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oneshotnewbie · 1 year

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Can you a 'twoshot' out of the oneshot where Maya and Reader get into a fight and Reader runs off? Please please please I love the big sympathic and genius brain of yours ❤️

A/n: This is not proof read whatsoever because I am really exhausted of the week. Also it is a bit longer then expected because I got carried away. I still hope you like it ♥

---

In the rage you were about to sink into, you thoughtlessly headed for an old bar where you´d often spent your time when you needed to blow off steam for whatever reason. This, was on the outskirts of Seattle, on a connecting road to the next town; a perfect and quiet place where no one would try to look for you.

Unlike other places of this type, it was extremely quiet in this place.

Silence affected people differently; some loved it and others felt uncomfortable or even afraid of it. But you enjoyed the absence of annoying everyday noises and the kindling of silence, tranquility and peace.

While you sat at the bar and waited for your beer, you let the impressions of this place work on you. All the images, the soft sounds of the old music box and the sensations. Everything that people left behind had accumulated on the walls over the years. People may not have realized how much of themselves they leave in placed they visit- sadness, joy, pain, anger, fear, insecurity.. All this was buried deep in the walls, decorated and covered with dull light.

And you, too, did your share of these emotions today.

"Is the seat next to you still free?" a bit frightened, you turned your head to the female voice and your eyes immediately catch blue eyes which nevertheless shone like ice water in the stuffy and smoky air. "Yes, of course. Have a seat."

Filled with initially growing uncertainty, she perched on the stool beside you and as soon as she found a reasonably comfortable position, waved to a bartender. Besides you, she was the only female along all the men in this bar. "What can I get you?"

"An Asti Pink for me and a whiskey for the lady here." She winked at you, a smile lit the pretty face as she casually rested her elbows on the bar and stroked her shoulder-length, black curls. The black tank top, that she was wearing, riding up thereby revealing a black spot on her side; about a level with her hip bone. Just visible enough to make you curious.

It appeared to be writing, but you could not make it out in the darkened atmosphere. Before you had a chance to inspect it further, she turned back to you, sliding over the drink she ordered you earlier and you looked up, caught, letting the blood thaw and flush in your cheeks. Her lips formed into a wide smile. "Like what you see?"

You swallowed hard and fled your gaze in another direction; one of your hands digging behind your neck while your other hand reached out for the cool crystal glass that held your drink. "Thank you, but I don´t usually drink.."

"Honey, by the looks of you, you´ve had a rough day. And if you´ve had a hard day, you have to drink something hard too." she interrupted you and you just nodded, pouring the first sip into your body.

---

It was already after midnight when Carina and Maya were still awake, trying to determine your whereabouts. Silently, they were across from each other; Carina sitting at the dining table, playing around on their cell phone, texting and calling any of your friends and family asking if you´d came to their place.

But everyone denied it, even Andy, who they were hundred percent sure you would show up there sooner or later. "Thank you, Andy. Please call us and let us know if you hear anything from her."

"Nothing?" asked the blonde with trembling hands as the brunette angrily threw her phone on the wooden table. She was nervous, sick with fear and worry.

Restless, she walked in small circles between the kitchen and living room. She knew that you were a grown woman who could take care of herself but as a Captain of the fire brigade, she knew about the sick world out there and that it could get extremely dangerous.

"She´s not with Vic, not with Andy. She´s not with the boys and neither with the girls at Grey Sloan. Nobody saw her!" Carina shook her head grumpily and did not dare to look at her girlfriend, still deeply angry about the blonde´s behavior. "Why can´t you at least think one time before you act?"

Carina sighed as she sat desperately in the dark, only a small light from the lantern in front of the apartment encased the room, pinching the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger, feeling the stabbing pulse of her headache behind her eyes.

The Italian was waiting for your return, stroking her curls thoughtfully, not sure where else to look for you; there were no sign of your whereabouts. No one had heard from you and the worst thoughts were rattling in her head. "Do we call the police?"

"There is nothing they can do, babe. She is old enough and gone less than 24 hours. They would not even file a missing persons report."

"So we just sit here and do nothing, hoping she shows up again?" the brunette yelled desperately, completely frustrated and tired only to get a nod in return. She began to nervously fiddling with the clasp of her watch.

"Sei serio? Sembra fantastico." (Are you serious? Great!)

---

You were pulled onto the small dance floor by Cassy, your new acquaintance, and giggled as she showed off her drunken, nonexistent dancing skills. Soft music that didn´t invited to dance hummed through the pub, the lights were dimmed and embellished with a few LED´s, and at the bar the same bartender was still mixing drinks as desired.

"Come on, pretty woman. Swing your body and dance with me" she said loudly and a charming smile touched her lips which curled around the straw of her cocktail. You scrutinized her, her black hair falling in her face as she fixed you with her brown eyes.

Cassy came back to you, a grin curling her lips as she danced around you, sliding her index finger tenderly over your shoulder as she leaned towards you from behind, whispering in your ear. "C´mon, Y/n. Let´s have fun" she pronounces your name like it´s something special and even though you did not know her, you were attracted to her; so familiar and yet a total stranger.

A shiver run through you; her hot breath on your ear giving you goosebumps. She pulls you closer by the hips and aims to provocatively rotate her hips on your back. You absorb every shift as she moves gracefully to the music. Her hip swing must be from another planet; so erotic, so secy and just plain inciting.

The black-haired had turned you around skillfully, her front pressing against yours. Again, she let her hands wander; over your shoulders, down your waist to your hips and bridges the last gap between you. She stretched out her hand to your face; her thumb gliding delicately over your cheeks while her eyes seemed to study your face.

Cassy´s face was approaching an immoral level and you tensed up as your thoughts led you to what you were about to do; suddenly remembering your two wives, who were probably sitting at home sick with worry, hoping for your return. You were a faithful soul, you would not allow yourself to make such a huge mistake to cheat on them; for the three of you it was clear from the start that the first misstep would lead to separation.

And you did not want to risk that. You loved Maya and Carina too much, even more than yourself, to hurt them that badly just because of a little accident from the firefighter, who took her bad temper out on you. "Cassie.. we should not be doing this."

"For what reason? You´re young, have some fun." she whispered, taking another sip of her drink while placing her free hand on your hip; her face moving to the crook of your neck to place soft kisses on your tensed skin. You shook your head and pushed her slightly away from you to meet her eyes. "I have a wife at home.. two to be honest. And I am happy with them."

The black-haired looked at you in dismay, her eyes wide and her pupils dilated from all the alcohol coursing through her blood. "If you´re so happy, why did you end up here on your own?"

Silence reigned on your side. Even though you knew that exact answer to that question, you were not able to answer it; no words passed through your lips. You stare at her briefly, barely able to take your eyes off her as you want to leave without saying goodbye. But she grabs your arms and you turn back to her. "Here, in case you change your mind."

You stared at the napkin she held out to you, probably stuck in her pocket for a few hours, with her number on it. Hesitantly, you too the piece of paper with you, stowed it in one of your jacket pockets, which was placed over your arm and disappeared from the bar.

You just wanted to go home, back to your wives.

---

Maya stood at the open window of their shared apartment and breathed the cold air of the night deep into her lungs. Darkness enveloped all of Seattle and the only light that wrapped the room was the faint glow of the street laps. Only a few cars were on the road and they drove carefully on the narrow streets. There was hardly a person to be seen at the roadside.

Lost in her deepest thoughts, she ignored the creaking of the lock on the front door and your figured fitted across the hall. You were unsure whether what you were doing her was right and whether you were still welcomed at all.

You had no idea what time it was, but what you did know was that you were wet to the bone, freezing and shaking non-stop. On top of that, your head started pounding and you felt like shit.

"She´s finally back" the brown-haired reported and jumped up from her seat. She walked out of the living room and saw you standing in front of her, completely soaked. "Y/n, we were so worried" she whispered happily and hugged you tightly.

Astonished, the blonde looked at the young woman in front of her and you lowered your head so as not to have to meet her eyes. Maya almost whispered a soft ´hi´ and your face showed absolute surprise at her gentle manner, your point of view pulling up and meeting hers. Unsure, the blonde looked at you and for a split second the world seemed to stand still, blue and your eyes tied an invisible bond.

"Are you okay?" Carina´s hand went to your chin, forcing you to look at her. All you could see in her soft, brown eyes was pain, fear, anger and desperation. Wordlessly, you took her hand and entangled your fingers with hers. "Where have you been, bella?"

"I was in a bar and I met someone.." You started to whisper, having a hard time saying the words out loud because they amounted to nothing but the truth. You pulled the wet paper out of your jacket pocket, on which the writing was almost impossible to read. You held it between your fingers for a few seconds, bit your lip and exhaled deeply, replaying the experience of the past hours in your mind. "There was a woman. We drank, we danced.. This is her number"

You looked back at the blonde who had not moved an inch from her place in the living room. You could not tell what she was thinking and how she was feeling at that moment. Only that her eyes started to glitter in the dull light and her chin started to twitch with nervousness. "Do you..?"

"Kissed her? Made out with her? Slept with her?" your question was addressed to Maya, who dared to quietly ask the question that was burning in her heart. "No. I could not, never would. I love you both too much to hurt you like that."

Maya´s tearful eyes closed automatically of relief.

She bridged the last centimeters between you. Her lips were warm and soft and when they touched yours, it was like a horde of butterflies were flying around your stomach, making your anger at her go away instantly. The blonde was so worried about you and just needed this closeness now, had placed her hands on your neck and pulled you even closer.

"I am sorry. I should have asked how you are and should not have taken my mood out on you. God, I should not have used your past to hurt you." Maya´s hands fell on your hips, gently pressing her fingers into your sides. Carina, who quietly stood aside so that you could talk, moved onto your spine and drew circles on it, letting you shuddering under her touch. "But please, promise us to never do this again. Please do not just leave without any way to get in contact to you, not knowing where you are"

A small grin was unavoidable and you laid your head on her chest, letting Maya resting her head in the crook of your neck. Soft kisses covered the thin skin of yours and made your eyes droop. "I promise"

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devil-in-the-details-ay · 6 months

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"So, the Maldives, Bahamas, or Greece?" Astaroth’s lips caressed the curve of his wife's ear to ask her preference of honeymoon destinations after he teleported them from Lucifer’s outer office to their living room. "Or would you like me to create our own private island? Clothing optional, just my staff," he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back flush against him gently, "no one to disturb us until we are ready to deal with people." He kissed the curve where her neck and shoulder joined, inhaling her soft scent. "All the time in the world to get to know each other."

"You're trying to distract me from that visit, Asti." Yara’s voice was breathy as the attention he was paying her began to affect her. "And you are doing a good job of it, maybe too good." She let her head relax back against his shoulder, bringing her arms to rest over his. His type of distraction was one she would welcome, happily.

"My beautiful Papilio, I have multiple goals. Distraction is but one of them." His voice lowered in volume and timber. "This trip will not only be one of discovery about one another, but also a time for you to become confident in all that you are to me."

"I am to you?" Yara didn't move. She was suddenly confused and wondered if she had missed something, or was misunderstanding him. Obviously she was his wife, he was obviously seducing her, and they were working towards something like friends or partners, but was there more?

“Wife, partner, very skilled apprentice it seemed,” each word was followed by a kiss upon the soft skin of her neck, the last one delivered with a devious smile upon his lips as well. “Hopefully, eventual lover.” Astaroth pulled her tighter against him, leaving no doubt as to his attraction to her. He knew he could have been more demanding and forceful; but seduction was more his style to begin with, and since they were now bound, it behooved him to make her desire him rather than force a thing. “I am sure that you will become more as the days pass, my lovely Princess.” His lips ghosted over the skin of her neck, paying attention to each inch and detecting each stuttered inhale and the increase of her pulse with each breath he let dance across her skin.

A warmth and vibration seemed to start in her chest and spread as he explained his meaning. Never had she felt so desired, in all ways. It still confused her how her father, who had made it abundantly clear his disdain for her, had somehow arranged this marriage to someone who very much wanted her. Could her aunts, the Fates, have something to do with it? Could her mother? How had this happened? Did it really matter?

“Asti, if you keep talking like that, you may never be able to get rid of me. I may just forever be taking up room in your bed and your closet.” Her voice was almost a purr, and Yara was only partially teasing him with her words. She was falling for him and she knew it. Even as she tried to fight feeling anything, she was and it scared her to death. Caring about someone, loving them, it made you even more vulnerable. In a life that had never been soft or kind, being vulnerable was the last thing you wanted to be.

“If you keep responding like that, I won’t want to.” His arms tightened around her. Astaroth had held many women in his long life, for many different reasons. Some as he ended their life, others romantically, others still as simple lust and passion enveloped them, yet she was the first that he had embraced to provide comfort and ease the pain of something, even if there were additional motives. “I’ll have to find another way to bind my beautiful Papilio to me besides the rings on her finger.” His left hand slid out from under hers, his fingers running over the wedding set on her own hand. “I’m sure I can find many delightful ways.” He could not keep the grin out of his voice as he laved more attention on her neck, only serving to increase his own desire for her at the same time. Yes, being married to her was going to be quite enjoyable if it was like this.

Yara pressed her whole body back against Astaroth, letting out a deep sigh as her desire for him and his touch grew. “You have proved so far to be able to find such ways.” Her voice was breathy and she did not even attempt to hide the desire in it. “And it seems your distraction could lead to fulfilling the last condition of the contract if you keep that up.” It had been after they got back that she realized what Lucifer had been referring to. It was the part that had caused their misunderstanding in Astaroth’s office. She had seen it, he hadn’t…and it had gone from there, it was only now that she realized this.

Astaroth’s eyes closed. So, that was the last condition. And, they had already had the conversation over it, which he now understood all that had happened in his office. “Yara…I expect nothing…I will demand nothing…I will force nothing…” his lips ghosted over the skin of her shoulder and neck as he spoke, “but I don’t want to have to try to fight your father for breaking the contract, nor will I deny my attraction to you.” Honesty seemed the best route at this point. It wasn’t like she couldn’t tell at this point he did desire her carnally. “I won’t let you go…”

Yes, her aunts definitely had a hand in them coming together. There was no other explanation. Turning in his arms, she brought her lips to his softly, savoring the feel of him. “I might be changing my opinion on our discussion yesterday.” Her fingers lightly played with his hair just above the collar of his suit jacket. “You will have to let me go though.” A teasing smile flitted across her lips as his brow rose in confusion. “Unless you want your suit ruined to get it off of you.” Slowly her nose ran along his as her lips once more made their way to his.

He couldn’t help but chuckle against her lips. It seemed that his wife was going to be an endless source of surprises. First she somehow figured out how to remotely eliminate someone, then the way she had stood up to Lucifer, and now the desire that was glowing in her eyes was such a reflection of what he knew was showing in his own.

“I might be willing to let you go for that.” Astaroth’s voice was deeper, a slight rasp entering it born of desire. His hands now gently roaming her back, still holding her to him. “I do want to keep my Papilio happy after all.” Foreheads together, he couldn’t help but look down into her gorgeous emerald green eyes as he teleported them from the living room to the bedroom.

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chidorisjournal · 7 months

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FFXIV Write 2023 Prompt #21: Grave

“I’m aware I’m late.” Auberi didn’t bother with anything more formal of a greeting. His current company wouldn’t call him out on the lack of social niceties. Carefully he began to remove his gloves, sliding fingers under the wrist, peeling them back. “As I’m also aware, and you are, that my foster-mother taught me how grave an error it was to keep a lady waiting, we both know I would not have been were there not just cause.” Gloves removed, placed just so on the marble next to the letters he’d brought. “I also won’t bother you with the details of why I’m late, as excuses are simply another form of error, only slightly less heinous than tardiness, really.” A small smile played over his lips, the barest hint of amusement, as he bent to his next task.

Careful coaxing with flint and steel produced a spark, tinder and wood laid out for such a fire. The grate was cold, as were all things Ishgardian when they were left alone for more than half a bell. That was hardly any shock. His lady no longer concerned herself with such things. Busy work, feeding the small flame until it grew, filled the little fireplace, and he could take gloves and letters from their resting spot and dust off the seat of the chair nearest the fire. Only then did he resume his conversation.

“Your parents are well. I checked in on them on my way here. Your younger brother has his growth, finally, his voice has settled in nicely.” Peeling the first letter from the stack, Auberi carefully consigned it to the flame. “Ul’dah hasn’t changed. Not since last moon, not in any of the moons I’ve lived there. Fantasia continues to flourish.” Another letter, peeled away, slowly. He’d promised to write. He did. Every day, without fail. Every morning. Sometimes evenings too. Each letter, in turn, fed to the fire at his feet. “Hel has some little secret she’s mooning over. I’d worry about it if she weren’t one of the most steadfast women I know. Whatever it is… Whoever he is, I’m sure she’ll sort it on her own, or tell me about it when she’s ready. Fenris is … Fen. I don’t know. He’s taken a lover, again, finally. A real one, this time, worthy of the title. It’s good for him. He looks happy. It’s good to see.” Another letter, and another. “Asti’s between projects at the moment. The major ones are ongoing, of course, but they’re not really focused on any one thing. I’ll have to find them something soon, if they don’t. I love my twin unconditionally, but they’re a sight easier to love when they’ve something to sink their teeth into.” A few long moments of silence, peeling letter after letter from the stack, until only a few remained, the ribbon the pile had been bound with twined through his fingers. It was an odd thing, a pale, soft green, pastel. The sort of thing you found bound up in a young woman’s hair, not wrapped around a gentleman’s correspondence. “I’ve met someone myself. She’s … sharp. Prickly, you’d say. Guarded, and with good reason. She makes me laugh. She makes me think.” A small smile, his attention inward for a moment, before he fed another letter to the fire. “She makes me want to believe again.”

Carefully, Auberi fed the last letter to the fire, wrapping the ribbon around his wrist. Gently, he dusted the eternal Coerthean snow from the grave marker his gloves had been resting on before pulling them back on. Hands once again protected from the elements, he settled back into the hard stone chair, stretching his legs out alongside the resting place of his first love. He sat like that for long bells, until the fire had once again gone cold and the ashes of the letters he’d written could be spread into the flowers that marked the grave. Wood and tinder replaced in the small fire pit, he gently patted the headstone once more.

“I miss you, my swan. I hope you’re soaring free, in the Lifestream.”

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #rivera

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ikenbar · 3 years

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Ikamara One Shot: Soccer Practice

Hey there! To the new folks here, I have a fanfiction called Mr. love: Ike’s Choice featuring my OC as the main character instead of Youran! I write these one shots in between chapters to give a background to Ike and create a sense of tension as you wait of the next chapter!! If you are interested, you can find the link to my masterlist of the fanfiction here! Thank you for those who have read this far in Ikamara’s story. I hope you enjoy and clear up any questions you guys have for my OC! Thanks again!!

~ Ike ‘n Bar Productions Productions

Setting: Starts in the past when Ike had just begun talking to her family after her two years of being mute. After that, it begins before the epilogue of Chapter Three.

You don’t need to know Ike’s story to understand what is happening but it would make more sense if you did read it!!

Warnings: Stories of abuse, murder, and domestic violence. It doesn’t go too far into detail but if you are sensitive to those tones, I’d suggest not reading.

But! We also have foster family bonding!, Adri being a sassy freak!, dares that involve second hand embarrassment!, Ashton character development!, Sam being the best younger brother ever!!, and cute lil Lola! Not to mention a flirty surprise guest at the end ,’:)

One Shot: Soccer Practice

“Hey! How was practice?”

Ike could sense something was off with Sam the moment he got to the car. He didn’t jump into it with his usual enthusiasm and his smile seemed to be sapped of energy. Still, he smiled and answered Maria’s question as best he could. “Fine. We just practiced strategies for tomorrow’s game.” Ike kept her eyes on Sam, waiting for him to keep talking.

But he didn’t.

Maria, seemingly unaware of Sam’s bad mood, said, “That’s nice, sweetie!” and pulled the car out of park. Sam rested his head on the soccer ball that he had brought with him and stared adamantly out of the window. Ike sat impatiently next to the sorrowful kid, asty to ask what was wrong. She had just barely begun talking to people again. She didn’t want to cross any boundaries. She would have asked Ashton, her second foster brother, for advice, but his eyes were trained on his new phone and he had no intention on looking away.

Ike folded her arms impulsively. Noticing this, Sam finally looked over to her, catching her eyes before she could look away. “What’s wrong?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. Ike’s hands tightened on her sleeves.

“I... was hoping you would answer that.” She muttered, looking meaningfully at Sam.

Sam shook his hands in front of him, smiling emptily. “Nothing!” He said all too loudly, “I had a good day! I’m-” He paused, looking between Ike’s eyes. Finally, Sam sighed, dropping his smile into something that seemed more comfortable for him to wear. “...How did you know?” Sam whispered, diverting his eyes from Ike’s.

“We are... connected. R-right?” Ike asked meekly.

Sam smiled softly. “Right.” He nodded. Ike nodded as well , relaxing her grip on her shoulders slightly.

“So… What happened?”

Sam remained silent for a moment. Then he sighed and slouched in his seat. “I’m holding the team back.” He said, leaning his head on the palm of his hand as he looked back out the window, “Everyone is so fast and they have all the strategies down. Then there’s me. The guy who can’t even kick a goal without tripping up.” Sam’s voice trailed off slightly, making him harder and harder to hear, “It’s because everyone has someone they can practice with at home. But, I don’t! I have a twin brother who hates sports, an older brother who is always out with friends, and a dad who is always working late as a janitor of some big company. I’m never gonna be as good as my team.” Sam pouted as tears came to his eyes, “I’ll only drag them down.”

Ike shifted slightly in her seat. She didn’t know what to do. Her question she asked made her brother cry. She didn’t want him to cry. She wanted him to smile. What was she supposed to do?! Ike took a deep breath and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam looked up at her.

“I’m sorry you suck.” Ike’s voice cracked slightly as she spoke to him. Sam’s eyes went wide. He blinked at her for a moment, then he burst out laughing. Ike’s face flushed. That wasn’t the reaction she was going for but… she could work with it...

“Man, you’re bad at this.” Sam giggled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. Ike’s face fell slightly. “B-but!” Sam quickly said, waving his hands and bringing Ike’s attention back to him, “But I know you meant well!! So thank you!” Ike hesitated, then nodded. She took her hand off of Sam’s shoulder, folding them once more across her chest. Sam leaned his head onto her shoulder tenderly.

“If only you could help me with soccer.” he sighed, “Then I could be better and we could spend more time together.” Ike watched the boy at her side. She couldn’t do that. She promised herself she never would again. Not since… but Ike wanted nothing more than to see his normal smile again. And to do so would mean… it was time to swallow her pride and do the right thing.

Ike leaned forward and tapped Maria on the shoulder. “C-can me and Sam go to the... park?” Ike asked timidly. Maria’s eyes flashed with surprise as she looked at Ike through the rearview mirror.

“Right now?” Maria asked, tilting the mirror to see her clearer.

“You can drop Sam and me off and take Ashton to his club,” Ike’s voice tightened as she quickly made her case, “and you can come back to pick us up after it’s done. I just… want to help Sam... with his soccer… is that’s ok?.” Ike’s voice trailed off as she watched Maria in the mirror. Maria’s face turned from a face of curiosity to one of warmth and love as her foster daughter spoke.

“That’s very sweet of you, Evie.” She cooed, “I’m ok with it as long as you two stick together.” Ike sighed with relief and nodded. “We will. Thank you.” She leaned back in her seat, taking slow breaths to ease her panic ridden heart. Sam wrapped his arms around Ike’s arm, squeezing it tightly. Ike looked down at her brother. His eyes were stars as he looked back at her. His normal bright, missing toothed smile had returned. “Thank you, Ike.” He whispered sincerely. Ease settled into Ike’s shoulders.

Maria drove away after dropping Ike and Sam off. They walked together through the park until they came to a small soccer field. Sam ran up one of the benches, threw his back pack onto it, and kicked his soccer ball out to the field and started playing with it. Ike placed her school bag next to Sam’s and, after a moment of consideration, took off her jacket and placed it with the bags. Pulling her sleeves down and over the palms of her hand, she joined Sam on the field.

Sam stopped playing and watched Ike. She always seemed so closed off and she always hid her arms. He always wondered the answer but was too afraid to ask. Maria always told him that he was to be careful talking with her but… she was still a kid. Just like him. She just needed someone to love her like she was normal. Even if she wasn’t.

“Are you… ok?”

Sam blinked and focused his eyes on Ike. She leaned forward, trying to meet his eyes. Sam quickly smiled and nodded quickly. Before Ike could ask him anything more he kicked the ball to Ike, holding back slightly and letting it fall slightly short of her feet. She watched it for a moment. Then she tucked the ball over her foot and kicked the ball straight up in the air. She skillfully caught it on the side of her foot as it came back down and started toying with the ball, tossing it back and forth, getting used to the all too familiar weight. Sam watched her, mouth slacked and eyes bulging. Never had she ever looked so cool to him.

Ike looked up at Sam. A warmth rolled onto her cheeks as his sparkling eyes met hers. She cleared her throat and kicked the ball to him. “That was so cool!!” Sam jumped up and down and ran to Ike, ignoring the ball. “Where did you learn to do that?” Ike paused and looked down.

“That’s... not what we are here to learn.” Ike moved back to the ball as she timidly spoke, “Right now, I need you to show me what you need to work on," Ike gestured to the goal behind her, “And kick the ball into the goal.”

Sam nodded, “Alright but afterwards, no need to teach me how to do that!” Ike pursed her lips to prevent a rising smile as she braced herself at the goal. Sam assumed his position behind the ball and eyed Ike. He stayed there a moment, toying with her, hoping to psych her out. But Ike remained perfectly poised over the goal. In a flash, Sam kicked the ball. It sailed up and right for the goal. But before it could go in, Ike stopped it. She casually reached out and plucked it out of the air like it was nothing. "See?” Sam growled, kicking at the ground, “I told you I'm not fast enough."

"How hard you kick the ball isn’t what’s important here." Ike said seriously as she approached Sam, "You.. you are paying too much attention to what the goalie is doing instead of where you are kicking... Here.” Ike passed the ball to Sam, "Don't look at the goalie. Just look at where you want to kick the ball."

"But Couch says I need to watch them for where they are moving!" Sam said quickly. Ike shook her head.

"The goalie has their job and you have yours." Ike spoke plainly, pulling Sam's undecided attention closer to her, "You should keep their movements in mind, but your main focus should be where you're kicking. If you think about the goalie too much, you'll subconsciously kick to them, making it easier for them to stop you.” Ike paused a moment. For some reason she was out of breath. It really had been a while since she had spoken this much. “… does that… make sense?" Ike added, hoping her speed was only taxing her instead of Sam.

Sam slowly nodded, “Yeah. It does! You know, you explain it much better then couch does.” He placed the ball in front of his feet, “He just yells at me and tells me I’m a good for nothing kid.” Ike’s hands clenched into fists. “Ok!” Sam said, not noticing Ike’s change in attitude, ”Are you-”

“You’re not good for nothing!”

Ike’s yelling caused Sam to stubble slightly. Ike puffed her cheeks and stood up straight as she pointed a finger at him. “You are needed, and important, and bring more happiness then you know, okay?! Don’t let that couch, or anyone else for that matter, tell you otherwise! Got it?!” Sam blinked at Ike.

“Ye-yeah. I know.” He stammered, “I’m sure he just says that to get me to work harder. I don’t think he means it or anything.”

“Yeah… w-well.” Ike’s face quickly grew red as she looked at the ground, “Those words should never be used lightly…” The two of them sat in heavy silence for a moment. Sam had questions he wanted to ask but swallowed them. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

“H-hey.” Sam called, getting Ike to look up at him, “Thank you. It means a lot.” He smiled brightly, the brightest Ike had ever seen since she had moved into their foster home. It was almost contagious.

Ike’s blush brightened as she nodded. She covered her mouth with her hand but Sam could still she her squinting her eyes, showing the emotion she tried so hard to hide. It filled him with determination.

“Ok!” Sam said, bracing himself at the ball, “Ready?!” Ike looked at him then cleared her throat and braced herself as well.

“Yeah.” She said, glaring at the ball, “Let’s do this.”

>>>

“In other news, the anniversary of one Tyler Young-Diaz’s death is coming up. The once renowned soccer player who led Loveland City’s soccer team to victory plenty of times before his demise. He died from-”

The television went black.

“Hey!” Sam whipped his head around, “I was watching that!”

“You can watch it when we get back.” I said, tossing the remote on my foster parent’s couch, “You ready for practice, kiddo?” Sam’s once agitated face lit up.

“Yeah!” Sam jumped up from the ground, where he was absentmindedly playing with his baby sister, and ran to my side, “Are you finally going to show me how to do some cool tricks?! Like, when you look like you’re gonna kick the ball one way but you actually kick it another?!”

“Settle down, kid.” I rubbed Sam’s head, “Once you’re able to get a goal on me, I’ll think about it.”

“Are you guys leaving?” Maria called from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” Sam and I called at the same time.

“Could you take the other kids with you? They’ve been on their phone since they woke up.”

“Sure.” I said, despite Sam’s growls of annoyance, “Do you want me to take Lola too?”

“That would be great!” Maria poked her head out of the kitchen and smiled at me gratefully, “Thank you, Evie!”

“Of course.” I continued into the room and gave Sam’s head another rub, “Go get Ashton and Adri for me, Sam.”

“Ugh,” Sam whined but still made his way to the stairwell, “This is gonna suck.”

“Oh, come on.” I said, scooping up Lola from the blanket she was playing on, “It won’t be that bad. I’m sure we won’t even know that they’re there.”

"OK. I saw the sun. Can I go home now?"

"Ugh, couldn't you have picked a time to practice when the sun isn't so bright?"

"I don't even have reception out here! And Maria cut off my data so no wifi either! This blows!"

"I mean, what am I even going to do at the park? I'm not a baby anymore. I don't want to play on the playground."

“Stop giving me the death glare, Sam. I can take a message.”

“Obviously not.” Sam growled at his siblings. In between the complaints, Sam would catch my eye and flash me an expression that screamed 'I told you so.' Still, I remained optimistic as we reached the soccer field. Adri and Ashton sat at the benches and began to pull out their phones. With my Lola free hand, I snatched them away from their hands. They both looked at me with shock and anger.

"You were brought here to be away from your phones." I said, giving them a stern look, "Now, meet Sam out on the field."

"But-" Ashton and Adri began to introgect but one flash of my evil eye shut them both up. They reluctantly stood up and walked with me to the field.

"They're joining us?!" Sam scoffed, "But they are just going to slow us down!"

"Come on kiddo." I rolled my eyes and patted Sam on the back, "Buck up! You're starting to sound like them."

We all worked together to set out Lola’s play pen then, with her placed safely next to me, we all created a circle facing each other. I bounced the ball on the side of my foot and looked at the group. “Alright,” I said in the best couch voice I could muster, “Today we are going to play a little game of truth or dare. Pass the ball to the person you want to ask and they must comply.”

“Boring!” Adri groaned, “Truth or dare is a sad game that little girls play at slumber parties to talk about who likes who. Besides, the dares are weak. ‘I dare you to tell your crush you like them!’, ‘I dare you to tell a stranger they look nice!’, ‘I dare you to knock on a door then run away!’” Adri blew a raspberry.

“Ok, if you are so confident,” I passed the ball to Adri, “Accept a dare from me.” Adri caught the ball clumsily between her legs. All the same, she looked up at me with determination.

“Fine!” Adri scoffed and folded her arms, “Hit me with your best shot, Granny!” I smirked and pulled out my phone. With one quick scroll through my contacts, I pulled up a certain someone’s profile. I hummed to myself and held out the phone to Adri. “Adrienne, I dare you to call Lucien and tell him about that mole growing on your back.”

Adri’s face flushed royally, “H-How did you know about that?!” She stammered.

“You just told me.” My smirk grew. Adri stood dormant.

“Wh-what if I say no?” She asked, her trembling voice erasing what sassiness she held before. I hummed and reached into Lola’s diaper bag.

“I get to draw on your face and post it in my moments.” I said, waving a washable red marker in the air.

“Pfft, I can do that.” Adri said, approaching me confidently. Before she could take the marker, I pulled it away.

“I wouldn’t be too sure.” I said, my smile unwavering, “I wouldn’t think you’d want a certain someone seeing that.”

“I don’t care if Professor-”

“I’m not talking about Lucien.” I mused, “I’m talking about a certain superstar. I don’t know if you’ve heard him. His name is Kiro?” Adri’s normally pale face became ghastly as she stared at me wide eyed.

“K-Kiro follows you?!” She gasped.

“Oh yeah. And he often is the first to react to a post.” I brought the pen back down into Adri’s reach, “So, still want me to draw on you?”

Adri remained motionless. Her eyes played how much emotions she couldn’t quite express. Ashton giggled from behind her. “Oh man.” He chuckled, “You’re boned!” Sam burst into laughter and leaned on his twin for support.

“You’ve got to choose which hot guy is worth making yourself a fool out of!” Sam laughed heartily, “You should have kept your mouth shut!”

“As should you.” I chimed, looking up at the boys, “Don’t forget, it will be your turn eventually.” The twins gulped.

In a flash, Adri swiped my phone from my hand. She pressed a few buttons on it and held it up to her ear. “Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up!” She chanted rocking back and forth in her heels, “Don’t- SHIT AH I HAVE A MOLE ON MY BACK!” And with that, she pulled the phone from her ear, hung up the call, and chucked the phone at me.

“Swear jar.” Ashton chimed, covering a large grin as Sam fell to the floor in a fit of laughter. With a furious red face, Adri glared menacingly at me.

“You are evil!!” She huffed. I lowered my head so I stood eye to eye with her. With a cunning smile, I responded,

“Never challenge Ikamara Bikira.”

And so our time on the field continued. Adri, now dead set on exacting her revenge on me, soon got lost in the game as Sam and Ashton soon got their comeuppance. Ashton through telling everyone he secretly plays detective with his stuffed animals when he is alone in his room, and Sam when he confessed to the girl in his art class over the phone that he was the one who drew a mustache on the masterpiece that cost her an A.

Soon, the ball was passed to me by Ashton. “Alright, kid.” I said through a steady smile as I messed with the ball between my feet, “Hit me.” Ashton watched me as I played with the ball, his eyes clouded with thought.

“... Tell us how you know how to play soccer.”

I stopped playing with the ball. The happy energy in the group tanked quickly as I looked up at Ashton. “... What?”

“Tell us how you know how to play soccer.” He reiterated, “You’ve been teaching Sam soccer for years and he has gotten good. Really good. So that would bring up the question, how does a business woman such as you know how to play so well?”

“... You didn’t even ask me, truth or dare.”I said, trying hard to hold back what anxiety pooled at my throat.

“Ok, truth or dare?” Ashton asked, folding his arms.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to answer the question.”

I gritted my teeth and straightened my posture.

“Uh, hey!” Sam quickly said, “Maybe there can be a line that we don’t-”

“No, no.” I waved my hand to Sam but maintained my eye contact with Ashton, “You all did what you were dared to do… I can too.” paused then took in a deep breath.

“I learned it at my fourth foster home.”

The field went silent...

“... I just told an insanely hot college professor I had a mole on my back.” Adri deadpanned, “I think we need a little more than that.”

“Ok, fine.” I groaned. My eyes fell to the soccer ball sitting idly between my feet. Small flashes of suppressed memories flew past my eyes. I blinked them away but I knew I couldn’t hold them back. Ashton was right, I had been teaching Sam soccer since I was fifteen. He had a right to know… they all did.

After a pause that seemed to last ages, I sighed. “... I had just gotten out of the police station for turning in my abusive foster parent. I was immediately moved to an emergency foster house until they could find a new, permanent one for me to live in. The foster father welcomed me in like I had always been his daughter. He bathed me, clothed me, and gave me a warm meal to eat with in the first hour I was there. He was the best dad I had ever had… but the foster mother wasn’t as kind.

“She would always find something that she hated about me. My hair, clothes, skin, and so on. She particularly hated seeing the scars that my last family had left and would constantly nag that I would cover them up. But it wasn’t just me that she would yell at.

“Her and her husband would constantly fight. So much so that I had to play my radio at full volume to block out the sound. Though it would only make the mother angrier as she would start yelling at me to turn it down…” I took a deep breath, “But the father wouldn’t give up on me. While the mother was at work and he had time off from his… work, we would do something that only belonged to us. Something that he loved to do and could teach like it was riding a bike… and that was soccer.

“He taught me how to play any chance he could. It would be away from his wife, full of exercise, and the perfect way for him to be spending time in between work. We really got to know each other. In fact, he talked about running away together. Just the two of us… playing together forever…” I paused.

“... What happened?” Adri asked impatiently. I cringed. The memories I tried so hard to stifle shot like daggers behind my eyes.

“... One day, around six at night, my foster father came home from a long trip. I was already in the backyard, playing with the soccer ball and readying for our practice. But, his wife had gotten to him first. They started fighting again but it wasn’t like how it was before. They were screaming at each other, threatening each other, as if the fight was about to get physical. It got to the point where I couldn’t understand what they were saying. And then, as quick as it started, it stopped. Something felt off so I went into the house, only to find that my foster father was on the ground… bleeding out from his head. That woman was standing over him, holding one of his trophies and looking at her husband in horror. It didn’t take long for her to notice me and, when she did, all hell broke loose.

“She blamed me for what happened, said that the fight wouldn’t have begun if I had just stayed with my last family. Then, she kicked me out, told me to never come back and that if I told the police she would end me like she did to him. I didn’t give it a second thought. I quickly packed my things into a school bag and took off. I walked for hours until I was at the foster center. I refused to talk about what happened, terrified out of my mind from what that wench said.

“Later I had found out that the foster center agreed with the police to keep my being there out of the papers to shelter me from any press so no one knew I was there… or how much that man meant to me…

“After spending some time in an orphanage, I had eventually found my way into the home you guys find yourselves in now… and, the rest is history.”

After finishing my monologue, I was scared to look at the faces standing before me. I expected them to press me for details, to badger me for names or tell me that I was lying and to tell the real reason. Instead, Adri did something much worse.

“... Your foster parent was Tyler Young-Diaz, wasn’t it?”

Though her voice was small, it sent shockwaves through my head. I looked up at her. She was looking at me with wide eyes and a complicated expression, one of which the other two boys held as well.

Seeing that I wasn’t going to respond, Adri continued, “I read about it today. He was murdered by his wife with his nationals trophy.”

“...yeah. That was him.” I sighed, looking back down at the ball at my feet.

“... So, you were taught soccer under a professional?!” Adri asked with feigned excitement. I looked back up at her in confusion.

“Really?!” Ashton scoffed and punched Adri’s arm, “Is that really all you got from that story?!”

“Hey! I’m just trying to lighten the mood!” Adri glared at Ashton as she rubbed her arm, “What else do you say to someone who just confessed to witnessing her foster father’s murder?!?”

“Ike.” Sam spoke up. I turned to him. He looked at me with tearfilled eyes, “Did all of that really happen?” I hesitated, then nodded. Sam winced as if he were in pain. Before I could ask, he ran to me and nearly tackled me with a hug. “I’m so sorry.” He sobbed, clutching to my shirt tightly, “I didn’t know! I should have never agreed to learn from you! I would have just kept playing poorly if it meant you’d never have to relive those days.”

“Hey.” I pried Sam off of my stomach to look him in the eye, “Weren’t you paying attention? The time I played soccer with Tyler was the best time I had spent with that family. Playing soccer with you isn’t painful. It’s my favorite time of the week.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears once again, but I could tell it wasn’t for the same reason as before. He buried his head back into my stomach.

“I love you, Ike.” He sobbed, rubbing his face into my clothes. I sighed and stroked his head softly. I looked up and caught the eyes of Adri and Ashton as they watched us, longingly, eyes watering slightly. I rolled my eyes and held out my arms.

“Bring it in.” I said, gesturing to them. Adri and Ashton exchanged looks, then joined us in our hug, pulling us all tightly together. Our hold only lasted a moment before a disgruntled yelp sounded from beside me. I looked down to find an angry baby looking up at us.

“Alright, Lola.” I sighed and scooped the baby up from her pen, “You can join in.” Lola’s face immediately lit up as we brought her into the hug. She giggled and grabbed for whatever she could reach. Unfortunately for Ashton, it was his hair.

“Alright!” He quickly called, delicately removing Lola’s fingers from his head, “Hug time’s over.” Sam and Adri laughed and quickly backed out of the hug to help Ashton.

“What a practice this turned out to be.” Sam chuckled, wiping the last of his tears away.

“Aw man. I miss the hug?!?"

We all turned and caught sight of our sharply dressed, disappointment looking, eldest foster brother strolling into view. "First you don't invite me to your sibling pow wow and now I don't even get a hug!" Chris pouted, extending his empty arms out to us.

"Chris!" Sam exclaimed, running to vacate the space between Chris' arms. Chris accepted Sam's hug, pulling him off his feet and into the air as he shook him around. Adri rolled his eyes and walked over to him while Ashton hid behind me for protection. This backfired as Chris approached me from a hug and I accepted, dragging my little brother in with me. Ashton groaned and struggled out of my grip, bringing a chuckle throughout the group.

"I came to visit you guys but no one was home!" Chris said, plucking Lola from my hands, "Momma Maria said you'd be here! But, what’s with the tears?”

“Ashton asked the wrong question.” Adri deadpanned.

“Sam is an emotional dork.” Ashton retaliated.

“We learned more about Ike’s past!” Sam beamed, “She told us about her last foster family before us! The hug just kinda happened... almost like we all found a new appreciation for each other.” Sam looked meaningfully around the circle. Ashton rolled his eyes and shoved his brother.

“Like I said, emotional dork.” Ashton tactlessly remarked. Sam growled and jumped at Ashton. I caught Sam in mid-air, stopping him from making any contact with Ashton.

“Alright, kiddos.” I said, picking Sam up casually and sitting him on my shoulder, “How bout some ice cream?” Sam cheered loudly, causing Lola to cheer as well. Adri and Ashton exchanged looks of begrudged approval. I looked up at Chris. “You care for some family time, pal?” I asked with a smile. Chris beamed brightly.

“Let’s go!” He cheered, jumping in place like a child. I rolled my eyes and placed Sam down as the phone in my pocket vibrated obsessively.

“Take care of the pen, would you, Sam?” I asked as I pulled out my phone. Sam quickly complied and began taking it down, humming to himself happily. I smiled and, without looking at my phone, answered the phone.

“Speaking.”

“... A mole on your back, you say?” A familiar voice chimed.

My heart leapt.

“I’m afraid I have more questions then answers, Evelyn.” Lucien added through an obvious smile.

“Sorry, Lucien.” I said as eased my posture slightly, “We were playing truth or dare and I had Adri call you. Don’t take what she said seriously.”

“We?” Lucien asked curiously.

“Ashton and Sam were there too. We spent the afternoon playing truth or dare while Sam practiced his passing for soccer.”

“I see.” Lucien mused, “Did you have fun?” I looked over at my siblings, who were all laughing and talking together.

“Yeah.” I answer genuinely through a genuine smile, “I feel like we have grown closer as siblings.” I directed my attention back to Lucien, “I’m sorry if I pulled you from your work.”

“Not at all.” Lucien said quickly, “In fact, I have some free time to keep talking to you. May I press you for details on your day?”

My smile grew, “Sure. I can talk.”

(Next)

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tenshiotaku · 5 years

Text

Middle Asty

Asterin would never admit that wyverns scared her. The day Bronwyn took her to carve her own broom was a silent relief, and Manon beamed pride as found the ironwood necessary for a proper Ironteeth broom. She didn't keep pace with Abraxos, but she had a little more maneuverability on the air.

Occasionally, Petrah Blueblood would come by the Crochan Queendom, and Asterin noted the simmering tension between the Blueblood delegation and the rest of the subjects.

It was her 19th birthday when the Bluebloods came by again. The Princess of both Adarlan and the Crochans, Asterin was forced to sit through a ceremony at the Wastes and she knew there would be another one in Adarlan. She wanted her father here. And Iggy.

A smile crossed her face as she thought of Iggy, how much he hated that nickname but he never stopped her from using it. Witches were always female, so their seats of power were to be outside male gazes. While her father had snuck into the palace on some occasions, ceremonies were not the occasions for male interference.

Petrah and a deranged looking woman with yellow pants and metal teeth on display had also come, and given the way everyone edged around them, Asterin had assumed she was the head of some other family the Crochans didn't like.

"You look just like your mother," Petrah offered as a compliment and Asterin grinned.

The other witch nodded and exited the room, earning a chuckle from Manon.

"The Yellowlegs Matron hasn't forgotten what happened to Irska," Petrah whispered to Manon and her daughter, the former earning a chuckle.

"She should be thankful we didn't exterminate them," Manon responded harshly. "They would have delighted in our slaughter."

"I thought motherhood would have eased your assertiveness on such matters, Manon."

"No." Manon turned to face the Blueblood Matron. "It only showed me what I need to protect."

Asterin was still sitting, regarding her mother and the other's words. She knew her mother was in the War, that was what brought her parents together and the other kings, queens and consorts along the way. But she had never met anyone that spoke of the War, their experiences in the War or any of it.

"Matron," Asterin chimed. "Who was she?"

Manon swung her gaze back to Asterin as she had almost forgotten Asterin was present.

"Well, witchling, in the Ironteeth there were three clans. One for each of the faces of the Goddess. The Bluebloods, of which I am Matron; the Yellowlegs, which Prytha is the Matron of; the Blackbeaks, which you and your mother descended from." Manon was deathly silent, she hadn't told Asterin of the Blackbeaks since...

"So we're not Crochan?" Asterin raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Your grandfather was a Crochan and your grandmother a Blackbeak. So yes, you are."

Manon had previously thought highly of Petrah, but she wasn't fond of talking about their Ironteeth lineage. Petrah was just sweetly informing a curious mind, but Manon suddenly found a reason to be elsewhere.

"Is Mum okay?" Asterin inquired but Petrah shook her head.

"I don't know, witchling. There are some demons in our pasts, and your mother has more to face than most."

Asterin looked to where the starry crown was still illuminating the room. Her mother was still so... stiff. Asterin couldn't remember a time when she wasn't, when her father wasn't around anyway.

Worried about her mother as she was, she knew nothing good could come from talking here and now, so the evening passed, and Manon excused herself quietly, not stopping to acknowledge any of her guests before retiring to her chambers.

Asterin saw out the dinner before deciding to track down her mother. Petrah hadn't been more forthcoming with information, she may have told Asterin too much, the young princess didn't know.

So she braced herself for yelling as she knocked at her mother's door.

"Who is it?"

"Asterin, Mother."

"Come in, witchling."

Asterin pushed the door open finding her mother sitting at the edge of a bed she'd been curled up in moments earlier. Golden eyes red and the tracks of tears down her face the only traces of any emotional trauma she'd been going through.

Manon Hallivard-Crochan was firm and as Asterin put her arms around her mother, the firmness began to quake.

"There's things about my past, Asterin. Things that happened to me. Things... long forgotten, or so I'd thought. Hoped, even."

"Mum... There's nothing you can't tell me," Asterin looked her mother in the eyes and she noticed something change.

Manon looked at her in a different way. That moment every parent wanted and dreaded simultaneously had clicked. Her little Asterin wasn't little anymore, and she could talk to her, maybe.

"Asterin, have I told you where you got your name?" Manon smiled as tears formed again in the corners of her eyes.

"You had a friend, you were close. That's all I've ever been told."

Manon closed her eyes momentarily and nodded.

"Asterin Blackbeak was my Second. I had twelve witches in my coven, we were the Thirteen." Manon sat back on the bed, Asterin joining her. "I was the Heir to the Blackbeaks, my grandmother claimed to have pulled my from my mother's still warm corpse. That turned out to be a lie I believed for a hundred and seventeen years."

"What happened?"

Pain darkened the queen's face as she remembered a witch long gone, the witch she'd been and what made her.

"Asterin knew something was... wrong. My grandmother... had tortured her previously, without anyone's knowledge. Branded her. The Dark King was trying to wield the Ironteeth like a weapon to destroy what we now hold dear. Asterin had her little rebellions, but eventually my grandmother ordered her execution. I demanded the rite to be that executioner, the Yellowlegs would have... made things unpleasant."

The princess put a hand on her mother's leg, seeing the darkness in her eyes.

"I don't know to this day if I could have done it, but I thought I could. Until she asked to face the sky. She loved flying. Her wyvern was mates with Abraxos, and I realized in that moment what we were being turned into. So I turned my blade on my Matron. My own blood. The others saved Asterin, I was locked in personal combat with my grandmother and she nearly killed me. Abraxos saved me. Inadvertently, in an attempt to get me to safety, we ended up finding your father. That's not a story I'll ever tell you, witchling, but my Thirteen came to my rescue when they were able. I'm not the only one who owed her life to Asterin."

The young Crochan knew there was more to the story, as fresh beads rolled down the witch's face.

"With your father also in our care for the time being, we sought out the Crochans, and they were willing to aid us after we proved their allies. Your father and I... he went to claim a prize from the Dark King and the Thirteen took the Crochan host to save Terrasen. I owed the Fire Queen that."

"Aelin Galathynius?" Asterin had met the Fae queen of Terrasen once. Her father talked about her often, but her mother seemed less fond of the Fire Queen.

"Yes, the very same. The Dark Horde pressed on Orynth, the Crochans made a difference but... the Dark ones had these mirror towers, that amplified the power of an Ironteeth Yielding a thousand fold."

"Yielding?"

"It's a self sacrificial technique, you give over your life and yield to the darkness within, and it uses that darkness to destroy you and everything around you. Through those towers... the Dark Horde wiped many battlefields clean. There was one of these towers on this battlefield too."

Asterin had heard of this battle, much of Erilea had, but she'd forgotten her mother was actually there for the bulk of it.

"There had been three, but two were taken out with underhanded pirate tactics. The last one remained because something had gone wrong. We had clashed with Ironteeth legions all morning up until that point. I'd nearly perished myself, Abraxos was critically wounded, I couldn't fathom a plan. But Asterin..." the tears flowed in a stream down her face. Manon still felt that kiss at her brow, that blow to her stomach and the word that haunted her, her closest friend's last plea. Live, Manon.

"Mum..."

"She ensured I wouldn't follow, then she and my Thirteen sacrificed themselves to take down that tower. My grandmother was on that tower, the one that branded her, and Asterin lead them in Yielding. They sacrificed themselves and saved everyone. Asterin Blackbeak was... My closest friend."

A weight seemed to lift from Manon as she looked to her daughter that was named for her friend.

"Asterin, she was... Her sacrifice... Even Dorian still misses her. The way you take to the sky, Asterin, you love it the way she did."

The young witch's eyes were burning, as her mother pulled her in for a hug. Manon needed the hug as much as Asterin. She needed the support, but somehow, she knew she'd be okay.

#throne of glass #crown of midnight #heir of fire #queen of shadows #empire of storms #kingdom of ash #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #asterin blackbeak #Manon Crochan #dorian havilliard #asty #Sarah maas #fanfic #witches

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placegrenette · 6 years

Text

A list of things I love about “Ah! Yah! Mah!”

(It’s a long list.)

(But not as long as my draft literature review chapter, which was 16,000 words, including bibliography and a whole lot of written throat-clearing. If you have pity to spare, send it to my committee.)

youtube

1. To refer back to my original commentary: I love its bigness, the vast expanse of the song. It’s also a nice close to the promotion cycle, where “Su Asty” and “Yeski Taspa Bii’“ were similarly packed, “Bayau” and “Mooz” a little less ambitious. (A little, in the case of “Bayau.”)

2. While remaining very much a Ninety One song. I tend to favor the specific over the general with pop lyrics, songs where the performers make their skin in the game more obvious. (”Tend to”: and yet my favorite song off 1989 is “New Romantics.” I’m not consistent.) “Aiyptama,” as good as it is, was pre-packaged; you don’t have to know anything about Ninety One to enjoy it. “Ah! Yah! Mah!” is not only full of callbacks to previous Qarangy Zharyq songs but continuing the overall theme -- see the analysis by @qisforqazaq, which points out the references in greater detail.

(2a. I’ll add one more reference: Alem’s Make your brains cross the borders line echoing ZaQ’s Borders do not exist, they are only in the vastness of your consciousness in “Mooz.” The Kazakh lines are Жоқ шекаралар, ол сенің миыңдағы мекендерде бар тек and Таптаурыдарыңды бұзаын, Шекарадан ассын миың, respectively, so the repeat of “borders” doesn’t seem to be simply a coincidence of translation. Thus “Mooz” would be about recognizing the illusion of borders and “Ah! Yah! Mah!” about destroying that illusion.)

3. While we’re talking lyrics, let me rave about my favorite: AZ’s From your conversations, I feel nauseous, as if I’m drinking tea with fat. “Mooz” used tea metaphors to throw shade too, but that’s not why I love that line. It is perfect -- at once visceral, getting the feeling it wants to convey across in a minimum of words, and so culturally specific; when would an American rapper deliver an insult by talking about tea? And it’s so AZ, too, casually dismissive. It makes a whole human experience instantly legible and I love it.

4. Which leads me to AZ’s and ZaQ’s whole section. Way back before Ninety One even debuted and I was raving about Infinite’s Reality, my favorite part of “Take Care of the Ending” was Dongwoo’s and Hoya’s trading off the rap, the way they bounced off each other. AZ and ZaQ trade off with even more energy, and complement that in the video with a delightful playfulness that gets a lot of things done at once.

apologies, y'all, I still can't make GIFs for crap

With a Korean group I’d be tempted to speculate about fanservice, but Ninety One doesn’t seem to have embraced that part of idol marketing, and I don’t get a shippy vibe from this sequence. If Leslie Fiedler, God bless his memory for all time, were around he’d call this reveling in homosociality, affectionate but not sexual, a friendship on full display. But the sequence also -- after Alem staring down the camera, Ace having to cope with the unexpected (more on that in a minute) and Bala turning Bala Seduction Mode up to 11 -- injects some needed humor into the video. We’re going to make your brains cross the borders, sure, but it’s going to be fun.

5. Speaking of Bala:

I mean they all look good but Bibotta gets an extra round of applause for the sequined-jacket-and-curls idea.

6. Speaking of Bala #2: mouthing along to the sound effects during the first dance sequence, when he’s right in front and you can’t miss it. Nine out of ten video directors would have cut, told him to knock that off, and re-shot it. The tenth is Boss Yerbolat, and God bless him for it.

7. I mean they all look good:

apologies again for the small GIF but static shots didn't do AZ justice

8. Y’all know what it’s time to talk about.

@miiumao commented to me that The Hat was the second time she’d been genuinely shocked by Ninety One and their approach to masculinity, the first time being the 2016 New Year’s greetings video -- which I, used to K-pop conventions, hadn’t found shocking at all. Which should serve as a reminder to you all that I am not a good source on gender presentations in Kazakhstan. But that hasn’t stopped me before and it’s not going to now.

I love the hat. Or, rather, the decision to use the hat. Which should shock no one. (For what it’s worth I remain convinced, in the absence of direct evidence, that Bibotta was inspired by Taemin’s “Everybody”-era promotional pictures.) That said, I don’t think the hat entirely works on Ace. His scenes play as if Boss Yerbolat instructed him to act haughty and disdainful, and he overshot “haughty and disdainful” and landed on “I was promised a nap twenty minutes ago goddamn it.” Y’all know AZ would have handled that hat without a second thought. Bala probably could’ve worked the hat just fine. (ZaQ would have said hell no, and Alem would have lasted about thirty seconds before bursting out laughing.) So that Ace got the hat is interesting in and of itself.

Assume with me two different spectra of masculinity, or “masculinity” if you prefer: female/male and boy/man. Add in submissive/dominant, which is (again, in the West; I can’t speak for Kazakhstan) culturally tied to the first two, for better or for worse. AZ, for example, has been using more coded-feminine and coded-submissive gestures -- compare his body language in the “Aiyptama” video to that in “Su Asty” or “Ah! Yah! Mah!” and you’ll see what I mean -- but he never really comes across as boyish, as opposed to full-on adult. It’s something of a surprise, in the Space videos, to hear him giggle.

Whereas Ace has been in charge of boyish appeal from the very first verse of “Aiyptama.” (See Anne Helen Petersen on boyishness and the teen idol -- again speaking very specifically of a Western, Hollywood-produced set of products.) There’s a reason why my fellow Eaglez (*kisses* to Cay and Crystal) used to joke about picking him up from the day care. As late as “Yeski Taspa Bii’“ he’s the guy gently hugging and listening to the girl while the other four act out drama in the background. The appeal of the boyish hero is that he steps aside from the dominant/submissive paradigm, in his practice of gentleness and restraint. To play with dominant/submissive tropes is adult territory. To play with obvious femininity is too, for that matter: we can deal with grown men using feminine gestures to paradoxically assert their power -- think Little Richard and David Bowie; that’s the tradition that I’d argue AZ is working in, and G-Dragon worked in some before AZ -- but the feminized “boy” is another matter entirely.

But in “Bayau” we got prone, head-bowed, eyeliner-to-hell-and-back, shyly-smiling Ace talking about his personal patron of the night: the boyish member seemingly going for submissive tropes in a way that suggested he knew what he was doing. And now on top of that is a shooting-for-haughty Ace with an exaggerated hat that reads as feminine and body language that runs counter to the rest of the video -- Alem is throwing his body around the space as he does, Bala is at the head of the table, ZaQ is at the podium, but Ace has his legs crossed and arms folded close to his body. Thus boyish + feminine + haughty and imperial + submissive = ...? I don’t know! No wonder Ace needed a nap.

9. Leaving that entirely unresolved and turning to a different aspect of Ninety One’s treatment of gender: ZaQ starting his final announcement with “Ladies and the rest!” I love that. Intentionally or not, it comes across as Ninety One centering itself as a group that appeals to women and talks to women, without apology: with insolent pride, actually.

10. I haven’t spoken of ZaQ enough here, so speaking of ZaQ: his declaration that “My skill is a collection of randomly scattered rhymes in accelerated motion,” which is both sweetly self-deprecating and 100% accurate.

11. And finally: if you can do it, you can do it! Do it! Back to the point about specificity: if “Ah! Yah! Mah!” were my first Ninety One single I wouldn’t find anything particularly interesting or inspiring about the line. But knowing what they’ve done so far, and what they’re doing, and what they’re trying to do -- create an entire music scene practically out of whole cloth, in Kazakh no less, which let me emphasize is not the dominant language of pop even within Kazakhstan. And ambitious enough and grandiose enough to try and create this scene not by analyzing their steps with the question of how each will appeal to the broadest possible audience, but by building their own narrative and all but daring the audience to follow along. Not if it will work or if it will sell or if it’s acceptable, but if you can do it. And I’m listening and feeling a new energy, wanting to scream too. Ah! Yah! MAAAAH!

#ninety one #ah! yah! mah!#music from kazakhstan #come find me eaglez

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cloudrealm · 7 years

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Karuṇā vs. Caritas

(excerpt from the article “A Depth of Otherness: Buddhism and Benedict’s Theology of Religions” by Robert M. Gimello in Explorations in the Theology of Benedict XVI. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012.

The conference from which this volume emerged was named after Benedict's encyclical God Is Love. Let us conclude, then, with an application of Benedict's guiding principles for the theology of religion to the theme of love and to the question of whether anything quite like Christian love is to be found in Buddhism, our prime example of "another religion." It is often held that love is in fact one of the more obvious points of convergence between Buddhism and Christianity. Searching for "love" in Buddhism, one usually looks to either karuṇā (lit.,"compassion'' or "pity"), or maitri (lit.,"benevolence" or "friendliness"), or dana (generosity, altruism; lit., "giving," cognate with Latin donare), or perhaps some amalgam of all three. Karuṇā in particular is emphasized in Mahayana Buddhism as the principal virtue of the Buddhist human ideal, the "bodhisattva" (O'Leary's "gracious embodiment of ultimacy"), the being who dedicates himself to saving all sentient beings even at the heroic cost of indefinitely postponing his own liberation. And dana (altruism) is the first in serial order of the bodhisattva's six or ten perfections (pāramitā). But what exactly is karuṇā , or compassion? It is commonly defined in Buddhism as empathy with the suffering of others-usually "all others" (sarva sattva) rather than just some particular other or others. One is inevitably reminded of certain modern secular ideologies that espouse "love of all mankind" but disregard the sufferings and needs of particular human beings. (It is not the case, of course, that Buddhists are callous and indifferent in this way-usually quite the contrary-but there is something notably abstract, aloof, or angelic about their ideal of universal compassion.) As a virtue to be cultivated, rather than as only an ideal to be imagined, karuṇā is depicted in the Buddhist canon chiefly as an affective disposition that has a powerful transformative effect on those who arouse it, its arousal being a metanoia-the arousal of the aspiration for the awakening of all suffering sentient beings (bodhicittotpada)-that instigates and sustains the new religious life. Karuṇā can, but need not always, motivate or yield concrete action on behalf of others. But even when it does not generate actual compassionate behavior and is just a spiritual disposition, an intense wish, or a strong sentiment of solidarity, it is believed able mysteriously to effect transformation in others and in the world at large. Thus, it can be profoundly enacted or "projected" even while one is engrossed in quiescent meditation (dhyana or zazen) or absorbed in meditative ecstasy (samadhi). Indeed, it can itself be a meditative exercise insofar as it is one of the "four divine or sublime abodes" (brahmavihara) or "boundless states" (apramana) of the classical Buddhist meditation manuals. It is true that Buddhist literature, canonical and paracanonical, abounds in examples of extravagantly heroic compassionate action, but that action is almost always couched in myth (tales of bodhisattvas serving their own flesh to hungry tigresses, etc.) and is seldom illustrated in events from actual Buddhist history or biography. Also, strangely little attention is paid in expositions of karuṇā to its beneficiaries, who are usually anonymous, generic, and as fictive as the mythical bodhisattvas who care for them. Moreover, it is commonly maintained that the merit accruing to the agent of compassion far exceeds its benefit to the patient or recipient. Most important to the Buddhist understanding of compassion, however, is its entailment of the metaphysical doctrines of no-self (anātman) and emptiness (śūnyatā). Put simply, but not inaccurately I think, Mahayana Buddhists who cultivate compassion also strive to understand that the beings whom they pity and whom they would save do not actually exist as determinate personal entities; that they are literally insubstantial, evanescent, unstable, illusory congeries of fleeting sub-personal events. This is no mere metaphor, no overstatement for rhetorical effect of a figure of speech. It is rather to be taken most seriously. The suffering beings who are the foci of the bodhisattva's compassion (if, indeed, we can even call them beings, and sutras say that really we cannot) have no independent, fixed identities, and, lacking such identities, they have neither intrinsic worth nor claim of their own on the bodhisattva's pity. They are pitied, so to speak, not for their own sakes but as instantiations of the impersonal truth of pervasive suffering. The bodhisattva's compassion is therefore also a kind of dis passion, a remarkably abstract sort of pity. This is not to say, of course, that Mahayana Buddhists cannot be kind, generous, amiable people; they often are. I, for one, know this because I have so often been myself the beneficiary of their kindness and friendship. Think also of the Dalai Lama. Anyone who has ever met him or attended one of his teachings or watched one of his interviews knows that he is a very warm, genial, even happy person; he radiates kindness. There can be no doubt that he has true Buddhist compassion for us all, but not be cause each of us is such a being as deserves his compassion. Rather it is because his wisdom compels it. His bodhisattva's compassion for us is more serene and impassable than fervid. It is an empathy more philosophical than affective, a pity so modulated or restrained by equanimity as to be compatible even with what seems in his case to be a naturally ebullient personality. Mahayana Buddhists constantly submit their pity to the chastening, the desiccation of prajñā that penetrating and withering deconstructive analysis of experience that discloses the emptiness of all persons and things. This makes of karuṇā, I think, a kind of benevolent sadness tempered by stoicism. One is perhaps reminded of the Japanese appreciation of the lovely evanescence of cherry blossoms, flowers held to be most poignantly beautiful just as they begin to fade. Such is the calm, steady gaze of the compassionate bodhisattva. Of Christ it was said "et lacrimatus est Iesus," but even the famous bodhisattva Sadaprarudita of the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines (Ar(asiihasrikaprajnapāramitā) and other sutras, whose very name means "the ever wailing one," cries not when con fronted by the suffering of sentient beings but only when frustrated in his pursuit of the perfection of wisdom. All this suggests that Buddhist karuṇā is something fundamentally different from Christian caritas, at least if we understand Christian caritas or agape to be love of the other owing to the intrinsic worth of the other, and if we understand that worth to consist precisely in the presence of Christ in the other. Karuṇā differs from caritas also, and even more fundamentally, insofar as God's love is not something he does or feels. Rather, as Benedict has reminded us, it is what he is (Deus Caritas Est). No where in Buddhism is it ever said, or could it ever be said, that the Buddha or a bodhisattva "is" karuṇā.

These differences between the Christian "theological virtue" of love and the Buddhist "perfection'' (pāramitā) of compassion are examples, only a few from among many that might be noted, of what may be disclosed in the truly discriminate attention that other religions deserve. But such scrutiny can also reveal, not only true affinities or shared values and insights, but also elements of the other religion that can contribute to the growth of Christianity and help Christianity more deeply to plumb its own depths. As but one Buddhist example of the latter let me cite the remarkable epistemological so phistication and acuity of Buddhism. In expounding his first and second "noble truths" the Buddha identified the cause of suffering (duḥkha), the pervasive dissatisfaction and unease of the human con dition, as "craving" (tṛṣṇā) rooted in ignorance (avidya). Discernment of the subtle and complex relations between desire and the failure to know is a hallmark of the Buddhist tradition and one of its great strengths. Christian theology might well profit by study of Buddhism's knowledge of the inveteracy of cognitive concupiscence, its insights into the capacity of the mind, since beginningless time (anadikaliko), to fabricate desired falsehood. Error and falsehood are for Buddhism not mere absences of knowledge; rather they are active forces powerful enough to construct whole worlds of suffering. Owing to the fundamental claim that all things are empty and arise or hap pen only as undulations in the ocean of interdependence, Buddhists seldom say of anything that it "exists" (asti). They adamantly resist the tendency to ontologize. However,·the Madhyantavibhaga (Discrimination of the Middle from the Extremes), a foundational text of the Yogacara or "Representation-Only" school of Buddhist thought, proclaims, in deliberately provocative terms, that "the imagination of the unreal (abhutaparikalpa) does exist." And it argues further that recognition of the existence of constructive ignorance, as much as the perception of emptiness, is absolutely necessary if one is to know things as they really are. Furthermore, it was awareness-indeed, deep wariness-of the powerful alliance of desire with error, which defines us as sentient beings, that led Buddhism so often to appeal to reason (tarka) as well as to meditation as a prophylactic against error. All this, along with Buddhism's astute, fine-grained analysis of the psychology of error, the intricate ways in which the conscious and unconscious mind constructs falsehood, is available to Christian theology, and to take advantage of such riches would not invite the kind of threat to Christianity's integrity that is presented by superficial identifications of kenosis with śūnyatā or other forced exercises in relativist pluralism.

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