#cross ties rainer

[lace4forest]

Bumble just has really bad balance, and SOMEONE likes to meet up on the top of the lighthouse, were one of the party is Blind and the other needs to have a rope so she doesn't hurt herself because- well- BAD BALANCE-

[spiriteddreams]

"you will freeze in place if you remain this way. you must not, dear. you have to move." (rainer maria rilke) "permanently" sidelined w/ chigiri hyoma cw: slight angst (not abt your relationship), soccer injuries

“hey,” pink hair comes into your vision. chigiri hyoma is sweaty. but fuck, he’s so pretty, with his hair tied up, signature braid running along the side of his head. he’s slightly out of breath but that warm smile is still on his face. you stand off to the side, watching as the blue lock team practices. you can smell the turf, can almost feel it on your skin and it’s overwhelming. but your boyfriend’s presence makes it all the better.

“you’re thinking too much,” he hums, taking a sip of water. “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” you search his eyes for pity because you know that he is very well aware of what’s going on in your mind at the moment. the dull throb in your knee seems to feel the same way.

you sigh and glance back over to where his teammates aim shots at each other’s faces (completely out of love? you’re not sure). a sheepish smile crosses your features as you say, “i just miss it, that’s all.” chigiri stares at you and doesn’t say anything. he understands this feeling better than anyone else. because he’s on the field, and you’re not. 

choosing to continue playing or to quit playing a sport is one of the hardest decisions a player will ever make. you spend your entire life building up the skills, pouring hours of blood, sweat, and tears (literally) into every hour of practice. you take shots on goal until you feel your feet ache in your cleats. your legs burn from the laps around the field, chest heaving and eyes stinging until your knees hit turf. it is your whole life. you have grown up on the soccer field, from grass to turf, to cleats with holes and shin guards that wear out. jerseys pile up in your closet, your surname, with the same number printed on the back in different colors and your academy logo printed above your heart lie folded together. the collection seems to grow and you hope to keep it that way. with each new season is another round of emotions.

the feeling of defeat is overwhelming. there is defeat in scrimmages, ones that mean little and only push you to continue to train harder, to nail in those formations, sharpen your passes, control the ball even better than you have before. and then there are the losses in those important matches. the loss of finals, a bad touch that hits the goal post just as you hear those damned 3 whistles blow to end the match. you can try to block out the cheers of the other team as they gather around each other but it’s loud. it’s overwhelming. it hurts because you could have scored. you could have done more. but you can still play, and that’s what matters.

you have also felt that rush of adrenaline of running down the field, ball at your feet, slamming it hard into the corner of the goal. you know the feeling of winning all too well. it is a burst of warmth in your chest, a giddy grin that crosses your features. cheers erupt from the sidelines, from the other 10 players on the field as you crowd around each other. you all smell of sweat and rubber but who cares? you’re on the path to winning and you can feel the momentum build. one goal prompts another and you relish in the feeling of victory cradled in your hands. when you hold that trophy and see a hazy reflection of your face staring back, you grin. because there is nothing more motivating than the desire to win again.

and then it is ripped away in an instant. the pain hits before your mind registers what has happened. the sharp flaring pain that sends you to the ground, tears gathering in your eyes as your mind screams “what is happening!” there is no blood, no external wound, just sharp pain gathering in your knee. you are down one second and there are people around you the next. there are too many people, too many words, questions of “are you okay?” and “what happened” swarming your thoughts because fuck, you just want to know what happened too.

you can see the other team’s players watching intently. no one wants to be the cause of the end of someone’s career. no, that guilty feeling weighs down even when you know it can be an advantage to your own team’s success. but they turn away and you clench your eyes shut as coaches gather and tell people to “move! give them space!” players go down on one knee, one at a time. it’s a sign. you’re not staying on the field. it’s a cruel sport, soccer. and the wins and losses seem to tear at you from within.

“stop thinking so much,” chigiri pokes your forehead. you’re snapped out of that drowning and seemingly endless pit of misery to stare at him blankly. “of course you can still play.”

you smile wryly, “i know. it’s just not the same.” he doesn’t know what to respond to that. he can still play, because his injury was recoverable. an acl tear is painful he knows this, it eats away at your courage to come back to the field, but he did it. a knee injury is another thing. a knee injury that lacked care because you were far too focused on driving forward and ignored that flare up, was enough for you to call it quits after a final collision. so how does he respond to this, when he won’t ever know what it feels like to have your dreams ripped away in an instant with no hope of recovery.

“how about this,” chigiri refuses to see you so upset. he’ll do whatever it takes to bring back that victory driven smile on your face. “i’ll get some of the boys to play a match with us. simple scrimmage, nothing too intense, and—“

“baby, it’s okay,” you laugh. it’s a bit forced, but he can still hear the appreciation in it. he still isn’t quite sure how to approach this whilst you’re still healing, but he wants to try. and you’re well aware of this, and the thought is just as endearing as all the other things your sweet boyfriend has done for you. at the end of the day, what matters most is he’s there. he’s there to massage your knee when it throbs, to grab you a bag of ice when you bemoan about the pain, to press kisses all over your face and whisper how much he adores you and is so proud of how far you’ve come.

you may have lost your touch on the ball, but you haven’t lost chigiri hyoma. and that, you think, is more than okay.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 a/n: supposed to be working on an al-haitham fic but chigiri hyoma was calling me :D

[myapathyhaspeaked]

just remembered i can put my cringey oc writing on here and no one can stop me so…

my teacher had us write something and afterwards i took it and ran off

tumblr messed with the formatting, im on mobile rn so idk if itll look better on the computer ig we’ll find out when my computer is out of the shop :/

Cathrine was beginning to wonder if her friends wanted well for her. 

She scrunched her nose as the air became steadily fishier. He looked around the port as he searched for the banner Isla had described, faded and yellowed and marked with the words “Captain Tory’s Boat Tours” in fancy blackletter font. Her friends had recommended it to her, quite insistently at that, when she had alluded to her affection for water, claiming it would be good for her. Though, when she had said she loved water, she meant the glistening sapphire waves of the ocean, not the local river with more cigarette butts floating in it than fish. He quickened his pace to a brisk walk once he spotted the foretold banner next to a rundown dock, tied between an old wood pole and a decrepit shack.

She hesitantly entered the shack and walked up to the old bearded man at the counter, assuming he was the owner of the river boat outside, considering the fact that he was in an old fashioned navy officer’s coat and hat. He had a boy with him, presumably his son, who stared at her in that unnerving way kids tend to stare at everyone.

“Excuse me, sir?” She rang the bell, and the man seemed to startle awake like an old car sputtering back to life, as if he had been sleeping standing up with his eyes open. “Would you happen to be Captain Tory?”

“The one and only, missy,” he winked as he put on his glasses, “You Cathrine Rainer, 2 P.M.?” She cringed as he swung his scuffed boots onto the chipped wooden counter, leaning back on a creaky wooden chair. She was beginning to absorb how much of the shack was made of wood.

“This place is a fire hazard,” he muttered, unaware that he was speaking out loud. Good thing Jane’s not coming here.

“What was that ma’am?”

“Oh nothing. Can we begin the tour?” She smiled awkwardly, almost grimacing, as she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, wanting the conversation to be as short as possible. She didn’t have the energy for socializing, and the captain seemed like the type to love small talk. And I am not the type to love small talk, Cathrine thought to himself.

“You’re fifteen minutes early, missy. You got a date or something?”

“I just try to be punctual, sir.” He didn’t seem the type to be punctual. He looked like he should have a pipe, honestly.

“Oh,” she muttered, teetering on the balls of her feet.

“However, I’ll let you board the boat if you promise not to sail off without me,” he winked and let out a hearty laugh, cut short by a subsequent coughing fit.

She gladly took her leave and walked down the dock, carefully dodging dingey puddles and rotten looking boards. He boarded the river boat, an old wooden vessel that looked about as watertight as a thimble. Captain Tory seemed to have a knack for wood. She chose a bench, regretting having prepaid.

*******************************************************************************************

After some time, fifteen minutes she assumed, creaky footsteps announced the arrival of the other passenger. She nonchalantly scanned the newcomer. Black lace-up shoes, flowery golden sundress, tan skin, and short dark hair. She jumped out of her seat.

“Jane?” She groaned. What are the damn odds?

“What are you doing here?” Jane shouted accusingly, almost shaking with anger. So dramatic, he thought, it’s not like I planned for this to happen.

“Ditto,” Cathrine replied coldly, crossing her arms. She glared as Jane sat on the opposite bench, scooching until she was as far away as possible.

“Well, Skye told me that some time on the water might get my temper to ‘cool down.’” She used air quotes, as if she didn’t believe she had any issues with her fiery temper. Cathrine still had the marks of a plastic spork stabbed into her arm to prove otherwise. “She told me to get the last ride of the day to dodge the afternoon rush.”

“Really? Isla told me to go late to avoid the sun.” His voice slowed as he came to a realization. 

“Ha! Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day you started fucking sparkling! You always start looking like a lob-” Jane looked to have finally absorbed what Cathrine had said, mouth agape like a fish, “They set us up!”

“Did they tell you to pay beforehand?” Cathrine drawled.

“Yes!” She stomped her foot, and Cathrine feared that it would plow through the weak floor. Remembering the “No Refunds” sign on the counter, she sighed, resigned to her fate. Jane eventually sat down, thankfully without causing any property damage, visibly fuming.

Catherine was beginning to wonder if her friends liked seeing her suffer.

*******************************************************************************************

Captain Tory stepped into the captain’s quarters after a bit, unaware of the tension. 

“All set, ladies?” He called

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” they sighed, then whipped around to look at each other.

“Don’t copy me,” they groaned and stomped their feet, “Hey!”

“You two know each other?” He seemed to be laughing. Dick.

“Unfortunately,” Jane rolled her eyes at Cathrine.

“We aren’t friends, if you were wondering.”

“Oh, I don’t think there was much to wonder about.” He was definitely laughing. “Well, I'll let you two catch up.”

With that, the communication system was cut.

Jane stared out into the gray cityscape. Cathrine picked at a scab from the spork injury. Aside from the distant sounds of traffic and the boat’s motor, it was quiet.

Annoyingly quiet.

“Why did you never apologize?” Jane asked almost wistfully.

“What?”

“I could have forgiven you. Probably would have,” Jane’s face twisted into a sneer, “But you had to be above that, didn’t you?”

“I was trying to protect myself,” he replied stiffly. He clenched his fist until they shook.

“And that means you couldn’t even make yourself look sorry?” Jane turned in her seat to get a better look at her enemy. Better to glare at her. “You almost ruined my academic record, and you didn’t even have the balls to say, hell even write, an apology. You didn’t even seem remorseful, you just looked at me with a stupid blank face, like you didn’t know what the fuck you did!”

“I didn’t want the teacher to get suspicious.”

“You could have said it out of school.”

“I was scared.”

“Of what? Our parents, the neighbors, some secret government facility bent on discovering academically dishonest thirteen year olds?”

“You.” Cathrine’s voice shook. He had been gripping the bench so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. She barely felt able to breath with the lump she felt in her throat.

“Me?”

“You seemed so upset, I could barely look at you without wanting to cry. I didn’t know how to talk to you, and you started avoiding me,” she gulp for air as she ranted, “I knew that if my parents would have probably killed me for not getting the top score, they were definately going to kill me for shoving you under the bus, so I couldn’t ask them what to do. All I knew to do was to pretend it wasn’t happening. I just gave up and I’m sorry.”

Jane’s eyes widened, but quickly narrowed with suspicion. “You think I’m going to forgive you now? After all these years you think I’m going to come crying back because you finally said fucking sorry?”

“What the hell do you want Jane? Do you expect me to grovel at your feet for your friendship? Because I’ve been doing just fine without it, thank you very much.”

They sat in silence as the boat went under the bridge, casting a shade over them. The hum of the motor filled the air, replacing their voices. Not being able to look at each other, they both stared out at the scenery. All there was to see was the dull, gray city, but it was all they could look at without having to meet the other’s eyes. Cathrine wished she was back at her neighborhood, with its smaller old red brick buildings. This area was a mix of brutalistic apartments and cold corporate towers, painfully modern. He was beginning to remember why he loved the baroque era. 

*******************************************************************************************

She guardedly looked over her shoulder, trying to discern what she was meant to do to make the situation better. Sure, Jane had been a dick to him since eight grade, but he had betrayed her trust, and being stuck on a boat with her when she was more bitter than usual wasn’t his dream situation.

He definitely didn’t want her to get peeved enough to set the boat on fire.

Could she set things on fire without her wand?

She didn’t want to find out.

Jane was peering down at the river below, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. Unable to sit like a normal human being (Cathrine couldn’t judge, it would be like calling the kettle black), she knelt sideways on the bench. She clenched her fists until they were white, and when she turned her head, Cathrine could see that her face was red from frustration. Cathrine had never been great with upset people (though she was great at upsetting people), and honestly Cathrine felt entirely in her right to leave Jane to her anger, but all the bitter emotions were almost painful to her. And maybe the years of piling guilt. He missed the friendship they used to have, when they bounced off each other so well instead of taking constant stabs at each other. She couldn't count all the times she had lied awake thinking about how much better her life would be if she hadn’t lied. How much better could both of their lives have been, could be, if they reconciled. They had been interacting more since they had gained powers, and it would be better to be on at least decent standings with each other, right?

He could only stare at office buildings for so long. No harm in trying (unless Jane decided to set her ablaze of course).

“Hey, I–” She walked across to the other side of the boat, wobbling as it tilted with the waves, and awkwardly sat next to Jane. He slowly put an arm around her and ran his hand up and down her arm. People liked that, right? Touch has never been very comforting to him, but most people seemed to like it, so maybe this was the right move? Jane startled, pushing back from the edge of the boat, causing her to crash into Cathrine, the back of her head colliding with his forehead.

“God, a little warning would be nice! What, are you trying to stealth attack me?”

“No, I just wanted to, “Cathrine twiddled her thumbs, not sure what to say, “reconcile. With you.”

“And why should I forgive you?”

“You shouldn’t. I mean, you could if you wanted, but I think we could be…better.”

“Better?”

“We can stop fighting so much, stop antagonizing each other. You don’t have to be friendly or nice to me. We can just leave each other alone. I’m not asking for forgiveness, I know I don’t deserve it, but I think now that we are working together on a team, I think it would be more effective if we stopped picking fights.”

“You don’t,” Jane replied curtly.

“I said I know, Jane, God,” Cathrine groaned. Jane snickered at her exasperation, then smiled slyly. 

“But I think I can take a break from insulting you. I’ve been running out of insults anyway.”

“What, was ‘damn know-it-all’ losing its glow?” He asked as he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Oh, absolutely not, I love that one. Wise guy, however…”

“Einstein.”

“Nerd.”

“That was a slow day for you, wasn’t it?” He asked, reminiscing. 

“I know, I’m usually more creative than that.“ She rubbed her chin as she tried to remember other insults. There was a lot to choose from. 

“Data.” Cathrine snapped her fingers as she remembered.

“Oh yeah!” Jane scratched the back of her head. “You know, I wasn’t sure if you’d get the reference.”

“I don’t live under a rock, Jane!” He laughed.

“No, but you stay inside all day studying. It’s basically the same thing.”

“Well I’ll let you in on a little secret. When my parents aren’t home…” She paused for dramatic effect, “I stop studying, and watch TV.”

“No!” She jokingly gasped, dramatically putting her hand over her mouth. “You? Not studying?”

“I know, I’m a disgrace,” He laughed as he tried to look as guilty as he could while fighting a smile.

They laughed together, for the first time since eighth grade, instead of taking jabs or kicking each other under the table. Suddenly, the boat turned towards the bank and stopped at the same deck it had started at. The momentum made the teenagers bump into each other, who awkwardly apologized and scooted away from each other. The captain stepped out from the captain’s booth and groaned as he cracked his back.

“Finally! I thought I was going to be stuck sailing this old thing until I croaked” He chuckled.

“Huh?” They both looked at him puzzled.

“Oh, right, your friends never told you, did they?”

“I suspect they didn’t.” Cathrine crossed her arms.

“Ah, they paid me a pretty penny to not stop the boat until you got along. Had to circle around the dock several times before you even sat next to each other. You never noticed?”

“Everything here looks the same.” Jane mumbled.

“God, yeah!” Cathrine enthusiastically agreed.

“Well, good to see you can agree on something. See you, missies.” With that, the captain strolled off towards his old wooden shack.

*******************************************************************************************

“So we’re killing them for sticking us on a ‘get along’ boat, right?” Jane asked playfully, a smile on her face as she looked towards Cathrine.

“Definitely,” He agreed. “You have any plans?”

“Not that I can think of? Got any studying to do?”

“Come on Jane, you know I wouldn’t be out here if I did.” He rolled his eyes. “I was wondering if you would like to…” how did he want to say this? “Hang out with me? At like, the theater, or something.” Cathrine was pretty sure Jane liked theaters. She loved movies.

“What, you asking me on a date?” She smirked.

“Heavens, no!” She gestured wildly, shaking her head. “I don’t like you that much yet!”

“Yet?”

“We just made a deal not to fight. Don’t make this hard for me.” Despite the threat, there wasn’t a hint of malice in his voice, and Jane laughed as she jokingly punched his arm.

“Fine, fine, but I choose the movie, alright?”

“Deal.” They shook on it before heading deeper into the city, searching for the closest movie theater.

[clockwork-sparrow]

Trust Fall

The road to hell is paved with good intentions Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 [Epilogue]

Epilogue

~20+ years ago. Garlemald.

It’s been a week since Minerva last saw Florus and Rainer, but it feels like yesterday. It feels like today. It feels like a broken record, looping over and over on repeat in her head. Minerva presses her eyes shut and stands suddenly from the chaise lounge. No. This won’t do. She can’t remain like this forever, pathetically licking her wounds bloody like a common dog. She snatches her coat and stomps out, allowing anger to steer her blindly into the city.

Minerva finds herself at the park where she and Florus fed birds together. Months of walking home with the boy are replaced with nothing, and it leaves an aching emptiness in both her schedule and her heart. She realizes that she’s involuntarily looking for Florus in the distance, eyes catching on every small child that crosses her vision. Hot shame fills her lungs.

After what she’s put him through, she deserves nothing. Forgiveness is out of the question. What a useless and selfish notion to consider, actually! Just take defeat with a measure of grace, Minerva. You’ve done so countless times in the past. With wobbly steps, she stumbles toward the nearest bench and slumps into it, her carefully crafted mask of control falling to the wayside.

She underestimated how fond she’d grow of Florus. Perhaps that’s what makes this defeat taste so sour - because it wasn’t that she played her cards wrong, but because she chose the wrong strategy from the very start. Minerva cups her face in her hands with a sigh.

On paper, her plan seemed...optimized. A series of white lies would’ve frontloaded cruelty in exchange for long-term comfort, like suffering surgery to remove a tumor. So why, then, did she feel so guilty? Florus would’ve lived in Thavnair, free from discrimination, distrust, and politics. Once given to the holding family, he would have been told that Rainer had died in the line of duty, severing any remaining ties to the Empire. The pain would be worth it, Minerva had told herself. A necessity for a future she could stomach.

He isn’t Garlean. Between us and them, the choice was simple. Still, her plan was kind, wasn’t it not? She gazes at cobblestone with unfocused eyes and allows her thoughts to wander.

Rainer would have similarly been told that Florus had passed away in a fatal accident. Without the child to keep him away, he would’ve returned to his rightful place in his family, or at the very least, it would’ve restored a modicum of prestige to their name. No more parading around with a bastard son. The gains would be worth it and time would smooth over any distasteful memories, she had believed. But now? Now she knows that wouldn’t have been the case. The bond between Rainer and his son is destructively strong. That Florus would jump out of an airship without a second thought - that Rainer would kill those in his way in cold blood. They both would have fallen apart.

Minerva exhales. Better to live tenuously then not at all.

Although she can never forgive Rainer, Florus is another story. Perhaps she could still help, somehow. Cultivate this rare flower and help it bloom despite its surroundings. Rainer would never accept this, but he’s disgraced. She’s not. Pulling connections and strings from the background is literally her job, and neither of them would ever have to know.

It won’t undo what she’s done, but it’s a start. Minerva vacantly sits at the park until her hands go numb, and then, she’s gone. The cold could kill here.

[nniedra]

“I must pour myself out of my hands / into the gardens of / dark blue.” — Rainer Maria Rilke

► GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Noa Niedra.

NICKNAME(S): N/a.

AGE: 43.

GENDER: Cis-female (She/her.)

HERITAGE: Morellian.

JEDI RANK: Master.

LIGHTSABER: Double-bladed staff; green.

Custom made. The two sides are detachable, to become dual sabers, or one half to become a lightwhip

OCCUPATION: Crechemaster.

SEXUALITY: Bisexual.

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Diane Guerrero.

HEIGHT: 5′3.

WEIGHT: Petite. 

DOMINANT HAND: Ambidextrous.

HAIR COLOR: Black.

EYE COLOR: Dark brown.

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:

Several overlapping blaster scars over her back and stomach from the event that named her a Jedi Master and then Order 66. 

Beauty mark below her left eye.

► BACKGROUND

HOMEPLANET: Morellia.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Yavin IV.

FAMILIAL CONNECTIONS:

Parents: Delara & Silas Niedra. (deceased. does not remember them.)

Older brother & younger sister: Casen & Laia. (status unknown. vaguely remembers.)

OTHER CONNECTIONS:

Former Jedi master: Rami Anez. (deceased.)

Padawan: Fein Komo.

Creche Children.

► EXTRA INFORMATION

JUNG TYPE: ENFP.

ENNEAGRAM: Type 2 / 7.

TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral / Lawful Good.

SIN: Gluttony.

VIRTUE: Patience.

ELEMENT: Earth.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor.

► THINGS DONE:

Broken a bone | Gotten stitches | Had a near-death experience | Invented something | Been hungover | Kissed someone | Slow danced | Been in a long-term relationship | Had sex | Had sex and regretted it | Had a one-night stand | Had a threesome | Experimented with their sexuality | Had a kid | Gotten married | Self-harmed | Been in a play | Received an inheritance | Been in a ship wreck | Lost a loved one | Been dumped | Dumped someone | Smoked | Gotten high | Been slipped something in their food/drink | Won a contest | Won an election | Joined a sports team | Gone skydiving | Gone hunting | Been in a band | Had a job | Been fired | Been in a wedding party | Owned a pet | Seen a ghost | Skipped class/work | Learned an instrument | Gotten a noticeable scar | Sued someone | Been robbed | Been mugged | Been kidnapped | Been sexually assaulted | Been brainwashed/hypnotized | Gone more than one day without eating | Had a recurring nightmare | Been bullied | Bullied someone | Seen someone die | Attempted suicide | Been tied/chained up | Shot someone | Stabbed someone | Saved someone’s life | Cheated on someone | Been cheated on | Been betrayed | Been in a fight | Been arrested |Been to a funeral | Had surgery | Broken someone’s trust | Gotten a tattoo | Used a fake name | Been tortured | Been abused | Been blackmailed | Had an attempt on their life | Gotten away with a crime | Gone on a road trip | Been in love

► HABITS:

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals |skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back or their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

► KNOWS HOW TO:

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | pilot | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | draw | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give CPR | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | write in cursive | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | wrap a gift | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read Morse code | pick a lock

[thefeministherald]

A quorum of about 30 male trustees and three female trustees of the 1,200-student Texas seminary were present for a meeting that began Tuesday afternoon to discuss the fate of Patterson, a past president of the Southern Baptist Convention who has been revered as a giant for standing guard for decades against liberalizing changes. In recent weeks, Patterson, 75,  has come under fire for taped comments he made between 2000 and 2014 about women, including remarking on a teenage girl’s figure and saying female seminarians need to work harder to look attractive. He also said women who are abused almost always should stay with their husbands. After thousands of Southern Baptist women signed a petition calling for the seminary’s board of trustees to oust him from his position, he apologized for making comments about the teenager, but he did not apologize for his comments about abused women. The comments had resurfaced on a blog this year. The Washington Post also reported Tuesday that Patterson allegedly told a woman who said she had been raped that she should not report her allegations to the police and encouraged her to forgive her alleged assailant. The story was published as the seminary’s board was meeting. “The board also affirmed a motion stating evidence exists that Dr. Patterson has complied with reporting laws regarding assault and abuse,” Ueckert said in his statement to the press. “The seminary stands against all forms of abuse.” Ueckert also addressed the seminary’s firing of a PhD student from his $40,000-a-year job as the catering kitchen manager and the revoking of his scholarship for tweeting about the Patterson debate, telling him that he was “indiscreet” and that his decision to speak publicly about the dispute “does not exhibit conduct becoming a follower of Jesus.” Patterson had told The Post that Nathan Montgomery had “a long history,” but Ueckert disputed this, saying stated that the board has found no evidence of misconduct in his employee file. He did not address whether the student’s job or scholarship would be reinstated. Ueckert declined to take further questions from The Post. Patterson has been widely revered for his role starting in the 1970s in a conservative takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention, which claims 15 million members. During that time, he and other leaders passed resolutions that tied Southern Baptists’ commitment to the inerrancy of the Bible directly to a ban on women pastors and the teaching that women should be submissive to their husbands. He had been scheduled to deliver a high-profile sermon at the denomination’s annual meeting in Dallas next month, prompting concerns that allowing him to speak could send a bad signal about how Southern Baptists regard women. It was unclear whether he will still deliver the sermon. Patterson and his wife had planned to retire on the grounds of the “Baptist Heritage Library,” which the seminary plans to open this summer and which will house Patterson’s collections. The board passed a motion that would allow the Pattersons to retire there. R. Marie Griffith, director of the John Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University, who writes and teaches about gender and religion, said Patterson’s exit reflects a “turning point moment,” a time when a national outside movement — #MeToo, specifically — must be addressed within the huge Southern Baptist Convention. Any other time in recent decades, she said, Patterson and his wife, Dorothy, who Griffith said is her husband’s partner in crafting his ideas on gender, could have avoided repercussions for statements like the ones recently circulated. “The tide has shifted so strongly on these issues of sexual harassment and assault, all I can think is: Enough leaders knew they’d really be condemned and look terrible if they stood up for him at this point,” she said. Griffith said Patterson leaving doesn’t reflect less commitment among the younger generation of conservative male evangelicals to women submitting — but it does show they have a limit as to what that means. “There are an awful lot of people who believe in female submission but don’t counsel people to stay with abusive husbands. His view will turn out to appear extreme. I don’t think this [Patterson leaving] questions female submission to male authority but maybe it does the extreme to which Patterson and others are willing to go. That’s fallen out of favor.” Related: [‘We are shocked’: Thousands of Southern Baptist women denounce leader’s ‘objectifying’ comments, advice to abused women] Younger male evangelical leaders, she said, “are ready to say: Enough with excusing these critical issues.” They feel, she said: “If the denomination is going to thrive it really needs to start afresh.” Barry Hankins, a history professor at Baylor University, which is part of a separate Baptist convention, agreed that there has been a generational shift, with Patterson’s departure representing a turning point in Southern Baptist circles and in evangelicalism more broadly. Gradually, an older guard of leaders like Patterson and Richard Land, who led the SBC’s lobbying arm, are giving way to a younger generation of leaders, like Russell Moore, who now leads the convention’s lobbying arm, and Al Mohler, president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville. The younger generation tends to take a more modern approach to issues like gender and race and its leaders are less likely to find themselves in Patterson’s shoes, he said. Younger leaders are also less likely to adopt an attitude that conservative Christians represent a “moral majority” that should be a dominant force in politics, Hankins said. Instead, he said, they talk about a “prophetic minority,” an attitude that Christians can still find their voice as they are becoming a smaller slice of America. “The movement has passed onto a different view of how conservative evangelicalism relates to the culture,” he said. The impact of Patterson’s leaving  can not be underestimated, he said. “There is no bigger name in a Southern Baptist conservative movement that could be pressured out [of a job] than Paige Patterson,” said Hankins. Except for the board meeting, the campus seemed mostly quiet Tuesday with most students away for summer break. Most female students approached by The Post declined to be interviewed, but Sarah Reiter, 20, a sophomore music major from Cross Plains, Tex., said she was happy to talk. Reiter’s father, Kenneth, is a Southwestern Baptist graduate and the senior pastor of the First Baptist Church in her hometown. Reiter said she is torn over what Patterson said. On the one hand, she was in an emotionally abusive relationship that ended about a year ago, she said. On the other hand, her current boyfriend’s father was “doing awful things” at one time, such as using drugs, but his story wound up having a happy ending, she said. “His mother stuck around and loved his father through that,” said Reiter. “He became a Christian and was saved, and now their relationship is wonderful.” Reiter, who said she hadn’t heard much discussion among her seminary friends about the controversy, said she was willing to give Patterson the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t feel like he’s promoting abuse,” she said. “He’s not saying, ‘Men, beat your wives so they know how to trust God.’ That’s not what he’s saying.” Related: [Southern Baptist leader who advised abused women not to divorce doubles down, says he has nothing to apologize for] Another student, Sharayah Colter, who is pursuing a master’s degree in theological studies, came to the meeting — part of which was open before the closed-session began — to show support for Patterson. Her husband, Scott, a fellow student and assistant pastor at Birchman Baptist Church in Fort Worth, serves as chief of staff for Patterson. “I think people have mischaracterized him and misconstrued what he has said in the past,” Colter said. “And he’s clarified comments. So just like anybody likes to be taken at their word when they clarify what they really mean, I take him at his word when he explains what he means.” “I’m just very grateful for Dr. Patterson,” she added. “He would be one of my faith heroes, I would say.” It was hard to get a clear overall sense of sentiment within the Convention community. While some supported Patterson, others were unusually outspoken in their criticism. More than 3,200 women — most conservative evangelicals — signed a petition, a rare public display against a man in power, calling for Patterson’s ouster. Since his comments first came out, several Southern Baptist leaders tweeted that they opposed Patterson’s beliefs on abuse and divorce, but few mentioned his name. However, Thom Rainer, the president of LifeWay, the publishing division of the SBC, called Patterson out by name and said, “There is no type or level of abuse of women that is acceptable.” And Ed Stetzer, a Southern Baptist who is executive director of the Billy Graham Center at Wheaton College, said in a blog post that Patterson should retire. “If Paige Patterson preaches at the SBC, he will, because of his past work, get a standing ovation,” Stetzer said. “Every news story will point to that moment … and say that Southern Baptists don’t take abuse seriously. … It’s a message to women that we must not send.”

[hamoimproviso]

Starting a viewing of some of Rainer Werner Fassbinders films. Fox and His Friends has a wildly “Early Seventies in West Germany” aesthetic, with the flares and the kipper ties occasionally distracting from a good but all too predictable story. You will for there to be a subversion as Fox is swindled out of his lottery winnings by malign friends and lovers, some kind of twist where he pulls back the curtain to his own double crosses and his friendly soulful sweetness wins out over the arrogance and greed of those who seek to exploit him. But twist comes there none as it all heads inexorably towards exactly where you expect it to go, loss, tragedy and the bones of Fox being picked over for what remains. Fascinating insight into a period and a world that I know nothing of, and some good performances, albeit in the directors usual style of slightly stylised and distanced acting.

[joyous-art]

Family Ties

The P in Psionic is silent because the English language is a douche ;)

“You look just like your mother,” the villain murmured. They reached out to touch the young hero’s cheek, a delicate caress. “It’s remarkable.”

“You said you’d tell me what happened to her.”

“I did, didn’t I?” their voice held the idle tone of distant thought, seamlessly deflecting another bullet with their staff like it was nothing more than a fly.

He was tired of this; tired of yet another assumption made by the Pholis police. Sure the situation looked bad; young hero crouching next to a villain; a villain who had no idea how the kid even found him; a villain who didn’t even want the kid. It looked bad because the police were firing at them; if they hadn’t interfered he could’ve taken the boy back to the children's home without a fuss.  

 “Psionic tell me! Please.”  

Psionic, his villain name; it struck him that the boy had no way of knowing his civilian name.

“Look kid- AUGH!”

A bullet strikes him and he grabs his arm, pain shooting through him. Anger replaces indifference in his gaze and he turns away from the boy, aware that his eyes were turning red; like they always did. Psionic couldn’t destroy them, not in front of the boy; the young hero he knew better than any nurse or foster parent ever would. The staff glows a putrid green that always reminded him of foul-smelling swamp moss; he hated it. Psionic taps the end of the staff on the ground and a clouded barrier rises from the dust, ricocheting bullets and blocking them from view; the world seems to stand still.

“Goddammit.” he gives the wound a once over before turning back to the boy, who sat wide-eyed behind a nearby garbage can.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yeah, no shieeet kid.”

“Poor save, zero out of ten.”   

He narrows his eyes at the kid and hauls him up by the shirt collar, fist balled in the fabric, suspending him in the air.

“You look like your mother but you’re as annoying as your father.”

The boy smiles at him and Psionic feels an odd tug in his chest; it was like looking at an enemy and an old love at the same time.

“So, you were going to tell me about my mother right?”

“What if I told you I killed her?” he smiles wickedly at the boy but gets no visual response.

“You wouldn't kill someone you loved, no matter how bad you are.”

Psionic’s expression softens as he sets the hero on his feet; he was so much like his mother.

“You're a real nuisance you know that?”

The boy shrugs, “I try.”

The barrier suddenly breaks and in an instant Psionic produces a shield in front of them, holding his ground against the onslaught of a machine gun.

“YOU REALLY WANNA KNOW?” he shouts over the noise, heart pounding when the hero nods.

“BRACE YOURSELF.”

He wraps an arm around the kid and a bright flash blows out windows in the nearby towers; the police are left to wonder what happened and how they disappeared.

“Take it easy,” Psionic steadies the kid as he wobbles, “it feels weird the first time.”

Machinery whirred and buzzed overhead as Psionic sits the kid on the couch. He looks around as a screen comes to life on the wall.

“Welcome home, sir.” an automated voice hums through the... lair? Apartment?

“Good to be home Arby.”

“You're bleeding sir”

Psionic rolls his eyes and the hero stifles a giggle.

“Yes, Arby, I know.”

“Arby?”

“Letter R, letter B; robotic butler.”

The hero watches as a set of mechanical arms extend from the ceiling, one toward the boy, the other to start patching Psionic’s wound.

“Hello, I am Arby.”

“Osborn.”

The boy shakes the metal claw and looks to Psionic, sitting on a stool close by, wincing as Arby applies stitches to his arm.

“Arby, Osborn’s my nephew; make him comfortable.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!?!”

Shit. Of course, the kid wouldn't have known that not when his father had been a hero who’d despised his villainous brother, that is until Ossy was born.

“You heard me, kid.”

Osborn looked like his world had been obliterated, like the city of Pholis had been in the Villains coup d'état of… whatever year that was; it was long before Psionic was born anyway. He taught history he should know this.

“So, my mother was your sister?” a laughable assumption; of course the villain couldn’t have a hero brother, that’d be absurd.

Ossy realizes his mistake and another wave of shock dances across his face; Psionic sat back and watched as his nephew’s life unravelled in an instant. Thank goodness the kid was already sitting down.

“You’re telling me you lived that cheesy villain loves the girl, girl loves hero thing?”

Ouch.

“Are you sure you’re a hero?” Psionic raised an eyebrow. “You’d make a damn good villain the way you’re carrying on.”

He shrugged at his uncle.

“I don’t know. I just kinda assumed that since dad was I had to.”

Arby finished bandaging the wound and handed Psionic a lollipop. He ignored the questioning look on the boy’s face and Arby pitched another one at him.

“Bout time you got some sleep kid,” Psionic stood, mildly dizzy from the blood loss.

“What happened to my mother? You promised.”

Psionic meets Una’s ice blue eyes, set boldly in her son’s brown face, striking an odd balance between light and dark.

“The villain that killed your father made her a civilian casualty,” his tone is borderline indifferent but there’s an obvious weight in the words, “He blew up her workplace.”

“So you got him for it.”

Silence.

“I’m gonna take a shower and think about how to get you back to that home without getting shot, again. Show him to his room, Arby.”

He turns away, heading for the bathroom and Ossy feels the metal hand gently press against his back, Arby directing him to the bedroom.

“Do I have to go back?” A quiet plea more than a question.

Psionic stops, taking a deep breath and letting out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair as he does.

“Yes,” he doesn’t turn; the answer would change if he did. “A villain can’t raise a hero.”

“Who says?” a challenge, something that played to Psionic’s competitive side; the kid knew what he was doing.

“Go to bed, Osborn.”

“Tell me your name then, your civilian name.”

Why not? If the kid told anyone they wouldn’t believe him; they wouldn’t believe that a thirty-seven-year-old history professor, at a renowned college, was a well known, and well feared, villain.

“Miles.”

“Miles? That’s almost as bad as Psionic.”

He smirked, “Go to bed.”

In the weeks after that strange encounter with Osborn, Miles found it hard to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Una and Otis, his brother; maybe he was supposed to raise their son. It had been about a month since Ossy had gone back to the children's home when Miles walked through the door.

“I’m looking to adopt a kid.” casual, perhaps too bachelor-like.

“What made you make the choice?” the lady asked, glasses polished and sitting squarely on her button of a nose.

“A specific kid actually,” she looked intrigued as he explained the situation, showing her the proof she needed as she fished for the paperwork.

“Follow me please.”

Miles follows her to a room with the door open, strewn with all sorts of garbage and dirty clothes; evidence of several teenage boys living in the bunks. Osborn sat on one of the lower bunks, absorbed in a comic book until the woman knocked on the door.

“Osborn, this is your uncle, Miles Spinelli; he’s come to take you home.”

Man, he had his father’s smile.

The pair had their differences of course, but Miles would never regret taking him in, not even when Osborn “accidentally” deactivated Arby; when he got into trouble as often as he could so Miles would have to spend time with Miss Odella Rainer, the seventh grade teacher; when he got into a fight and had to be bailed out of prison; when he went to college and took Miles’s history course just to spite him. Nope, no regrets, not even when that devious smirk crossed the kids face at his uncle's wedding to Odella; he’d spiked the punch. What could he say, Ossy was awful; he’d learned from the best after all.  

[becauseiwanttowrite]

Ctrl + Shift 2

Snippet Two

There were three infamous cities for housing a majority population of shifters. One of them was Reddard, a patch of land as compared to the others. Rumor said its heart was the origin of shifters, where they first lived and constructed communities. Thus, the city itself radiated more of shifter history than any other book on the shelf.

Second,  Asioh. Look up to the upper west of lands, and just beyond a mountain range ports coagulated by its coast. Since the beginning of shifters, it declared itself as the gateway of exports. Shifters were first patrons. Dotting along its borders were some of the best warriors, protecting a gorgeous cityscape.

Third was Ground Zero. Ground Zero was more popular due to its pronounced, skilled military combatants. It seemed to be preparing often for a nonexistent war. Government did not know of lenience and iron walls did more than defend – it symbolized its glory. Additionally, it was a beacon for ambitious hunters, the reason for the inner conflicts inside and outside borders.

I chose none of these places.

Perhaps a number of trainees opted for any of the three. The ones gifted with much skill drifted off to these cities. However, the fact remained in me that if the strongest were bottlenecked into specific areas, it left other cities defenseless. Experiences in a bare city proved to be more promising.

“What?” The gobsmacked Oscar stared at me, “Delluna Capital?”

“It’s where my family lives,” I replied as I strapped on belts and ties, “And I want to be near my childhood home.”

He held his hand up, “Wait . . . isn’t that the place where hunters are running rampant?”

“Yes, and suppressing hunters is our job.”

He looked exasperated. “You do you,” he grabbed his prized knife and flipped it, “I’m staying here in Reddard.”

My lip curled. He was brave. But they could not see the world if their world was merely within Asioh, Reddard and Ground Zero.

I took my spear and we slid out of the weapons room to join the file of trainees in the narrow corridor. Boots squeaked upon tiles as we hurried to safety from Frida’s morning wrath. I thought about her barking voice.

Liz crept up beside me. The first word out of her was, “Roasted.”

Oscar, to my right, leaned to get a good look at her. Liz’s tactful asset was her short height, and paired with that, her stomach-deforming kicks. She fiddled with the strap crossing over her chest, “Roasted! Raisin got an earful from Frida ‘cause he tripped all over his face this morning.”

“Poor Raisin,” Oscar lightened.

“The name’s Rainer,” an irritated voice said from behind us.

Liz erupted into wild laughter and Oscar followed suit right after. There was no doubt; it was hilarious. A clear red handprint sat on Rainer’s cheek. It complimented the dark eyebags under his eyes. In front, a few snickers rang out.

Rainer frowned, looking at me, “Zoe, help me out a bit.”

I responded, “You were in timing with her bad mood.”

Liz did not stop laughing. Oscar was stifling giggles. Rainer huffed and tried his best to cover up, risk of becoming the talk of the camp for a day.

We reached the open doors leading to a vast field. Equipment and weapons stocks scattered along their spots like all mornings. What was impossible to miss was Frida’s hunched figure, crossed arms and stoic face. The position accentuated her stocky built well; muscles bulged out.

“Faster, you maggots!” Our scout leader barked, “Faster or you end up like him.” The direction to which her finger aimed undoubtedly pointed to Rainer. In habitual fear, we jogged to a neat formation right in front of her. When Frida threatened, Frida was serious.

“You poor scapegoat,” Liz said to Rainer before squaring her shoulders in preparation of our morning routine.

Head to toe stretches, eight counts each and in all directions. Then, a climbing exercise. Then a three-lap jog around the perimeter of the field. That built our morning warm-up. It took days – weeks – before I ceased to earn leg pains after such a regimen. Currently, the exercises were nothing like our main training.

We barely had time to recuperate after the jog. With one look from Frida, we gathered into a ring at center.

“Combatant training today,” said she, not wasting a second, “No slacking off, wrigglers. You have the whole field, the border is the forest. Knock out someone to the ground and they’re counted dead. Stay on your fee ‘till the end and you have bath privileges by the weekend.”

I scanned the others. Everyone perked up at the mention of bath privileges. I rolled back a shoulder, whilst tightening hold on my spear. Tempting prize. I wanted to knock out two or ten.

A hand flew up. The bespectacled Trey asked, “And if we don’t fight?”

A look that mirrored a snarl appeared on Frida’s face, “Only five get privilege. Any more and no one does.”

“Also . .  .” she added sinisterly, “No shifting.”

We were given fifteen minutes. There were twenty-seven trainees in all. I parted my feet to get ready for signal.

To my right, Oscar approached with slow steps, “Hey, if we team up – “

Frida gave signal and I was out running before Oscar could finish. Unfortunately, in the battlefield, allies were temporary. Every shifter was for itself.

I swung at a nearby boy, Ken, but he ducked on my attack. I braved a jump, aiming at his face. A satisfying crunch sounded. Ken’s hand reached up to his nose to smudge off blood. Something like a spark glinted in his eye. “Oh you’re on, Venetti,” he taunted, pushing out his claymore.

The sharp clang of our weapons colliding, the shine of both metals under the bare sun, the heavy breaths – these were enough to keep me going. My upper back strained under Ken’s persistent pushes. Each time I dived into a weak spot he was there to block or dodge. I jumped in between footwork, pushing hard and giving nearly all my weight.

With that collision, both my spear and his sword flew to the side and were blocked by other fighters. Ken and I faced each other. Hand to hand, then.

He charged first, going for my abdomen but I dodged just in time and swung. He blocked my fist, attempted a twist but I kicked his shin just in time. Everything became nothing but a buzz around me. Ken hit me on the shoulder next.

He got a direct hit on my neck. I kept in a cry. As I backed away from him, we noticed there were other trainees closing in on us. My hands shook and my face twisted. They even dared interrupt our fight.

[lace4forest]

Kingdom Hearts Cross Ties

I'm going to make a little Animated Kingdom Hearts series called "Kingdom Hearts Cross Ties"

It will follow a Trio of Friends trying to navigate through the era before and around the Keyblade War. I'll be using Daybreak town as my main setting and Union X was the art style.

I learned how to Animate PNG's, and NOW I'M MAKING IT EVERYONES PROBLEM-

This is our Main Trio!

From left to right, Bumble, Phas and Rainer

They are a party together and they are all from the Leopardus Union.

I did make a height chart of the rest of the cast, but I'll be posting that later when I have set in stone voice actors.

Yes this entire series will be voice acted!

Send me some Questions, (Either Comments or something) and I'll do a QNA! :D

[liveonlinematches]

The combat for possession of Hannover 96 is proving to have wide-reaching implications for the long-admired tradition of the German recreation

(Hannover 96)

The Bundesliga’s greatest tale this season is going on off the pitch in quite a lot of workplaces, conferences, assemblies, and rulings round Germany. Name it the Martin Type and Hannover 96 saga. At stake is the way forward for the Bundesliga’s fabled supporter-friendly values, tradition, participation, in addition to the wider dating between enthusiasts and golf equipment. Martin Type’s saga has turn into the a very powerful crossroads, and then quite a lot of choice futures for German soccer are imaginable.

Principally, our story revolves across the extremely wealthy Martin Type making an attempt to turn into the primary proprietor of Bundesliga membership Hannover 96. Achieve this purpose, Type would sign up for Dieter Hopp at TSG 1899 Hoffenheim, Bayer Healthcare Prescription drugs at Bayer Leverkusen, and Volkswagen at VfL Wolfsburg as homeowners of Bundesliga golf equipment exempted from the league’s well-known 50+1 rule. This rule stipulates that no less than 50+1 possession stocks (i.e. a majority) of a membership will have to belong to the enthusiasts, who, in flip, workout a balloting majority at each and every German membership’s annual Mitgliederversammlung, or basic meeting—an tournament with final balloting energy in all membership issues.

The guideline originated in 1998 when German soccer golf equipment reworked themselves into restricted corporations (for attracting larger and higher sponsors, in addition to TV offers), aside from the bigger mother or father wearing membership. As a compromise, soccer golf equipment had been allowed to turn into restricted corporations, however needed to adhere to the 50+1 rule as a way to make it possible for soccer golf equipment remained supporter-owned and tied to the area people, in addition to higher mother or father membership group. A first-rate reason why the rule of thumb exists is to forestall overseas homeowners from (briefly) purchasing and promoting Bundesliga golf equipment or stripping the golf equipment in their supporter-centered values and cultures.

An exemption to the rule of thumb allowed golf equipment with long-standing (i.e. 20+ years) homeowners to be grandfathered into the Bundesliga. Therefore, Bayer Leverkusen and Wolfsburg had been allowed to stay within the league, regardless of now not being majority owned through enthusiasts. And in 2015, Hoffenheim was once granted an identical standing after device wealthy person and membership president Hopp had invested 20 years of important time and monetary enhance into this boyhood membership.

So it was once no marvel that Hannover’s president, eyeglasses entrepreneur Martin Type implemented for the exemption early final August, as he reached the 20-year involvement mark with H96. Type have been speaking about this transfer for years, and primary protests had been already rocking the membership because the date drew shut. The membership’s advisory board licensed Type’s resolution on a Three-2 vote, as protesters marched out of doors, regardless of the deal combating Type from ever promoting the membership to overseas traders. Whilst Type awaited an eventual DFL resolution, protests have passed off thru those final six months.

Then again, on February five, Type withdrew his software from the DFL (the German FA), and the affiliation appeared at the verge of rejecting it anyway, amid important felony demanding situations made through the Hannover supporter crew, Professional Verein 1996, who submitted a 50-page file to the DFL difficult the felony grounds of Type’s software. Up to now, Professional Verein had misplaced a regional courtroom resolution seeking to block Type’s software, and had held protests round Hannover (“Type muss weg!” or “Type will have to cross!”) condemning Type’s plan.

Then again, Type has been fascinated with personal presumptive possession for a very long time. In 2011, it was once Martin Type who driven thru a rule alternate that spread out the 20-year exemption to different Bundesliga golf equipment, if they might meet the similar standards as Leverkusen and Wolfsburg. This rule alternate enabled Hoffenheim’s Hopp to effectively practice for possession of his membership, and is identical rule alternate Type himself was once hoping to get pleasure from final fall. In a double irony, the DFL turns out to seek out that Type technically doesn’t meet the factors of his personal rule alternate(!). No less than, the DFL assented to this argument put forth through the Professional Verein crew, who argued that Type failed to supply steady involvement and demanding monetary enhance to Hannover 96 those final 20 years. Professional Verein famous that Type stepped down from the H96 presidency in 2005-06, and that his monetary contributions didn’t fit the ones of the membership’s primary sponsor (as stipulated within the 50+1 rule exemption), and that Type contributed just a fraction of what Hopp, his Hoffenheim counterpart, contributed. Deutsche Welle’s Matt Ford stories that Hopp has contributed $435 million to Hoffenheim, whilst Type reportedly has best invested a fragment of this quantity. In any case, Professional Verein identified that Type’s software was once now not licensed throughout the membership’s April 2017 Mitgliederversammlung (actually, a theoretical Type takeover was once in truth voted down then). Even supposing Type himself claimed that the 50+1 rule exemption gave him felony status to avoid the overall meeting, a valid court showdown loomed between Type and H96 supporters, given the quite a lot of cross-purposed regulations and debated exemption-criteria language at stake.

Therefore, Type withdrew his software.

Then again, as just right as this newest building of the Type saga is for lots of Hannover supporters and adherents to the Bundesliga’s 50+1 rule, Type appears to be making use of a “losing-the-battle-to-the-win-the-war” technique. Particularly, Type taking flight his software now forces the DFL to completely reform the 50+1 rule. The DFL stated as a lot on Monday, officially calling for a basic debate concerning the rule and its imaginable alteration.  

From an ideological and felony perspective, this reform is lengthy late. Ideologically, the rule of thumb’s which means has been tired through the 3 present exemptions, in addition to RB Leipzig, who’ve famously made a idiot of the rule of thumb, adhering to its letter, whilst gutting its software of any substance in anyway. Leipzig’s instance demonstrates that the rule of thumb’s spirit may also be completely circumvented with bureaucratic cleverness. Then again, the rule of thumb stands on even shakier felony grounds. For years, consensus has emerged that, if complaints had been filed (each in German and EU courts), the 50+1 rule could be struck down on EU festival regulation grounds. Regardless, unreformed, the rule of thumb’s long run appears to be like shaky, with out even taking into account Type’s risk to sue the DFL, if it officially denied his software.

It’s little surprise that Type would name the DFL’s fresh information about reforming the 50+1 rule a “partial victory,” since despite the fact that Type misplaced the wrestle over his possession software, he’s nonetheless gunning within the higher battle to in the end take down the 50+1 rule. Above all else, Monday’s occasions depart principally the whole lot of German soccer at an important crossroads. Kicker’s editor-in-chief Rainer Franzke argues that, despite the fact that the DFL calling for a basic debate about reforming the 50+1 is a pleasant gesture, there may not be sufficient time as German courts are transferring to listen to president on the bankrupted 1860 Munich Hasan Ismaik’s lawsuit towards the DFL, which might pressure the problem anyway. Franzke additionally fears the Ismaik case may just create a break up in regulations and values for the highest flight and Germany’s 2.Bundesliga, additional complicating any makes an attempt to reform the 50+1 rule.

Talking of reform, the most well liked thought being floated round comes from Eintracht Frankfurt’s president, Axel Hellmann, who’s proposing 4 explicit reforms: 1) that traders will have to by no means transfer the membership to other town (e.g. no MK Dons or American-style sports activities franchises), 2) that traders will have to by no means alternate the membership’s crest and hues (e.g. no Cardiff Town colours debacle or Leeds United badge crisis), Three) that traders will have to appreciate the supporter tradition through now not elevating price ticket costs too prime (e.g. no Emirates-style costs), and four) that traders will have to satisfy their contractual responsibilities and that the membership makes a decision on succeeding homeowners.

Even supposing regulations Three and four are admittedly imprecise, regulations 1 and a couple of are close to and costly to supporters’ hearts, whilst the final two regulations no less than transfer reform in the appropriate route. Hellmann’s reforms try to fulfill deep-pocketed overseas traders, who, with the doing away of the 50+1 rule, would now be incentivized to speculate important cash in Bundesliga golf equipment, whilst the reforms nonetheless recognize the original options of Bundesliga supporter values and tradition. As a result of, let’s face it, with out its distinctive supporter tradition, the Bundesliga’s cache would cave in to close 0, so the league and all stakeholders must essentially be dedicated to conserving it.

These days, imagining a Bundesliga with out the mechanisms of the 50+1 rule is a peculiar workout. Such a lot which means and identification has been predicated upon the rule of thumb. On the very least, without reference to no matter reforms happen, a Bundesliga with out the 50+1 rule may have an preliminary identification and values vacuum.

Most likely this preliminary vacuum will (sarcastically) inject much more authenticity into Bundesliga supporter tradition, given the present charade of exemptions and rule-circumventing draining the 50+1 rule of its which means. On this sense, having no 50+1 rule could be a reduction, offering a real likelihood to re-establish soccer tradition.

Or most likely the preliminary vacuum will divulge Bundesliga golf equipment to the cruel tradewinds of world capital, as overseas traders glance to cash-in on passionate fanbases like Borussia Dortmund, Schalke 04, and 1.FC Köln (despite the fact that the membership handed a moratorium of any possible and hypothetical overseas traders) to possible traders, those German golf equipment—and others—could be horny facilities of wealthy supporter traditions and meanings, ripe for pumping in funding and pumping out benefit.

Sarcastically, Bayern Munich may have probably the most to lose on this long run, because the 50+1 rule has inadvertently averted its home competition from protecting apace with income. The Bavarian massive was once the primary to monetize itself thru sponsorships and professionalization typically, all whilst later completely adhering to the 50+1 rule. Different Bundesliga golf equipment are actually many years at the back of Die Roten. Doing away with the 50+1 rule may just boost up final the space between Bayern and everybody else. Even supposing, who’s to mention that Bayern gained’t additionally immensely get pleasure from possible overseas traders?

As a result of German soccer professionalized itself (1963) very past due amongst its friends, the rustic and league is already enjoying catch as much as Europe’s different footballing powers, particularly England, Spain, and an increasing number of, once more, Italy. Angst concerning the league’s slipping standing, in addition to Bayern’s fresh ironclad dominance (the membership is looking for its 6th instantly Bundesliga name), has indubitably softened resistance to eliminating or considerably reforming the 50+1 rule. The overall will in Germany indubitably favors some more or less alternate. So the controversy officially (and in the end) starts in earnest. however will there be sufficient time to speak about the entirety? Or, extra considerably, is German soccer prepared to pick out a horn within the predicament of maintaining with the Ecu Joneses (Hi Premier League! Hi overseas traders!) or strengthening and deepening its communal and supporter-centric footballing tradition?

Apply Travis on Twitter @tptimmons. 

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http://ift.tt/2BuZe8K football

[davidastbury]

Ah, Lundun. Smells of weed, kebabs and sitting next to a man at the bus stop with a big box of economy Daz between his knees trying to crack a coconut on someone's garden wall :)).

Michelle Goldsmith

The Dreamer. 1962

From his bedroom window he could see how summer was expiring and giving way to Autumn. In the early mornings the landscape was obscured by low mists, as if changes were being made and, like in a theatre interval, we aren’t meant to see - and then it lifted and the leaves were a little more golden; the plant stalks were sagging even lower; the distant trees darker and with denser shadows, more blue than green. The wooden fence was slimy and speckled with moss and beyond it the meadow (Buttercup Meadow!) was like wet crushed velvet. Birds were circulating above the trees and thousands of creatures were preparing for the coming cold weather. Every tree, plant and animal knew exactly what to do ... he was entranced by the solemn purposefulness of everything - of the unquestioning and unquestionable perfection of it all. He was caught - hardly able to breathe, giving himself up to the voluptuous thrill of being part of the force driving every created being towards its own correct and individual destiny.

On the Train

Old couple. I bet they would agree with me if I said to them that the popular idea of long married couples ‘growing more alike over the years’ is a load of rubbish. You don’t become the same; you don’t develop a single mind; your souls do not ‘merge’. Instead, if the relationship is good, you actually intensify your individuality; you remain yourself; you do not deviate from what feels natural.

But there is something else - quite the opposite of the popular delusion. People who have been together for a long time take on a duty to each other for which there is no name. The only writer who has tried to illustrate this duty (the only writer I have come across!) is Rainer Maria Rilke, who refers to it as ‘...becoming the guardian of each other’s solitude’.

The guardian of each other’s solitude - magnificent,

Towards a better understanding of Hamlet’s Soliloquy

During the Elizabethan period most sensible folk would do anything to avoid doctors, depending instead on natural remedies for most of their ills. One such all-purpose embrocation was known as Gruffle, a mixture to be applied externally on the affected parts. The three main ingredients were Wormwood, Chamomile and Cowslip, pounded in a pestle and mortar and then stewed in Mead. When solidified it could be smeared, with a warmed spoon directly onto the skin.

Imagine, if you will, an Elizabeth bedroom, where, in the gloom of a seven watt candle, a typical hard-working couple grope their way to the bedstead. They toss off their heavy garments - the doublet and breeches; the corsets and ruffs and peer into the darkness for the pewter pot of Gruffle. The is a noise of small items falling onto the wooden floor - and then a voice rings out loud and clear - ‘Ay, there’s the rub!’

Nearly on the Train

Dad at the wheel and he’s going too fast on slow roads and too slow on fast roads - perhaps because he’s upset. Morning mists over the Cumbria moors and nearly fifty miles to Carlisle. Every visit home gets sadder; it’s like seeing a loved one becoming deaf - you do your best but they aren’t fully with you in the way they once were. The car passed the gate leading up to a farm; an old school friend now runs it - just a glimpse of farmhouse through the window condensation. There was no future for her here; she would never live here again; her childhood days on her friend’s farm, the village school, the church choir, the little shops, were becoming a closed book.

So...she would get the 10.50 from Carlisle to London - and then three days (and nights!) with her boyfriend before traveling down to the South of France. He was nice but couldn’t match the importance of her ambition.

She’s done two years at the Sorbonne and is taking a year of research at the university of Montpellier. Her speciality is C19 literature, particularly the work of Balzac. As the car swept through the villages it never occurred to her that all her life she had been surrounded by Balzac’s stories.

Watched a TV documentary on the life of Steve McQueen. Steve, apparently was deaf, and this added considerably to his sex-appeal. Let me explain. Struggling to understand what people were saying brought about his trademark facial expression - he would cock his head and narrow his eyes, which women found utterly irresistible.

My one good ear pricked up - in no uncertain terms - (as Holden Caulfield would say) - in no uncertain terms!

Ben and Lorna and Ian...........1966

I think I have mentioned Ben before; he was an old chap who, every evening during the working week used to occupy a bar-stool in the Bodega, Cross Street, Manchester. He was a widower, wealthy and weary - good suits and bow-ties, white beard and gold glasses, Coutts Bank, Russian cigarettes, and double measures of Irish whiskey. All the regulars knew him - and liked him.

One night I was drinking with Ian and his girlfriend Lorna. Lorna went to the bar to buy something and got into conversation with Ben. It went on for some time - Ian looking round every so often to see what was happening. Finally she left Ben and went to the toilets - again quite a long time. As soon as she rejoined us it was clear that she was upset. She wasn’t crying but she had that look - you know what I mean.

Ian didn’t miss out on this either; he wanted an explanation and she just sat and shook her head - I began to feel that I should leave them alone. The following week I met Ian and, into our second drinks, I asked him what had happened between Lorna and Ben.

Apparently it had been very difficult for Lorna to put it into words, but she tried. And now Ian, who had struggled to understand what she was on about, had the same difficulty in trying to explain it to me - and I now have the same difficulty, fifty-one years later, writing it.

Essentially - and incredibly - Lorna had felt during her short chat with Ben - that this elderly, elegant, sad old man was the only person, in all her nineteen years, who actually understood her.

Simon B

Simon came to Britain from Berlin in the Kindertransport system set up just before World War ll.

He was taken in by a Quaker couple who looked after him and with that sublime tolerance often found in Quakers, never tried to introduce him to their religion. Later, when it became clear that he no longer had a family, they formally adopted him. He found scholarships for his years through Grammar schools and then studied medicine. His chosen speciality was caring for sick children and he became a Consultant Paediatrician.

I have occasionally met him - the last time was at a Holocaust conference - where he was a guest speaker. I was near him during one of the breaks and caught some fragments of his conversation. He looked like everyone’s idea of the perfect English gentleman; the patient, kindly, slightly humorous voice; the top-drawer manners; the deference to the other persons viewpoint; the quick eye for peoples feelings and all the other qualities that are a delight to experience.

And I heard him say - ‘Yes, I have been back - and guess what? The factory is still standing!’

A Day at the Lakes.

It was a struggle finding somewhere to park the car but by luck and a bit of aggression he squeezed into a slot. For an hour or so they wandered the cobbled streets, drifting into a few shops, and then had afternoon tea in a crowded little cafe with tiny windows. He suggested spending some time ‘on the water’. Everything about the boy involved a story - he had a friend whose dad had a connection to the conservation authorities and....he had arranged to borrow a boat. All they had to do was mention the dad’s name at the marina office.

Soon, she was sitting prettily in a very narrow and elegantly varnished rowing boat. It had steel scrollwork at the passenger end, cushioned seating and all in all she wouldn’t have felt out of place holding a parasol. The boy started to row, enjoying being watched by queues of day trippers, and turned the boat towards the open lake. Her serenity was disturbed when she touched the water and the coldness surprised her. It would be awful to have an accident and have to swim - she would probably be helpless - she would panic and drown. He was rowing expertly, but he was also watching her - it was as if he could read her thoughts.

‘The water is three-hundred feet deep here’ - he said.

She knew he was the sort that would enjoy frightening her - that he might do stupid things, like rocking the boat side to side - and find it amusing.

But he continued rowing - they were a long way from the shore and he kept looking over his shoulder - heading for a small Island. She saw the small jetty and the painted sign with the words - ‘Private Island: Landing not Permitted’.

He said - ‘ It’s fine, don’t worry’.

Together they pulled the boat out of the water, dragging it into the waterside bushes, and then set about exploring the island. The trees took away most of the light and the ground was thick with pine needles. And then the trees ended and they found themselves in a sort of clearing - like someone’s back garden - a neatly trimmed lawn, flower beds and a wooden pavilion.

He tried the door and it swung open. She didn’t even look at him - she was tired of his irritating cockiness and was thinking of what she was going to do next.

once started work for a firm at about this time of year - the run-up to Christmas. It was an open plan office and most of the staff had worked there for years. Everyone knew what they were doing (except me) and there was a lot of proprietorial and territorial rules and customs to be observed - who sat where and who always had the first lunch break etc. I studied the various power groupings of the women and their likes and dislikes. The men, mostly dull and unhelpful, wanted to get through the day and then round to the pub.

Anyway, things were eased up as the holiday approached and the desks became cluttered with greetings cards. These people - or more accurately - these women, who worked together all day and every day, gave each other Christmas cards; and it was important to them that I wasn’t left out. My work surface was taken over by right pictures of robins and jovial Santas - placed surreptitiously on the desk by women I didn’t even know.

Given the chance I would throw this at every writer who has broken our hearts with the great love stories - ‘Yes, yes, yes - but you did not write about the “real one” - it is impossible to write about the “real one” !

Autumn Morning in Whalley Range ......1965

They had met at a party and had left together. They shuffled along, as young people do, jauntily kicking up the leaves, heading towards the main road, hoping that the buses had started. It was misty - the street lights acid yellow against a cold sky. They passed rows of Victorian villas that once-upon-a-time had servants in the attics and kitchens in the basements - now decaying and split up into flats.

You could hear their laughter in the silent street. And then - they stopped and kissed - just at the junction of Mayfield Road and Alexandra Road - near to the pub where there had been a stabbing.

R

R lost her mother at the age of twelve, and her father quickly remarried. She was the youngest of four; there was a eight year gap to her nearest sister. She left school at fifteen and took a job in a textile company where she learned to touch-type. At seventeen she became a receptionist at a dental surgery - but the job didn’t last because the dentist assaulted her. She was sacked and paid up to the day of the assault. It was around this time that she was also assaulted by her best friend’s dad. Her boyfriend was angry and went to the police. The desk sergeant listened to him and replied - ‘What you’ve got to understand son, is that men only do this sort of thing to women who give certain signals’. So that was that.

I think it was from then onwards that she really did give the ‘certain signals’. She entered and won a glamour contest run by her new employer. The advertising agency sent her to the Lucy Clayton school and she found work modelling. She left our town and as far as I know, never came back.

R. (and her boyfriend)

Following the second assault R’s boyfriend noticed a sharp change in her personality. After such shocks, at a vulnerable age, you might expect to see some sort of mistrust and withdrawal - instead she became aggressively extroverted and as far as men where concerned, very flirtatious. She viewed her exceptional good looks as the means to ‘get the better’ of every man she came across - she knew that she was irresistible.

All this was upsetting to her boyfriend. He was like the boy in the Arabian Nights tale - an orphan who begged in the streets and one day saw a diamond - a perfect diamond - lying in the dust. His joy subsided when he realised that every dealer in the souk would cheat him. R’s boyfriend wanted to keep her for himself, but she wanted to go dancing and drinking in clubs - places where she would make heads turn and provoke words of admiring insinuation.

The boyfriend was utterly unworldly - as innocent and wide-eyed as a lamb on the way to the abattoir. And the good friend advising him to finish with her - who consoled him and said he would soon find someone nicer - who bought him another drink and all the time had a R’s phone number scribbled on a cigarette packet.

[ccffeesforclosers]

Belongings Meme

RULES.

Repost, DO NOT reblog!

List 5-10 (or more!) things your muse has on them at all times-
whether it’s in their pockets, their wallet, their bag, etc..

tagging: @whcwashe​ @whctacatch​ @booiisms​ @dalishfreckles​ @nosferatuinblue​ tagged by: @monstralized​

doing this for buffy!

kate spade wilder grey street backpack

three (3) sharp, wooden stabby things (usually pencils or heavy twigs, at least one wooden dowel, sharpened)

lip gloss (nyx butter gloss in sunday mimosa)

iphone. (rose gold, pink & gold case with sparkly golden cellphone charms)

a cross (pocket-sized, metallic)

a cross, (necklace)

 keys

car key, car fob, 

house key, 

high school library key (shh), 

sheetz card, ulta card, sephora card, lush card, bath & bodyworks card, 

this concealed knife but in a soft pink, 

sparkly star keychain, 

pink macaroon keychain

kate spade rainer lane iridescent stacy wallet 

(three (3) credit cards, 

one (1) debit card, 

california drivers licence, 

expired california drives license, 

twenty seven dollars and seventy two cents, 

backup ulta, sephora, lush, bath & bodyworks cards, 

a picture of her mother joyce, 

a picture of herself, willow & xander, 

a folded up origami crane, 

three (3) origami stars)

two (2) lighters (white, chill out / green, blank)

extra pair of socks (patterned, not the same but matching)

hair comb

three (3) hair ties

one (1) hair clip

a handful of feminine supplies

holy water (small vial, unlabeled)

headphones (simple apple earbuds, white)

water bottle (cute, pink)

pack of gum, half empty

tic-tacs, unopened

small can of hairspray

deodorant (smells like peaches)

body spray (lush, plum rain)

snacks (fruit snacks / nutrigrain bars)

ibuprofen (standard drugstore bottle)

[lace4forest]

This is my Seeeecret not so secret anymore, Kingdom Hearts Union X based lil animated series I have been working on's Sneak Peak! :D

It's called "Kingdom Hearts Cross Ties" and it'll be following a Trio of Friends. You've seen Phas, but he has two friends named "Bumble" and "Rainer"

I hope you guys like it, and I hope you'll check it out when the first official episode comes out!