfric had fully expected a rebuff, so when Luce didn’t dodge the question he was thrown off-kilter. The sensation reminded him of when his parents had first been teaching him how to track and he’d misjudged his footing, expecting solid ground but suddenly finding himself falling. As it was then, this was unknown territory he found himself in, and he’d be wise to tread carefully. But both ‘wisdom’ and ‘caution’ were concepts that had become unappealing and difficult to comprehend several drinks ago. “If you truly felt nothing underneath all this, you wouldn’t have to work so hard to cover it up.” He countered bluntly instead. “And what is that work getting you? Bottle things up and the best-case scenario is they stay trapped that way, and things stay the way they are.” He took a long swig of his beer and contemplated the container it came in as he spoke, as if some deep truth lay within it. “More likely they spill out when you don’t want them to, or explode, and you’ve got a predisposition towards the more fiery outcome.” The image of the cup of coffee boiling over in her hand flashed through his mind, an inopportune and involuntary manifestation of the power she kept inside. He could relate to that, even if he didn’t understand the nuances of how her magic worked. “It… can help to let whatever you’re feeling flow through you on your own terms,” he found himself offering her the advice he’d often given less experienced werewolves intent on repressing their more primal impulses. “Though I’d expect yours would be different to mine.” She couldn’t rely on the moon to help her through releasing whatever negative energies were eating her up inside, but she could rely on his support, if she wanted it. 

Taking another long drink from her glass, Luce mulled over his words. Part of her wanted to lash out at him-- what did he know about her pain? What did he know about how she felt? How could he even think to understand what she was going though? But, that was just the thing, she realized. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was happening. All he knew was that she’d been… fucked up. Had been acting out, hadn’t been showing up to work, or had been throwing herself into things harder than she should have. All he knew was that she was spiralling. Fuck. Letting out a sigh, she set the glass down, the alcohol and mixed emotions churning in her stomach. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to make her burdens his. She didn’t want to show this side of weakness to him. But, another side of Luce wanted to tell him everything. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could do this. How much longer could she hold onto the burden of her sister’s death, the responsibility of her resurrection, the fear and self-doubt that threatened to bring her to her knees. “I…” Luce took in a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, it might.” She said, digging her fingers into her arm, pressing hard into the floral designs etched into her skin. “Someone killed my sister. Bea.” Saying the words out loud, it felt just like it had the night she’d told Remmy what had happened. A tidal wave of emotion, guilt, sadness, anger, but most of all pain-- it all rushed over her. Luce gripped her fingers tighter, her shoulders tensing. “They were hunting Nell, but Bea… sacrificed herself. Saved her.” And she’d done nothing.

Luce’s confession brought Ulfric back to that night outside the trailer when Ari had returned to finally speak the words out loud and make them real; My sister is dead. His stomach plummeted, and he was briefly overcome by the impulse to find some kind of blanket to wrap her up in like he had the young wolf, despite how pointless that was when she could generate her own warmth. “What is it about sisters and self-sacrifice?” He found himself mumbling into his hands, leaning forward with his elbows braced against the table under the weight of the news. He hadn’t meant to say that, but a confession of his own in return for hers seemed fair. “Ariana’s sister is dead too, for similarly noble, bullshit reasons.” And his own sister was dead for completely arbitrary, bullshit reasons but that was beside the point. “Not that I’m trying to pit your grief against mine. Yours would kick mine’s sorry ass.” He explained. “I just want you to know I have some experience to back me up when I say that I’m sure… Bea was a good person, and the last she would want is to see any of her sisters hurt. Inflict that pain on the world if you need to. Throw something, light something on fire, tell me to get fucked in some creative way,” He suggested, searching for human substitutes for the innate mechanism of releasing pent up negativity that he’d been born with. Luckily, he was fairly certain he could smooth over anything she did short of burning the whole bar down with a sizable tip. “We can even go out back and I’ll let you get a few swings in. I doubt I’d feel it much right now, anyway. Just don’t direct this back on yourself, energy can’t escape a closed circuit like that.” 

“Sisters. We’ll fight and bicker like hell, but someone comes for one of us… We’ll go to the ends of the earth to hunt them down.” Luce said quietly, her finger tracing one of the flower petals on her arm, staring at one of the snakes nestled among the flowers. Her mother. Her father. Neither of them knew. They were half a world away, none the wiser to what had happened to their favorite daughter. None the wiser to what their remaining daughters were sacrificing to bring her back. At Ulfric’s next words, Luce felt her stomach lurch. Ariana’s sister-- “Celeste?” She asked, aghast, staring at him. No. No, no, no. She hadn’t messaged the other woman, hadn’t heard from her in weeks. She thought maybe she’d read the signs wrong, that she’d just been a little too pushy, that Celeste was ghosting her. It had happened for. Plenty of women had done it to her. She had never thought that she was dead. “Fuck. Fuck.” Luce said her voice cracking as her jaw clenched. “I… I’m sorry.” She said thickly, sucking in a deep breath to try and keep from crying. Waving a hand, Luce lifted her glass and drained the rest of the beer from the stein. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I’ve already tried that. Tried to kill some monsters. Killed a couple. Scared a few people. Burned down the woods. Didn’t matter. It all just felt… like shit. Nothing helped. Nothing’s helped.” Luce whispered, staring down at the tabletop, unable to meet his eyes.

Despite his dampened senses, it was obvious to Ulfric that Luce was close to tears, but he managed to keep from commenting on it despite his lowered impulse control. As close as they were, she’d never broken down in front of him, and he didn’t want to scare or shame her into restraining her emotions again by acknowledging it. “Alright, I get it, nothing’s helped.” He eventually accepted her response, rising from the booth to head toward the bar. When he sank back into his seat a few minutes later with freshly refilled steins he sighed and picked up where he left off. “Time’s supposed to, right? Let’s just pass the time then.” He nudged the glass towards her and raised his own in a tentative toast. “To sisters?”

When the man stood up to get more drinks, Luce buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking slightly as she held back tears. Bea. Celeste. What the fuck. What the fuck. Why were the women around her dying? Who else would be next? And there was nothing that she could do for Celeste. Or for Ariana. Ariana-- fuck. She was just a kid. 18, but a kid. And she’d just lost her sister. Christ. Rubbing her face, Luce did her best to school her expression back to one of relative calm. The pain was still clear on her face, but the increased swaying of the room around them helped ease it away. “To sisters… avenging sisters.” She said, tapping her glass against his before drinking deeply, letting the alcohol wash over her. If she drank enough, maybe then she could just… forget this fresh, brutal news. “You… You said time’s supposed to help.” Luce said, echoing his words, her words running together as she stared at him with bleary eyes. “Did it? When you, when you lost your siblings. Did time help?”

“Did what?” Ulfric asked, her words becoming harder to decipher as they blurred together. “Oh, ...right.” He continued, recognition coming over him slowly. He was surprised she’d remembered. He only mentioned them in passing to explain why he didn’t get many visitors. ‘I’m the middle child of five, but my two older siblings are busy taking care of the family business back home, and the younger ones passed away a long time ago.’ An ocean of time, bigger than the ocean he’d crossed to get where he was now. Had it helped? “It helped somewhat,” He answered softly, after another steadying mouthful of ale. “Not as much as vengeance,” He added honestly, before reclining back into his chair to survey the bustling bar around them. “But I doubt you’ll find much of that at Dell’s. Time and company will have to do for now.” 

“Somewhat.” Luce nodded, taking another large gulp of beer. The bar was spinning around her, her emotions hanging by a thread. But, she kept them at bay as best she could. She focused on Ulfric, focused on his words. On the fact that he knew her pain. He’d felt the fresh sting of losing siblings at one time, even if it had been years ago. But… Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Luce glanced around at Dell’s. No one was around, no one near at least. And it was loud enough that no one would be able to tell who’d said anything, even if they had werewolf ears like Ulf. “Not here in Dell’s. But, vengeance…” She let out a dry chuckle. “Sisters. You don’t fuck with them.” She said, her eyes dull as she leaned back into her chair. Her hand tapped against the top of their table, small sparks of blue flame drifting from her fingertips. “Sisters, they’ll chase you to hell and back again.” 

At Luce’s glance around the room, Ulfric vaguely remembered that he wasn't supposed to talk of things like vengeance around mundane company. He generally tried to keep from alluding to things he’d done in the past at all, but he found at that moment the only person whose judgment he feared was hers, and that didn’t come. The acceptance he felt instead was like another layer of intoxication. None of the bar patrons seemed to be listening to them, likely because many of them had come to the bar with the goal of forgetting the things they’d seen and heard that they couldn’t or didn’t want to explain and weren’t looking to add to their burdens. Still, for her sake, he leaned in closer and kept his voice low as he nodded “Sisters can be formidable creatures.” The flames that sparked from her hand were uncomfortably warm in such close proximity to his, but he didn’t back away from them. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of one on the path to retribution.” He searched her eyes for some hint of what she was thinking, planning before deciding it didn’t matter. He already knew if she asked for his help with this he’d agree, details be damned. He wouldn’t be able to back down from the chance to help another sister, to do it better this time. “I’d stand by your side though,” The werewolf assured her, doing his best to keep her steady in his vision, to imprint the promise in his mind even after his sobriety returned. “If you needed me to.” 

Locking eyes with Ulfric, Luce watched the way he leaned in. “Yeah. Yeah, they can be.” She said, smothering the flames with her palm, choking the blue flames out. She could feel the heat against her palm, but like all fire, it didn't burn. A part of her wondered what it would feel like, to burn like that. But, it never happened. The flames didn’t bite against her skin, they never went against her. At his words, she took another long sip of beer as she mulled over his offer. “Thanks, Ulf. But… I’ve got it covered.” She said, a smile curling on her lips, cold and cruel. “The motherfucker who did this, he’s going to wish he’d never even thought about coming after my family.” August. She’d held him in her hands, threatened to melt the skin from his face, had come so close to killing him… Next time, she wouldn’t hold back. Next time, he would know just how badly he’d fucked up by setting that hunter on her family. Luce let out a long sigh, she looked at him. “Same goes for you. With… Ariana’s situation. If you need help, if she needs help-- just say the word. I’ll do whatever I can to help. No one should lose a sister.” No one should feel the pain she did.

“I don’t doubt it, on both counts,” Ulfric told her, picking up on the determination in her tone, but not the iciness that might have given him pause if he had a clearer head. “You’ve got a deal.” He tapped his knuckles against her shoulder lightly in lieu of shaking her hand that had only recently stopped sparking, before tipping his glass to her and drinking deep to seal the new arrangement. Sinking bonelessly back into his seat he hummed, mulling over their conversation and the unexpected turns it had taken. “Hmm, all this talk of revenge makes me feel…” He searched his addled brain for a way to describe the sense of unfulfilled emptiness that had settled into his gut. “Hungry. Buffalo wings? Yes, buffalo wings.” He asked and answered his own question without pausing for breath, certain that was the solution. “I’m buying.”

[alexofaquitaine]

MAX IRONS, 29, WILLIAM DE LA CROIX. ❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the DUKE  OF AQUITAINE, WILLIAM DE LA CROIX  from FRANCE. they are at best CHARMING and at their worst MANIPULATIVE .whilst abroad, their ambition is to FURTHER HIS INFLUENCE. HE seems to remind everyone of MAX IRONS & The sounds of steel  blades clashing together, The battle cries screaming in his dreams, The blood of those who would come between him and his dreams stained on his hands. ❞ penned by SIAN; BST, SHE/HER, 26.

What current conflicts does your character face?

William’s conflicts are very much of his own making. He has spent most of his life enjoying the perks of being the second, the spare and he wasn’t expecting anything else. His reputation is the main source of his troubles and because of that, his father isn’t giving him his inheritance in writing, instead he has threatened to leave him with the bare minimum and making his cousin the heir.

Another conflict is his own ambitions. Now he has something to prove, William is becoming too ambitious and wants more power for himself so he isn’t at the mercy of others, like his father and his friends. If he had his way, William would have a wife of royal blood,  tied forever with the royal family of France but his reputation and history is stopping that from happening.

 Provide a blurb introducing your character generally. This should include an overview of strengths, weaknesses, aspirations, and set backs.

William was the second son and never thought his father’s estates would be his. It is because of this that he has had an eventful youth involving things like jousting tournaments where he had been moderately successful and of course, the drunken brawls and whores that would always follow. William was thrust into his brother’s fate when his eldest and only brother died of plague with his wife and child. In the matter of weeks a whole branch of their illustrious family tree was lost and burden was heavily on William.

His father has tried to encourage William with his studies and his duties but to no avail. Things quickly took a turn for the worse when William had taken another duke’s niece as a mistress and when she was with child, William didn’t claim it and still hasn’t. This has caused tensions between the De La Croix family and the other, often they find themselves fighting for the sake of it due to the bad blood William caused.

three bullet-points.

Please provide three bullet-points describing your character. We ask that you reserve one bullet-point for their personality, but the other two may be used for things like their history, goals, or an event in their life. Minimum 300 words.

 Growing up, William has always been boisterous and outgoing, even under the watchful eye of his father. When his brother married and had an heir, the pressure was off and William was well and truly in his element. He spent his youth as a squire and then his time touring France and competing in tournaments where he built up a solid reputation. It all came crashing down when his brother’s household became ill with the plague and weeks after, his brother and his line were dead and William now the family’s future. At first he resent the role and spent his time and coin on beer and whores but now he has a taste for real power and to do that, you need royal blood in the family tree.

·         William’s goal is a simple one. He wants power and to be free of his father’s commands and to do that, he needs a marriage that will provide him with influence and lands that rival his own and he will stop at nothing in achieving such a thing. He has a lot to contend with and his own history and bad blood with a neighbouring noble family doesn’t help matters and neither does an unclaimed bastard child. Were it not for witnesses, William would have denied the affair but many had seen him with the duke’s niece and William had claimed he was not the only man to be with her, furthering her shame and the bad blood he had caused.

·         William’s positive personality traits are that he can be confident, charming and alluring when he wants to be but on the other side he can be quick tempered, impatient and petulant at times. He can be his own worst enemy most of the time and though he knows this but often he does nothing to stop himself.

[itsclydebitches]

I greatly enjoy how I finished Blood and Wine, got the “bad” ending...

... and liked that one the best. 

Based on information gathered from all three playthroughs I don’t trust Syanna one bit. Someone who has harbored resentment most of her life and plots that elaborate an assassination attempt doesn’t just drop it because the guy who caught you suggests, “Maybe forgive your sister!” and you talk childhood memories a bit. In the tragic ending she’s very persuasive in saying that she hates Anna Henrietta, would absolutely try to kill her again if given the chance, and is pleased to finally be able to express that honesty. The “good” ending might end on a high note of them hugging, but there’s no way I trust that to last. 

The tragic ending is, well, obviously tragic. Syanna is dead anyway, so Detlaff was ultimately killed for nothing. Especially when we consider that Anna Henrietta’s resulting death erases all the good you do by killing “The Beast” and lifting the kingdom’s spirits. With their ruler gone it all falls apart and, as Geralt says, chaos now reigns. 

Meanwhile the “bad” ending has so much going for it?? The biggest issue to my mind is Dettlaff’s massacre going unpunished, but you simply gain too much else to prioritize that alone. Syanna is punished in a more fitting manner, at the hands of Dettlaff himself, rather than through Damien trying to protect Anna Henrietta. Or worse, her basically getting off scott free because we know Anna Henrietta blindly favors her sister, no matter what she might say about treating her like any other criminal. She got a cushy palace “cell” while kept as an actual prisoner. No way is much going to happen now that they’ve actually made up. Some might consider death via vampire too harsh a punishment for her crimes, though I’m not sure I do, especially since we only have her word that the knights really treated her as badly as she says/deserve death for it. Syanna tells so many lies throughout that I simply don’t trust that sob story at face value. Particularly when combined with the revelation of other twisted information. She accuses Anna Henrietta of never looking for her and we learn that’s also a lie born of her desire to paint her sister in a cruel light: “I did... you just didn’t want to be found.” Syanna has a solid history of manipulation, twisting information, and outright lying to paint herself as the victim, so it’s possible---likely even---that this extends to her “they beat me, starved me, and left me out in the winter cold with only a lace dress” story. We do know none of the knights were perfect men based on Damien’s information---harsh business practices and rumors of dealings with the criminal underworld---but de la Croix was just... stingy? Hardly the worst vice in the world, especially compared to all we see in the DLC. He likes money but he also stood up for and befriended Detlaff, the story putting more emphasis on his compassion than any cruelty. And by all accounts except Syanna’s, Milton was an upstanding knight. He mentions that his past weighs on him, but whose doesn’t? For all we know he could be referring only to following the order to banish Syanna at all, not to any mistreatment along the way. Dandelion’s journal entry even reminds us, “Was he also a good man? That I do not know. Geralt told me later some incidents from his past gnawed on his conscience. We shall never know precisely what moral burdens he carried, for Milton de Peyrac-Peyran perished in the palace gardens, the Beast's fourth victim. May he rest in peace.” So again, we’ve only got Syanna’s word here. As she herself points out, this was supposedly the behavior that comes forth when no one else is watching and she made sure she was the only witness left to tell the tale. 

Regardless of whether the knights deserved revenge killings, we ultimately can’t say Syanna didn’t bring the consequences of that down on herself. Syanna outright tells you in The Land of a Thousand Fables that she’s either going to burn everything down or get burned herself. She was prepared for an outcome like this and was willing to risk it. Dettlaff, meanwhile, finally gets to be free of her manipulation. He’s also no longer a threat to anyone given a) that specific context of manipulation, now finished, is unlikely to ever repeat. He only kills because he’s being blackmailed with a loved one’s life, b) him outright promising to stay away from men now (a common theme in the game: letting monsters go if they promise to do better), and c) having Regis tail after him to keep doing the work of teaching him how to better control his emotions. Anna Henrietta is still alive, keeping her kingdom intact. She’s now reconciled with Dandelion in her grief. Damien kind of hates you but he was never interested in having the full picture anyway... 

...and then there’s Regis. From nearly the start this contract is built around his friendship, his loyalty, and his desperate desire to help Dettlaff rather than just killing him like a common beast. Something that resonates all the more if you do the Unseen Elder quest and talk to him about how living here is akin to the most uncomfortable scenario you can imagine with the added “bonus” of people trying to kill you if you put a single toe out of line. He needs all the friends he can get, regardless of life debts he might owe them. Plus, those friends include you, as Geralt. You find out Regis is miraculously alive after (almost) dying for you in an effort to save your daughter... I wasn’t about to turn my back on him if there was any possible way to save his blood brother. Especially once you learn about the punishment one higher vampire receives for killing another. It would be one thing to tell Regis, “Sorry, your friend has done too much wrong. I have to kill him” and something else entirely to say, “Sorry, your friend has done too much wrong so you have to kill him, considering that’s literally the only way to end things. And once you do you’ll be forced to leave your home and be hunted by your own kind forevermore. The notes in your journal? About not being human but not feeling like you fit in with vampires either? I’m going to make that a reality.” 

Yeah... saving Syanna’s not worth all that in my opinion. Obviously each ending is meant to be bittersweet in its way, there’s no perfect happy ending as we expect of the Witcher, but only one keeps a kingdom intact, punishes the puppetmaster who started all this in the first place, and allows Regis---someone actually innocent and just wanting to help---to keep his home and remain a part of his people. I’ll just be over here then, thoroughly embracing the “bad” ending with absolutely no regrets lol

[lvmiieres]

´   ･   .   ✶   ⧼    maddison   jaizani,   demiwoman,   she   &   they   /   s.l.u.t.   by   bea   miller,   clothes   strewn   around   an   otherwise   tidy   room,   worn   pointe   shoes   placed   with   care   upon   the   nearest   soft   surface.   dark   hair   pulled   back   into   messy   ponytail   with   a   pink   scrunchie,   lacy   bralettes   worn   beneath   warm   wool   jumpers   in   pastel   colors.   the   soft,   crackling   sound   of   etta   james   coming   through   on   a   floral   patterned   record   player.    ⧽   ━━   don't   look   now,   but   that's   the   coquette,   also   known   as   MARIE-RENOIR   NOÉMIE   LUMIÉRE.   i   heard   their   father   is   LUMIÉRE,   the   casanova   of   all   candelabras.   the   TWENTY   ONE   year   old   is   a   junior   at   auradon   university   and   is   majoring   in   EDUCATION.   they've   always   been   CONGENIAL   &   SAGACIOUS   &   AUDACIOUS   ;   but   i've   heard   they   can   be   pretty   PERTINACIOUS   &   INSCRUTABLE   &   ACERBIC,   too.   you   can   check   out   their   stat   page   HERE   and   their   pinterest   board   HERE.

there   was   something   SOFT   &   MOIST   about   her,                                a   dare,   a   rage,   an   intolerable   tenderness.

SECTION ONE OF THREE : BIOGRAPHY

she is the bridge between two cultures. the connecting sinew of two different worlds. marie-renoir noémie lumiére is born in the midst of her parents honeymoon period on a dewy winter morning. her father is committed to monogamy, until he isn’t. her mother is content, until she is not. they are HAPPY, until they aren’t. looking back, the fault lies on no one’s shoulders in particular. the problem lay not with them as individuals, but them as a partnership - a lesson, in it’s own way, that good friends should try to avoid that leap into romance that they thought would take them all the way. by the time that she is celebrating a year of LIFE, her mother and father have amicably split ; no hard feelings, just endless respect. custody is verbally agreed, not bitterly battled. her father can ensure the finest education, the finest things in life - summers will be spent with her mother, while the rest of the year she will call her father’s abode her home. they grow up with two languages flowing fluently from their tongue, with an appreciation for each half of THEMSELVES that few people possess in full.

the time spent with her mother is spent soaking up the sun and being the child that they are. summers are freedom, in their books, from all the expectations of the rest of the year. burdens that certainly feel like so, though they try to act as if they don’t. at home with their father, they are privately educated and expected to excel. this is fine. they can take that pressure on their shoulders with grace, they think, so long as they are always able to dance. it’s an unexpected talent. in day to day, they are clumsy - even as a child, they bumped their head and scratched their knees in an all manner of avoidable accidents. they will never be one to wear heels in fear of toppling, and so, the insistence to be enrolled with a local company after watching a performance of swan lake makes her father chuckle. he expects her to quit when she realizes that she isn’t capable of such delicate movements and graceful twirls, but six months later when he sits in the audience and witnesses her perform in don quixote, he is not able to hide the TEARS that spring to his eyes. so begins a lifetime of ballet lessons four times weekly, recitals every other month. they swiftly become one of the company’s most prized students, a prima ballerina in all ways but title. they are known to be clumsy, and they laugh along with others who poke harmless fun - but when they tie their pointe shoes on and step onto a stage, they are something different. something beautiful. something world ending.

their mother remarries. their father does not. they love their stepfather and later on, their little half siblings with all of their might - they tolerate half of their fathers conquests, though some leave truly lasting impressions. still, there is no ill will, and every christmas they gather as one to celebrate. it is strange, she thinks. this set up that they have. as they grow older, as they share details with their friends, they are told and they realize that people don’t think that it’s exactly normal. she asks her mother, one day, why she smiles so widely at the new partner on her fathers arm each year. why she isn’t hurt by his actions. why she didn’t stay. she’s genuinely CURIOUS, and her mother doesn’t treat the subject as taboo - she fixes a soft expression in place that is reserved just for her, and the words she says form a key part of noémie’s character : your father’s heart is simply too big for just one person, and mine is not. i’ll always love him. he’ll always love me. it’s no ones fault that the way we love wasn’t compatible.

they think, later, that they relate a little bit to that sentiment. that aside from natural confidence, they might just have inherited that too big heart from their FATHER, too. they’re electric. growing close to people isn’t hard when you’re a magnetic force, and noémie is never without company. she values deep connection, the most. she doesn’t think that she could ever fall for someone who didn’t know her blind. but she learns, as she grows, that she enjoys fleeting romance. even if she knows that she won’t allow it last, it is still nice to be entwined with another’s life, for a time.

SECTION TWO OF THREE : OVERVIEW

born marie-renoir noémie lumiére on february 20th, 1998, to eustache lumiére & fontaine la croix. her mother and father - good friends for years - married in the summer of ‘97 due to a medical condition known as ‘pregnancy’. they amicably split six months after noémie’s birth.

their custody arrangement involved emmy living with lumiére from september to late may, as his job and social standing assured the greatest upbringing for her. her mother took her from june through august.

no real drama, parents wise. her mother remarried and had twin daughters a few years later, and lumiére remained a player. the two continued to get along like a house on fire for noémie’s entire life, and joined one another for multiple holiday’s during the year. 

suffered from bacterial meningitis as a child, resulting in a loss of hearing in her right ear. 

expectations were rampant, but lumiére meant well. he wanted a good life for her, so he pushed her to excel. this was all well and good, given that she certainly had the capacity for it, but it has left her with a perfectionist complex in adult life.

found her first love in ballet, and has yet to really find a second. she’s one of her company’s most prized jewels, and holds the honor of being the student with the most starring roles under her tutu. her dance talent shocks EVERYBODY who knows her due to her undeniable clumsiness in day to day life, but that doesn’t really matter.

they were an early bloomer, so to speak, and this has been a blessing and curse. they’ve always been comfortable with who they are. other people have not. 

SECTION THREE OF THREE : HEADCANONS

noémie loves love, but perhaps is not as built for it as she would like. she gets a certain thrill from flirtation and she enjoys being with people. it isn’t a crime, she thinks, to date often and never truly commit. there have, of course, been those who have treated it as such. she’s not a stranger to slurs, and she knows that there are certain rumors ( some of which there’s truth to ) spread of her, routinely. but no one raised primarily by the casanova that lumiére is has much SHAME attached to who they are.

she has gone by noémie for so long, sometimes even she forgets that it isn’t her GIVEN name. she can thank her paternal grandmother for the clunky first name that she has never quite enjoyed ; she died the same week that she was BORN, missing her grandchild’s arrival into the world by little more than a day. it was meant to be an honor, she’s told, but if it was… then why did it weigh her down so much? perhaps it offended her father, in a way, but at least noémie was hers.

she had just turned four when she was struck down with bacterial meningitis. her mother thought that it was nothing but a summer flu, but when her fever began to reach unheard of heights, the PANIC set in. the doctor who saw to her insisted she be brought to the nearest emergency room immediately, and she didn’t see the outside of that hospital again until two weeks had passed. she survived UNSCATHED, at least - in a sense. single sided deafness in her right ear, specifically. her parents were told that she was incredibly lucky that she was even alive, and that they should be grateful for such a small price. they didn’t feel the way they were told they should, but they certainly passed on the sentiment to their little girl when she grew and wondered why she was not quite the same to the other kids she knew. her mother learned bsl and her father learned lsf, and she learned enough in both to make her life that little bit easier. it was by no means easy - the learning or the life that followed - but she was young and adaptable, and it served as a harsh reminder that sometimes, the world will take. in her mid teens, she underwent the surgery to implant a transcranial cros - a bone anchored hearing aid, to you and i, that provided a MARKED improvement.

she’s never actually had a relationship, completely by design. she’s never DATED. noémie enjoys flings, she enjoys flirtation, she loves sex - but she won’t put herself in a position to disappoint someone when she can’t be what they want her to be. she’s open with anyone she finds herself involved with. no strings attached, non exclusive, it’s never going to go anywhere. anyone who doesn’t listen, anyone who ends up hurt because they believe she’ll change her mind.... that’s on them.

she can be quite... vain, to put it mildly. you have to keep in mind that noémie is someone who has been set up from a young age as... a real beauty. her looks have been valued, even if she has not been. she’s aware that she’s conventionally attractive, and she’s aware that it makes her life easier in a lot of ways. it does not, however, help her to be taken more seriously in life. 

her grade point average is in the top tenth percentile, a standing she’s maintained for years. not only is she BEAUTY, but she’s also quite literally brains. 

she’s all shorts and bralettes beneath soft knit sweaters. she smells of lavender and cedar, exclusively. she’s ONLY comfortable when she’s wearing her pointe shoes. 

[dianakko-week]

Day 1: Adventure

From the very moment they met, their lives were an adventure. The one-sided rivalry Akko had declared seemingly annoyed Diana, but in actuality, it sparked something once long gone: anticipation. Be it making a fool out of herself or dazzling people with incredible magic, Diana began to look forward to moments with Akko. She felt scared and ashamed when she thought about hurting Akko during Papiliodia incident, excited when she recalled their broom race, flustered when she remembered the LoveLove Bee, and amazed when she relived the Samhain Magic Festival. It isn’t until Akko chases her back home and saves her from her Aunt’s snakes does Diana realize that these feelings could mean more.

Meanwhile, while Akko initially wanted to outshine Diana, she found herself vying for her acknowledgement, then her approval, then her respect, and finally, her friendship. It was annoying at first. When she failed in classes, Diana was there to correct her. When she fell from her broom, Diana was there to catch her. Then, when she was at her lowest, Diana was there for her. When Diana gave her her Premium card and reignited her hopes and dreams, a new dream was created in the process.

Akko, who had just overcome her grief, did not notice the way her heart pounded when Diana told her that she believed in her magic. Diana, who was too concerned with stopping the missile, did not notice her stomach fluttering when Akko invited her to save the world. The two protected and saved each other in the fight, overwhelmed with fear at one moment, then joy at another. Once the two stopped the Noir Missile and restored magic to the world, they realized exactly what those feelings and those moments meant: They wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

  While the rest of their school lives where easy, the next step of their relationship was not. Akko, who blundered and powered through trials and tribulations without much thought for failure, was absolutely terrified at the prospect of losing what she had with Diana. Knowing her tendency for mistakes and her low-but-not-as-low-as-before position as a witch, she refused to even think about confessing, especially after how far the two had come in their friendship. How would others view them? How would they view Diana? She couldn’t put Diana through the same teasing she endured for so long. She was just Akko, while Diana was Diana Cavendish, the most beautiful, talented, perfect, and kind witch of all time. What could she possibly offer?

Similarly, Diana, ever the perfectionist, could not find some problem that would come with a relationship with the energetic Atsuko “Akko” Kagari. She worried about the amount of public slander and gossip that would negatively affect Akko. She feared that between her duties as heiress and her work in school, she would lose time for Akko. She paled at the thought of dragging Akko into her own problems, and she didn’t want to put even more pressure on the Japanese girl. And even if these problems did not exist, Diana would actually have to confess first, and there was no shortage of the amount of things that could go wrong, such as weather, spectators, timing, miscommunication, or the worst, anything that was less than what Akko deserved. Doubt, worries, and struggles plagued their lives, to the point where their friendship started to suffer. The two met less often, spoke little, and smiled rarely, too worried about their feelings and each other to properly speak.

Everyone else had enough. Like with Sucy and Lotte and with Hannah and Barbara, their friends were willing to wait and let it happen. This, however, was taking too long and costing too much. The three teams, minus Akko and Diana, of course, had a meeting to decide how they would get Akko and Diana to talk. After hours of diagrams from Constanze, Nightfall references by Lotte and Barbara, rejections to potions made by Sucy, and a massive slam from Jasminka that shut everyone up, Amanda and Hannah came up with a simple yet effective solution.

  After numerous wards, spells, barricades, and fortifications (with some special help from Croix and Chariot), the seven had managed to lock Diana and Akko in the Blue Team’s dorm. Magic was used to Akko-proof the doors and windows while the physical blockades were used to Diana-proof the exits. Had the two worked together, they could have escaped, but neither were in the mental state to cooperate. And so, after being forced to talk by their friends, the two finally let out their anxieties and feelings. Misunderstandings came into light, conflicts were resolved, and their friendship began to repair.

It, however, did not stop there. As the dams broke, neither girl could stop themself, blushing red as they admitted that they liked each other. When Akko talked about her blunders and Diana spoke about her imperfections, two vows were made that would forever cement their love.

“I will always be there to catch you.”

“As long as you’re with me, everything in my life is perfect.”

And with that, the two kissed. It was indescribable, an action so simple and tender, yet so powerful and meaningful, that any description the two would eventually give could never do it justice. One thing was certain: it would be the first of many. When they emerged from the door, their seven friends and two professors cheered. The two were too smitten with each other to remember that they were mad at the others for locking them in a room for five hours.

  Soon, graduation came upon them. Diana, of course, was the Valedictorian. Families of all the witches came to celebrate. Lotte and Sucy decided to open up their own magic shop, though the more…eccentric…potions would be left in the back. Hannah and Barbara, surprisingly, set out to create their own magical productions, albeit more on the musical rather than the showy side. The Green Team worked together to create their own shop, featuring brooms, magitech, and pastries. Akko and Diana decided to travel the world, studying the new effects magic brought upon the world and performing for whatever audiences they gathered.

Over the years, everybody progressed through their lives and their relationships, but still kept contract with each other. Whenever there was a wedding, everybody would be there, starting with Chariot and Croix’s. The Yanson-Manbavaran shop expanded into a massive chain, with Sucy becoming the leading expert in potions while Lotte managed the business. With the normalization of magic and the increasing demand for magitech, Constanze had become a multi-millionaire almost overnight, allowing her two wives to study to become Luna Nova’s next headmistress and become a world-renowned broom racer. Hannah and Barbara England had become a duo of directors, creating all sorts of media, though Hannah had to reel in Barbara’s more…creative…writing tendencies.

Only Diana and Akko had not married (yet, if someone were to ask their friends), and Akko was becoming anxious. Had Diana grown tired of her? Were their shows secretly disgusting her? Had she fumbled too many times and gotten them into too many accidents? Or was it the same reason why everyone had teased and mocked her all those years ago: She wasn’t a real witch? Diana always seemed more stressed and hid it whenever she saw Akko. Akko had seen Diana staying up late to write letters, most likely finding new suitors that could properly bolster the Cavendish name. Maybe her Aunt Daryl had finally gotten into her head. Maybe Diana now say Akko as the rest of the upper class of magic saw her. If she truly was a burden on Diana’s happiness, she would gladly leave, but that wouldn’t make it any less painful.

In reality, Diana was furious. How dare her aunt mock the love of her life! The audacity of the magic community to question her decision to love the witch who restored magic to the world! With the bombardment of letters and responsibilities that came with the preparations for her to become the head of the Cavendish family, she had been stressed beyond relief. Only the sight of Akko could make Diana smile now, hiding the stress she didn’t want to radiate towards the person she loved the most. She apparently wasn’t doing a very good job, considering how Akko stiffened around her and approached with less of her normal gusto. Still, every night, she hugged Akko, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as both of them relaxed. Every morning, Diana would kiss her lover awake, still in disbelief that they were in each other’s life. She could feel the pain and worry in Akko, so she made sure she did her best to cuddle it away. After all, she had a proposal to plan.

  Mount Fuji. Their final stop before flying back to England, considering the leyline was atop of it. With surprisingly no protests from either of them, the two trekked up the 12,000 foot volcano. Thanks to all their travels, both girls were fit to travel at a steady pace, though Akko had to control herself, wanting to walk next to Diana the whole time.

Wrapped in layers of raincoats, boots and thermals (because Akko insisted that they use as little magic as possible for this specific part of the trip), the witches admired the view of the city and country during the day, then gazed at the stars at night (though none would admit that they kept sneaking looks at each other’s eyes). Midway up the trek, the watched the sea of moving clouds in awe, the moonlight creating various hues of blue and white. The trek had granted them views of civilization and nature, each equal in their beauty. Each girl, however, needed no more beauty than what was in front of them.

It was almost dawn. Despite the high altitudes causing a drop in temperature, Diana was sweating. She knew that she loved Akko and Akko loved her. That was a fact, but a fact could be proven true or false. What if Akko didn’t love her? Wait, no. That’s as likely as Amanda becoming a teacher. What if Akko wasn’t ready to get married? What if Akko didn’t want all the responsibilities that came with becoming part of the Cavendish household? She was a free spirit, through and through. If they got married, she would be tied down. She wouldn’t able to become the next Shiny Chariot. If any part of their lives were anything less than what Akko deserved-

Akko gripped both of Diana’s hands as the sun rose, bringing her out her self-made abyss. With light sparkling across her face, a huge smile and light tears coming out of her eyes, she said three simple, yet oh so meaningful words.

  “I love you.”

  That was all she needed. Wordlessly, she dropped to one knee and opened her hidden box. Sitting in the velvet box was golden ring, topped with a light-blue sapphire gem that matched Diana’s eyes. The ring was smooth to the touch, but thanks to the sunrise and a little magic from Diana, seven stars on the ring glowed with red light that matched Akko’s eyes.

Akko never reacted faster in her life. She surged forward, pulling Diana up and into a deep, passionate kiss, pouring all of her love, adoration, hopes, and dreams into it. With her arms around Diana’s neck, she wondered why Diana was not reacting. When she quickly pulled away, she found out why. The ring was no longer in Diana’s hand.

Akko spent the next ten minutes running down the volcano while Diana stumbled for her wand.

  They kept the wedding as small as possible, only inviting their closest friends and their respective families (Wangari finally whittled them down to allow her to take the photos). In the slowest flash of their lives, they were married; their best friends were their bridesmaids (Amanda and Constanze donned matching suits), their family and professors walked them down (Don’t ask how Diana managed to get Aunt Daryl to agree), and their tears stained their wedding dresses.

While the ceremony radiated the beauty and elegance of Diana, the reception emitted the humor and bizarreness of Akko. During their first dance, someone (Amanda) kept changing the song and the style, going from elegant waltzes to high-tempo salsas (The fact that Akko knew how to dance like that did many things to Diana’s mind). A montage of Akko’s clumsy moments were shown, yet it was followed by a video of all the times Diana snuck a look at her, which somehow ended up being longer than Akko’s. Thankfully, food fights were avoided. It was the best reception the two could’ve hoped for.

  Years passed. Slowly, but surely, the Cavendish house was rising back to its former glory. Due to Akko and Diana’s reputation as the witches who revived magic and both being part of the Cavendish family (“Kagari-Cavendish,” Diana would constantly correct), financial support began to pour back in. Lord Andrew Hambridge, using his (hopefully legal) connections, gave back most of the artifacts that had been sold away, insisting it was an “extended wedding gift.” Even the former house staff had returned, revitalizing the manor. Thanks to Akko’s shows, sometimes accompanied by Diana, the popularity of magic and the Cavendish name became widespread. At the end of each day, no matter how far apart or how busy they were, the two would find a way to sleep and wake together. They put each other first before anything else.

  Diana was the first to realize something was up with Akko. When their Aunty Chariot showed up with a swollen belly one day, Akko leaped in joy, bouncing off the walls in excitement. In between each bounce, however, Diana could see a hidden pain behind her face. It wasn’t until Lotte and Sucy showed up, the former crankier than usual while the latter seemed more afraid than usual, that Diana realized exactly what that pain was. It was envy. Akko wanted to have a child of their own, either with spells or potions (though Diana didn’t trust Sucy at all with those).

In truth, Diana had put too much thought into it. How would she be able to raise a child? What if one day, her or Akko disappeared? How could she put the same stresses of being an heiress on a newborn? Despite these thoughts, one thing stuck out the most in her mind: Akko was unhappy, and deep down, she felt empty as well. Her life was filled with Akko, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for something, or someone, else. When Diana told Akko that she was ready to have family too, she responded similarly as atop of Mount Fuji: tears, happiness, hugging, and kissing. They were going to be mothers.

  Akko could not carry the child. Due to past injuries and unknown effects of various magics and potions, there would be massive risk to her and the baby if she were to have it. Despite her initial protesting, Diana put her foot down. As much as she wanted to have a child between the two of them, she would not risk Akko’s life to do so. She could not lose her. She could not handle losing everything again.

Although she understood, Akko was devastated. She had wanted to do what her mother had done all those years ago, to raise someone that would walk the Earth after her, to have something that only her and Diana could have created, to create another special family. Even though she knew that she would have Diana in her life forever, which already made her feel better, the fact that she couldn’t have Diana’s child always put a damper on her mood. Unlike Diana, who dealt with the added stress by throwing herself into work (and with comfort and cuddling), Akko’s work suffered because of it. When she took a break, none of her fans questioned it. News had spread fast, and tons of support letters came through the mail, minorly annoying Anna.

Diana spent all of her free time studying possible causes and solutions to Akko’s condition, but none were completely risk free, trading danger between Akko and their unborn child. She hit wall after wall, growing increasingly frustrated, only able to relax when she was with Akko in their bed. She would find a solution for this, no matter how long it took.

One night, Akko sleepily cooed a single sentence in her ear.

“You will be a great mother.”

Diana mentally slapped herself for not thinking of this sooner. After some tests, Diana was confirmed to be completely healthy and in perfect condition to carry a child. If Akko could not have the baby, then why couldn’t she? Such a simple solution to a complex problem. When Akko found out, she was ecstatic! They were going to have a child thanks to her perfect, beautiful, amazing, and all-around-best wife.

That night, Akko treasured every part of Diana’s body and soul, filling each with as much love as she possibly could. Before they knew it, the sun was rising and the two were basking in each other’s presence. It was the start of another chapter in their adventure.

  While Akko was known for her boundless energy, even she was starting to run ragged. When pregnant Diana asked if she could have McDonalds, Akko shut down for five solid minutes. Only a request for chicken feet broke her out of her stunned state.

Normal Diana, the epitome of elegance, composure, and grace, was nowhere to be seen in pregnant Diana. Pregnant Diana’s mood constantly changed, from draping herself across Akko to snapping at her with every possible word in the English dictionary to sobbing uncontrollably about how she had “verbally abused her amazing, beautiful, and perfect Shiny Wife.” The amount of midnight runs Akko had to do was staggering, and Diana could become more…sensual…at a moment’s notice. Sleep became a luxury. On the other hand, Akko became really good at making sushi, especially deep-fried chocolate-covered rolls filled with avocado, lobster, pickles, and plums. Thank god Anna and the staff were fully supportive, keeping fridges stocked, bathrooms cleaned, and reporters away.

When the day finally came, Akko was prepared. She speedialed her mentors and friends, grabbed all the towels she could, carried her wife to the room they had prepared, and stayed by her side the entire time.

Well, she did do all of that, but not without Akko-levels of panicking and running.

Diana was in immense pain, yet she did her best to hide it in order to keep Akko calm. Anna was already nearby, doing her best to support her. Amanda, Constanze, and Jasminka rushed in, setting up extra medical equipment and medicinal treats (Even a tart that was designed to specifically prevent Akko from hyperventilating). Chariot and Croix did their best to calm both Akko and Diana, having already gone through the process themselves. Using new spells, Akko linked herself to Diana, trying to take as much of the pain into herself. Diana, surrounded by the people she loved the most, was ready.

  Bernadette and Kazumi Kagari-Cavendish were born on May 19th, 2029.

  The fraternal twins inherited traits from both of their mothers, with Bernadette having Diana’s hair, but Akko’s eyes and nose. Kazumi, inversely, had Akko’s brown hair, but Diana’s blue eyes. When the two were born, they instinctively reached out to each other, crying until she could feel each other. Akko and Diana swore they never saw anything cuter. They were now mothers. The very idea of that alone was enough to send both into tears.

Lotte, who had just arrived, shielded the two children from the waterfall.

  It started with a shared crib right next to their main bed. Often, the crib was left forgotten as the twins were simply placed between Akko and Diana. With all four family members comforting each other, cries and hunger were easily resolved. While the couple was often woken by their children, it was perfect.

Bunk beds came next, the girls taking turns who got to sleep where. Many blanket and pillows forts were made during this era, and Akko and Diana often slept with their children.

Bernadette, while almost the splitting image of Diana with shorter hair, acted much more like Akko with boundless energy and stubbornness. Kazumi, who had now developed Diana’s wavy hair, still had her fun, but was much more relaxed and harmonious with her surroundings.

Both girls loved spending time with their various aunts and uncles. Uncle Frank was always nice and gave the girls candy while Uncle Andrew made sure they both stayed safe while spoiling the girls as much as possible. Auntie Lotte summoned faeries for the girls while Sucy conducted colorful experiments, often inviting Akko to sample some “for old time’s sake.” Aunt Constanze had robots carry the girls wherever the want to, aunt Amanda gave them brooms and broom rides whenever Diana wasn’t home, and Aunti Jasminka allowed them to be the first to try out her new recipes. Aunts Hannah and Barbara told stories to the girls and brought them souvenirs from across the world.

Above all else, the girls enjoyed their playdates with their friends/cousins. Rosamie Yanson-Manbavaran was always kind, though she tinkered a lot with potions, sometimes singeing her long, wavy, blonde hair. Isabella, Sophia, and Anastasia Antonenko-O’Neill-Amalie von Braunschbank Albrechtsberger were the perfect balance of rough, soft, and fun. They even had their fair share of big-sistering with Elizabeth England, who was four years younger than them. For Bernadette, however, the best times were with Cecelia du Meridies, the magenta-haired inventor with equal parts intelligence and kindness. Despite being three years her senior, Bernadette had the most fun with Cecelia, other than with her own sister, of course.

By the time the girls had finally grown out of bunk beds and into adjacent, connected rooms, it was time for them to attend Luna Nova. With headmistress Jasminka Antonenko at the helm, the school experienced record amounts of students and popularity. First-generation witches were treated with extra care in order to nourish talent while prodigies were assigned to help those in need. It was a new paradise for the girls, but also one where mischief was bred.

With the girls in school for extended periods of time, Akko and Diana now had even more time for each other. They took another world tour, bringing smiles to every face with dazzling performances and free tickets. They went on all the dates they could possibly think of, from romantic boat rides through glowing cities to bombastic festivals with equally powerful food to quiet walks and picnics in nature. All the while, the only complaint they got was from Amanda, who said that their girls kept flying ahead of her lesson plan.

While Kazumi excelled in her book studies and casted spells proficiently, her physical prowess was lacking. Thankfully, Anastasia, the school’s resident athlete, stayed around to help her in exchange for tutoring. Bernadette, meanwhile, was a natural runner and flyer, but her lack of restraint and her robust magic caused many accidents. Cecelia (“Your Senpai?” teased Akko, one day) was assigned to help her control her power, which Bernadette was happy to receive. While they had their ups and downs, the twins enjoyed their life at Luna Nova with all of their teachers and friends.

  Thanks to Akko’s unpredictability and Diana’s persistence, their lives were always exciting. Akko bawled many tears during graduation, crushing all three of her family members in a bear hug. Diana, who had watched the rivalry between Kazumi and Sophia to reach top marks in their grade, was extremely delighted to hear that both girls were Valedictorians, due to a massive tie that Jasminka wasn’t allowed to judge. Both were pleased to hear that Bernadette said she would become a teacher as good as Cecelia was (who came to visit and subtly blushed under the compliment) and Kazumi would go into magic research. Although both girls led their separate lives, they never forgot to periodically visit their parents, especially for big events.

Even though each day always had more adventures than the last, certain ones would stick in their minds forever.

Akko squealed when she saw matching rings on Bernadette’s and Cecelia’s hands while Diana hugged both of them tight.

Diana forced herself to read the marriage contract between Kazumi, Sophia, and Anastasia - a full fifty pages promising equal, endless, and infinite love with sides of cuddles and tons of kisses (but no incest).

The two of them nearly went deaf when Amanda called and said that Isabella and Elizabeth were getting married.

Akko nearly slipped on her tears while walking Bernadette up the aisle, nearly tripping when her daughter froze at the sight of Cecelia in a suit.

Diana finally cracked when she watched Jasminka, Constanze, and Amanda walk their to daughters up to Kazumi, letting the tears flow freely while Lotte and Sucy had to hold Akko down to prevent her from leaping and comforting her wife.

Akko literally froze in time when she heard that they were going to be grandmothers, forcing Diana to drag her to bed.

Both of them let the waterworks flow freely during the funeral of Chariot and Croix du Meridies, doing their best to comfort their family members.

They enjoyed the massive family gatherings held at the manor, now in it’s full restored glory but with the same humble attitude it took to rebuild it.

Most importantly, they remember the times they spent together, be it stopping the Noir missile all those years ago or holding six grandchildren at once, all crying.

  Finally, they reached the end. Although magic had elongated their life, it could only do so much. Akko and Diana laid in their bed, surrounded by friends and family. They would be the first to go, as their original friends from Luna Nova stood around them in relatively good health. The two had given so much to the world in happiness and healing, and it was time for them to leave. Each generation said their goodbyes, from the great-grandchildren all the way to Bernadette, Kazumi, Cecelia, Sophia, and Anastasia. This way held the record for the most tears shed, yet for once, not by Akko or Diana. After saying their final words to their children, the two looked at each other, saying one last sentence that would forever be remembered:

  “Thank you for the adventure of a lifetime.”

  Thank you guys so much for reading! This is my first fanfic, so if you leave any feedback, I will cherish all of it! As of this moment, I do not have an FF or an AO3 account, but be on the look out.

[jodara35-blog]

One of These Days I Will Be Brave Enough to Kill Myself: A Note On My Passive Suicidal Ideation

Passive turns to active eventually and I know that at some point I will be finally sick enough of being here that I will finally decide to leave. The endless forever of death is so intoxicating sometimes and it honestly sounds better than being on this hellhole of a planet. Words have become meaningless and the endless “you have so much to live for” and “it gets better” and “I love you” statements just seem like superficial filler. No, I don't feel like a burden. The world feels like a burden to me. I’m so insignificant that my death will ultimately be meaningless. Just like how my life has been meaningless. Nothing matters truly and in the end nothing will still matter. There’s nobody that can say any words to make me feel better cause I know what everyone will say. They get too freaked out by the words “I want to kill myself” and isntantly jump into “oh my god don’t kill yourself” mode. All the places I’ve looked have just said how “you just have tunnel vision” and “talk to someone” and then what? I talk to someone and they tell me all the reasons why I shouldn’t kill myself. Thanks for insulting my intelligence by implying that I don’t already know all that stuff or that I haven’t already thought about all of that. That doesn’t change the fact that I have these thoughts all the time. I don’t want to die but I don’t want to be living either. I see my potential and I see what I am capable of. But the thing is there are times when I just don’t care. Everyone around me feels like a parasitic virus that just sucks everything out of me. What am I if I’m not benefiting someone in some way. I barely know myself and I feel like others barely know me. What would not having me around really affect?

I see this as two sides. Pros: I get to rest, I don’t have to deal with the world’s bullshit, I don’t have to live with expectations of everyone and the pressure to not fail or let others down, no more rent, no more bills, no more depression, no more anxiety, no more loathing literally everything all the goddamn time, no more people, no more war, no more heartache, no more money problems, no more student loans, no more begging people to notice how fucking talented I am, no more hating my body, no more feeling sexually frustrated, no more shity car, no more lusting after an endless pool of men who will never find me attractive let alone would want to date me or even kiss me, no more pain. Cons: my family and friends would miss me, my family would probably have to take on my debt (idk how that stuff works), I won’t to see Croix’s smile, I won’t get to see how far I’ll get, I won’t get to see if my theatre company succeeds, no more eating good food, no more laughing, no more weed, no more going out with friends, no more sex, no more porn, the library folks will probably be sad for like two weeks, I wound’t get to see Lucy, I wound’t get to spend time with family or friends.

The cons weigh out the pros just enough to keep me from acting on anything. But what happens when those cons go away? That’s why I know that at some point I will do it. I just feel it. I’ve told myself for a while now that the most likely way I am going to die is by my own hand. It’s just the most probable in my eyes. Now let me be clear, I don’t hate myself (well for most of the part), I just hate my life. I say it all the fucking time; when I’m stuck in traffic, when I don’t have enough money, when I oversleep, when a fucking patron needs help with the copier at the library. I say this so many times so…..I guess it must be true? I don’t fucking know bro. I just hate waking up every day and feeling this way about my life. It’s crazy that one of my favorite pieces I’ve written was about choosing life even when life says fuck you, but I can’t seem to apply it to my own life.

Now I say all this to hope that one day I can look back on this and say “Lol Jordan you were so moody”. My hope is that I will get better cause I can consciously see that I have so much still to do and to live for. My hope is that I’m wrong. My hope is that I will live a long and happy life and that this isn’t just my forever. My hope is that I will fall back in love with life and that this will just be a mental exercise in dumping out my thoughts. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t want to be in pain anymore. I want to find a renewed reason to be alive. I want someone to help me in how I need to be helped. I KNOW dying isn’t the answer to my problems, but I’m just…tired. I want someone who can convince me that all of this bullshit is still worth it. Well…I guess I’ll see, or I won’t.

[noneedforithbruh-blog]

Meeting a CHAD

Birds are singing, flowers are blooming, and the sun is shinning upon you as you walk to pcp HQ the home of the gods who created you......then killed you.....then revived you....all because you were “not copyright friendly enough” but it doesn't matter now you have been granted a second chance in life and whats even better is that now you will be able to walk among them, talk to them, and maybe even develop genuine god to zombie relationships that may allow you to pork them wont that be very cool.

........

“ouch...” you feel a pain in you forehead.

Because you were too deep in your NSFW fantasies about the pcp members you didn't feel the passage of time or the immeasurable distance you have traveled but bumping into the giant metal wall that seems to stretch so far beyond what your eyes can see certainly woke you up.

In front of you is whats called ' THE WALL ' the thing that separates mortals from flawless gods, no one can enter the domain beyond  ' THE WALL ' because what lies on the other side of ' THE WALL ' is something far greater and much more keno than ' THE WALL ', anyhow after you finish staring at the honestly lame structure that is ' THE WALL ' you pull out your trusty mp3 player and start singing loudly and proudly along with your favorite piece of musical arts:

“Yeah

 Yeah

 Yeah

 Uh

 I'm supposed to be working right now

 I'm supposed to be working right now

 But I'm not working

 I'm doing nothing

 My dick I'm jerking

 Myself I'm sucking

 I am an asshole

 I am a stupid

 I've got a deadline

 Don't wanna do it

 [What the hell is wrong with me?]

 I'm supposed to be making money

 I'm supposed to be creating funny-

 Things that the people gladly will pay for

 Artistic genius, that's what they came for

 Instead I'm tweeting hashtag repeating

 That's why there's no weed and holes in the ceiling

 Yeah

 It's quite the burden

 It's a hard-knock life

 Being a genius”

                                                                                                                      after finishing your stellar performance and proving once again that you are the most devoted follower and the gods ultimate creation by reciting ALL the lyrics of the holy tone not just some parts from a thirty second inferior imitation,          ' THE WALL ' splits in half and reveals a path into the sky itself, as you walk along the path you start to question your looks, and revise your re-introduction speech that you have written so carefully on the back of your wanking hand you're most trusted companion, and wonder if you are truly worthy of meeting the gods themselves, but before you're brain shuts down from the anxiety you suddenly hear a voice so stoic and testosterone filled shouting “DO YOU EAT YOU'RE GREEEEEENS?” without hesitation you shout back “YES” the figure smiles and stands at the end of the road waiting for you, as you get closer you get a clearer image of the prime specimen of the concept of manhood itself its the creator of star fleet, and the biggest advocate for leaving human weaknesses like eating and sleeping behind, its Keg Stand....you mean its the Best Guy Ever your lord and savior, wearing the classiest clothes(a black toxido with a purple cape that became red from the blood of his enemies with a crown and two drills strapped to the sides of his THICCC thighs) and striking his powerful T-pose, the mere sight of him fills you with determination and fear, he is a CHAD indeed.

When you finally manage to greet him officially by dancing like a monkey missing both his arms and legs, he offers to transport you using his ' sickass ' electric skateboard to his domain and maybe have a L.A CROIX or two if his busy schedule allows it, at first you are taken back by the offer you wonder why would you're god invite you to personnel domain, is it a trick, perhaps a test to see if you are going to disrespect the gods...., or perhaps you're deepest darkest desire to pork one of the pcp members is gonna come true sooner than you expect.

......

“ouch..” you feel a sudden pain on you're left cheek

In the middle of you're day dreaming you forgot to give an answer, but luckily this firm bitch slap from god himself woke you up, (you are totally not holding back the tears.....bitch), you answer ”YES SIR” you're desire to get boned is stronger than you're fear, you attempt get on top of the skateboard but there isn't enough room, BGE says”Woah Woah, what are doing fam, get on top of M...... (you're hearth stops) Y shoulders its more efficient and not GAAAAAAAAY” he dabs, you get on top the well toned shoulders and you start flying across the sky of pcp HQ you could see forests made of weed, historic landmarks from around the world jumbled together into a single building, and the legendary lost/war torn/purple country of Lithuania,all of them existing simultaneously...somehow...?, you arrive at BGE domain a space ship, you don't get to see much of it though since as soon as it starts becoming visible you land next to a teleporter that leads directly to BGE room, after doing a mid-air flip to get off BGE you step in and get transported to the sacred mating chamber, you cant help but notice all the similar colored glasses hanging from the wall, and all the lewd drawings of anime characters, you are weirded out by the fact that even THE CHAD himself indulges in hobbies and activities that will not advance or help the gods creations, you forget about these thoughts when you hear the words “mah boi do want a glass of high quality champion”, you nod BGE grabs a bottle and tries to open it.......(5 minutes passes) the bottle is not opened yet.......(10 minutes passes) its not open yet.......(20 minutes passes) not yet.....you stand in disbelief at the sight of you're god not being able to open a champion bottle you start screaming “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” how come that god can't open a bottle, have you been lied to , are they not GODS, is this a dream?, you take the bottle from Nate's hands,smash it, and stab yourself, you bleed on the floor and as the light leaves you're eyes the last words you hear are “retard”.

THE END.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcoqR9Bwx1Y

[years-later-au]

Purpose

Welp, here we go. First of all, I owe a great thanks to Neon for her beautiful art and vivid imagination. This AU has made me write something, first time in four years, and that means a lot to me. So, if I may, I offer this little thing. I can’t bring myself to write anything long and deep yet, so it’s just some Croix’s reflections on her past and present, scattered and incomplete. Half the time I tried to make it look like ponderings of a troubled mind, the other half it just had its own way. I need to apologize in advance, since English is not my mother tongue, so there’s probably lots of mistakes. And yeah, so many “yet"s and “though"s.

This text won’t be appearing in any other places, it’s just here, for your consideration. Maybe it will prove good enough. Maybe you’ll just be disgusted.

Anyways, hope you’ll like it. From Russia with love, your silent fan w/o any social media links, Haymaker.

OH MY GOODNESS! WHAT A BEAUTIFUL FANFICTION! You did SUCH  a wonderful job on this, you got a lot of the events down to a point, and it brings joy to my little heart. You did a wonderful job! Thank you so so so much! And you did a wonderful job with your grammar!! Kudos to you!

And you even cameo’d Aquila in this :’) 

I put this under a read more if that’s ok! 

“Now you will not interfere. Now Claiomh Solais will not be yours for the taking ever again.”

And she could not care less about it.

Croix doesn’t care about the Rod, about power, about anything, really. Whatever happens to her would be not enough for what she has done. She betrayed everyone she cared about, and not once. Losing limbs, organs, even life itself would not be enough of a punishment. She even welcomes the suffering, but there’s sudden movement behind the bloody mist that clouds her vision: a small figure of a woman with bright red hair. The woman she let down, the woman who saved her when she did not deserve to be saved. Chariot. She rushes to the collapsed witch, spellblade blazing in her hands, and the dragon lunges at her, claws outstretched, ready to extinguish the red flame of hope.

“Chariot, save yourself! You have done enough!”

“I’ll never abandon you!”

Croix wakes up in cold sweat. There is no pain, thankfully, although she’d prefer if there was at least some. Almost every night it’s the same: in her nightmares she squirms in agony, clutching her left hand to her chest as it’s maimed and scorched, yet in the waking world there’s nothing, and it’s even worse. Fear paralyzes her, fear of being crippled forever, of being a burden. “He has won. Now I won’t be able to protect anyone.” It takes a while for reality to settle in. The purple-haired witch looks at her left arm, tries to lift it up and wave it around a bit. It’s still there, although her nerves insist on the opposite. She clenches her fist, then relaxes again and touches her face. The touch is present, her hand is there. He hasn’t won.

Croix knows that she won’t fall asleep now. She looks back at the redhead, who is peacefully sleeping beside her, and the sight alone fills Meridies’s heart with blissful ease. The witch suppresses the urge to kiss her lover, she doesn’t want to wake her just yet. Quietly Croix sneaks out of bed, stretches her back and stays still for a few seconds, just to feel alive. It is so strange.

Memories assault her mind. Memories of betrayal, of blood on her hands. Diana’s blood, bright red, gushing out of her wound. Her own blood, thick, slimy, dark. And his blood, black as tar, hot, scorching. He made sure his enemies don’t last: even his blood is deadly for those who spill it. Croix was lucky, too lucky, perhaps: the dragon’s blood maimed only her left arm, and Chariot was there to save her. Damn this suicidal girl. She is always too good to be alive, too pure, too selfless. Suddenly Croix feels the urge to cry. She doesn’t deserve this. For all she knows, she must have been dead. So many times she must have died. Her own malfunctioning devices, the Sorcerer’s jaws, his poisonous blood, the court. Croix had always danced on the edge of a guillotine. And it was always Chariot who covered her with her own body.

"Why are you always there for me?” – she wonders. – “What in the name of all things sacred have I done to deserve you?”

She remembers it all too clearly. The sleepless nights by the drawing board, the blueprints, the harsh lights and the voices of her teammates, swearing in their mother tongue. She didn’t speak German then, she still doesn’t now, but the tone alone made it clear: they were less than happy with her pulling one all-nighter after another. Well, it was time to move out.

“Hey, what are you doing here past the curfew?”

“Working.”

“But you will be punished if…” “Nah, I won’t. Professor Woodward has my back. Anyway, who are you to care? And what exactly are YOU doing in the halls past the curfew?”

“Me? I was just sneaking out to the kitchen to get some more food. I always get kinda hungry at night. I’m Chariot, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Croix.”

It was twenty years ago. They arranged a little hideout together, where they could be alone. It was a small house on a tree, tiny enough not to be seen, yet Croix asked her mentor to cover it with a spell for them. Woodward did not mind: she knew that the young prodigy needed to work somewhere. Although she didn’t know what kind of work this was.

“Aw, this astronomy stuff makes my head spin! They can’t possibly expect me to remember all these stars!”

“It’s not that hard. Look. Those five bright stars are the Southern Cross.”

“Heh. You really do know almost everything! That’s cool.”

"Well, this stuff is essential. Besides, it’s the same as my name – easy to remember.”

“To think of it, “Cross” and “Croix” really sound kinda similar.”

“You’re not using my name as a means to remember…”

“I am.”

These memories bring tears to Croix’s eyes and a smile on her face. School years were the best of her life: times full of lighthearted joy and blissful obliviousness. Days were filled with beloved work, and nights – shared with beloved girl. It was perfect, until everything went crumbling down: her dreams, her love, her reputation.

Then there was hatred. She hated Chariot for stealing her dream, Woodward for stealing her hope, the world for rejecting her. She only had her work, and she perfected the prototypes she designed in school. Croix developed SSS in hopes of restoring magic without the Grand Triskelion, but her efforts were in vain.

Hatred slowly gave way to self-pitying and disgust. And rum. Lots of it. Rum wasn’t just a drink, it was her only friend, the thing, that healed her ailments, though only temporarily. She was often drunk as a boiled owl, crying herself to sleep in her apartment. She should have died then, yet she did not. She was still too stubborn.

And that stubbornness carried her through. Along with Chariot’s hands, of course. Chariot was always there when she needed her the most. She was there for her when Croix was alone, she was there to save her when she was on the brink of death… again and again stars led Chariot to Croix, and the latter did not know why. Perhaps she was simply destined for this?

For a moment, the purple-haired witch closes her eyes. Almost every morning she goes through this. Agonizing pain, then fear, then numbness and regret. A couple of months before there was also self-loathing. Croix even considered killing herself, but disregarded the idea because of the same sense of guilt that had borne it: her life was not hers to end, as it was not hers to save. Chariot had saved her so many times now that the purple-haired witch felt eternally indebted to her. And that brought strange tranquility to her life, helped her through the anguish of waking up each day.

Croix takes a few light steps towards the room Aquila sleeps in. This is, perhaps, the strangest thing in her life now: the fact that Croix Meridies had become a mother. She never thought about it, and now here she was, before the small mahogany cradle in which the perfect child was sleeping. Or was it?

Aquila feels her mother’s gaze, wakes up and starts crying quietly. It always amazed Croix: she thought all children to be noisy and unbearable, but her daughter is just so quiet. The witch leans in just a little and smiles to reassure her child.

– Hush now, lil’ sunshine, – she whispers. – We don’t want to wake mom up, do we?

With that, Croix tries to lift the girl in her arms. It feels a bit awkward, and the witch is slightly uncomfortable: she doesn’t want to hurt or drop Aquila, yet she always thinks she’s about to do so. Sometimes she can’t control the amount of force in her injured hand, so there’s always fear of overcommitment. Though for now everything seems to be just right. Croix holds her daughter and gently kisses her forehead, then starts humming a melody from years long past. A melody that Chariot used to sing in their tree house when Croix had trouble falling asleep.

– I’m always breathless to see

Growing so slowly to greet me,

Where I end and where she begins?

It’s not quite a lullaby, more of a romance about a girl who fell in love with the moon. Yet Aquila is pleased with her mother’s voice and quickly falls asleep again. Croix continues, softly rocking the girl in her arms.

– When she shines for me at night

And her skies show green and white,

She will keep us in her sight;

We all lie beneath her light…

She sits herself down in an enormous armchair that stands by their bed. It is big enough to be called a sofa, and soft enough to drown in it. Smiling blissfully, Croix looks at her daughter, then – at her sleeping wife. Perhaps this is her true purpose. To be not a prodigy, not a hero, not even the greatest witch, but herself and herself only: Croix du Nord, a loving wife, a caring mother, a somewhat competent teacher. She’s had enough of troubles and misadventures. And the memories that have assaulted her for so long are now as numb and foreign as her left arm. They almost disappear, scratching at the back of her mind, too far to be taken notice of. All that matters are her wife and child. She will be there for them. Always. Like Chariot was always there for her.

Chariot opens her eyes and blinks in confusion. Her wife looks at her with such affection that she almost melts on the spot.

– Good morning, chérie, – Croix whispers. There is no more uncertainty in her voice. Their life has just begun this morning.

[two-nguyen-blog]

The New Year

Hey, H.

I’m sorry it took me a while to make this post. The prospect of speaking freely with the fear of saying something offensive still prevents me from being completely honest with you since you are so close to me. Yet still so distant. That’s the reason why I didn’t respond to you when you ask our sisters and me what we thought was your biggest flaws.  

I’m glad that you’re excited about the new year. I can’t say I quite feel the same, but I’m glad you’re looking positively into the uncertain future.

In regards to your New Year’s Resolution for 2019, I find it quite admirable you’re trying to look into your flaw of self-righteousness. It’s hard to take a step towards change, especially when it comes to yourself. You asked me if this behavior has been getting worse throughout the time I’ve been living with you.

For me, I think so. Maybe it has always been present, or it was exacerbated during the last 2 years you were with that thằng chó, but it has grown to the combative level. I agree that both you and Rowen have this problem; It isn’t just her. You two will get into an argument over the littlest of things, like that time about how to pronounciate La Croix. I understand the sentiment within that context, but sometimes, we must accept others ideas and opinions even if it contradicts our own. (Also, your self-esteem, in particular, doesn’t affect your self-righteousness. You have always been confident in your intellect and your strive for knowledge I believe, so your self-esteem has no correlation with this self-righteousness.)

I struggle with that sometimes, too, especially if I am feeling stressed or upset over something.

Though I don’t believe that to be my biggest flaw.

Evaluating that is hard. Especially when I don’t think so highly of myself. I’m annoying, a burden, useless, aggressive, anxious, problematic, distant, mercurial, inconsiderate, a push-over, hateful, and most importantly, I’m not entirely open in regards to my emotions.

I don’t really vent them out unless I’m prompted to. Whenever I do talk to you, the few instances were about things that happened to me at school and my stress over B. But in regards to my own mental health, not so much. I acknowledge that, I do, that I’m not very open, that I try to be more of a listener rather than the one doing the talking. It’s just hard for me.

I want to be there for people. I realize I’m not really always there for you either. I want to be there for you. You...just made it hard sometimes for me to try to comfort you. Your depression is an ever-present aspect of your life, and life has not been kind to you either, but I want to be able to help you. If not through words, then by some other means since some of our words, true, meaningful words, have been used to hurt each other, whether it be intentionally or unintentionally.

I hope sleep will get better for you. I know you and O have been going to sleep early since you both work early, so hopefully, O’s presence has been making that easier for you. And yeah, the future is definitely a scary prospect for all of us. You’re going back to school and working two jobs and struggling with the debt Father forced you to take on since he insisted that you buy that car. I’m preparing to do my scholarships, trying to finish all the loose ends that need to be done for the IB program, struggling with my tumultuous and tiring relationship with B and anxious about what college and being “on my own” could mean for me.

The future is scary. But I’m sure both of us will come out just fine. Adversity and our experiences have made us into the people we are today, and I think you’re doing great if not super stressed and worried about finances, emotions and probably your future with O.

I guess I should actually sum up what’s happened to me so far this week since the whole point of this blog is to be able to talk to each other without any reserve.

Well, so far, I’ve been worrying a little bit about the piercings I got. Mother and Father won’t react very well to it, and I hope that I’m doing a proper job taking care of them. But all in all, it’s not too much of worry for me. Right now, anyway.

I’m a bit sad that I haven’t actually gotten to use the book R got me for Christmas. The It’s Gonna Be Okay one where you fill it out like a journal. I haven’t started it since the first entry was awful, written on the night of New Years. I wanted to start on New Year’s Day so it would have been a great start to the new year, but things didn’t work out so well. I’m hoping I could start next week or something so I can actually write something tangible down and maybe it’ll help me grow more hopeful and less stressed out since it asks for me to write down my hopes for every day and reflect on how I think my day went.

School is going well so far. To be honest, if I work hard in studying and doing my work, I don’t think I should worry too much academically. I just need to keep up on my work and stop slacking off and procrastinating, and I think I’ll be fine. I still worry about the CAS Project though. I kind of don’t want B to be helping me with it since she is half in the IB program still and half not? It pisses me off that she can still do that and not worry too much about the burdens of IB whereas S and P were given so much shit for leaving IB. I want to confront B about this, that even though she does have her own troubles, she is still somewhat entitled and privileged. So many other things too but I’ll have to tell her someday. It’s hard since I still love her very dearly as my friend but she...has changed. Or maybe I have changed. Who knows.

It really fucking sucks that my card information got stolen and someone spent like $200 with the money I spent earning over break so Mother and Father wouldn’t have to give me money. I can’t do anything about it for a while with my new card being sent in like 7-1o days and the bank undergoing an investigation in order to restore the funds. I dunno. Money is such a sensitive subject.

I kind of feel stifled. Not that I don’t enjoy having O living with us, and it’s not like he’s bugging me and we get along well and he’s mostly just working or out skateboarding, but I wish I had a private space or spot where I know I can be alone but still be productive. B came over after school today because she forgot her keys to her house and I really just wanted to chill at home by myself. I’ll find some way to fix that issue.

Otherwise, I think everything has been roughly fine, H. Roughly. Nothing is ever so perfect. I’m sorry if I’ve been, how would you say, standoffish. I really don’t mean to. I just can’t help it. I...don't really feel particularly happy lately either. S and P always make me happy, and I’m glad you and me can sometimes find where we get along just fine, but I really can’t say things are great. Definitely not.

I guess that’s all that I can say for this week. I hope next week will get better for both you and me.

I can’t say it out loud without feeling uncomfortable, so I just wanna say I love you. Despite what my actions say, I still love you.

-Rin

P.S. I only keep mentioning to you to close the fridge because it’s a waste of electricity and with the winter time, the electricity bill has been going up so every little thing might help. Who knows. I don’t really know much about finances.

[nancyedimick]

A loss for property rights in Murr v. Wisconsin

Donna Murr speaks at a press conference at the Murr family’s cabin on the St. Croix River. The Murr family are the plaintiffs in Murr v. Wisconsin.

The Supreme Court just issued its decision in Murr v. Wisconsin, by far the most important property rights case of the term. The opinion is both a setback for constitutional property rights and likely to create confusion and uncertainty going forward.

The Takings Clause of the Fifth Amendment requires the government to pay “just compensation” any time it “takes” private property for public use. Murr considers the important issue of whether an action that might otherwise be a taking might cease to be one merely because the owner of the affected lot also happens to own other property contiguous to it. In at least some cases, today’s indeed ruling allows the government to avoid compensating property owners for the taking of their land, merely because they also own the lot next door. But the vague nature of the test established by the Court makes it very hard to figure out exactly when that might happen.

In the famous 1978 Penn Central case, the Supreme Court ruled that whether regulatory restrictions on property rights amount to a taking depends on their impact on the “parcel as a whole.” If the regulation affects only a small part of the parcel or has little effect on its overall value and use, it probably will not be ruled a taking, and no compensation is required. The bigger the unit that counts as the relevant parcel, the less likely it is that the courts will rule that a restriction on the use of any part of it is a taking requiring compensation. Regulators who want to avoid paying compensation therefore have an obvious interest in counting contiguous parcels as well as the one actually being restricted. Property owners’ interests are the opposite.

I. The Court’s New Dangerously Vague Balancing Test.

After the oral argument in March, I worried that the Court might end up issuing a muddled decision that creates needless confusion. Sadly, that is exactly what the justices have done. In a close 5-3 decision (Justice Neil Gorsuch did not participate because he was not yet on the Court when the case was argued), the majority sided with the government against the property owners. But they rejected the state of Wisconsin’s position that the courts should simply treat contiguous parcels as one anytime state law indicates they should be. But they also rejected the opposite view: that there should be a strong presumption in favor of analyzing each parcel separately.

Instead, Justice Anthony Kennedy’s majority opinion (joined also by the four liberal justices) creates a vague multifactor balancing test for addressing these issues. it states that courts must consider a variety of factors in an attempt to “determine whether reasonable expecta­tions about property ownership would lead a landowner to anticipate that his holdings would be treated as one par­cel, or, instead, as separate tracts.” These factors “include the treatment of the land under state and local law; the physical characteristics of the land; and the prospective value of the regulated land.” The treatment of the land under state and local law includes restrictions on land use in place at the time the owner acquired the lots, but possibly other regulations, as well. The relevant “physical characteristics” include “the physical relationship of any distinguishable tracts, the parcel’s topography, and the surrounding human and ecological environment.” Consideration of “prospective value” includes the need to “assess the value of the property under the challenged regulation, with special attention to the effect of burdened land on the value of other holdings. Though a use restriction may decrease the market value of the property, the effect may be tempered if the regulated land adds value to the remaining property, such as by increasing privacy, expanding recreational space, or pre­serving surrounding natural beauty.”

Even this many not exhaust the list of potentially relevant factors. The Court also emphasizes that “the reasonable expectations at issue derive from background customs and the whole of our legal tradition.” Other aspects of those customs and traditions may turn out to be relevant too!

The above list is a recipe for confusion, uncertainty, and constant litigation. All of the factors in the test are complicated and difficult to measure. Often, which way they cut is in the eye of the beholder. For example, who can say which preexisting land-use restrictions should count against the owner, or what really counts as a relevant aspect of “the surrounding human and ecological environment?” In addition, the Court provides little if any guidance on what to do if some of these factors cut in favor of the government, and others in support the property owners. Judges can hardly avoid deciding these kinds of issues at least in large part based on their personal and ideological preferences.

The Court states that the inquiry they require is “objective.” Given its extreme vagueness, I don’t see how that could possibly be the case. Subjective considerations will inevitably have a substantial influence on judges’ consideration of the different factors and how to weigh them against each other.

The majority’s balancing test is great news for takings lawyers and property scholars. Because of the uncertainty and litigation it will generate, the decision will surely help make our income great again! It’s almost a full-employment act for experts in this field. For the rest of America, the decision creates needless risk and uncertainty about the scope of our property rights.

II. What the Court Should Have Done.

As Chief Justice John Roberts explains in his dissent, regulatory takings jurisprudence already includes a conceptual muddle in the Penn Central test for determining whether a given regulation restricts property rights severely enough to qualify as a taking. Today’s decision adds an additional layer of severe uncertainty when it comes to determining what counts as the relevant property interest in the first place. He argues – correctly, in my view – that it would be better to adopt a presumption in favor of treating each parcel separately:

State laws define the boundaries of distinct units of land, and those boundaries should, in all but the most exceptional circumstances, determine the parcel at issue. Even in regulatory takings cases, the first step of the Takings Clause analysis is still to identify the relevant “private property.” States create property rights with respect to particular “things.” And in the context of real property, those “things” are horizontally bounded plots of land.

For reasons outlined in an amicus brief I coauthored on behalf of nine state governments, this approach better fits the text, history, and original meaning of the Takings Clause. The text of the Fifth Amendment states that the government must pay “just compensation” any time it takes “private property” for public use. Nothing in the amendment creates an exception for cases where the owner happens to own a lot next door that has a At the very least, nothing in that history – or in previous Supreme Court decisions – requires the kind of muddled balancing test adopted by the majority.

As also discussed in our brief, the approach endorsed by the majority is likely to lead to wasteful efforts at strategic manipulation by both property owners and local governments. The former may try to avoid placing contiguous lots under common ownership so as to lessen the risk of exposure to uncompensated takings. The latter, by contrast, will have incentives to try to manipulate the various factors listed in the majority opinion, so that they come out in their favor. The brief also explains how allowing contiguity to influence takings may put state property at risk of uncompensated regulatory takings imposed by the federal government. As with the risk to private property, this danger will be hard to gauge in any given case, because of the vague nature of the test established by the Court.

In fairness to the majority, some of the problems created by today’s decision are ultimately rooted in the flaws of the “parcel as a whole” rule itself. As scholars on both right and left have pointed out, this rule has little if any basis in the text or original meaning of the Constitution. It is a judicial invention and an ill-conceived one at that. Even when it comes to a single parcel, there is no good reason for concluding that a regulation that qualifies as a taking for a one acre parcel might cease to be one if the parcel were two acres instead. The question to ask in a takings case is what property rights government has taken away from the owner, not how much property may be left to her. The text of the Fifth Amendment requires compensation whenever private property is “taken,” and does not create exceptions for situations where the owner loses only part of her rights. As Richard Epstein argues in a recent article about Murr , the Court should simply abolish the parcel as a whole rule entirely. Short of that, they could have limited the damage the rule does by adopting Chief Justice Roberts’ relatively clear approach. Sadly, the justices have not only retained “parcel as a whole,” but made it worse than before.

Today’s decision breaks a streak of important victories for property owners in important Supreme Court Takings Clause cases, including several issued in 2013, and the 2015 raisin takings case. Hopefully, Murr will not be the start of a trend going the other way.

Sadly, today is also the twelfth anniversary of Kelo v. City of New London, another unfortunate setback for constitutional property rights. On this date last year, the Court issued the dubious Fisher II decision, and Britain voted Brexit. Perhaps the real lesson here is not to schedule anything important for June 23. That may be a better rule than the one adopted by the majority in Murr.

NOTE: As mentioned above, I coauthored an amicus brief supporting the property owners, on behalf of nine state governments led by the state of Nevada. As with other posts about Murr, what I write here represents solely my own views, not those of the states I represented. The brief is a pro bono project, and I have no financial interest in the case.

Originally Found On: http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/volokh-conspiracy/wp/2017/06/23/a-loss-for-property-rights-in-murr-v-wisconsin/

[wolfandpravato]

A loss for property rights in Murr v. Wisconsin

Donna Murr speaks at a press conference at the Murr family’s cabin on the St. Croix River. The Murr family are the plaintiffs in Murr v. Wisconsin.

The Supreme Court just issued its decision in Murr v. Wisconsin, by far the most important property rights case of the term. The opinion is both a setback for constitutional property rights and likely to create confusion and uncertainty going forward.

The Takings Clause of the Fifth Amendment requires the government to pay “just compensation” any time it “takes” private property for public use. Murr considers the important issue of whether an action that might otherwise be a taking might cease to be one merely because the owner of the affected lot also happens to own other property contiguous to it. In at least some cases, today’s indeed ruling allows the government to avoid compensating property owners for the taking of their land, merely because they also own the lot next door. But the vague nature of the test established by the Court makes it very hard to figure out exactly when that might happen.

In the famous 1978 Penn Central case, the Supreme Court ruled that whether regulatory restrictions on property rights amount to a taking depends on their impact on the “parcel as a whole.” If the regulation affects only a small part of the parcel or has little effect on its overall value and use, it probably will not be ruled a taking, and no compensation is required. The bigger the unit that counts as the relevant parcel, the less likely it is that the courts will rule that a restriction on the use of any part of it is a taking requiring compensation. Regulators who want to avoid paying compensation therefore have an obvious interest in counting contiguous parcels as well as the one actually being restricted. Property owners’ interests are the opposite.

I. The Court’s New Dangerously Vague Balancing Test.

After the oral argument in March, I worried that the Court might end up issuing a muddled decision that creates needless confusion. Sadly, that is exactly what the justices have done. In a close 5-3 decision (Justice Neil Gorsuch did not participate because he was not yet on the Court when the case was argued), the majority sided with the government against the property owners. But they rejected the state of Wisconsin’s position that the courts should simply treat contiguous parcels as one anytime state law indicates they should be. But they also rejected the opposite view: that there should be a strong presumption in favor of analyzing each parcel separately.

Instead, Justice Anthony Kennedy’s majority opinion (joined also by the four liberal justices) creates a vague multifactor balancing test for addressing these issues. it states that courts must consider a variety of factors in an attempt to “determine whether reasonable expecta­tions about property ownership would lead a landowner to anticipate that his holdings would be treated as one par­cel, or, instead, as separate tracts.” These factors “include the treatment of the land under state and local law; the physical characteristics of the land; and the prospective value of the regulated land.” The treatment of the land under state and local law includes restrictions on land use in place at the time the owner acquired the lots, but possibly other regulations, as well. The relevant “physical characteristics” include “the physical relationship of any distinguishable tracts, the parcel’s topography, and the surrounding human and ecological environment.” Consideration of “prospective value” includes the need to “assess the value of the property under the challenged regulation, with special attention to the effect of burdened land on the value of other holdings. Though a use restriction may decrease the market value of the property, the effect may be tempered if the regulated land adds value to the remaining property, such as by increasing privacy, expanding recreational space, or pre­serving surrounding natural beauty.”

Even this many not exhaust the list of potentially relevant factors. The Court also emphasizes that “the reasonable expectations at issue derive from background customs and the whole of our legal tradition.” Other aspects of those customs and traditions may turn out to be relevant too!

The above list is a recipe for confusion, uncertainty, and constant litigation. All of the factors in the test are complicated and difficult to measure. Often, which way they cut is in the eye of the beholder. For example, who can say which preexisting land-use restrictions should count against the owner, or what really counts as a relevant aspect of “the surrounding human and ecological environment?” In addition, the Court provides little if any guidance on what to do if some of these factors cut in favor of the government, and others in support the property owners. Judges can hardly avoid deciding these kinds of issues at least in large part based on their personal and ideological preferences.

The Court states that the inquiry they require is “objective.” Given its extreme vagueness, I don’t see how that could possibly be the case. Subjective considerations will inevitably have a substantial influence on judges’ consideration of the different factors and how to weigh them against each other.

The majority’s balancing test is great news for takings lawyers and property scholars. Because of the uncertainty and litigation it will generate, the decision will surely help make our income great again! It’s almost a full-employment act for experts in this field. For the rest of America, the decision creates needless risk and uncertainty about the scope of our property rights.

II. What the Court Should Have Done.

As Chief Justice John Roberts explains in his dissent, regulatory takings jurisprudence already includes a conceptual muddle in the Penn Central test for determining whether a given regulation restricts property rights severely enough to qualify as a taking. Today’s decision adds an additional layer of severe uncertainty when it comes to determining what counts as the relevant property interest in the first place. He argues – correctly, in my view – that it would be better to adopt a presumption in favor of treating each parcel separately:

State laws define the boundaries of distinct units of land, and those boundaries should, in all but the most exceptional circumstances, determine the parcel at issue. Even in regulatory takings cases, the first step of the Takings Clause analysis is still to identify the relevant “private property.” States create property rights with respect to particular “things.” And in the context of real property, those “things” are horizontally bounded plots of land.

For reasons outlined in an amicus brief I coauthored on behalf of nine state governments, this approach better fits the text, history, and original meaning of the Takings Clause. The text of the Fifth Amendment states that the government must pay “just compensation” any time it takes “private property” for public use. Nothing in the amendment creates an exception for cases where the owner happens to own a lot next door that has a At the very least, nothing in that history – or in previous Supreme Court decisions – requires the kind of muddled balancing test adopted by the majority.

As also discussed in our brief, the approach endorsed by the majority is likely to lead to wasteful efforts at strategic manipulation by both property owners and local governments. The former may try to avoid placing contiguous lots under common ownership so as to lessen the risk of exposure to uncompensated takings. The latter, by contrast, will have incentives to try to manipulate the various factors listed in the majority opinion, so that they come out in their favor. The brief also explains how allowing contiguity to influence takings may put state property at risk of uncompensated regulatory takings imposed by the federal government. As with the risk to private property, this danger will be hard to gauge in any given case, because of the vague nature of the test established by the Court.

In fairness to the majority, some of the problems created by today’s decision are ultimately rooted in the flaws of the “parcel as a whole” rule itself. As scholars on both right and left have pointed out, this rule has little if any basis in the text or original meaning of the Constitution. It is a judicial invention and an ill-conceived one at that. Even when it comes to a single parcel, there is no good reason for concluding that a regulation that qualifies as a taking for a one acre parcel might cease to be one if the parcel were two acres instead. The question to ask in a takings case is what property rights government has taken away from the owner, not how much property may be left to her. The text of the Fifth Amendment requires compensation whenever private property is “taken,” and does not create exceptions for situations where the owner loses only part of her rights. As Richard Epstein argues in a recent article about Murr , the Court should simply abolish the parcel as a whole rule entirely. Short of that, they could have limited the damage the rule does by adopting Chief Justice Roberts’ relatively clear approach. Sadly, the justices have not only retained “parcel as a whole,” but made it worse than before.

Today’s decision breaks a streak of important victories for property owners in important Supreme Court Takings Clause cases, including several issued in 2013, and the 2015 raisin takings case. Hopefully, Murr will not be the start of a trend going the other way.

Sadly, today is also the twelfth anniversary of Kelo v. City of New London, another unfortunate setback for constitutional property rights. On this date last year, the Court issued the dubious Fisher II decision, and Britain voted Brexit. Perhaps the real lesson here is not to schedule anything important for June 23. That may be a better rule than the one adopted by the majority in Murr.

NOTE: As mentioned above, I coauthored an amicus brief supporting the property owners, on behalf of nine state governments led by the state of Nevada. As with other posts about Murr, what I write here represents solely my own views, not those of the states I represented. The brief is a pro bono project, and I have no financial interest in the case.

Originally Found On: http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/volokh-conspiracy/wp/2017/06/23/a-loss-for-property-rights-in-murr-v-wisconsin/

[arkanarmada]

PR

our spawning generation of women have fled they took their rugs with them the afghans littered with small shoes see-through sandals for summer time they know nothing else this is when they need them and what they need then as the boys placate themselves on whiskey and la croix business as usual seeking my help no one knows marketing i'm saying this from first-person it's all trial and error like rearing a child self-conscious ego pokes its head into politics we pretend to know how the game goes and make money doing it talking with clout we'll show you what our worth amounts to in bite-sized pieces you take our word for it we'll birth your burden we'll sow your seeds and PR the fuck out of whatever you're trying to market for the good of the clan you're soothing voice culls me into submission