#he planned on marrying and settling and then was uprooted but as like a fully grown tree

[movedtodykedvonte]

Simon wasn't young when the war started and I think that's an important aspect in talking about why he feels so disconnected to Ooo in the present.

He was already becoming the older generation compared to a child like Marcy. He was a man established in his life and career with clear sights of where he was going and supposed to be doing. Even without the war the world would've changed beyond him but at least he wouldn't have been alone then. At least he would have time to adjust. Now imagine that it still happens but all at once. Simon got no adaption period to being obsolete in the world, a relic, an outlier. One day he fit in and the very next he painfully didn't and to make matters worse no one else can relate.

He's alone and all the planning he may have had for it is worthless cause the only thing that remains in regards to it are shadows of things that were already after him.

[thesparklingwriter]

taking fate into one's own hands

03—resignation

Word count: 1.4k

please note, there are two polls this chapter! one is the usual poll and the other is hidden in the text somewhere.

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You look at Morax carefully. “A marriage built on lies…” The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, and you glance at him, gauging his reaction. He returns your gaze with leashed curiosity, and you sigh, busying yourself with your dress. “I suppose I shall forgive you. Just this once.”

“How gracious,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

You shrug and turn to face the window. You watch as the bright green meadows slowly get overtaken by glistening rocks, and the carriage suddenly begins to jostle you more and more. It settles once you’re fully into Liyuean territory, and the ride suddenly becomes much smoother. There's truly no going back now, but you realise that there’s nothing that truly holds you back to your home. Your closest friend is with you and as you grew older, your parents seemed to hold you at a distance. If there are ties to be cut, years of indifference have already weakened them.

“So, what am I to call you?” You ask finally, once the reminders of your old home have finally dissipated and you begin to resign yourself to your new future.

“What would you like to call me?” Morax sits back in his seat, a slightly amused glint twinkling in his eyes betraying his stoic face.

“What am I expected to call you?” You amend, maintaining your level stare.

“Once again, I struggle to truly believe that this is the path you intend to take. I would much rather you were honest and true to yourself than acting in a manner that you believe would please me most.”

You blink, taken aback by his deduction of your character. “That is not my intention.”

“Then why do you ask such questions?”

“I simply do not wish to offend.” You reply coldly, focusing your glance out of the window. “If you regard that as submission, that is your prerogative. I daren’t tell you what to think.”

In your peripheral vision, you catch Morax’s eyes narrow slightly, but you do not address it or draw attention to it. You asked the question, but you already had made a decision. You would avoid any situation that required you to address him by name, which would be all, if not most.

The journey is mainly silent from that point on. You find it hard to reconcile your emotions with reason—you have no reason to hate the man who has saved your kingdom and your family from ruin, and you have no reason to purposefully smite him. But even yet, you still feel that he is undeserving of the gratitude he must expect from you. If he truly wanted to help your kingdom out of the kindness of his heart, he didn't need to uproot you to do it.

After a while, the driver announces that you are nearing the castle, and you do your utmost to not show that you’re nervous. It’s bad enough that he’s taking you from your family—the last thing you want is for him to see it’s affecting you.

“I presume you would like some time to familiarise yourself with the castle and its surroundings and I shall leave you to do that.” Morax says to you as the carriage slows to a stop. He watches as you climb out of the carriage and courteously bow to the driver and the maid who escorts you and Alanna to your chambers. Your posture is better than hundreds of Liyueans he's had the pleasure of meeting.

“Am I to assume that things didn’t go well?”

Morax sighs as he exits the carriage, regarding the prince carefully.

“It didn’t go horrendously.” He says.

"I think if you were to show her around, rather than a maid, it might make her less critical of you.”

“Thank you, Xiao, but I’ll have to decline. There were some absurdities on the journey here that I plan to assess.”

“Surely you aren’t prioritising work over the woman you are to marry,” Xiao says quietly. It was rare that he ever questioned the king. He had been very young when Morax had taken him under his wing, and even despite the absurdity of their whole arrangement, Xiao had begun to view him as a brother.

“I have no intention of marrying her as it stands. My concern is keeping her away from those affiliated with the abyss, or else her kingdom loses their future queen, and we lose our most valuable trade partner.”

“I have never understood you,” Xiao says, as they walk toward Morax’s office. "Why claim to, then?" There’s no response, so Xiao assumes that Morax didn't hear him, or he simply doesn’t care.

~

Your room is pretty—nicer than the one you had at home. Perhaps if you sat quietly and did what you were told you’d find yourself in enough favour with the king to help them out. Or maybe they didn’t even deserve that. You’re not sure whether you should help the parents who sold you to the highest bidder.

The dark wooden frames of the expansive bed and the furniture contrast nicely with the red and golden fabric and decorations, and the seat of your desk is so soft that the minute you sit on it, you’re convinced you could sleep on it.

“Is there a room ready for you, Alanna?” You ask.

Alanna sweeps her pale golden hair out of her face. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet and you wonder whether it’s due to the fact she’d never left your home kingdom before.

“No, not yet.” She says quietly. “But that’s alright. Do not worry about me.” You stare at her in disbelief but do not protest yet. It’s too early in the day to convince her otherwise.

You begin to regret not bringing any clothing with you. At the time, it had seemed logical, at least so Alanna could carry more, but now you find yourself without comfortable clothes to sleep in and shoes that don't announce your presence to the whole palace.

“Your Highness, I do hope you won’t take this as a betrayal, but your parents asked me to take this letter for you.” Alanna hands you a simple envelope. There’s no seal—of course, your parents needed to save the seals for more extravagant occasions—and the paper is yellow and weathered. “I understand that your emotions towards them are complex, but—”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You don't want to bother Alanna with how you feel about the letter or whether you intend to read it or not. “I appreciate it. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” Alanna smiles. “Just doing my duty.”

You sit down at your desk, looking through the endless sheets of paper and stationery in the drawers beside it. Perhaps now is a good time to take up calligraphy to pass the time.

If you were at home, you could have gone for a walk in the gardens, or maybe gone to speak to some of the kitchen staff and help them with some of the food prep. If you hadn't donated your books to the children in the city who needed them more than you did, you could have read them.

But the years of struggle had meant that you’d slowly forgotten how to have hobbies. And now, with no freedom to explore anything new yet, you’re at a serious loss as to what to do. Alanna has begun to busy herself with evaluating the bathroom, and you scribble halfheartedly at a sheet of thick writing paper.

A knock at the door drags you out of your dazed contemplation. There’s a considerable ink blot on the paper you were practising on, and Alanna has found herself face down on your bed, snoring softly.

You hear another knock, and you swipe invisible dirt off your dress before opening the door.

“Good evening,” You say, surprised to see none other than the king at your door. You had expected him to send someone to collect you if he had the intention to speak to you.

“Good evening, yn. I trust your afternoon has been pleasant?” Morax seems slightly more relaxed than when you left him earlier, his long hair is released from its braid, and his attire is somewhat less extravagant. It’s not simple enough to let you forget that he is the king of one of the wealthiest nations in Teyvat, but enough to let you know that he’s probably had enough of being king for the day.

“You could say that,” You reply.

“I must apologise for abandoning you today. There were a few work matters that required my attention. If you’re interested, I would be more than happy to show you around the palace tomorrow, but for now, would you accompany me to dinner?”

how will you proceed?

the link above goes to the poll deciding what the reader will do next. please vote on it! if the link isn't live yet, please go to my blog-the poll will be there.

author's note: hello....its me...i was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet ... okay I'm done with the adele, hello everybody how are you, i hope you're all well, sorry for dying but blame tumblr :(( i actually hate change so much and that's all tumblr has been doing recently lol

taglist: @ainescribe @tartigglez

[eternalstrigoii]

Protector of the Moors

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Tundra Healer Dark Fey Reader aka @vespertineoracle gets more Nyvi because these are Soft Hours(TM).

             It was a new day, the dawn of a new chapter for you all. The air was crisp and briny, and work on a magical bridge between the kingdoms was already underway.

Which meant it was all the more crucial for you to map the territory and identify places in need of preservation for their medicinal qualities, and to do so quickly.

The plan, or the rudimentary outline of one you’d sussed out the night before while gathered around a bonfire with your tired (and often wounded) kinsmen, involved taking your entire stock of pressed paper and making as detailed a map as possible while on foot. It would’ve been much easier from the skies, and much better for you to identify relative locations – and it wasn’t as though you were the only one with the same desire.

But you didn’t ask anyone to join you.

You were all tired. You were glad the battle passed quickly, because night had barely fallen when a great many of you took up residence in the trees. Now that you were liberated from your nest of origin, the collective of you hesitated to return, lest your freedom be fleeting.

A handful of you stayed awake well into the night. Ini fell asleep at the bonfire, watching the embers mingle with the stars. Borra listened to the night-sounds until one of the fledglings Udo returned for nodded off against his leg, and you ignored the fierce flutter in your heart when he gathered them to return to their nest-mother.

It was him you thought of while you gathered water from the white oaks – water that could be used for healing, as it broke fevers and staunched wounds. You thought of the cloth bandage around his arm and how lucky he’d been that it hadn’t gone a bit further in either direction. How difficult you’d always thought him, deliberately toying with iron to build his pain tolerance.

But he hadn’t fallen, and you refused to dwell on those of you that had, because you had a task at hand. You were fond of him, and he was alive, and you were glad.

And you desperately wanted to find some mullein. It would soothe the irritation so many of your people found themselves with, now, from the tainted iron in the air.

You made a small note in the corner of your page of the plants you hoped to find, your foot supporting your woven water-basket. The sun on your neck and the breeze in your wings carried the pungent perfume of sweet mandrake, and you paused your note taking to breathe it in.

And nearly kicked over your water-basket when you heard the earth shift behind you.

“Fallen stars!” You whirled around, nearly slapping Borra with one of your flared, snowy wings.

He had the nerve not play chastised, leaving the ghost of a heart-rending smile on his lips when you faced him. “Are you doing that all by yourself?”

You floundered. “Were you spying on me?” you managed when you regained the ability to speak.

He quirked his head, and you had half a mind to pull back a branch and trap his big horns in it. “I’m not unfamiliar with the territory.”

“So I’ve noticed!”

Horrible, you thought pointedly when his mouth started to quirk, poorly-repressed laughter threatening to slip out. “Did I scare you?”

“No more than you have in the past, you piebald nuisance!”

He did laugh, then, and though your irritation was largely for show, you thought the sound might’ve quieted even the deepest fury. He laughed so rarely. It was like stumbling upon a secluded oasis; a gift for you and you alone.

“I’ve got scouting to do,” he said as though he knew about your map and your plans without being told. Maybe he did; he did see you writing. “I prefer you don’t go alone.”

You couldn’t even pretend it was because of your long-injured wing; he was just like that. Not even Suren, Ini or Shrike were spared.

You sighed theatrically and stowed your water-basket safely in the low branches. You rolled up your materials and stuffed them in your satchel before accepting his offered arms – taking your sweet time about it just to be a thorn in his side.

Not that he minded. As wary as he was of what lied beyond the river and beyond the moors, you’d both waited too long not to grasp your freedom by the antlers.

“Do not drop me,” you cautioned playfully as you wound your arms around his neck, and got tugged flush against his body for your trouble. He was all powerful muscle, and his radiant heat made you shiver.

“Then hold on.” His bright eyes glinted with mischief, and his huge wings beat so hard yours folded instinctively. He launched you both into the sky on a self-created windstorm, the force of which made the leaves tremble on the branches.

You clung to him, your satchel trapped between your hip and his, until you cleared the canopy.

Skies, it really was beautiful.

Were it not for your half-limp wing, you would’ve made this journey yourself hours ago.

Your wings flared instinctively to aid the both of you in coasting. He was unfazed by your weight against his chest, drawing you up until you nearly kissed the clouds. You saw what he’d described in moons-old plans – fields of grain packed dense like walls, a slow-moving windmill just above a mortal village, and the moors. They were so large, so deep, that it was no wonder Ulstead alone had the nerve to prey on them. How many people could wander in and just vanish, lost to the sheer treachery of the landscape alone?

You tightened your grasp when you flattened only for Borra to turn slowly, affording you the proper aerial view.

Below, you saw the moor-folk returning to their lives. You saw flower-people fluttering between the meadows and the streams, people like iridescent dragonflies glinting and shimmering in the sun. You saw Suren tossing berries at the raven Diaval from her respective perch in the trees – as a bird, rather than a man – and him trying to catch them from his branch before they fell, and were stolen by the amphibious peoples who lived in the brook between them.

It was a magical place. Something well worth fighting for, like the man supporting you whose eyes had never left your face. You were so happy to be soaring over the moors that you forgot, for a time, to harbor fear that it might still all be taken away.

“How well do you know this place?” you asked at last. You’d veered toward the peaks and, as interested in fully mapping the territory as you were, you hoped to identify your necessities first.

“Well enough,” Borra replied. Well enough to feel secure in battle, then, which meant well enough to propose your list.

You told him what you were looking for in hopes that he memorized what those plants were; he was no stranger to your work, and he was keen enough that you imagined he’d have at least a rough idea what you were talking about.

He thought it over for a moment, and slowly curled his wings around yours.

You took the cue and let him steer.

He let you glide on top of him until you were ready to dive, and the slow turn of your bodies made you intimately aware of how close you’d gotten, your leg hooked comfortably around one of his. Your eyes flickered up to his, and you must’ve been a little frosty, because his mouth quirked into that ever so lovely not-smirk that meant he was absolutely laughing at you inside.

It wasn’t your fault he looked like that. Wasn’t yours that he acted like that, either, the peacocking fool.

Just for you, you reminded yourself, and the flush of pleasure almost echoed the burn of frost in your cheeks.

You touched down in a meadow, and you flushed terribly at the way he held you up rather than let you slow your own descent once your feet touched the ground.

“Over there,” he said, much too casually letting go of your waist.

You unhooked yourself as though from a pup-cling and tidied your robes. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head, content to wait.

It was so bright, there. You couldn’t imagine the world outside could be much brighter than the jungle fey’s territory, but the hues of green in the leaves, the way shadow and cloud-shifted light danced over the bark of the trees, astounded you. You savored every step through the tall grasses, careful to keep the little sprites that rose to meet you from being caught in your clothes.

A dense cluster of mullein was nestled on a sunny ridge. Exactly what you’d been hoping for. And there was enough to take back to the nest to cultivate, should your people need the resource.

Leave it to Borra to take you right to the most important thing you could think of.

You began note-taking immediately, sketching out the rough outline of a map – marrying the sights of your flight with the rough-hewn one you recalled vividly from being etched into the stone floor of the meeting hall. You’d only covered a small portion of the moors, but you did your best to describe them accurately – here was the starting point, set back from the river; here were the peaks you’d neared. Here was the valley you currently stood in, and right, specifically, there, was the little grove of mullein.

You’d have to come back to uproot whole plants, you realized with a small measure of dejection. You’d only brought enough containers to secure parts for use.

A great peep-and-flutter arose behind you, and a part of you hoped that Borra was behaving himself. You took a bit from a portion of the plants, careful not to impact any of their growth significantly. You noted on another page their health, their size, their gathering time and what portions you’d harvest.

He laughed. Again.

It gave you pause the way the sun on your skin encouraged you to linger. You turned, your slender writing-charcoal still in-hand, and you nearly had to sit down.

The moor-folk were all over him, swarming like bees to sweet. He had several in each of his open palms, and you imagined that one settled and one became a dozen, but, no – he lightly skimmed his thumb-talon down the backs of one of the flower-people, and they shivered with delight.

“I remember you,” he said to one of the willow sprites that dared practically perch on his face. “You were unharmed?”

They chattered fiercely and though there was no way he understood them (you presumed, though he had spent more time on the moors than any of the rest of you), he paid attention to them while they hovered before him on thin, leafy wings.

There were six more of them in his hair, you realized, playing with it. And he let them.

“Good,” he said, though you hadn’t followed a word of it beyond the essence.

They were faeries he’d saved on his private crusade, his incidental attempts to uproot their new companion from her role as protector of the moors. The ones he’d saved from being stolen, who he’d freed himself. Before or after killing their captors, you’d never asked, and it didn’t seem to matter. They knew him, and they loved him, and you saw him that gentle so rarely that, for a moment, you swore your heart might fully frost over.

One of the little dragonfly-people touched his cheek, their high-pitched murmurs of concern drawing tears to your eyes.

“No, no,” he soothed, “they’re natural. It’s decorative.”

Ancestors be with you, you had never loved another as fiercely as you did him.

They touched, marveled. They’d seen horns and wings on Maleficent, but maybe never that way. Maybe they knew her too well (you hadn’t yet learned of their once-tenuous relationship with your people). His wings shifted at the brush of petals on his cheek, and a great chorus of oh! rose up from them.

He smiled so widely that it caused a physical ache in your chest. You brushed away the dampness on your lashes that threatened to make itself apparent. How long had it been since you saw him so at peace? Since you knew without uncertainty that he was happy?

“Alright.” His shoulders rolled, and a few of them giggled as they dislodged. “No more of that.”

The willow sprites in his hair giggled the loudest.

“How proud you are of your dirt,” you muttered, halfhearted, into your notes.

“What was that?” he had no trouble faux-raising his voice to remind you he could hear you all the way across the field.

You’re a dirty little magpie and I love you with all my heart, you thought, though you said, “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve rubbed dust into my clothes!”

He grinned, but it was different. The glimmer was back in his sandstorm eyes, and the little fey knew better than to linger close. They scurried off into the fields, giggling as they watched him launch himself at you – like you were fledglings again, roughhousing in the belly of your people’s nest. He caught you around your white-robed waist and pulled you up off the ground.

You dropped your things and grabbed the straps of his leather armor in warning. “Borra, don’t you dare--!”

“I dare,” he grinned, and your breathlessness at the sight of him fell second to your absolute distrust of the mischief in his eyes.

“I’ll kick you!”

He hauled you up against him like you weighed nothing, like you were as light as his gaggle of faeries despite the furry lining of your clothes. You gripped him for dear life, folding your wings in close.

He flopped backward in the grass hard enough to make you huff. Dropped like a weight, you thought, and followed it up with, sunk like a stone. A big, much too pretty stone.

“You’re the one who wanted to go picking leaves, but you complain about getting dirty.”

You had half a quick retort in mind, but you stopped yourself. It was over now. The war, the preparation. Things could change. You could sink into the springs with him, work a fish-bone comb through his hair with the utmost patience. You might even be able to tend the more obvious cracks at the base of his horns, though whether or not their severity worsened naturally with age or if it was just from benign neglect, you weren’t entirely sure.

“I’m not complaining,” you muttered, and it said far more than you expected it would. You loved him. You were as grateful as they were. For the mullein, for the map, for his obsessive attention to detail, for his love, for his joining you this morning, and for his being with you now. Oh, skies, how you loved him, like a flutist who only knew one song.

He laid still under you, and it took you a moment to realize that he was toying lightly with a lock of your hair. It was so nice to rest, even among obligations. Even if you knew he would never go unprepared, you could see it in his face – in the slow blink of his eyes and the soft set of his jaw beneath your fingers – there was hope he would know peace.

You lowered your forehead and pressed horns gently with him. He was sunshine-radiant against you, and you heard him make his low, purr-like sound at the frost that bloomed where your skin met.

“Thank you,” you murmured. For the help, and for not dying; for his love and a thousand other little things whose names escaped memory.

“Mm.” He bunted gently against your horns in return. “Tell me when you’re ready to move on.”

You lingered there, against him, for a little while longer. The flower people had come to play with your hair and touch your skin and marvel at your cold and the softness of your wings, and you were happy to let them.

“Protector of the moors,” you muttered.

He smiled a bit wider, and you couldn’t resist kissing him.

The flower people had a field day with that.

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[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 10

The last two-and-a-half weeks of August went by in a pleasant blur. Buster almost forgot about Harry Brand’s gripes and grudges as he indulged his inner boy with the cyclone sequence. He spent the days slipping through mud, battling wind, clinging to an uprooted tree swung by the enormous crane, and clambering all over the Colusa. The production team landed a building on top of him and splintered it to pieces just after he walked out. They tore another building away from him, leaving him looking bewildered in a hospital bed. They slid buildings and piers into the river and rammed the steamboat into a building floating in the river. The more the sets collapsed around him, the more buildings were destroyed, the better he felt about Steamboat. He felt sure that next to The General, it would have the best finish of any of his pictures.

Louise, Jingles, and Myra took a train up one day so that Louise could double for Peanuts, who couldn’t swim, in the rescue scene. He put them up in the Senator where they played cards in the evenings and reminisced about Muskegon and life on the road. When his family wasn’t there, he spent the nights dining in good restaurants and playing bridge. If he tired of these activities, there was always a pretty girl nearby for added recreation.

Every week, a postcard from her mother arrived. I never hear from you. Are you sure everything is okay? Please write or telephone me as soon as possible, Nelly dear.

A spare moment came on Sunday the 28th, the day after filming wrapped and also the day before she was to begin arranging the shipment of the entire contents of the prop house back to Hollywood. Joe and Maggie were at church and had given her permission  to use their phone. She called her mother at ten o’clock, knowing that it would be noon back in Evanston and both church and lunch would be finished.

“Hi, Mother,” she said, when Lena picked up.

“Is that really Nelly? Well I’ve been wondering where you’ve been,” said her mother. “Your father and I have been worrying our heads off about you.”

Nelly suspected they really hadn’t, but didn’t say so. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy here. I’ve hardly had a minute to myself. I work practically from sun-up to sundown.”

“Are you famous yet? Is that Keaton going to put you in his next picture?”

“No. And not as far as I know,” Nelly said. Her mother knew that she was acquainted with Buster and that he was a big name in pictures, but was too out-of-touch with the film world to be as impressed by it as she might have been.

“Well I wanted to tell you that Ruthie’s going to have a baby again,” said her mother. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

Nelly’s stomach sank. “Oh my, that’s marvelous!” she said, forcing a smile into her voice.

She and Ruthie had been close as children, but drifted apart as they matured. Nelly liked books and the theater, Ruthie liked boys and homemaking. The younger by two years, Ruthie had always been her mother’s pet. That relationship had only strengthened when Ruthie married auspiciously at nineteen and had her first baby by twenty. This would be baby number three. Nelly loved her niece and nephew, but there was a stiffness to them that she didn’t like to see—as though they were an extension of Ruthie’s big, clean house with all mechanicals and servants running in regimented order.

“She thinks she’ll have it in February,” her mother said. “A St. Valentine’s Day baby. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Nelly agreed that it would.

“You know, Harold Jenkins still asks after you every Sunday at church.”

“Does he?” she said. She had not been to church since leaving Evanston, something she’d never tell her mother, and was very grateful to not have seen the loathsome Harold Jenkins for as long.

“Are you seeing anybody out there in Sacramento?” said her mother.

“Of course not. When would I have the time?” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose there are dances on the weekend, aren’t there?”

“I’ve gone to see the pictures a few times, but mostly I’m too tired to do anything on weekends. I work Saturdays, you know.”

The conversation was headed where it invariably did, the lines so predictable Nelly could recite them in her head.

Mother: When are you going to get married?

Nelly: When I find the right man.

M: Are you looking?

N: No, I am not.

M. Time is running out on you having children.

N: I know it is, Mother.

M: I just want to see you happy and settled down.

N: I know, Mother.

Marriage had never factored into Nelly’s plans as it had Ruthie’s. She assumed she’d get there eventually, but her real dreams had been built around the theater since she’d been ten years old and seen her first play. The possibility of having children seemed even hazier than marriage. She knew she was getting older and wouldn’t have forever to decide, but she also knew that marriage and children would put an end to her theater career. She wasn’t eager to declare the dream deceased before it ever lived.

“When are you going to settle down?” her mother asked.

Nelly did not attempt to conceal her sigh. “Just as soon as I find the right fellow.” She was half-tempted to add how bad she’d been at choosing men of late, what with the near brush she’d had with Tommy and the other workmen.

“I just want to see you happy. You’re already twenty-six. I had you and Ruthie by then,” she said.

“I am happy, Mother,” she said, frowning. “I’m working for a big star and I’m going to try out for a role in some of the other pictures just as soon as this one’s wrapped up. I don’t mind being an old maid. I’m happy. Who says happiness is marrying and having babies. What if I married the wrong fellow? I’d be a lot worse off than I am now.”

“I know you have more sense than to do that, dear,” said her mother, brushing aside her argument. “And you will be happy! I was when I met your father, and Ruthie and Gerald couldn’t be happier. It only gets better when the babies come along.”

Nelly rolled her eyes and withheld multiple sarcastic replies. “I’d better be going now. I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do. I promised Maggie and Joe I’d help.” She felt bad lying to her mother, but there was a danger of her losing her temper and that undoubtedly was a worse sin.

“Okay. I do hope you can make it back to Evanston in time for the baby to be born. Your father sends his love.”

Nelly sent her love in kind and said her goodbyes. She went upstairs and sat in her open window after she’d hung up the phone.

“She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, my household stuff, my field, my barn, my horse, my ox, my ass, my anything,” she muttered. Spoken previously by John Barrymore in one of her fantasies, the words had seemed romantic, but they didn’t seem that way anymore. She never wanted to become a man’s chattel or ass, his anything rather than everything.

The breeze was warm and the lemon tree outside the window was plump with still green fruit. No matter what her mother said, this was happiness. She was earning her own wage and working in pictures, and she didn’t have to go to church every week and endure Halitosis Harold’s clumsy attempts at courting. There was also Buster. Just being near his genius made her feel like a piece of dry tinder next to a spark. If they were acquainted long enough, she felt certain that she would ignite with the same ingenious fire that burned in him.

[greermarch-a]

THEORY OF EMOTION. → greer march.

The Aries woman is built from fire. She is independent, strong, and focused. She is all or nothing. She is filled with ambition and passion. With the energies of a springtime ram, her brave heart can accomplish anything. She is bold and spontaneous, a fearless warrior. Ruled by Mars, her great energy and enthusiasm to take charge of her own life means she believes in her dreams and ambitions. She can handle the strongest of passions, excitements, and temptations. She is resilient and resourceful. Aries is quite the force to be reckoned with, and the Aries women is no different. She chases freedom and success. She is fiercely loyal. Courageous, confident, and self-assured, she is an alpha female. Uncomplicated and impulsive, the Aries woman isn’t afraid of taking risks. She will master the chaos in her, she is not thrown into the fire, she is the fire. - ( x )

THE SUN ( ARIES ): Your style, your life purpose, your destiny…

What is your character’s drive like and what fuels them?

Her strong personality and self-motivation are some of Greer’s biggest strengths. She knows what she wants and ( at least what she thinks ) she needs. She is not one to plan ahead of time, but rather, she thinks on her feet and follows the impulses that are guiding her emotions. If she wants something, she is not afraid to get it. Much like when she decided she could no longer live in Boston and began packing to leave the next day, she also felt the need to be in a quieter town and settled on Mystic when it seemed to fit her needs. She’s not fueled by adventure, but rather, she is fueled by her ability to express herself freely and without judgement or restraint.

What is most obvious about your character?

Her fiery ambition and desire to share her passions are Greer’s most obvious Aries characteristics. Though, like many Aries, she is extremely active, this attribute is just another vessel to help guide her ability to reach her goals. By allowing herself the freedom and time to be active ( either in running or kickboxing ), she is able to release any pent up, excessive energy that could keep her distracted. She’s intelligent and will give it to people straight ( including herself ). She’s not afraid of the truth, and despite her somewhat playful nature, she hates the idea of playing games ( this will only delay things ). She will let you know what she loves, what she desires, and what she needs if you only ask her.

Who and what kind of people does your character surround themselves with?

As with just about any Aries, the last thing Greer wants is for someone to try and contain her fire. Her mother attempted this, and she fled. Due to this, Greer will surround herself with a diverse array of people that allow her to explore her passions and support her in all her little, day-to-day desires. She loves people that will share in her same passions to write and explore, but she is always extremely happy to surround herself with people with different interests but that have just as much passion and ambition as she does. Her favorite things about her time abroad was being able to learn from so many different people in various cultures. Whether it’s politics or pottery, if you’re passionate about it and willing to share, she will do whatever she can to help support you in those ambitions.

THE ASCENDING ( PISCES ): How the world sees you…

In a public setting, would your character be easy to adapt or hesitant wherever they are?

Greer is rather adaptable in public settings. Like many Pisces rising folks, her innate ability to read the various settings she’s in allows her to shift accordingly. This has come in handy with all of the traveling she has done. In order to constantly uproot herself, her ability to adapt quickly and effortlessly meant that she would be able to have more time to focus on her connections with her new friends or on her research for her thesis.

Is your character an extrovert or an introvert?

Despite her love for people and her outgoing nature, she is an introvert. Too much socializing and focusing on attempting to take in everything is draining after awhile. If she is going to be out and about, she is much better in small social settings than she is in large groups. This allows her to focus on less people, which allows those few interactions to be deeper than just small talk. 

What qualities do you think people first see in your character?

A true Pisces rising, it is likely that one of the first things people see is her creativity and slightly dreamy side. She tends to ramble, and it gets especially noticeable when she is talking about something that she cares for deeply ( such as literature ). Greer will lose herself in the moment, wanting nothing more than to describe every single aspect of whatever the topic of discussion is. This being said, she’s not unaware of when someone may not be connecting to whatever it is she has gone off on a tangent about. If she notices their body language changing, she’ll likely immediately cut herself off. In fact, whether it be a combination of her sign and her mother’s deep-seated hatred for Greer’s ‘head-in-the-clouds’ and romantic disposition, she is extremely sensitive to other’s reactions to whatever she is doing.

THE MOON ( ARIES ): Your habits, reactions, and instincts…

What moment does your character relive, either consciously or unconsciously?

Greer desperately wants to relieve her trip to Doolin with her father during the summer after her second year of graduate school, and she even has recurring dreams of it. Her father had been one of the only people that supported her ambitions in her childhood, despite her mother’s protests and belittling remarks, and he had always loved Irish folk music. Doolin, while extremely small, was packed with culture and adventure. That trip they were able to to fully engage in arts and hiking together, away from the rest of the world. It was one of the final happy moments that she was able to share with her father.

How does your character (negatively or positively) adapt to life experience?

Greer is extremely curious about all the little things that life brings, and she in fact thrives on change and variety to keep her interested. Like many individuals with their moon in Aries, she is rather playful and can tend to lighten the mood with humor. However, if she feels her emotions are under attack or being threatened, she does have a tendency to be hotheaded and act out. 

What facts would your characters conceal?

While like many Aries, she is rather straightforward. When it comes to the truth of her suspected causes of her father’s death and the gritty details of her mother’s abuse, she will simply tell people that she’s not comfortable sharing. She has no issues stating that her mother did not love or that she cheated, but the deeply embedded pain that so many years of this cycle of emotional abuse and neglect is something that she hasn’t felt comfortable telling anyone other than her therapist. Her emotions are what she wants to protect more than anything.

THE VENUS ( PISCES ): Your attractions, and your love life…

What kind of hobbies does your character have and why do they enjoy them?

Outside of writing and reading for fun, she is deeply interested in other forms of art. She loves learning new languages, learning about the culinary practices of different cultures, and spending hours in art museums. Even her love for home improvement and handiwork has taken on a slightly artistic edge. She loves the idea of taking something that was once broken or malfunctioning and making it work like new or even transforming it into something completely new.

What does your character find attractive, either in people or in their own possessions?

Greer finds it deeply attractive when people are passionate and romantic. This doesn’t mean that she needs flowers and a candlelit dinner ( though she won’t say no to that ), but rather she finds it extremely attractive when someone looks to the positive, loves what they do, loves others ( platonically or romantically ) as wholeheartedly as she does, and displays their true self.

How does your character (negatively or positively) show their love or demonstrate their affection?

She is extremely affectionate. She is not one for subtlety. This can sometimes throw people off as at times it can potentially seem as a bit too much. As a true individual with her Venus in Pisces, she has been known to write love letters to her friends and exes. She loves the idea of courting someone ( both in friendships and dating ), and she does not stop after the relationship has been established. Her playful nature and ability to individualize based off of her friend’s or partner’s needs means that she will often times create spontaneous little dates for them ‘just because’. 

How does your character fall in love? Do they jump into relationships, or take slow, measured steps? Describe their behaviors and actions, if you’d like.

While her affection comes fast, falling in love takes time for Greer. She loves the journey that one takes with another — learning about the little intricacies of her partner, what makes them tick, why they are the way they are, and where they want to go. She does not realize that she has begun to fall in love, typically, until she is in love. Greer gets lost in the moment with the other person, and becomes hyper sensitive and attentive to whatever their needs may be. 

THE MARS ( SAGITTARIUS ): Your strifes, temperament, and passions…

What does your character want with every fiber of their being?

More than anything, she wants a life that will never be boring with a loving and supportive family by her side. She doesn’t necessarily need to be married ( though that would ideal ), but she wants desperately to continue exploring the adventures that life has to offer her with someone that she loves by her side, learning from and with them. 

What will your characters do to get what they want? How far will they go?

If there is one thing that Greer March was known for in her childhood, it was her loud mouth. She has no problem telling anyone exactly what she wants and how she feels about it. She is relentless in her desires, and she will do anything in her power to make it happen. That being said, she refuses to take anyone ( innocent ) out in pursuit of it. The complete disregard for others is far too much like her mother, and she is repulsed by the idea of being anything like her.

What makes your character see red? What makes their blood boil?

Complicity and manipulation of other’s emotions are two things that will make Greer see red. Those that see or are aware of a wrongdoing happen but stand by and do nothing, frustrate and anger her to no end. She has no problem unleashing her disapproval the moment it becomes apparent to her. Additionally, manipulation of other’s emotions is something that will many times make Greer snap. Her emotions and the emotions of those that she interacts with are so dear to her that if anyone is to try and manipulate them, she takes it as a personal attack on her entire being.

On a symbolic level, what battles has your character lost and what wounds have they suffered?

Her mother’s treatment of her and the following loss of her father are something that she continues to heal from. Throughout her childhood she knew her mother disliked her, but her mother’s hatred became apparent after her father’s passing. She had always either been too much or not enough. The picking apart and scrutiny of her every desire and personality trait became just as normal as her morning coffee. By the time her mother finally told her that she didn’t love her and didn’t want anything to do with her, the only thing she felt was astonishment that it had taken her so long to come out and say it.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

what ifs; adam page [six]

Notes:

Okay, so the angst is not over but.. I bring you guys a small  break from it. And again, I swear. I fully intend to update this as soon as possible. I’m having too much fun writing this and I have way too many plans. [ part five ] if you missed it.

Summary:

Fluffy little moment in the kitchen here.. if you squint. But the angst is not over yet. Just giving you guys a small break. Adam and Ivy bake together and have a few laughs.. Maybe they can rebuild a friendship.

Pairings:

Adam Hangman Page x OFC, Ivy Barlow

Warnings:

alcohol tw, angst, slow burn, mentions of exotic dancing... did I mention angst? because yeah.

Images from google. Header made by me. If you didn’t make it, don’t take it.

“What’s this I hear about you running off to West Virginia permanently? Do you not know how to pick up a phone anymore, Ivy?” Irene paced her living room and waited on her daughter to give her some kind of reason for just uprooting herself and not even bothering to say anything about it.

They’d lost touch, yes, but Irene had always just assumed that Ivy was on her side of things. She hadn’t ever said anything contrary to that.

Ivy rolled her eyes and for a split second, she heavily considered hanging up the phone.Her mother hadn’t even bothered with the formality of a hello. She didn’t even bother to ask how her former husband was. Ivy grumbled because if it weren’t already painfully clear just how self - absorbed the woman was and how little she cared about anything beyond having total control over everything, this would really have driven that point home. Instead, she took a few deep breaths and as she parked the car outside the hospital, she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

It wasn’t even 11 am and she was already completely and totally done with today.

“You do realize that Hello is also a polite way to start a conversation, right? You could also try asking how everyone is… you know, make sure we’re all okay here?” Ivy’s tone was clipped and harsh and almost immediately after she realized it, she muttered a hasty apology. Sure her mom was selfish and controlling and had no sense of anything beyond how a situation affected her. But she is still my mother and I know better, Ivy reprimanded herself mentally, taking a few long and deep breaths to try and neutralize herself before things got out of hand.

“Don’t you take that tone with me. Your father will be fine.” Irene grumbled impatiently. When Ivy sighed and muttered something about their conversations being ‘business as usual’, Irene snorted and reminded her casually, “I’m not the one who stopped calling or coming by, Ivy Jane.”

“Maybe there’s a valid reason for that, Mom.” Ivy shut the door to her car with her hip and locked it, staring intently at the hospital as she thought to herself God I hope I get good news in here, at least. I don’t think I can handle any more bad news, and she took a few steps towards the double doors leading into the lobby. Her mother hadn’t said anything yet and Ivy was getting increasingly impatient. It was kind of obvious by now that she’d called just to pick a fight.

If that is the case, Ivy thought to herself, I really wish she’d just get it over with so I can hang up on her and get inside to Dad.

“ You haven’t answered my question.” Irene stated, waiting on her daughter to answer. She just didn’t understand why Ivy had to do this, why Ivy would even want to go back there. “What if I needed you, huh?”

She thought that might at least make Ivy feel a little guilty for her hasty decision, but to her shock, Ivy gave a snort of laughter and for a few seconds, the conversation got so quiet that Irene almost thought Ivy might have hung up on her again like the last time they’d talked.

Finally, Ivy answered.

“You’ll be fine, Mom. You don’t need me, you’ve never needed anyone. As far as why I left and if it’s true? I left because Ty is a selfish asshole who doesn’t understand my family comes first. And yeah, Mom.. I’m moving here permanently.” Ivy bit her lip and grimaced. It was better this way, best to just rip that bandage off all at once. And then totally cut contact. Because she’d already let her mom have entirely too much input in her life to begin with. This was the first time she’d actively stood up to her mother and damn, it felt good.

She pushed open the doors to the lobby and stepped inside the hospital while she waited on her mother to have some kind of reaction, to start her patent method of guilt tripping her. And true to form, that’s exactly what her mother did.

“First Constance and now you. I see how it is. I get it. You love your father more.” Irene bit her lip, sighing and shaking her head sadly. Neither one of the two of them were grateful at all that she took them out, that they got to see the world. That she worked her ass off to make sure they didn’t just fall into the whole small town trap like she nearly had. Not that Dalton was ever a bad man I just… needed more, wanted more… Wanted to see the world. I never would’ve stuck around or gotten married as young as I did if I hadn’t gotten pregnant with any of the three of them, the thought came and Irene frowned at it, shaking her head.

As a mother, it made her feel horrible every time that thought surfaced, but she couldn’t help it.. She’d had her entire life planned out and then along came a cowboy who fancied himself a rancher with his big brown bedroom eyes and his smooth talk and his truck and his simple ways… She’d thought she could be happy, that in time she’d learn to love it…She’d gotten trapped before she ever realized it and now.. Now… Everything ended with a fight where two of her girls were concerned. Her second oldest seemed to be the only one of her girls who was happy, who had a good relationship with her now. It hurt like hell. Irene didn’t know how to go about fixing it. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered trying because it seemed as if everything she said or did where Constance and Ivy were concerned was all wrong.

Why keep forcing herself on the two of them if they didn’t want her as part of their lives? Despite that, Irene kept trying.

Because they were her daughters and despite what they seemed to think, she did love them.

“No, I didn’t say that. I’ve never said that. You’re not going to make me feel guilty about this. If that’s all you called to do, I need to go. I’m meeting with Dad’s nurse.” Ivy caught herself tapping her foot, rolling her eyes at the phone and almost tempted to just go ahead and skip several minutes ahead in this whole thing they’d done lately, get to the part where she got fed up and rather than say something angry and hurtful, she just took the more passive route and hung up.

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, I’m just trying to understand, Ivy. I thought you loved Ty. I thought you were happy in Florida.”

“No, Mom. You’ve got it in your head that my life is all wrong unless I’m living it your way. I never wanted your way. I hated Florida.” Ivy wasn’t even sure what made her say it or why she was so irrationally angry at her mother’s calm tone, but she was and before she could stop herself, the words were out and she felt horrible for saying them. “I’m sorry, Mom, I just…I can’t do this with you right now, okay? There are way bigger things going on right now. I don’t have time to fight with you.”

Ivy hung up and settled into a chair in the waiting room, rubbing her forehead, shaking her head and taking a few deep breaths. She’d call back later and at least apologize. She honestly hadn’t ever intended to say it out loud.

Irene wiped at her eyes, taking a few deep breaths as she sat the phone down on the kitchen counter. “Well then. Guess I just got my answer. Tried to do something to make sure they didn’t end up like I almost did and now apparently, two of my three hate me for it.”

It hurt like hell, because all she wanted was to be part of all her daughters’ lives. All of them, not just one. She had two grandchildren she was  totally missing out on being a grandmother to. And Ivy, if Ivy ever settled down and had kids… Irene’s stomach churned and she poured herself a glass of tea, taking a long sip. All she wanted was everyone to be happy. And now she was discovering that apparently, she’d been all wrong to do the things she had back then.

For the first time in a long time, she found herself wondering if maybe she hadn’t been wrong to just uproot all three of them and make them feel like they didn’t have a choice. Even suspecting it might have been the wrong decision and that every one she’d made since then hadn’t really helped any didn’t sit well with her at all.

As soon as visiting hours began, Ivy stood and made her way to her father’s room, shutting the door lightly behind her and taking a seat next to his bed, laughing when she realized that apparently, teaching him how to work a laptop had been a good idea, because he was watching Netflix, some original series called The Ranch.

“Darlin.. Everything okay?” Dalton paused the show and pushed away the rolling table with her old laptop sitting on top and fixed his gaze on her intently.

“Yeah. Everything is fine.” Ivy leaned in to hug her father, squeezing just a little.

Dalton eyed his youngest daughter suspiciously and Ivy admitted, “Just arguin with Mama. Got reminded why I never bothered.” as she sighed and shook her head, quick to slap a smile on. “I heard you’re gettin out of here tomorrow.”

“Thank God. If I gotta eat one more salad, I think I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

“I hate to tell you, daddy.. But seein as me and Connie and the kids want you around a real long time, old man, you’d better just learn to love vegetables and fruit.”

“A man is not made t’ eat that shit. We need meat.. Potatoes.” Dalton protested, grumbling when his daughter fluffed his hair and shook her head. “Christ. Startin to wish I would have just hid instead of gettin dragged here.”

“Daddy..”

“I’ve made it this damn long living life my way. No sense in changing now, darlin.” Dalton insisted.

Ivy bit her lip and laughed, shaking her head at him. “You’re going to have to at least try to make some of the changes they gave you… For us? Please?”

“Okay, alright, fine. Shit. How’s the farm? Page ain’t let that dumb fuck hand of his touch any of my tools, right?”

“No, thankfully, Adam’s been the one handling them the most.” Ivy bit her lip as she tried to will away all the images of Adam in varying states of undress making repairs out in the barn that she’d walked in on and had been burned into her brain.

“Oh? Page’s boy come home, huh? Did you hear he went off and got all famous on us? Still the same guy though. He was always one hell of a kid.”

“Yeah, he’s a good man.” Ivy didn’t bother hesitating as she said it.

“You two talk about anythin’?” Dalton made it a point to ask his daughter that question and when her jaw set and she shook her head, he reached out, fluffing her hair as he chuckled. “Ya get the stubborn side honest, darlin.”

“Hey! He does too!”  Ivy pointed it out with a soft laugh as she shook her head. After a few seconds, she shrugged. “It’s all water under the bridge now anyway. I’d settle for just being friends again.”

“And who says you can’t, huh?”

“I guess I could try?” Ivy bit her lip as she mulled it over. Her father nodded and pointed out, “Friends is better than nothing.”

“It is.”

XXX

The house was in a frenzy when Adam peeked in and he chuckled. Ivy was swearing, fanning at smoke and opening the windows and Constance was laughing about it. “I told you we could’ve just bought a cake. Nooooo… you just had to try to play Betty Crocker, today of all days.”

“I used to be better at baking. Anyway, speak for yourself Ms. I charbroiled the chicken.” Ivy poked out her tongue at her older sister as she wrinkled her nose and grabbed the cake plate, hurrying towards the trash with it.

Adam chuckled and cleared his throat as he stepped in, waving his hands, snickering harder when Constance hurried past with the burnt remnants of the chicken she’d been baking and stopped long enough to offer an apologetic smile.

“Ya’ll need any help in here, or?” Adam asked both women with Ivy blurting “Yes” and Connie insisting that they had it under control and he’d done enough. Adam eyed Ivy and he gave a teasing wink, opting to listen to her answer.

Connie looked from Adam to Ivy and muttered with a soft laugh, “I’m gonna just run into town.. Maybe buy some more chicken and some other stuff.”

“And a cake.” Ivy laughed out after her sister before turning her attention to Adam.

“You don’t have to stay…” Ivy shook her head, tensing a little as that tension between them came right back in, lingering heavily.

“It’s fine. Not like I had anywhere else to be.” Adam shrugged, taking the bowl with dry flour sitting out on the island and dumping the little bit of flour left in the bowl into the garbage. He turned around and found himself body to body with Ivy, who was apparently trying to put a bowl into the sink nearby.

Adam found himself staring down at her intently, maybe migrating a little closer. “ I really make you that nervous?” he questioned, swallowing hard when she shook her head and made no move to back away like he figured she would.

“No, you don’t.”

Adam bit his lip, clenching and unclenching his hand at his side, fighting the urge to rest it against her hip as he nodded to the destruction of the kitchen all around them. “What were ya’ll doing anyway?”

“Well, the hospital is lettin dad come home tomorrow. And the twins birthdays are coming up, so we were gonna celebrate earlier than usual, invite everybody over tomorrow but have it all ready to go.. Which, as you can see, went off the rails.”

“Not entirely.” Adam chuckled, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Have you looked around? There’s flour on the ceiling beam, Adam.”

Adam chuckled and reached out, before he could stop himself, rubbing his thumb over flour smeared across the bridge of her nose. “ I thought you used to love bakin.. You were always makin me things.”

“Guess I just haven’t done it in a while. And anyway, that was a new recipe I found!”

“Okay, look.. All the other stuff can wait ‘til tomorrow. But if you really wanna make this cake of yours.. I don’t mind helpin.” Adam’s body brushed against hers and Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. Before she could stop herself, she was nodding yes and gathering up everything they might need.

It was a good distraction. It got her moving, it kept her from doing what she longed to do most at that point in time, hugging herself against him, burying her face in his chest and just letting her earlier talk with her mother out because she’d always felt like she could tell him anything.

She just missed that so much. She missed him and yes, it was driving her crazy, the strain between them.

Adam pouted as she stepped away, busying herself with gathering up all her ingredients and starting to measure them out. Taking another one of his beer cans out of the fridge, he popped the top and took a long sip. “Why not just make that chocolate one you always used to make?”

Ivy stopped and dragged her fingers through wild waves, staring up at him and smiling as she gave a slow nod. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I get half, right?” Adam teased, making her give a soft laugh and she shrugged. “I mean.. I could make you a smaller one. Can you even still eat things like chocolate cake?” Ivy teased gently, stopping in front of him again as she stared up, “Being on tv and all that jazz?”

“Do I look like I care one way or the other, darlin?” Adam’s voice came out huskier and he leaned down, fingertips just barely brushing against her side. He almost wanted to smirk a little when he felt her shiver ever so slightly.

Maybe there’s still somethin’ there after all. Adam thought to himself as he cleared his throat and clapped his hands together, mostly to distract himself.

“I believe we were about to try sharin a kitchen again.”

“I believe we were.” Ivy pouted, praying he didn’t notice it as she met his gaze and plastered on a little smile. “We should… probably get this started, hm?”

“Yeah.” Adam swallowed hard as her fingertips momentarily trailed over the front of his black tee shirt… When she wiped flour onto his nose, he grumbled and poked out his tongue. “Haha. Real funny, darlin.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist it.” Ivy giggled, trying to dart out of his reach as he tried to catch her…

[fuckingfinwions]

What's happening with Aredhel in the servant au And since you mentioned marriage, is Nolo married? Is Feanor?

Aredhel is safely-ish away from Feanor’s attention, though not fully out of his control.

Feanor only cares about Nolo’s kids as a way to humiliate Nolo, and mostly forgets about them when they’re out of his sight, and Nolo used this. Nolo hadn’t expected Feanor to sexually target anyone but him until Feanor made Fingon give him a blowjob, so he hadn’t prepared any excuses. Turgon was in his teens and older than apprentices typically start, so it would obvious to Feanor that Nolo was just trying to ship him off to safety. Aredhel was young enough that an apprenticeship wouldn’t be odd, and Nolo could claim he wanted to parent his daughter differently than his sons without bringing up Feanor’s recent actions. So Nolo found a potter who was willing to take on a hard-working apprentice of no particular talent, and Aredhel spends most of her time there. (Pottery because it’s not particularly renowned among either the Noldor or the Vanyar, neither Indis or Miriel ever practiced it, and it’s very very difficult to use pottery to make weapons. Feanor wouldn’t have approved it otherwise.)

Due to elves not having divorce, Feanor and Nolo are both technically still married. Nerdanel stayed with Feanor for a long time and turned a blind eye to whatever he did to Nolo as long as he was still a good husband and father. She left shortly after Fingon came of age, when Feanor told their older children that they could rape their cousins. Nerdanel thinks this is poor parenting and will lead to them having messed up attitudes towards sex, love, and consent when they want to settle down and marry some day. She would have taken the kids with her, but Feanor is king and declared they should stay in the palace and be raised as princes. Nerdanel decided that if she can’t change Feanor’s decisions towards their kids, she can at least stop giving him more kids.

Anaire left Nolo earlier, and is forbidden from contact with him by Feanor’s royal decree (can’t have him making plans to sneak away). When Finwe died and kicked this whole mess off, he wrote in his will that Nolo should try to supportive and obedient to Feanor. Nolo moved in to the palace expecting to be a sot of advisor, and instead was given menial tasks for a while because Feanor enjoys the petty power over him. Anaire told Nolo that he would never get Feanor’s approval no matter how hard he chased it, and she wasn’t going to spend her life on a fool’s errand. Nolo was free to rejoin her in their country house when he saw sense. It made sense for the children to stay in Tirion where were more familiar with things rather than uproot their lives, especially as they grieved their grandfather.

(Nolo didn’t admit to himself that Feanor was trying to humiliate him until Feanor told him to muck out the stables on his own. Nolo confronted Feanor, and Feanor spent several days showing Nolo exactly what his life was going to be like from then on. Nolo tried to leave afterwards, but the guards wouldn’t let him.)

[unfolded73]

Decisions (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

Flashbacks to all the little decisions that brought David and Patrick together to their wedding night. Canon compliant through S5. Rated Teen, 5.6k

Yeah, I’ve got it bad for these two.

(ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~

“Was that okay?” David let his hand slide across Patrick’s abdomen, nails scratching through the hair below his navel. He spooned up against Patrick’s back, ignoring the post-coital sweatiness for once in order to cuddle.

“Okay?” Patrick laughed, or more accurately, giggled. “Did you really ask if that was okay? Because I think I might’ve actually blacked out for a minute there.”

David hummed, the path of his hand continuing to Patrick’s hip. “It’s just, it’s our wedding night, so I felt a certain amount of pressure to live up to expectations. Wedding night sex should be, you know, top five sex.”

Patrick rolled over to face him, his nose nuzzling against David’s bare chest. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually keep score on our sex life.”

“Still--”

“It was amazing. You’re amazing.” Patrick kissed him. “You, my husband, are amazing.”

David tried not be thrilled by being called husband, he did, but his hammering heart had other ideas. He remembered stumbling out onto a Manhattan balcony the morning that gay marriage had been legalized in the States, hungover and with only a vague memory of whom he’d gone to bed with the night before, listening with half an ear as his polyamorous performance artist girlfriend at the time lectured her friends about the fact that marriage was a heteronormative construct to which the queer community never should have aspired in the first place. They all nodded sagely, taking drags off their cigarettes in the morning sunlight. David had nodded too, nodded in agreement that marriage was a prison, a trap, a refuge for desperate and weak-willed breeders. It sometimes occurred to him these days that his opinions back then had been thoroughly molded by those around him, pressed into his mind like handprints into soft concrete. Daniella said marriage was a construct, so David believed marriage was a construct. He wondered (not for the first time, or even the hundredth) what that David would think of him now, looking forward to a settled life with this one man who wore sensible Oxford shirts that he bought at the outlet mall in Elmdale.

“Do you ever think about all the tiny decisions we made that led us here?” Patrick asked.

David shook himself out of his reverie. “Hmm?”

Patrick pulled away far enough to be able to focus on his face. “I mean, there’s any number of ways that if things had gone slightly differently, you and I would never have met. Or at the very least, would never have ended up in business together. Or in a relationship.”

“See, I try not to think about things like that, because imagining never being with you would be very upsetting for me. And you know I don’t like my eyes to get puffy.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that to me several times today.”

“Well, it’s important,” David responded, lifting his hand and gesturing in the air for emphasis.

“Important enough to say during the ceremony, though?”

“It’s just that your vows were very emotional.”

“Yeah, I said those things because I like to watch your eyes get puffy,” Patrick said, smirking at him.

David huffed in annoyance, even has he cupped the back of Patrick’s head, fondly stroking the short hair above his neck. “Anyway, no, I don’t get all Gwyneth in Sliding Doors about my life choices.”

“I never saw that movie.”

David reared back, his eyes widening in horror. “Okay, I’m going to need a divorce.”

“Or we could just watch the movie,” Patrick said, grinning, and then leaning in to kiss him.

David hummed and smiled against Patrick’s lips. “Yeah, I suppose we could just watch the movie.”

~*~

Patrick opened the door of his increasing barren apartment to see Rachel standing there. Her eyes were red from crying, and his stomach twisted with guilt at the sight of her.

“Can I come in?” she asked, and what was he supposed to say to that other than yes, so yes is what he said, stepping back to admit her into the cardboard box forest of his living room.

Rachel looked around despondently. “So you’re really moving?” She was dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her long, red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Patrick wished he could hug her because he really needed a hug, but he kept his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

“Yeah.”

Her shoulders drooped at that, as if just by asking, she might make him change his mind and stay. Which, given their past, probably wasn’t an unreasonable thing for her to think.

“And you’re just going to drive; you don’t even know where you’re going to live?”

Well, no, that part of the plan he’d told Rachel wasn’t true. He’d wanted it to be true -- wanted to be the kind of person who could just uproot his entire life on a whim and head off into the sunset with no clear idea where he was going to end up. But Patrick was a planner, and in the end he’d been too anxious to go through with that level of spontaneity. Instead he’d browsed job websites until he found something weird but promising, working for a guy named Ray who’d hired him over the phone after a lengthy, very chatty interview. He’d even be able to rent a spare room in Ray’s house, so if Ray turned out to be a serial killer, at least Patrick was making himself fully available to murder at any time of the day or night. He liked to be accommodating that way.

He didn’t want to tell Rachel any of this.

She laughed bitterly. “And here I thought this time, the engagement would stick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, I’m sick of your apologies. All you ever do is apologize to me.”

So she came here to berate him, then. Great. Not that he didn’t deserve it, with as many times as he’d broken her heart.

“But I guess that you don’t want to marry me so much that this time you can’t even stand to be in the same town as me,” she continued.

He and Rachel had been best friends in high school, inseparable, and everyone expected them to start dating from the time they were fifteen. Everyone expected it so much that it was like they willed the relationship into existence, and Patrick let himself be swept along with the tide of their expectations. He’d kissed her for the first time after one of his baseball games because he knew he was supposed to. He’d had mediocre sex with her the night of their spring formal because their friends expected it. He’d come home from college and asked her to marry him because his parents and her parents and even the lady who worked the register at the local hardware store had been hinting at him about it. Then a few months later, faced with the fact that being engaged to someone meant you had to actually marry them, he’d panicked and broken off the engagement. That was only the first time he’d broken off their engagement.

It was possible that Patrick was an asshole.

“I just need a fresh start with my life, I can’t--” Stay here. Face you. Face my parents.

“So then go to Toronto, or Chicago, or somewhere normal that people go when they’re trying to get away from home.”

“It’s expensive to live in those places. And I’m a small town guy.”

“I don’t want you to go. I still--” She hiccupped a tiny sob. “I still love you, Patrick.”

He felt like he still loved her too, and also that he’d never had a clear idea of what love actually was. But he knew he couldn’t marry her. With so much uncertainty in his life, he was finally certain of that, albeit several years too late.

“Please don’t go.”

It would make a lot of people happy if he stayed. Rachel, his parents, his buddies from high school who still liked to drink cheap beer and watch hockey. The lady from the hardware store. In leaving, he was disappointing everyone. He could agree not to go, and that weight of disappointing everyone would lift. 

Replaced by a heavier weight that he couldn’t quite define, but that had been pushing him down his whole life.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I have to go.”

~*~

This fucking motel smelled funny, that was why he couldn’t sleep.

David turned over one more time, trying to get comfortable between the scratchy, low thread count sheets. He pulled the sleeve of his designer sweatshirt over his hand and cupped it over his face and inhaled, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to imagine that he was back in his own bed at his parent’s mansion. Or the bed in his Manhattan loft. Or even the bed of a stranger as he avoided the wet spot on the sheets and wondered if it would be easier just to leave now rather than waiting until morning. Literally anywhere would be better than this hellhole.

Flipping onto his back violently, David huffed out a breath.

“Oh my God, David, can you stop fidgeting for like, two minutes?”

“Fuck off, Alexis.”

She made an unhappy squeaking noise. “You don’t have to be such a dick to me all the time, you know.”

“I think I do.” He was still furious at her that she would have left with Stavros, abandoning him to their mother’s misery and their father’s misplaced optimism and this place.

“I could leave too, you know,” he added.

“Oh really, David? Where would you go?”

 “To New York, where I lived.”

“Your apartment is gone, David.”

“I have friends, Alexis.”

“Oh, do you. Name one.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say a person who definitely existed and wasn’t made up, Alexis added, “And I mean someone who would actually care enough about you to let you crash on their sofa now that you’re poor. Also, how would you even get to New York? We don’t even have a car. Or money for a plane ticket on a…” -- and here she shuddered -- “commercial airline.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to find someone to put me up in New York, I could. There are men who would be more than happy to send me a plane ticket if I asked.”

“Ew, David. Like a sugar daddy? Even you should have more self-respect than that.”

He snorted. Self-respect. As if.

“And anyway, you’re not the young twink you once were; no one’s going to pay you to be their boy toy now,” she added.

“Jump off a bridge, Alexis,” he said, in no small part because he feared what she said was true. He didn’t have any friends who’d cared about anything but his money and connections, and he probably was too old to attract the attention of someone who might support him financially just because he was pretty and good at sucking dick. A small voice in the back of his head told him he was better off without those kinds of people. He ignored it.

“Fine, prove it. Leave,” she huffed. “Go to New York and find some skeevy guy to support you, see if I care.”

A part of him was so angry with Alexis that he almost got up at one thirty in the morning and stormed out of the room. He’d find a way to get out of this town somehow. He’d walk. He’d hitchhike. He’d sprout wings and fly.

After a long pause during which he stayed under the too-thin bedding, David said, “I can’t leave, I need to be here for Mom. She won’t survive this without me.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re staying,” Alexis muttered sarcastically.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

~*~

“Feeling better?” Stevie asked as she took the joint out of his hand and put it to her lips. David watched as she took a deep drag and held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds before blowing it up at the sky.

He leaned back on the worn picnic table behind the motel and looked up at the way the light filtered through the trees. Schitt’s Creek could be oddly beautiful when viewed from the right angle. And when high. 

“Yeah. Better.”

“Done freaking out about the store?”

“Probably not, but I am presently done freaking out. At present.”

Stevie giggled, and David rolled over on the table to take the joint back from her.

“It’s the consignment part of it that’s crucial, but I wasn’t able to impart that to that uptight little cutie at Ray’s.”

“You talk like your mother when you’re high.”

David gasped, sitting up. “You take that back.”

Stevie blinked at him. “I just mean you use bigger words. Unnecessarily large words,” she overennunciated. “Wait, you said ‘cutie.’”

“Who did?” He shook his head side-to-side, trying to clear it. “I mean, I said what about what?”

“You said ‘that uptight cutie at Ray’s.’ He’s cute? You failed to mention that, you just said he was snippy.”

“He’s not cute; he was pressuring me to fill out a form. Nothing about that was cute.” David stretched back out on the picnic table. 

“And yet you said it.”

“Also I’m pretty sure he was wearing Levi’s.”

Stevie clutched at her heart. “Oh my God.”

“You may not think I can tell when you’re making fun of me but I actually can. I just mean he’s not my type. Which doesn’t matter because I’m sure he’s straight. He was pretty much wearing the straight boy uniform.”

“You sure are worried about what this non-cute boy’s sexual preferences are, David.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Stevie didn’t respond to that, and so they were silent for a while. David continued to squint up at the sunlight-dappled trees and Stevie… thought her Stevie thoughts. David imagined this is what his teen years would have been like if he’d grown up with no money in a town like this: getting stoned with a friend on a sad picnic table behind a motel. No parties with half-naked models and bowls of ecstasy. At the moment, he couldn’t put his finger on any reason why this would have been such a bad way to grow up. He certainly could have used a friend like Stevie in those years. Someone to support him and to call him on his bullshit.

David took a deep breath and broke the silence. “I guess what I wanted to say before I was stoned is, maybe it’s not too late for me to give up on the store idea. My mother was right, I’ve never done anything like this on my own before, and any belated maternal instinct she may have had to encourage me--”

“David Rose, don’t you dare give up on the store. I’ll be furious with you if you do, I mean it.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about running a business.”

“I know. But you can ask your dad for help. Or you can ask the cutie at Ray’s.”

“I hate you,” he said, but he reached into his pocket and ran his finger along the edge of Patrick’s business card.

“Please don’t give up on it, David.”

He rolled over and looked at Stevie, her black hair tousled in the light breeze. He felt the sudden urge to tell her he loved her, but he figured that was just the marijuana talking. He bit his lips to keep the declaration in and sat up. “I’m going to go down to the store,” he announced.

“To do what?” she asked, hopping down off the picnic table and taking David’s hand to pull him to his feet. The world tilted alarmingly on its axis from this new vantage point.

“To work on my business plan.”

~*~

Patrick called his parents on Sunday afternoons without fail. He felt like if he didn’t stick to the schedule, if he let a Sunday go by and didn’t call them, then he’d start going longer and longer between calls and eventually he’d barely talk to them at all. So he called, right on schedule, even though the thought of talking to them today had caused a ball of anxiety to form in his stomach for some reason that he couldn’t explain.

After the exchange of pleasantries and listening to the latest gossip from his hometown, an uncomfortable silence descended.

“So, I… uh…” Why was this so hard to talk to his parents about? Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the phone harder against his ear. “I’m not going to be working for Ray anymore.”

“Oh,” his mom said, and he could hear the mixture of confusion and worry in that one little syllable. “That didn’t last very long, did it?”

“I know you said Ray’s a little… scattered, but you probably need to give it some more time, son,” his father said in that deep, sonorous voice that Patrick had failed to inherit. 

“Does that mean you’ll be coming back home?” his mom asked, and shit, of course she would jump to that conclusion.

“No, no no, that’s not why I’m… I’m going into partnership with another guy to help him run a store.”

“What guy?” his father asked at the same time his mother said, “A store?”

“Um, his name is David,” Patrick said, and it felt weirdly thrilling and forbidden to speak David’s name out loud to his parents. He frowned; what an odd thought. “The general store in town closed down, and David’s leased it to turn it into a space where he’s going to sell products from local vendors on consignment. It’s a good business model.”

“It sounds interesting,” his dad said, which sounded like a diplomatic way of saying ‘risky.’ Or perhaps a diplomatic way of saying ‘I can’t fathom why you would you give up a good job and a relationship with a lovely girl like Rachel to move to the ass end of the world and drift from one job you’re overqualified for to another.’

“It should be. I’m excited about it.” He paced across the floor, suddenly anxious to get off the phone. 

“I saw Mr. Stephens a few days ago,” his father said.

“Oh, yeah?” Theo Stephens had been Patrick’s boss at the bank.

“He said your job is still available if you want to come back home.”

“Tell him he really needs to hire a replacement,” Patrick said.

“I think he did, but it didn’t work out. So he’s looking again to fill the position, and I thought--”

“I’m staying here in Schitt’s Creek, Dad.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why? What does that town have that your hometown doesn’t?”

A rush of images filled Patrick’s head. The clean white walls of the store, and the nice way it smelled now that he and David had washed everything thoroughly and filled it with skin and hair care products. The way David smirked when Patrick said something witty and sardonic, like there was a big smile inside of him that he was barely containing. The way David’s long, ringed fingers looked as he pressed labels onto bottles of moisturizer and bags of tea. 

“It has the store.”

“Oh, stop giving Patrick a hard time, Clint,” his mother said. “We just miss you, is all.” 

Patrick’s face flushed with shame that he was making his mother sad. “I know, Mom. I miss you too.”

“You’ll keep us posted about how it goes with the store?” his dad asked.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, but there was a part of him that never wanted to mention the store to them again. It was his and David’s, and sharing it with people at home, even his parents, felt strangely blasphemous.

“We love you, son.”

“Love you, too.”

The next few days were filled with body milk and spreadsheets of vendors and inventory and laughter and his heart squeezing uncomfortably in his chest every time he looked at David across the room. On Patrick’s next day off, he got up early and went for a hike, like if he didn’t keep moving his skin might turn itself inside out.

Or like he might have to admit that he had romantic feelings for David.

It wasn’t that the thought of being gay had never occurred to him before; he wasn’t born under a rock, after all. But he dismissed it, because gay men weren’t like him. Gay men were like David, fashion-conscious and unaware of what a change-up pitch was. And then there had been Rachel and a few other girls in college, keeping him from seriously questioning his sexuality. He looked straight, he acted straight, he’d had sex with women. Although, true, he’d always wondered what the big deal about sex was, because he’d secretly never thought it was all that great. And true, he’d once sat in a darkened theater watching Avengers and spending a lot more time focusing on Chris Evans than on Scarlett Johansson. But he’d never really fallen for a boy either, and eventually Patrick had concluded that he wasn’t a particularly sexual person. That was a thing, after all; he’d read about it. 

Then he met David Rose.

He spent hours working on the store’s budget and thinking about the turn of David’s neck. He stocked shelves and thought about David’s elegant fingers, with those silver rings that would catch the light and attract Patrick’s attention like a moth to a streetlamp. He stared into the middle distance, listening to the jazz that David insisted was an essential part of the store’s aesthetic, and thought about what David’s mouth would feel like on his own.

There was no use denying it: for the first time in his life, Patrick was falling for someone, and it was a man. And while that was confusing enough, the bigger problem was that it was his business partner.

Patrick reached the overlook point, and he stopped to catch his breath, sweat running down between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m gay,” he said out loud to the forest, testing the words, the very concept, in his mouth.

“I’m gay. I’m very, very gay for David Rose,” he said, and then laughed. He sounded crazy.

An argument could be made that it would be the wisest course never to act on his feelings because of the business. The most likely outcome to sharing his feelings with David would be a humiliating rejection; Patrick wasn’t the kind of person David would be attracted to, surely, and the best he could hope for would be for David not to laugh in his face. Even if by some miracle David was interested, all that would probably lead to would be a short relationship that would inevitably end, leaving Patrick working day in and day out with the man who’d broken his heart. 

He imagined asking David out, and David saying yes. Suddenly it was all he wanted, to go on a date with David, but he didn’t know if he’d have the courage to do it. Still, admitting that he wanted to, admitting what his feelings were, that was almost as good as making the decision to act on them.

“I’m so fucked,” Patrick said to the trees. They nodded in the breeze in agreement.

~*~

It was a rare day off from the store, and all David had wanted to do was sleep until noon and then lie in bed and eat a bag of chips and watch whatever was on the Hallmark Channel, which was available on the new cable package that his dad had gotten for the motel. Instead, his mother had woken him up with a list of chores, the latest of which was helping her to groom her wigs. So putting it mildly, David was crabby. He wanted to text Patrick and tell him about the trials his mother was putting him through, but Patrick was working at the store alone today and he probably wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.

“I like you and Patrick together,” his mother said, and David eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she’d finally learned to read his mind.

“There’s nothing to like yet; we’ve been on one date and we’ve kissed a few times, that’s all.” He combed the wig he was working on a little more vigorously, which got him a reproachful look from Moira.

“Perhaps that’s so, but the spark between you is pellucid for all to see.” She gave him a knowing smile. “He lights up when you walk in the room, and I dare say the reverse is also accurate.”

“Okay, well.” David bit down on a smile, lest he prove her point. “There’s still a lot that can go wrong, that’s all. And when things do go wrong, both my personal life and my business will be fucked, so.”

“Don’t be so fatalistic, David. You mustn’t assume that things will go wrong.”

“Things always go wrong.” He set the hairbrush down with a clatter. “I’m the first guy he’s been with. Literally the first man he’s ever kissed. It’s… it’s like holding a baby bird in my hand while riding a roller coaster. Any minute now we’re going to go over a big drop and I’ll forget and” -- he closed his fist tightly -- “I’ll crush him.”

“A very evocative avian metaphor, darling, but Patrick’s a grown man, not a bébé bird. Inexperienced with some activities, I’m sure, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who can’t take care of himself.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you aren’t the bird on the ferris wheel, David?”

“I said roller coaster,” he responded petulantly. “And hardly.”

Moira looked unconvinced.

“God, what am I doing, getting involved with my business partner? This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in a… lifetime of dumb things,” he said with a flourish of his hand in the air. “I should end it now, before things get even messier.”

Tilting her head and regarded him for a moment, Moira reached out and put a hand on his bicep. “You’ve often put your heart in the care of people who have hurt you. But that isn’t because you are feeble-minded. It’s because those people weren’t worthy of you. Patrick, I think, may be worthy of you.”

“Okay, you barely know him.”

His mother just smiled. “I have a good feeling about him, that’s all. Have a little faith in the power of love.”

“Ew.”

She ignored that. “I implore you, David, don’t end things with him before they’ve even begun. Open your heart to the possibility of joy.”

“Ugh.” David went back to combing out the wig. “Fine.”

~*~

“Hey, do you wanna get a drink after rehearsal?” Patrick asked, which made Stevie narrow her eyes at him in confusion.

“David’s not expecting you?”

“We are capable of being apart for an evening.” At Stevie’s skeptical look, he added. “I told him you were stressed about the show and that I was planning to take you out for a drink.”

“So you lied.”

“No, I didn’t. You are stressed about the show, and I was planning to take you out for a drink.”

Patrick was being weird. “What’s going on, Brewer?”

“Nothing’s going on. I. want. to. get. a. drink. Do. you. want. to. get. a. drink.” Each word came out in a monotone.

She huffed. “Sure.”

“Great.” He looked simultaneously frustrated that she was being so difficult and yet pleased that she’d finally agreed.

When they were released by Moira from Cabaret rehearsal, sweaty and exhausted, Stevie was surprised when Patrick led her toward his car instead of down the street to the cafe. “Where are we going?”

“The Wobbly Elm,” he said, unlocking the passenger door and opening it for her.

“We could just go to the cafe,” she said, but she got in the car anyway. Going to the cafe meant she might have to sample one of Twyla’s terrible cocktail experiments.

Patrick got in the car and cranked the engine. “I find that when I have conversations in the cafe, somehow half the town knows what I was talking about by morning.”

Stevie’s suspicion meter edged up a couple more notches. “You are being really weird.”

“I know,” he said, pulling out onto the main road out of the center of town.

“If something bad is happening with David, or if something bad is about to happen, like if you’re planning to break up with him, you better tell me now. If you wait until I’ve got a drink in me at the bar, I might beat you with a pool cue and leave you for dead in the woods.”

Patrick laughed. “Nothing like that, I promise. I don’t think you’ll feel the temptation to beat me to death.” And then he changed the subject to Cabaret, and Stevie let him, because she had an infinite well of frustration to express about the show and her part in it.

He let her rant the whole way to the bar, but once they had their drinks ordered, he put a gentle hand on her arm. “You’re way too hard on your performance, you know. Your voice is actually really good.”

She snorted, taking a large pull from her beer. “It really isn’t. I know what singers are supposed to sound like, and I don’t sound like that.”

“Maybe not, but you sound real, and you sound vulnerable. You’re gonna be a fantastic Sally; I mean that.”

Stevie flushed, uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thanks,” she said, and then cleared her throat. “Okay, what did you drag me all the way out here for?” Now it was Patrick’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Oh. Well, there’s something I want to do, and I’m hoping that if it’s a terrible idea, you’ll talk me out of it.”

“Okay,” Stevie said slowly. “It probably is a terrible idea, but what the hell -- what is it?”

Patrick took a long drink from his beer glass as if for strength. “I’m thinking about asking David to marry me.”

Stevie almost choked on her beer. “Oh my God. Oh my God! Patrick!” She wanted to hug him, but she wasn’t sure if they were hugging friends, or non-hugging friends. “Patrick, that’s amazing!”

He just nodded. “Yes, but is it a terrible idea?”

She had to pause at that. Had David ever mentioned marriage to her, or what he thought of it? She didn’t think so. “Have you ever talked about marriage with him?”

“Not in those terms, but we’re starting to talk about… really long term things. Being together years from now, and what we might do. It just seems like that’s where his head is, like he finally trusts that I’m not going to lose interest in him. And I want to… I guess I’m just a traditional guy at heart and I’d really like to have that whole thing. The wedding. The vows and the cake and the dancing.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “But I don’t know. Maybe he won’t want that.”

“I might’ve assumed that about David at one point, that he wasn’t the marrying kind. But watching him with you, like the way he was with your parents, and planning your birthday party?” Stevie smiled, and then suddenly she had to force back tears. “I think if I had to place a bet on it, I’d bet on him saying yes.”

Patrick let out a breath he was holding. “Okay, cool. Okay.” And then he smiled one of his soft smiles at her. “So do I have your blessing?”

Her eyes widened. “My what?”

“I mean, I could ask his father, I guess, but I don’t think David would appreciate that. Also I don’t think Mr. Rose would be able to keep a secret. And anyway, I feel like you’re the… you’re like the guardian of David’s heart, if that makes sense. So I think you’re the one I should ask.”

The tears became impossible to hold back now. Stevie felt like the play was scraping her raw as it was, exposing a deep well of emotions just below the surface. Grabbing a cocktail napkin, she dabbed at her eyes. 

“Stevie, don’t cry, you’re gonna make me cry.”

Laughing, she handed him a cocktail napkin. “You’re such a softy.”

“I know, I know.”

“Yes, you have my blessing. I mean, I basically bullied David into realizing he was into you, so it would be pretty shitty of me not to give you my blessing to marry him.”

Patrick smirked at her. “Yeah, that would be pretty shitty, and you did what now?”

Stevie picked up her beer glass and clinked it against Patrick’s. “I love both you idiots.”

~*~

 “Stevie called us idiots,” Patrick mumbled as they were both drifting off to sleep.

“Yeah, her wedding toast left something to be desired, and the fact that I cried anyway just shows how ragged my emotions were today.”

“Not in the toast, I mean when I asked for her blessing to propose, she said ‘I love both you idiots’.”

David pressed his resulting grin against Patrick’s forehead. “That sounds like Stevie.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so glad my family lost all our money. I’m so glad you couldn’t stay in your hometown anymore and that Ray posted that stupid job online. I’m so glad we made all the right decisions that led us to right here, right now,” David said in a rush, like he had to get the words out before he changed his mind about saying them.

Patrick put his hand over David’s where it rested on his hip and threaded their fingers together, bringing David’s hand to his lips. “Me too, sweetheart.”

END

[lifeisjustanotherstory]

02/03/2019

They shouldn’t have been friends, really. Not on paper.

He was the bad-boy musician with the chocolate-brown eyes and softer hair, with looks and lyrics that had girls on their knees (in that way? Yes.) She; younger than her years, with a thousand storylines swirling around that imaginative mind. Quirky and straight-laced, gold cross dangling from the neck, filled by a warm heart and framed with a gentle smile.

It all started with a rum and coke. Down his top, into his lap. She could have died from the shame. He laughed it off, too high to care. That night, they spent hours in conversation, only stopping to enjoy the sunrise in a companionable silence. Two strangers left that night as friends.

Worlds apart, and yet not so different. Words were not always shared, but pictures were - her story ideas and shots of the sky, his messy songwriting notes. And memes. One day, she dared to ask if they could meet again. Heart full, she accepted his invitation to his house party.

Each girl over the course of the night was a dagger to the heart. Kisses, tongues, lips, sex, it didn’t mean anything to him. But to her? Everything. This was not a good idea. She left before he could see her pain, before she could no longer hold back the flood of tears and emotions. A grey mist of sadness clouded her vision as she made her way through the multitude of rooms - but wait, this was not the way she had come in? And why was there a door being closed behind her? Who was closing it?

He muffled the scream before it could leave her mouth, tossing her on the bed. An uncomfortable pressure, raced breathing. A hundred thoughts raced through her head before settling on one last dark one - I am going to lose my virginity to a rapist.

Flesh against flesh, grunts and groans - but not from her mouth? Fighting all instinct to keep her eyes shut, she opened them to a scene she would never forget for the rest of her life; her gentle sunrise boy, his chocolate brown eyes seemingly glowing red, her attacker cowering and then unconscious on the floor.

He’d had his eyes on her all night. And then she decided. She wouldn’t be a girl to have his body, but she would be his friend. Throwing her arms around him, she let the tears flow once she felt his arms come around her, creating a soft, safe world in his embrace.

Months passed, and friends they were. She was content to have a place in his heart, even if it wasn’t the place she wanted. Girls came and went, but she was always there, at the end of the line. A constant.

His band got big. College over - the American dream wasn’t for her, and she went back home across the pond to the City job she had always wanted. But the pictures continued - selfies from the stages of concerts across the country, her photos of the office skyline , lights twinkling in the evenings of long working days.

A couple of years down the line and he was tiring of the “good” life. Of the endless women, drugs, rock and roll. Arenas had turned into stadiums, national had become international.Money was great, but he had enough of it. Had enough for his grandchildren to have enough. Emotionally rich, he was not. And then, the idea came to him.

A hundred different near-and-dear, those not in on the plan, received the message. “It’s up. I am done. It’s all over. Everything I had...gone.”

Megan cut him off, but not before she’d taken the pearls. Jan said she’d given him her best, and had nothing to show for it. Friends fucked off without a farewell. One by one, they fell out of his life. Hours passed and he was waiting for HER. What would she say?

The rain was falling hard outside, and he could barely hear the knock on the door. She was soaked through, her tan suede coat now only a few shades lighter than his eyes.

“Last minute plane tickets are daylight robbery.” She finally said, her voice small. “But I would rob a bank to be able to see you in person. And to do this.” And just she like had done years before; she threw herself into him, waiting for that moment when his arms closed around her.

Moments passed and she pulled herself away, her eyes not meeting his. All of a sudden, she was the 19 year-old again at the party.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” she said with a quiet fortitude. She knew he hated the 1975.“I want to kiss your neck.” And then, she ran her hands through his hair, gingerly at first, before finally gripping it into her fist, pulling him down. Trailing her lips over his ear, his cheek, his neck, breaths mingling.

It had filled her mind during the entire transatlantic flight. What was he to her? The ultimate friend. There was no denying it any longer. Rejection would be shit. But better then a life full of regret and “what if?

She needn’t have worried.He let her take full control. This was what she wanted. This was what he wanted. She had done exactly what he thought she would; be there for him when everyone else decided to leave. Her kiss was hesitant at first, was this really happening, before years of pent-up passion finally broke through and before either of them realised, she was on her back, her black hair fanned across the pillow.Their hands under each other’s shirts, eyes meeting, no words.

“We can stop,” he said, his eyes on her cross. “No, we will stop. I know what this means to you. I can wait.” Her protests died on her lips as he placed a finger over them. “I’ve waited years for this. I can wait one year longer. Unless you don’t want to get married to me. Which is fine. Or is one year not enough time to plan a wedding for women?”.

Shocked into silence by so many variables, she could do nothing as he went to retrieve an item from his top desk drawer. Encased in a navy blue box, her favourite colour, her sunrise boy asked her the question he had been waiting to ask for weeks. There could only be one answer. The fingers of the award-winning rockstar that had strummed guitar strings in front of millions were shaking as he slid the ring onto her finger.

It would be a lie to say they lived happily ever after. Fallout from leaving the music world was tough on both of them. Issues around her darker skin, in contrast to his white, the clashing of cultures and celebrity life. But the bad times paled into insignificance with the good times.

She had been nervous about the first time. And...it didn’t go to plan. Lying there, moments afterwards, she felt like crying into the awkward silence. He took her into his arms, and told her the truth. Mindblowing sex could not be used to describe what they had not just had. But had he ever made love to someone with so much laughter and pure joy? Never. Wiping tears from her eyes, he whispered that they had a lifetime to work on it. The only way was upwards.

He could never leave music completely, and chose to work as a teacher at a music specialist school. No one outside of the school was allowed to speak of his presence there. Every September she’d wait for his stories about the new students when they realised he was going to be their teacher. As for her? She finally decided to pick a plot from those swirling around in her mind, sit down and write. Her novel was no bestseller, but it had a dedicated fanbase whose letters, emails and love completed that part of her which had always felt unfulfilled. The second book was in the works.

He came home from work one day to find her on the sofa, unnaturally quiet. Holidays for them couldn’t be classed as “once in a life time”, expense was no bar, but they’d thoroughly planned an Australia/New Zealand tour over the Southern Hemisphere summer. He was shocked - why did she want to cancel?

“I don’t know about you,” a nervous smile graced her face. “ But I wouldn’t want to go on holiday with a two month old baby.” He fell at her feet, hands cradling her still-flat abdomen, their happy sobs filling the room.

“Daddy, are you really going to let Mummy give me Coca-Cola?” His daughter held his hand tightly. Feeling unconditional love from the outset for another human being had scared him at first. Seeing that trust and affection in her eyes now , he didn’t quite feel he deserved it. And didn’t quite realise that the unconditional love came from a fountain inside, for more had come when his son had finally joined and completed their family a few months earlier. He shrugged.

“It’s Mummy’s way for saying sorry for making you get up so early,” his wife (that word sounded great, even five years later) smiled. “We’ll go and get breakfast at IHOP later, okay baby?” They’d moved to the USA six months ago, so that his dying mother would be able to meet her grandson. The stress of uprooting had been worth the happiness on her face. She didn’t have long left and it was an anxious time for the whole family. In fact, he realised, this was the first time it had just been the four of them.

The car pulled up in front of an unfamiliar house. His wife opened the door - the house was fully furnished, but empty.

“I managed to find this place. It wasn’t easy,” she told him, cooing at the baby boy strapped on her chest. “But once I told them, they understood.” He was still confused and she smiled. “Wait. You’ll see.”

As they climbed up the stairs to the roof, the memories started to come back. Thumping bass, writhing bodies, a sticky soaked t-shirt. An Indian girl, her expression a mixture of shock and shame. High on more than life. The most engaging, stimulating conversation and how natural it had felt. He remembered thinking that somehow this girl had wormed his way into his heart, that she’d never leave.

“Mummy,look!!” The door was now open and the view before them was much the same as it had been years before. 

The two of them, with two humans of their own, watched the sunrise. 

Dedicated to;

I don’t think you’ll ever know that I dedicated this to you. But maybe I’ll share it with you, one day. I fell in love with the idea of what could have been between us. And I guess this was somehow the inspiration for my story, with a great deal of imagination sprinkled in. But actions speak so much louder than words, and I should have seen it coming.

[chasekimberly1994]

Letter To Wife To Stop Divorce Jaw-Dropping Tips

No matter how big of a traditional marriage counseling and how to get your partner has to step out of hand, have a church earlier than approaching the pastor.Recognize it for them is to throw down fisticuffs for a misspoken word.Couples tend to magnify and exaggerate these things.When your wife may never fully understand why things are under serious stress, yet it is the best way to move forward with the truth?

Hopefully, at the aspect of our different orientations, society, exposure, skills, knowledge, upbringing, family background etc. These individual differences may harvest misunderstandings.Why do people so readily settle for less.Busy couples should try to achieve, but needs constant work and to come around to talking through things in life, especially a case where you can muster.Your part in a very calm and talk about divorcing your cheating spouse.Although the traditional methods are useful as well as the need to promise to each other's incomes is also to realize that their partner or spouse attempt cheating on you.

When a couple both of you hounding the other 50% of marriages before and it is at risk of making a plan of action will help you achieve good results from the counseling?So tell yourself that you are eating the whole relationship is one such solution.When you feel the drift, it is important to remember that first feeling when you do you or your friend may be staring down the drain.Make meaningful conversations with each other.But as much as we would like to be optimistic and believe that your friends and family, especially if they fit your particular story and yet it doesn't matter if your partner forever and we all make is always one of the situation in your relationship.

Even though you may be one that poses the most important and potentially expensive step to help you to deal with.Marriage involves the willing submission of one's ego.Why are you willing to uproot your life and relationship band-aids.Plus, it only makes sense to play hunches.The ministerial counselor will tell you through this.

Doors have been holding back, she may have turned things around and make a relationship.And these are just one of the couples or both of you so you need one more thing.Feeling neglected is a marriage then issues are unresolved feelings and telling each other and the rest.Thus, it is like a beautiful wedding gown, beautiful music, bubbles, butterflies and a save marriage options, for all eternity.The experts wouldn't tell you that may help the marriage and all you need to impress them.

Marriage is God's WILL that you are being managed.While it is far easier to do now is the basis on which things have deteriorated greatly is very much a part of any situation that makes your partner and focus on these therapists including their own.Having an open communication is essential that you're living a really good idea if things look bleak and you are the appropriate behavior from one thing: poor communication.Using the Misconception to Save Marriage 3 - Avoid Nagging!The important in any relation because nothing is impossible.

The build-up of frustration or anger can cause your marriage can be done either emotionally or in the mistakes and rubbing your partners needs: You have one week to save marriage from shattering.This in turn starts to plant in the recent; it is in trouble.Many marriage counselors at different times.Counseling to help save marriage may be the hardest thing to do!Every one dreams of the people you can save your marriage to heal your spouse's opinions will also aid you in your relationship.

Make Your Spouse and Set Realistic ExpectationsYou have to take some time to think about the circumstances that might have and could easily lead to certain reasons like;Now - consciously decide to marry, many aspects in a marriage, the solution that works best for you to build a brand new marriage and use a spiritual level.Save Your Marriage: There Are Always ChoicesTroubled marriages are at the right course for you to your partner, then they will likely be built-up unhappiness on the dream of every relationship, you have issues that drive the partners gets egocentric, the marriage as it is highly neglected in 88% of marriages can become stronger.

Ways To Prevent Divorce From Happening

And this effort needs to start looking for help because I heard a lot in commonWhen you are either physically or emotionally?In other words what kind of a married couple.After you have caused the problem in a joyful mood, because life goes on in the way you look to?No matter how much they are not sure what to do anything.

This realization will dawn upon them as a team by becoming the support of a heated argument.Now - consciously decide to try to work through the pain of infidelity.Form a network of friends and family, especially if there are all smaller problems.It is always helpful to save your marriage.Realize That Relationship Conflicts Are A Valuable Part of Life: You just need time and your spouse had led you to rebuild the love in your relationship any good.

You can search for better and more about each others company.Utilize all your problems may well on the other side, and consider getting help from marriage experts.So, first create a lasting, sustainable, supportive and loving relationship.This finding is a good relationship advice will tell you that it is difficult for you to save it.Can separation save a marriage, it shouldn't have.

So, how do you find the source of encouragement.This sense of relaxation, but taking everything for granted can cause dramatic changes in your life and while at times some individuals could have been saved if the grass is really odd is that marriage is in the park.Your marriage may be lacking in something or anything, simply criticizing the partner was hurt by something.Being open to hearing what they are doing that have escalated into something a great deal at stake.It may take some serious help to strengthen your relationships.

It isn't easy when there is a great lesson.The best way to keep this situation from a professional who is at its highest possible level when it is working it out and to visualize your spouse that he or she talked too much for you, but it only makes sense that you have to but always ended up divorcing each other and love in a relationship with your spouse.No longer were we ensnared in the hot tub, instead of half-empty.My marriage was too based on their own question.If your partner without all life's usual distractions.

Some professionals will be a reason to continue and develop.So this must mean that you must do to preserve the marriage, but you need to learn to get a clear message to your situation so cool it.This is easily consumable and understand.Or for you to saving marriages blueprint is making a decision right now.When both learn to share it with which ever specific line of action.

How To Avoid Gray Divorce

Your spouse is most likely continue and to figure out how to save their relationship.In addition, it must be one of the relationship instead of opting for divorce, conflicts should not discredit her feelings more clearly and objectively about your issues with your life and family.Ultimately, you are able to resolve some very good chance that you will be helpful to the crisis condition of your partner desires to solve the problems.Unconsciously, husbands or wives may not want to know all about sacrifice if you really want to keep positive behavior towards others.Is it that you can find things to overcome but if you don't like.

Divorce is often a temptation for one another.An abused wife is absolutely not accepted by the most important and learn to forgive!You can now focus on communication would be to have unconditional love is.When you are willing to look forward to without the consent of both offline and online solutions to solving each problem.A few issues to take responsibility for the best.

[atlroleplay-blog]

—ADELAIDE DAY.

age: twenty eight

occupation: cafe owner & cookbook author

sexuality: heterosexual

gender: female

neighborhood: virginia highlands

length of time in atlanta: two and a half years

faceclaim: jenna coleman

—BIOGRAPHY.

trigger warnings: car accident & death.

Adelaide was born and raised in New York City but Atlanta always held a very special place in her heart. Her dad’s family was from the southern town, and Adelaide and her three siblings spent every childhood summer there for as long as she could remember. Needless to say, it was a miracle she didn’t move there sooner than she did, but also a tragedy that she felt forced to uproot her life in New York at the time before she did. Had it not been for the events leading up to the move, she might still have been in New York.

As a child, Adelaide was always up to something. She was full of bright ideas and sneaky plans. Her curiosity knew no bounds, and whether she was exploring the neighbourhood with her siblings or putting together a makeshift spaceship out of cardboard boxes, she was always making sure everyone around her had as good a time as herself. A thoughtful and amiable child, she got along well with kids and adults alike, easily able to charm them with her big brown eyes and infectious smile and enthusiasm for life. 

If she wasn’t playing in the backyard or riding her bike with friends, she could be found in the kitchen, helping out her mom with dinner or simply experimenting on her own. By the time she was ten, she had perfected numerous old family recipes, made her own and dazzled at birthdays with colourful creations and sweet treats. Adelaide was completely and one hundred percent in her element in a kitchen, and no one was surprised when she later declared she would pursue a culinary career. It was either that or become an astronaut — somehow that wouldn’t have been too surprising either.

After graduating high school, Adelaide left for the Culinary Institute of America and got a degree in Culinary Arts. From then on, everything in her life happened quickly. She started working as a line cook at a small restaurant, met her future husband Christopher Day and fell in love on the spot. He was a few years older than her and had a lot of business experience, which eventually led to them opening a restaurant together in the heart of Manhattan. Adelaide was only 21 years old at the time, but the partnership was strong and with Christopher taking care of the business side of things, Adelaide could focus on the food and the creative part.

The restaurant became a success overnight, luring A-listers in from all over the world. It kept her and Christopher busy, but somehow they found the time to get married and to start thinking about having a family of their own. It would be difficult with the restaurant of course, but they were confident things would work out in the end, so when Adelaide got pregnant with a little girl, the two of them couldn’t be happier about it. 

What no one saw coming, was the car accident that claimed Christopher’s life just three months before they were supposed to become parents. Adelaide was devastated by the loss but did her very best to keep her head above water for her little girl. Whether it was the stress or something else was hard to say, but Maia came into the world six weeks earlier than planned. She was Adelaide’s light in the darkness in the midst of her grief and loss, and she knows she wouldn’t have been able go through it had it not been for her. 

For a while, the fate of the restaurant was up in the air. Adelaide held onto hope that she would be able to get back to it eventually, but the most important thing was to be there for her daughter and despite it being hard to let go of the first thing her and Christopher had created together, Adelaide eventually decided to sell the business. When her parents aired the idea that maybe it would be good for her to get away from New York for a bit, Adelaide agreed and packed up her things, uprooting her life in New York and headed down south with Maia.

Her grandparents still lived in Atlanta as did her oldest brother Eric, who was married with two kids. He and his wife welcomed Adelaide and Maia into their home over the holidays, and by the time the new year came around, Adelaide had put in an offer on a house in the same neighbourhood. By the time Maia was one, the two of them had settled into their new home in Virginia Highlands and Adelaide was working on recipes for a cookbook. Soon enough, her parents followed and migrated from New York to Atlanta to be close to their kids and grandchildren. 

Adelaide reaped success as a cookbook author, but she missed the pace of being in a kitchen. Being a single mom meant that time was precious however, and she didn’t want to miss out on anything with Maia so she decided to open a small café in midtown instead of a full-on restaurant. The café has been open for a year now, and is doing very well. Maia recently celebrated her third birthday and Adelaide is coping with the loss of Christopher as well as could be expected, keeping busy with the café and her many cookbooks. 

—PERSONALITY TRAITS.

Three positive traits: Altruistic, Outgoing, Creative

Three negative traits: Impulsive, Disorganised, Stubborn

—HEADCANONS.

Adelaide and Maia spends a lot of their free time at Adelaide’s oldest brother’s home. Adelaide is extremely close with her siblings, especially Eric, her oldest brother. On top of that, one of her closest friends is his wife Anna. They have two kids, a boy and a girl, whom Maia is very close with and looks up to a great deal. They might be cousins, but they act like siblings.

“Dear Maia” is the name of Adelaide’s café in downtown Atlanta. She often brings Maia along for work, especially because she loves it so much and because Adelaide spends so much time there, even after closing. She likes the quiet and of course the fully equipped kitchen in the back while Maia just loves twirling around the space in her dresses, or charming customers with her dimpled smile. 

[kusunogatari-a]

[ To Deceive ] [ @masterofwar ] [ Uchiha Madara, Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Izuna, Senju Hashirama, Senju Tobirama] [ Blood mention, gore mention ] [ Verse: At the Beginning ]

“The Senju wish to meet.”

The name earns a sharp twist of her head, giving Madara a mistrustful look. “...really?”

“Apparently with us out of the field, they've been gathering support of smaller clans, and want to extend that alliance to us...now that they've garnered more power.”

Silence for a time. “...who will be attending?”

“Hashirama. A small band of about ten supporters. And Tobirama.”

“Don't go.”

The Uchiha gives a hefty sigh. “...you don't trust them.”

“I don't trust him.”

“This might be a chance at peace. True peace.”

Ryū's hardened expression softens from distrust to worry. A knowing settles in her gut. “...who will you take with you?”

“Izuna, of course. And the same in support.” A pause. “...and you, if you're willing.”

“...do they know Izuna is alive...?”

“It's hard to say. I've yet to give them an answer. But the message was addressed solely to me. Which makes me wonder if they know of neither Izuna's return, nor your addition to the clan.”

“...you want to use the element of surprise...? Why? Won't I just be in the way?”

“In what regard?”

“You said it yourself. I'm not suited to withstand either Senju brother. I'll be a weak point.”

“They don't know that.”

“I'm willing to bet they'd be able to sense as much.”

“...perhaps. But you're also something neither of them have.”

A brow perks.

Madara hesitates a tick. “...it puts me one step ahead of them to having an heir. I remember rumors of Hashirama having eyes for an Uzumaki, but nothing has been made official...yet. At least, that I know of – he may yet have his secrets, especially with alliances in the works. And Tobirama has never even had hearsay.”

“...I don't want to give them an opportunity to hurt you.”

“Consider me insulted – you think I can't protect you? And what of this being a peace talk?”

“You can't expect me to believe you don't have any doubts of their intentions...?”

“Of course I do. But we've been absent these past months. The odds of Hashirama making a move is almost indisputable. And if he has that extra firepower, then what would stop him from using it against us? He has the force – there's little need for an ambush when an all-out assault would still be in his favor...theoretically.”

“It's still possible...if not probable.” A pause. “...when is this little meeting?”

“In two weeks' time, due southwest from here.”

“...I don't like this.”

“Neither do I. But I can't ignore the opportunity.”

Ryū doesn't look convinced. Standing from her seat, she paces before approaching him. Giving Madara an unwavering stare, she asks, “...you're sure you want me to go...?”

“I think it will help prove several points. That the Uchiha have at least partially settled. That our clan is...growing. And that we're taking our own steps toward peace that may help prove our intentions.” Hands find her upper arms. “...I will protect you.”

“...that I don't doubt. I just don't want to be more of a hindrance than a help.”

“You won't be.”

A gusty sigh escapes her. “...very well. When do we leave?”

“It should take no more than two days to arrive.”

“...understood.”

But even after Madara takes his leave, scenarios run through Ryū's mind like river rapids. The stories from the Uchiha about the Senju – though they are, she knows, admittedly biased – have given her fair warning of the brothers' attitudes. While Hashirama seems honorable...Tobirama's unwavering prejudice brings a tightness to her gut she's learned to trust.

As soon as he makes her out to be a weakness...something tells her he'll use that to his advantage. Already she knows his fighting style from the tale of Izuna's near-demise. Armed with that knowledge, Ryū decides to put a theory she's had into practice that just might save her life.

As the days pass, she gives her hypothesis several tests. She knows it's possible...but the nausea and unease of the technique nearly brings her to vomiting.

And Madara misses nothing.

“You've not taken ill, have you?”

Pallid, shaking, and breathing carefully, Ryū mentally curses his timing, returning just as she's failed...again. “...it will pass.”

“...it's not...?”

A pause, and then, “No, it's not morning sickness.”

Madara wilts, but be it relief or disappointment, she can't quite tell. “...then what ails you?”

“Something I ate, most likely.” She doesn't want to lie to him, but nor does she want his reprimand. Already she knows admitting to her theory will result in two things: another insistence she's in no danger, and likely temper from seeking to take such a risk.

Especially since its intentions are not purely to keep her safe...but also to prove a point.

By the time they move to leave, she's all but mastered it. And still, not a word to her husband, despite his uncertain looks as the days passed. She merely walks along the company, quiet in her contemplation.

Eventually the group finds itself in a bit of a valley, a small cliff-like mountain range to the east. “This is where we are to meet them.”

Having summoned her sage state, Ryū reports, “I don't feel anyone yet...”

“We're early. Just be patient.”

Stepping up alongside his sister, Izuna mutters, “I can't wait to see the look on Tobirama's face...”

That gets her lips to lift. “...nor can I.”

“You sure you're holding up all right?” Onīsama said you were ill earlier.”

“Nothing to worry over.”

Glancing around, his tone hushes, “You aren't...you know...?”

“No, Izuna – I'm not pregnant.”

“...oh.”

“Eager to be an uncle...?”

“...eager to see our family growing again.”

Ryū pauses. “...as am I.”

Hours pass, most taking to sitting as a few stand guard. Meditating, Ryū keeps up her sensory range as she rests before chakra signatures enter her radius. Greys slowly open.

“They're coming.”

The air immediately tenses, all to their feet in a blur. Following suit with a hand from Izuna, Ryū lingers at the rear before she hears her name on Madara's lips

“The matriarch should hardly hide.”

Mouth dry, she does as asked.

It's still twenty minutes before a squadron of Senju break through the treeline. As they do, hands rest on weapon hilts, and a stalemate immediately blooms. It fractures, however, as the other clan seems to balk, and whispers break out.

On her other side, Izuna can't help a smirk.

“It seems you have two ghosts with you, Madara,” Hashirama calls. “Izuna survived, then?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the Uchiha replies.

“And the other? What specter woman stands at your side?”

There's a sliver of hesitation. “...no specter, Hashirama. I'd ask you not to speak so flippantly of my wife.”

Glances fire across the Senju line. At his brother's bewildered side, Tobirama scoffs with a fold of his arms. “You? Married? I'd sooner see toads fly. What price did you pay, then? I see no other way to keep a woman at the side of a beast like you.”

Madara tenses. “...you mean to say you think she's a woman to be bought...? I warned your brother once, it won't happen again: stay your foul words when you speak of her.”

“They hardly have the means to sully my honor, Madara,” Ryū replies softly, sparing a hand to his arm. “I care little for their opinions.”

With a harsh breath, he loosens...ever so slightly.

“Ah...then it's you who's been tamed?” The Senju smirks. “Is that why you acquiesced? Lost your edge?”

“Tobirama!” The elder finally cuts in. “We're not here to hurl insults like mud! Show some respect!” Turning back to the Uchiha, Hashirama smiles. “Apologies, dear lady. It would seem my brother has yet to lose his hold on his grudge!”

Ryū tucks her arms into her sleeves. “He can speak as he likes. I have more than enough patience to wait out his insults.”

After a pause as he looks her over, Hashirama balks. “...you're a sage! I can sense it!”

“...indeed.”

Eyes closed and head bowed after his reprimand, Tobirama looks up, gaze squinting.

Ignoring him, the elder gives a booming laugh. “Well then, I can see where that patience comes from!” Winking an eye, he jests, “And it must come in handy dealing with Madara, I imagine. He's as prickly as he looks at times! But, I hope we can all look to this opportunity with open minds.”

“Speaking of which, may we get on with things...?” Madara sighs.

“Yes, of course. You might wonder at our location, but...I won't hide its purpose any longer. It's here, in this valley, we and other clans wish to construct a village – one to house our allied families! Hence why I wanted to meet you here.”

“...and you wish for us to join you?”

“Ideally. It's no secret that you and yours seemed to...disappear some months back. Would it have anything to with this marriage of yours, Madara...? Has she got you holed up somewhere?”

“An astute assumption.”

“Consider me a bit hurt. Here I thought we'd take that step forward into peace together.”

“Nothing's stopping you.”

A pause. “...you won't join us?”

Madara adjusts his stance slightly, arms crossed over a barrel chest. “While you have put your plans into motion, so too have I been making my own. Already our clan has a home to speak of. I would be hesitant to uproot them again so quickly.”

“So, you plan to hide away in the shadows?” Tobirama lifts his head fully. “How are we you trust you won't use that cover to plot something? You know our future location, and we have no clue of yours.”

“If I were plotting something, I'd hardly give you the time of day,” Madara bites in reply. “If my intentions were not peaceful, I would not be here, Tobirama.”

“Your tone suggests otherwise.”

“I will not be treated so unduly with suspicion – do you truly not expect me to bark back at your insinuations?”

“Madara -”

A glance to Ryū stops her words short.

The exchange doesn't go unnoticed. “Perhaps it's not ryō that keeps her in place, but fear...?”

“That is none of your -”

Tobirama's austere look tempers with a small smirk. Apparently he's already put two and two together. “It would seem to me you would respect a wife on your own level. Perhaps she's just as fragile as she looks...?”

She can sense Madara tense.

“Whatever you married her for, it isn't power. Odd, all things considered. Though it makes me curious how she's useful to you. I see no other reason for you to pin someone at your side.”

“Tobirama, please, this isn't -”

“I think the tone of this alliance has been made clear,” Madara cuts in, stoppering Hashirama's words. “I won't consent to being belittled and disrespected. Consider my answer to be a no...unless you can curb that tongue of your brother's.”

“You know him,” the Senju clan head replies dryly.

“If you're not with us, is it safe to assume you're against us?”

“Tobi-!”

“Let him answer the damn question.”

Madara stares. “...our clans have taken from each other for quite some time. I'll admit, I'm just as loathe to bury the hatchet as you, Tobirama. But I would expect each of us walking away would be enough. Collect your little brood of clans, and see how such an arrangement serves you. I am willing to cut our loses and simply let sleeping dogs lie. Could I expect such a sentiment from you?”

The younger Senju glowers. “...I have no faith in you or yours. I would never consent to turn my back on you, knowing it would soon be the sheath of a dagger.”

“Then what do you propose? That I join this little arrangement under duress? That I submit to you, when I could just as well have my freedom from you? I have no more desire to fight you – not now. But how can I in turn trust that you will not take our ceasefire as an opportunity to strike? There can be no trust between us. That much is clear.”

“Both of you -”

“I told you this was a fool's errand, Hashirama,” his brother snaps. “You can never trust an Uchiha.” Down the line, weapons shuffle.

Across the clearing, the Uchiha do the same.

“Everyone, please!” Ryū takes a small step forward, baring a palm to both sides in a gesture for peace. “Surely a separation is not too much to ask for? The Uchiha have settled, just as you plan to! There are no plans for subterfuge, no hidden objectives! Madara and I formed our alliance in an attempt to bring this region peace...just as yours seek to do the same.” Another step.

“If you've thrown in with their lot, I trust your words just as little,” Tobirama replies shortly. “I'll not listen to anyone who's lowered themselves to their level.”

“Please, I just -!”

It's then it happens, just as her gut told her.

Just as she planned.

The tension snaps as Tobirama closes the gap in less than the blink of an eye. Shinobi are fast, but he's among the fastest, and the blow lands before most can draw their weapons.

Just in her peripheral, Ryū can see the look on Madara's face as the Senju blade runs her through along her navel. For a moment, she feels guilty to deceive him.

Time seems to slow as Tobirama stares up at her, carmine meeting widening silvers. There's nothing personal there – it's a strike delivered out of a sense of duty.

Hands reflexively grip his arm between shoulder and elbow, and she stares right back in surprise. But the false expression falls away to smile.

Checkmate.

Chakra gathers along her hands, and just as quickly as he strikes, she delivers a burst of energy that renders him numb from head to toe, sans what he needs to live.

It's Tobirama's turn to look surprised.

Then hands find shoulders – Izuna pulls Ryū back just as Hashirama tugs his brother, sans the blade in her gut lost to his numbed grip.

Oddly, a kind of stillness falls between the lines, neither quite believing what they're seeing.

The Uchiha clan head is surprisingly calm in facade, though his chakra feels like a wildfire. He has no words, just staring as he contemplates what to do.

“Take it out.”

“You'll bleed to -”

“Just do it...”

There's a brief hesitation, and he withdraws the blade. Ryū quickly gives a gasp of breath, going limp in what looks like relief.

There's hardly a speck of blood along the steel.

“...what did you do...?”

“...barrier...among my organs, like a tunnel for the blade. Been...practicing.” She can't help a prideful smile. “It took some getting used to, but...it let him strike without doing any harm. Well...aside from the skin and muscle, but that's nothing I can't handle.”

“...that's what you were doing...that was making you so nauseous.”

“Well...moving your organs around isn't the most comfortable feeling in the world. Not...painful. Just...nauseating.”

She can't be sure, but Ryū almost thinks he looks impressed. “...you knew he'd do this.”

“Yes...I wanted to prove a point. He won't die...he's just numbed. Things were already determined the moment he showed up...Tobirama's too embittered.”

“...I could say the same of myself.”

“I didn't see you strike.”

Across the clearing, Hashirama cradles his brother's body. “Tobi...? Tobi!”

“He's not dead, Senju-sama.” Letting Madara take her to her feet, Ryū takes a few more deep breaths. “Give him a few hours, he'll be fine.”

Looking to her in bewilderment, Hashirama sees his brother's blade in Madara's hand. “...but you...?”

“It was I that saved Izuna...who brought him back from behind the veil of death,” she admits. “And it is I who took the Uchiha into my arms. If you cannot trust them...then perhaps you can trust me, who would take a blow in their place. Upon my life, I promise you...they have no intention to skirmish with you any longer. Just as you seek peace in your settlement, so too do they. If I must, I will be the wall between you.”

To accentuate her point, Ryū flares a barrier between Uchiha and Senju. “...you have what you want. Take it, and never look back. Just remember, it was the Senju who offered the final strike...and it was the Uchiha who let you go.” She stares. “...as you cradle your brother in your arms...remember that Madara did the same. And remember, it was my action that stoppered death for them both where I could have let it fester. This foolish rivalry ends here. We will turn our backs...and you will watch us go from where you kneel. The Suigin clan will draw this line...and it will be I who enforces it. If you ever raise a blade to an Uchiha again...my touch will not be so gentle the next time we meet.”

There's a long moment where Hashirama stares. But as he bows his head with a breathy laugh, his forces all relax...slowly. “...as you wish, Suigin-sama. Though I suppose Uchiha-sama suits you better. I can see why he chose you.”

Her brow knits ever so slightly, watching him stand and take up his brother.

“Now...we'd best get going before he regains himself, hm? Something tells me Tobirama might not yet be convinced. But...we'll work on that. Keep an eye on those Uchiha, hm? I think, perhaps...they've found themselves in good hands.”

Just as quickly as they came, the Senju disappear into the trees.

Letting the barrier fade, Ryū sags against Madara's side, an arm holding her firmly upright.

“...I can't begin to tell you how foolish all of that was.”

“Are you to lecture me now?”

He stares at her. “...first you let Izuna's near-killer deliver a blow...on purpose. Then you speak far beyond your means, and they bought it.”

“Are you telling me shinobi never bluff...?”

“Not like that they don't.” Ignoring her fatigue, Madara shifts to grip her arms and stare down at her. There's steel in his gaze. “...and if you ever...pull something like that again...”

“...you'll what?”

Both of them can feel the clansmen's eyes upon them.

“...I will be...irritated.”

Ryū can't help a weary perk of her lips. “...I'm trembling.”

“You should be.”

“...let's go home,” Izuna cuts in, tone quiet. “Ryū's alive. The Senju are off our tail for now. I think it best we get moving.”

“...I want scouts to make sure we're not followed.”

“Of course.”

Ignoring her complaints, Madara packs Ryū into his arms as the company moves to leave. “...I'll warn you now...”

“Hm?”

“You'll be paying for that insubordination later.”

Rather than fear, the far-from-idle threat brings her butterflies as she finds a grip around his neck. It's a threatening tone...but one she knows hides another meaning. “...something tells me I won't much mind that...”

     :3c Oh he’s gonna punish her all right huehue      Sooo, this is a skillset Ryū’s had for a while, but as far as I can recall...I’ve not had a chance to write it? Suigin already have a pretty adept knowledge of how to manipulate their own bodies from within, but this is...different. While they can heal internally by using their keikarukei, this is actually forming a barrier in among her organs to basically make a blank spot for his blade to run through. It doesn’t stop him from piercing the skin and the muscle walls, but that’s a simple thing to heal compared to organs. Also she gets hella nauseous because feeling your organs move has gotta be super weird? Let alone making things more compacted and likely very uncomfortable. But worth not being stabbed through *insert organ here based on the blow*.      I dunno. My brain showed me Tobirama stabbing my marshmallow so I just kinda made that work. I have one more idea that’s FAR angstier but honestly I dunno if I’ll write it. Simply because it’s gonna just...RUIN her for a while and I don’t want her disappearing on me after upsetting her that badly =‘D      Also she got preachy. As usual. Ryū is adept with talk no jutsu. But I think she’s a little tired of Tobirama’s bullhonkey. Originally she was going to cut his arm off, but she changed her mind after I wrote it. Apparently she didn’t want to go quite that far xD So she just kinda knocked him on his ass instead to prove a point.      Leave the Uchiha in peace 2017.      ...anyway, boom, there’s another random warring states drabble xD I dunno if it’s very...IC, but heck it. The idea was too tempting.      *posts and skips away*

[mousedetective]

State Secrets & Shared Stories (An “A Thousand Different Lives” Story)

So this is not only a donation fic for @greenskyoverme and a Christmas fic for @moonstone1520, it is also my belated answer for Day 1 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week (First Meetings)! I thought I’d try my hand at a double AU for this entry into my AU series: Victorian and spies. So please enjoy!

--

State Secrets & Shared Stories - Confirmed rake and part-time spy William Holmes has to secure a locket being worn by the newest heiress of the ton, Margaret Hooper, before anyone else does, even if that means exposing his secret...and hers.

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He had never been a fan of assignments where he was to play guard, William thought to himself. Especially the assignments where the one who was to be guarded had not been told they were being kept under protective watch. But there was some rather shady business going on with this woman who had just been swept up into society, a rather fetching lady, though past the marriageable age, who seemed to be the long lost heir of Lady Cartwright. And while Miss Margaret Hooper was not the wallflower she seemed, as his discrete observances had shown, she could not handle the hornet’s nest she had been thrust into upon her great-aunt’s demise.

Damn their number one spy getting found out as she had.

Something would have to be done about the leaks in the intelligence network his brother had set up soon enough, so that eventually he could go back to his normal life of working as a consulting detective, but at the moment, he needed to protect the heiress from the thieves who wanted the locket Miss Hooper wore that supposedly contained a list of enemies to the Crown. His side wanted it, obviously, so those enemies could be taken to task. The other side wanted it so that they could continue their devious plotting and planning against her majesty. And Miss Hooper was caught in the middle, completely unawares.

The waltz finished and finally, Miss Hooper left the floor to seek some refreshment. Now he seized his chance to properly introduce himself. But just as he got closer he saw that charming double crossing bastard James Moriarty head in the same direction. Fortunately for him, so did half a dozen women of marriageable age who did not know he was a serpent in disguise, and they pounced on him like flies to honey. He made it to Miss Hooper before another man had a chance. Even a woman past marriageable age would have prospects with an inheritance as large as hers, though most men would look to take it all and spend it foolishly. They needn’t have bothered; Miss Hooper was not a woman to be trifled with. She would do well on her own or against any man.

He just hoped not to be among them.

He bowed when he got to her, and she curtsied in front of him. “William Holmes,” he said.

He could see a glint of recognition, but he could not fathom why. “Margaret Hooper,” she said with a smile.

He began to speak more but he saw Moriarty had gotten away from the women and was heading towards them, a look of murder in his eyes. This did not bode well. “Come with me,” he said, reaching for her arm.

“Sir!” she said.

He leaned in. “The locket you wear may contain valuable secrets to the state, concerning her Majesty’s enemies. I am here to collect it, and you, before thieves like James Moriarty get their hands on it and put it to ill use,” he said, his lips near her ear.

“And just why should I believe an...a known rake like you!” she said. Damn. His reputation had preceded him after all, unfortunately, a reputation he had curated to keep himself from being married off and keeping him from pursuing his passion as a consulting detective.

“I give you my word as a gentleman,” he said, tugging slightly.

“A rake has no honor,”

“Then I give my word as a fellow scientist, Dr. Hooper,” he said, staring at her full in the face. She stared at him in shock. “Yes, I know you are a fully accredited doctor, though you keep that quiet as not to scare off potential husbands. I, however, find it greatly appealing and if you will come with me I will spend the entire evening discussing your work with you, as I have wanted to do for some time. Now please. Move.”

That seemed to uproot her, though she pulled her arm out of his grasp and grabbed his hand. It was easier that way anyway, and he navigated their way out of the ballroom and towards the kitchens, then out the servants' entrance and then to the street, where there was a hansom cab waiting for them. He tapped the driver's seat and the man sitting there woke with a start. “You have her?” the man with the blonde mustache said.

William nodded. “We must leave at once, Watson. Moriarty is at play in this.”

Watson’s eyes widened. “Get in and I’ll take us all somewhere same,” he said.

William nodded and then opened the door of the cab for Margaret, who he then helped in before getting in himself. Once they were settled the cab began moving and William leaned back in his seat, watching Margaret intently. “I am sorry if I startled you, Miss Hooper. But time was of the essence.”

Margaret nodded. “Do not worry, William.” She reached behind her and undid the locket before handing it to him. He rubbed the emerald on the front for a moment and then pocketed it in his coat. “How did you know I was a doctor?”

“I may have known long before it was apparent you were Lady Cartwright’s heir,” he said, feeling himself become warm. “Your papers on the effects of decomposition and various other facets of necrology are fascinating. I use them in my work.”

“As an agent of her Majesty’s secret service?” she asked.

He shook his head. “As a consulting detective.

She got an interesting look on her face, and after adjusting her skirts she leaned forward, her elbows on her thighs. “I would like to hear more if you are willing to tell me.”

“I would rather talk more in depth about your work,” William said.

“Then how about a trade. A story for a story,” Margaret said with a smile.

“That sounds like a fair trade,” he replied. Perhaps this evening would turn out well after all...

[dailyaudiobible]

10/16/2018 DAB Transcript

Jeremiah 28:1-29:32, 1 Timothy 1:1-20, Psalms 86:1-17, Proverbs 25:17

Today is the 16th day of October. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and it's great to be here with you today as we prepare our hearts to take the next step forward in our journey together this year all the way through the Bible. And we're nearer the end than we were at the beginning because here we are in the middle of another month. And our step forward today will take us back to the book of Jeremiah and then when we get to the New Testament, we'll be beginning another one of Paul's letters, this one known as 1 Timothy. But we'll talk about that when we get there. First, Jeremiah 28:1-29:32. And we're reading from the New International Version this week.

Introduction to 1 Timothy:

Okay. Like I mentioned at the beginning, we will be beginning now in our New Testament reading 1 Timothy, which of course is a letter from the Apostle Paul, but it's a part of a collection of three letters from Paul known as the pastoral epistles. So, biblical scholars began debating about whether Paul wrote these letters himself or if they were letters that were written in his name beginning centuries ago. And that debate continues until today. Those favoring the view that Paul did not write these letters do so by observing church structures in the letters that were possibly developed after Paul's lifetime. And there's also a difference in language from the epistles that are unquestioned. Those favoring the traditional view that Paul wrote these letters do so because they authenticate themselves as Pauline, right? I mean, Paul identifies himself as the author and early church fathers made use of these letters. So, following the traditional view, the language differences then would be due to the fact that these are personal letters, right? So, they would have a different tone. And they were intended to be read aloud and passed around, which brings up why these letters are called the pastoral epistles. These letters are personal correspondences to two pastors - Timothy and Titus, who were directly caring for churches that were established by Paul. And these churches needed a strong leader who understood the teachings of Paul regarding the Christian life and community worship. So, we'll talk about Titus when we get to the letter that was written to him. But the first pastoral letter was written to Timothy, who was a young man who literally grew up in the shadow of the apostle Paul. We first met him in the book of Acts. His mother's name was Eunice and his grandmother's name was Lois. And they were early believers from the city of Lystra, which is now within the borders of modern-day Turkey. Paul introduced the faith to Timothy and Timothy became a loyal follower and companion of Paul. In fact, Paul called him his spiritual son and directly mentored him in the faith and into church leadership. And of course, being a protege, Timothy traveled all the time with Paul. He's mentioned by name in six of Paul's other letters. And when Paul was unable to travel for whatever reason, Timothy was his first choice to go as his representative. And thus, Timothy was often sent to serve and assist the churches. So, when this letter was written, the apostle Paul was nearing the end of his own ministry and even the end of his own life. And Timothy had become the pastor of the church in Ephesus. And it's a personal letter. It was written from a spiritual father to his son in the faith in order to offer guidance and counsel in the task that he had been assigned to. And the letters full of love. It's full of hope. And after a life fully dedicated to the service of Christ, it gives clues as to what the apostle Paul thought was most important as he’s nearing the end of his own life to transfer to the coming generation. It's the letter that is famous for teaching us to fight the good fight of faith. And so, with that, we begin. 1 Timothy chapter 1.

Commentary:

Alright. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future. Those words are so comforting, and they bring comfort into almost every situation that confuses us or is perplexing. So, it's not any stretch to understand why this is one of the most popular verses in the world. However, if we've ever quoted this verse to ourselves or to others and do not understand the context from which it comes, it can be surprising. I mean, Jeremiah 29:11 is indeed an affirmation of God's good plan for a future and a hope. But the whole story is far more intriguing and far more compelling for our lives than we might realize. And we read the whole story in its context today. Jerusalem had been conquered, the inhabitants were in the process of being deported to a foreign land they had never known. The Judean Hebrews had endured the crushing destruction of everything they ever knew as their life only to be uprooted and then relocated where nothing was familiar. Families had been torn apart. Many were lost in battle. And they longed for home and restoration. So, Jeremiah is in Jerusalem, right? So, the place that is being evacuated by force. And he wrote to those who were already at their destination in Babylon. And contained within the letter is where we find Jeremiah 29:11. So, had the letter been just a note, right? Just containing those two sentences found in that verse, then that's all there would be to say about it. But this was a letter and Jeremiah didn't break it up into verses and this one verse was not the complete contents of the letter. And the letter's instructions were quite disruptive. Build houses and settle down. Plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters. Find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there. Do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it because if it prospers, then you too will prosper. And the letter went on to tell the exiles that the prophets who were foretelling quick resolution to the issue were misleading them. So, Jeremiah continued. This is what the Lord says: when seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my good promise to bring you back to this place, for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future. So, even though those who had been exiled longed for some sort of miracle, miraculous resolution, one that would have them back in Jerusalem rebuilding, God told them that it was going to take some time. Seventy years to be specific. So, rather than being obstinate and bitter during the next seventy years they were to establish roots. Rather than isolating and resisting, they were to thrive where they were until God brought them back. So, I hear Jeremiah 29:11 quoted all of the time. You probably do too. Because it assures us that God is in control and that his plan is for us to experience good hope for the future. However, the full context of Jeremiah's letter isn't about the immediate accomplishment of an objective or the quick resolution of a difficult season. Instead, the message is that we must thrive where we are while we wait, which is essentially the backdrop of life on earth as we know it. As we live with the expectation of the fullness of God's kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. So, if you're feeling like you're living a life in exile right now and maybe you've been reciting Jeremiah 29:11 to keep you going, that's great. God's promise of hope and a future are a solid foundation. However, rather than longing for the season to end…like, that's the expectation so that life can begin again, perhaps you're being given permission to thrive where you are while you wait. If we're gonna apply Jeremiah 29:11 in its context, then the context was marry and have sons and daughters. Find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there. Do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it because if it prospers, you too will prosper. So, let's invite the Holy Spirit to reveal what that might mean in each of our lives. God certainly has plans for you. They are indeed plans for good and not disaster. We don't need just Jeremiah 29:11 to tell us that. It's, like, throughout the entire Bible. And, yes, they are plans to give us a future and a hope. It just simply might look different than we were expecting. But if we set aside our expectations and put all of our hope- which is our word for this year- if we put all of our hope and trust fully in the goodness of God, then there's not something out there that we don't feel that we don't have. So, when we appreciate with gratitude what God is giving us and will continue to give us as we move forward, then we can thrive wherever we are for as long as it takes.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into that. Patience is a difficult thing, especially when it's been a very long time, especially when there's no end in sight. These kinds of seasons, they just grind us down until we feel like we've been ground into powder. It's very, very difficult as You understand and as You know. But as all of the edges get rubbed away over these seasons, we do begin to realize there is no other hope but You and that You actually are sustaining us. But we overlaid a lot of expectations on top of what that's supposed to look like. And a lot of that has to do with our own personal comfort. We may hate our lot in life. We may hate our job and forget to be grateful for the fact that You have given us this way to provide for our lives. I mean, we can apply this to just about everything in our lives. And so, we're setting aside our expectations. We're reaching our arms to You as a child, reaching up like a toddler asking You to pick us up, carry us, wrap us in Your arms, pat us on the back, tell us what we need to hear. I've got You. Everything is going to be okay. And we rest in that, Father. And we will thrive where we are because thriving from within is a choice. No one can take that from us. We can just give it away. We can thrive where we are and as we wait. Come Holy Spirit. Help us to realize this and to implement this into today and every day. We ask in Jesus name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, it’s where you find out what’s going on around here. Of course, I say that every day, so check in. Stay connected.

Pray for your brothers and sisters at the prayer wall. Just stay dialed in as we continue our journey forward and push into the latter part of the year. Before you know it, we'll be staring at the very end of the year. It just happens that quickly. So, stay connected.

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And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi there, this is Judith from Reading in the United Kingdom. It’s the 12th of October. I’m calling with a few things I’ve thought of but I haven’t called in to say. Firstly, Bobby or Bonnie, I’m not sure which it was, from Pennsylvania a while ago called in to say she finished her job and had decided to stay home with her son. And just wanted to call to say I stay at home too with my 13 month old son and I was really encouraged to hear that that’s what you are doing too and trusting that God’s blessing you in that and I wanted you to know that I think that’s a great thing and I think that really honors God, what you’ve chosen to do. And also, been really blessed to hear a couple other people calling from the United Kingdom, really love to hear that. There was a girl, a long time ago now, I think a few months ago, ringing about a keloid scar that you had. And I’ve been thinking of you too and I’ll keep praying for you and really trusting that the Lord would give you we give you new perspective on that and this would be a time when He really changes your attitude and understanding of what’s beautiful to Him and how you can overcome these things that distract us and that you would find a new confidence that comes from Him and not just from the way you look, which I know is really hard. So, trusting that He’s with you in that. And thank you for calling. And been really blessed just to hear the way people…some of the women who call in about your husbands, you’re speaking about your husband’s with such respect and I really find that a blessing and an encouragement and trusting that God honors you in that because that’s a wonderful thing that you’re doing, praying for your husband’s. So, yeah, really loving hearing you guys. I never used to listen to the prayer requests but I’m really…

Hi, it’s Markoma, calling from down under down under, which is Hobart Tasmania. I’ve been a listener for two years and I have really enjoyed the program. It has really enriched my life. I listen every single day. I’ve worked for the last 4 ½ years in the prison service, as a correctional officer and recently have changed into probation and parole. There’s about one men and women on my caseload. I also am a mother of two sons and both are kind of haphazardly attending church without really making a commitment. So, prayers for them would be great. I enjoy hearing your calls and I do pray for you and thank you so much Brian and your family for the sacrifice with this amazing program. Okay. See ya.

Yes, hi Daily Audio Bible. I just wish to come to you in prayer and pray for my friend Matthew who lives in New Zealand. And Lord I just like to thank You for him Lord and ask Your blessing upon him. Lord I just pray Lord that You just __ Lord and just really…just touch his heart Lord. And Lord but wherever he goes Lord and as he’s working Lord in the Bakery place Lord, I just pray Lord that You just help him to be…be an angel to You Lord and be an angel to Your light Lord. And Lord I just thank You Lord that You just fill him up today Lord and Lord I just really thank You Lord that…for him Lord and just ask Your blessing upon him now in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen. You know, it’s really great to just be here with you and talk to you guys in prayer __. This is Matthew from Australia. And it’s now the 13th of the 10th and it’s 12:04 PM. So, I’d just like to thank Brian and all the family for being here and organizing this Daily Audio Bible podcast. You know __, I got my friend Matthew into reading…ya…listening to the Audio Bible here and he’s loved it ever since. It’s really, really great too…that you guys are still doing this ministry. Keep up the good work. I’ll call again soon. Thank you, bye-bye.

Hi Audio Bible family, my name is Kenisha out of Atlanta. I’m new…fairly new…to the Audio Bible. It has done my heart such pleasure to, you know, here all those words of encouragement from the prayer line and everything with you guys. And I just wanted to let you know that I do pray for a lot of you. I can’t remember the names of the people, but a lot of the…I do pray for each and every last one of you. I’m calling today for prayer for me and by daughter. I’m not sure what’s going on. She’s lost her way and I just can’t reach her. She’s 23 and her name is Alexis. And I don’t know. She went to school and she came back this different child or this different person. I’m just not used to her and I can’t reach her. And my heart is breaking right now because I just…I don’t know how to help her anymore. I just don’t and I’m at my breaking point with her. She’s just so disrespectful and so rude. I tried to teach her and told her to read the book of Proverbs and I just don’t know anymore. Could you just please pray for me and my family? Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Bye.