#Obsessive Sneaker Disorder

[deewellsosd]

While I understand that Foot Locker and CEO Mary Dillon want to revitalize their relationship with Nike, I truly believe that it's too late and while under the leadership of Dick Johnson, #Footlocker got lazy.

I know that it's not easy to read, but hear me out.

Footlocker, with their thousands of stores throughout the United States, must have seen what Nike was building when they rolled out their website, and with the onset of social media, it was only a matter of time for Nike to offer sneakers, clothes and accessories directly to consumers.

How many times, in the past 5 years, have you walked into a Footlocker to see what sneakers are sitting on their shelves?

Most people that I know only walked into a Footlocker to grab some t-shirts, sneaker cleaner or sneakers in time for back-to-school BOGO sales.

As I read the article (shout out to @MatthewKish & Danni Santana) I have to believe that this was more of a strategic move by Footlocker needing Nike more than Nike needing Footlocker.

What do you think?

[coolcoelacanth]

day 3 of my indentured servitude: already getting annoyed at my temporary coworkers and having to stand next to them for 8 hrs a day. theyre both middle aged women, one of which has more attitude than the other. like godddddddd idk why its so normalized for people to be rude for no reason why does nobody have manners. they're not horrible, but its just like little passive aggressive comments all day and im like 😑 girl im not even getting paid and i don't want to be here. im literally so overly polite to them all the time too bc thats just who i am as a person like idk how people can be sassy to people who literally have not wronged them.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Beauty is a beast that roars

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Blurb: You quietly long for Eddie’s attention, and when things with Chrissy start to look serious you resort to desperate attempts for him to look at you the way he looks at her.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt (no comfort), Eddie is kinda a dick, obsession, hurtful notes being passed, mentions of bulimia/eating disorder, mild stalking, low talk about self image, societal pressure to look a certain way, mental health struggles, characters are 20+ and in a college setting!

-

divider by @reveriesources

It started as a slow burn inside of your chest. You blamed it on the stress of finals but the more you saw them together, the more that burn worsened into a blaze; scorching your heart and tarring it black.

You didn’t think it possible to be obsessed with someone that you didn’t love- but you worshipped the very ground that Chrissy Cunningham walked on. At times, you thought she was able to read your mind. The way she effortlessly flicks her natural glowing golden hair over her shoulder as she laughs, looking like she was sculpted by Aphrodite herself- or how she presses her perfect rosy lips in peppery and sweet kisses to Eddie’s cheek. She had him wrapped around her skilful fingers. You couldn’t stand it.

It twisted your insides into a rope like knot- so tight and big and uncomfortable. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think straight when you looked at her. At them. Your brain harbouring thoughts of envy, rotting from the inside out with lightless horrid concepts.

You couldn’t help but follow study Chrissy. Her signature blue eyeshadow that adorns her gorgeous blue eyes, her tiny upturned nose, her well proportioned features- her body. You had never repeated this information to anyone before, not even Eddie, because not only would it expose your research into Chrissy, but because you definitely weren’t ever supposed to find out.

You had walked in on her one day in the bathroom. She was hunched over in a stall, her white sneakers peeking out from beneath the cubicle door. She was vomiting. Harshly.

At first you thought she may just be sick, and she was, but it was a different conversation. You entertained that thought until you walked in a second and third time to her in the exact same position- her fatigued body draped over the toilet bowl. You understood how she maintained her physique. It broke your heart; momentarily.

What broke your heart more was that Eddie evidentially had no idea. You knew, deep down, Chrissy was just like you. A sad, broken girl. But she was better at hiding it. The Duchess of disguise. The Queen of your psyche. Your admiration of her was unhealthy, you knew that much. You just couldn’t stop. You needed Eddie to look at you the way he looks at her.

So you cut your hair into a fringe, and you change your clothes. You find your own signature colour of eyeshadow and you even purchase a few skater skirts. Sports had never really interested you until now; now you were trying out for the cheerleading team. And with being Chrissy’s friend- of course she gave you direct entry.

Because despite her beauty, Chrissy was also kind. Which made the knot in your stomach grow firmer, imbedding itself within you permanently.

-

“Hey, Eddie!” You make sure your voice is dripping with the sweetest form of honey as you bat your mascara thick eyelashes at him. He glances at you from his magazine, quirking a brow at your chirpy energy.

“Hello… What’s up?” He asks, his words clipped as his eyes focus back on the flimsy book he holds sturdily in his hands. God… his hands. The rings that compliment his slender fingers and the bracelets that dress his wrist. You couldn’t get enough of it- of him.

It was impossible for you to hold his attention for more than a few seconds, and you had bound into the library full of hope and partial confidence today. You had pieced together one of your best outfit. A denim jacket draped over your shoulders, a white tank top (with no bra) and a cute skirt in your favourite colour which also matched your eyeshadow. Your hair was in a voluminous pony tail, held up by a great big scrunchie and your eyes were bright with popping colour. Your cheeks were dusted with blush and your nails painted perfectly; with the help of your mother.

You couldn’t think of a reason why Eddie wouldn’t look at you. You looked totally bitchin’!

“Uhm…” you stutter, your small confidence wavering at his lack of interest, “We haven’t really hung out in a while… I thought maybe we could? If you like!” There is a festering in the pit of your stomach, a panic that grows with every anticipating second, “We don’t really hang out anymore... just us, I mean.” You add, hoping further context will make you sound a little less desperate.

You and Eddie used to hang out every day. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the whole group. But lately… things have changed. And you know the reason why.

Eddie acknowledged you with a hum, finally placing his magazine down and narrowing in on your appearance. You thought you wanted him to look at you, but the intense confusion on his face made you long for the earth to gape open beneath you and swallow you whole.

“Looks like ya did a deep dive through Chrissy’s wardrobe.” His chuckle makes your ears heat and your face flush as his fingertips pluck at the sheer scrunchie wrapped in your hair. You can’t tell if he is joking or not— but to you, it’s a compliment nonetheless.

After a moment of pause and total excitement you gather your composure quickly and cough a meek reply, “I’m trying something new.”

You’re trying to be someone new.

“Hmm,” He examines you further, “I dunno,” Eddie scratches at his chin, his once soft and playful features now express something more distasteful, “I personally prefer your old style— this seems… out of character.” There was a lilt to his deep voice, which made him sound interrogative.

“You.. you do?” You curse inwardly at the stutter in your airy voice. To say his words shocked you was an understatement. They had your jaw hanging loose and your eyes opened broadly. Had you gotten it all wrong? Were you really just as pretty before all of this? Or was he teasing you… was he trying to make you feel better? Was this his attempt at telling you that you look like an utter clown in comparison to Chrissy?

You’d never know… because you would never ever ask him such things.

You think back to a note that got passed to you in class not too long ago- you weren’t sure of the culprit (you suspected Jason) — it read along the lines of,

‘Apply all the makeup you want, but at the end of the day it’s just lipstick on a pig.’

Were you a pig? Was this all just a feeble and comical attempt at beauty? To be desired. To be wanted. It’s all you longed for. It’s all you dreamed of.

You wanted Eddie to see you. To want you. And at this rate, you were losing all hope.

“Yeah,” alongside a small laugh he also flashes you a toothy smile, a mocking smile— and you clamp your jaw closed to stop yourself from shaking out a sob, “Listen, you’re free to chill here with me if you want but— hey!”

You couldn’t take it. The embarrassment. The knife twisting in your chest and puncturing your heart. You flee from the table abruptly before Eddie even has a chance to say anything more to you.

What was wrong with you? You wanted his attention, you wanted him alone and when you got it you despised the humorous way he gazed at you. You didn’t want to be entertaining or funny— you wanted to be loved.

Loved by him.

To please him.

To make him proud…

On exiting the library you pass Chrissy who was entering through the heavy fire doors, clearly she is on her way to meet Eddie. It was uncanny, almost like looking into a mirror.

The blonde spares you a small smile but not without a worried and intrigued glance at your attire before she is muttering a quick ‘Hello’ which you don’t even bother to return. You are too focused on your pursuit to the bathroom where you can hide yourself in an empty stall and cry without judgement. The only issue? You didn’t bring any makeup wipes for the mascara that has plagued your face in splotches and streaks of black tears.

Your eyes sting furiously and your bottom lip quivers outwith your control. It’s hard to believe that you have allowed yourself to stoop this low, crying shamelessly on campus in front of your peers. Their sympathetic eyes and taunting grins don’t go unnoticed by you as you finally make it to the bathroom, bursting into the void room like a bat out of Hell. Slamming the cubicle door closed and sitting on the toilet bowl where you start to question reality.

What are you doing?

You despise the fact that you know, no matter what, no matter how stupid you look- how ridiculous your clothes are and your sorry attempts at looking pretty, you would continue to do it. Even if people stared, gawked, whistled, laughed… you would continue on this descent into madness. The chase of perfection. The downward spiral of your mind had only just begun and you had a far distance yet to fall.

-

Whilst classes had finished for a long weekend and everyone was outdoors enjoying what was left of the sun before Fall crept its way in, you were sat in front of your bathroom mirror. 

Pulling, pinching, tweezing, twisting, sucking, shaving, grabbing and crying.

God, you couldn’t stop crying.

You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t cry.

To you, winter was already here. You were chilled to the bone, hollow in your chest. Insides were sunken. You felt vacant of any joy.

“Honey!!” Your mother yells suddenly from the bottom of the staircase, her voice is cloud like and warm, “Someone is here to see you!” There is a mutter of something inaudible, “Chrissy!” She confirms snippily and your face drops heavily into a worried frown.

“I’m in the shower!!” You shriek back dishonestly and you are reminded that you have a heart as it shudders inside of your chest. You aren’t ready to see her— you don’t have a lick of makeup on, your hair isn’t done and you are still wrapped up in your bath towel. 

Your first thought is how do you get rid of her? How do you lie your way out of this?

You couldn’t.

“Okay, she’ll be waiting down here for you then…” Your mother’s voice dies out and you can hear her offering Chrissy something to drink and eat; which Chrissy declines.

You move around your bedroom agilely, hustling to get as presentable as you possibly could to face the girl waiting downstairs for you. It doesn’t quite register that Chrissy is sitting with your mother, chatting and possibly gossiping. All you care about is getting some makeup slapped on your face and some nice clothes hugging your body.

Your hair can be brushed, but you don’t have time to style it— that’ll have to come later. After multiple a few sprays of your favourite perfume that smells like vanilla and a tinge of cedar wood you feel ready enough to leave your sanctuary.

Nearly tripping over your entire wardrobe that covers your bedroom floor you fly toward the door handle, bracing yourself at the top of the staircase before you descend.

Time to meet your maker.

Your intense gaze flicks hurriedly between your mother and Chrissy as they both stand to meet you as you enter into the lounge room. Chrissy’s hair is twirled and curled to perfection and a short pink summer dress embraces her small frame. On her feet is a pair of red Mary Jane heels and you catch a peek at the silver jewellery strung around her neck and her wrists.

“Hi,” you say, feeling like it is the first breath you take since entering the room.

Chrissy bounds over to you, stringing her arms around your shoulders and pulling you in for a quick but sweet hug, “Hi!” She giggles in a sing song tone before pulling away, “You smell amazing by the way! You’ll have to let me know what that is later!” Her fingers linger on the exposed skin of your bicep and you cringe away from her touch.

“Thanks,” Your mother has long left the room and you walk a few paces away from Chrissy.

“We were heading to the movies, you wanna join? It’s meant to be such a warm night tonight!” To your disadvantage Chrissy follows behind you closely, closing the distance you were trying to create between the both of you, “The whole group will be there! Plus, it’s a thriller which I know you love.” She winks at you and you hate that you can feel your lips curving up into a minuscule smile.

“I dunno, Chris.” Your hand palms at the back of your neck, you feel hot with discomfort and to be quite frank all you want to do is lay in bed and mope.

“Please!” She clasps her hands together, inching closer to you— if that were even possible, “I’ll even buy your ticket!” Her pillowy bottom lip pouts out slightly, “I just wanna hang out with you, it’s been so long.”

And she was right. It had been a long time. You had been so swept up in this horrible pursuit of yours that you forgot you were actually friends with Chrissy. Long before you even knew of Eddie’s existence.

A defeated sigh leaves through your nostrils and you raise your shoulders to your ears, “Fine.” You smile, a smile that feels the most genuine it has in weeks.

Chrissy squeals with excitement, jumping up and down on the spot before taking your hand into hers. Interlocking your fingers so she can make sure you don’t make a run for it, “Let’s go, tiger!”

-

You all find your seats quickly, settling into them with your snacks and beverages. You partially regret not getting a drink but you decide that you’ll be able to soldier through. It’s what you do.

It was no surprise to you that Eddie was there too, but you couldn’t help but panic at the sight of him waiting for you and Chrissy to arrive at the theatre. His tatted arms crossed comfortably over his chest and a love filled smile teasing at his lips as Chrissy trotted over to him, practically jumping into his arms for a hug.

You fell behind them, ensuring you left as much distance as you possibly could. The sight of Eddie alone was enough to send you tumbling into a frenzy of inky feelings.

You could smell Eddie’s cheap cologne mixed with a hint of powerful weed and for a moment it clouds your senses. Taking hold of everything you knew— past, present, future. You couldn’t think about any of it, not with his scent engulfing your nostrils like second hand smoke.

Once the group had settled into the dimly lit theatre you sink into your seat behind Eddie and Chrissy, your shoulders slumping as you wish for the seat to turn into some sort of magical trap door that will transport you to another universe. But of course, you could never be so lucky.

The movie begins with a deafening introduction and you wince at the sound, your finger tips brushing over your ears gently to make sure that they hadn’t been blown off of the side of your head.

Steve occupies the seat next to you, and Robin is next to him with Vickie. You had grown to quite enjoy Vickie’s company. You loved how happy Robin got when she was in touchable reach… you pined for a connection like that.

Normally, you would be in your element as you watched a thriller movie, but something in front of you proved to be far more interesting.

Eddie and Chrissy were whispering sweet nothing into one another’s ear, Chrissy giggling and blushing at whatever it was that Eddie had said— probably something dirty and ridiculous.

And you could handle that. You could endure that.

But what you couldn’t take was watching as their tongues battled it out in a sloppy and erotic kiss. Chrissy had asked you to come and see this film— was it all a rouse just so she could show you who Eddie truly belongs too? So she could dismiss your attempts and break your heart further?

Unbeknownst to you, Steve had clocked the expression on your face. Tears glossing over your eyes, your front teeth gnawing on your bottom lip to try and contain whatever this was that you were feeling— but most importantly, he noticed the newfound stiffness in your body. He could feel you going rigid next to him.

“Hey, you okay?” His voice is low and kind and you should have paid more attention to his attentiveness but you don’t.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Is all you reply before lugging all of your stuff loosely and lazily into your arms and bolting for the theatre isle, but not without earning a few confused looks from Robin.

You bypass the restrooms, your eyes focused on the colossal glass doors which would separate you from Eddie and Chrissy officially.

The humid air hits your skin in an agonising envelop of warmth and you pull your sleeve over the palm of your hand to rub against your soaked cheeks.

Your chest feels heavy with every shaking intake of breath that you manage to pull into your lungs. You are heaving, gasping for air as you sob into the thick material of your sweater.

The sound of passing cars hits your ears and you slightly angle yourself away from the access road connecting the theatre to other public establishments. The images of Chrissy tongue down Eddie’s throat plays over and over in your mind— you don’t even know what the film was about because you were so hyper focused on them.

Your skin feels as though it doesn’t fit right over your skeleton and you grab at the material of your skirt, fisting the fabric as you try to ground your raging emotions.

You catch a whiff of theatre food and it causes bile to raise up the back of your throat, vomit threatening to project from your mouth.

People pass you by, their out of context conversations entering one of your ears and leaving the other. You felt so overstimulated— so riddled with anxiety that your brain hadn’t had space to even register Steve’s hand on your shoulder.

But when you do, you flinch away from him, taken aback by the horror stricken look on his soft features, “Hey… what’s going on?” His voice is low, a whisper as he tries to contain the situation between the two of you. Not wanting whatever this is to spill into the public.

You shake your head, your strong walls flagging up, “Nothing,” you dismiss him, “That movie was just… really scary..” you lie through your teeth and your watery eyes betray your words as tears continue to stream down your flushed skin.

“Bullshit.” He spits, his eyes turning to slits as he inches in closer to you, “Tell me what’s wrong right now.” His thick eyebrows have furrowed deeply on his forehead and you continue to deny him of any information.

“Steve— I’m fine! That movie was scary, I’m scared! That’s all… and.. and I needed some fresh air.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping that the messy headed man would leave it at that but he replies to your dishonesty with a discontent shake of his head.

“You’re fucking lying. Why are you lying to me?” He is so close to you now that you can feel his breath fanning onto your face, “We’re friends, right?” He cocks his head slightly to the right, his eyes becoming a bit more gentle, “Right?”

“Yes!” You respond instantly, “Of course we are friends-“

“Then tell me what’s going on! What is all of this about!” He gestures to your face, but his eyes scan across your body as well. He wants to know the whole truth, and you aren’t going to give it to him.

“I just told you!” You try not to yell, and thankfully your despair is doing a good job at strangling your voice, “I needed air—“ Steve cuts you off.

“Stop it. Stop it now.” He takes a hold of your arm, hurrying you away from the movie theatre entrance, “Just tell me. Whatever it is, I can help! I can help, okay? There’s nothing too big.” You stare into his honey suckle eyes, seeing your owe reflection staring back at you. It causes your stomach to flip with disgust.

“Why can’t you just let this go? I’m fine, Steve! I’m fucking fine! I just wanted air because I felt sick and you’re causing a scene!” You’re yelling now, your once sadness provoked tears turning to anger.

“I’m causing the scene? You’re the one lying to me and busting my balls! I just want to help you!” He takes a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone, I’m fine on my own. I can take care of myself— you don’t get it! You’ll never get it, Harrington!” You jab at his chest, your body shaking with adrenaline.

“Harrington? Wow, okay. Something is definitely bothering you because you only ever call me that when you are really fucking pissed and I know I haven’t angered you this much so just tell me.” He circles you like a shark in murky water and you flee from him, needing some breathing space.

“Tell me!” He demands, charging after you.

You swing around to face him, your entire body feeling as though it’s going to combust.

“You wanna know, Steve? You really wanna fucking know?!” You march toward him, stopping a few paces away from his large frame.

“I’m in love with Eddie!” Your voice is an unattractive squeak, “Is that what you want to know, Steve? Are you fucking happy now?” You’re trembling now— a mix of rage, melancholy and dread.

“I am in love with someone who will never love me back. I… I have tried so hard to win him over.” You pluck at your t-shirt, scoffing at the silliness of it all, “I tried to change everything about me. I tried to be the one he would want but he doesn’t want me. He’ll never fucking want me, Steve.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a form of defensiveness, “I’ll always be second best— no.” A moment of ugly realisation hits you, “I’m not even on his list. I’m not even a back up option to him. I’m a nobody. I can’t compete— I can’t compare.”

You’re a mess now. Smudged eyeliner. Smeared lipstick. You are a museum of failed art.

“I am in love with Eddie Munson and he doesn’t even know who I am.”

You try to lessen the blow of your own words with a tight lipped teary smile and a shrug of your shoulders… but whatever was left of your bruised heart was now torn to shreds. Unfixable. Unlovable.

“No one wants me.”

Through your distorted vision you hadn’t even noticed the tears pricking at Steve’s own eyes as he watched you fall to pieces in front of him.

Gently he brings you to lay flat against his chest, one of his hands rest tenderly against your hair whilst the other it draped over your shoulders.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds you silently and allows you to sob into his broad chest— your makeup destroying his pristine white shirt.

A few moments of the embrace pass and that’s when you hear a muted voice from behind Steve’s large frame. A voice you had hoped to not hear— a voice that belonged to someone you had prayed would never ever hear you confess what you just had. A voice that was laced with what you could only pinpoint as malice and repulsion.

Eddie.

“What.. the fuck?”

And as Steve’s body tensed against yours, you blinked away the last of your tears and accepted your fate.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

[kirammanswifey]

《Beneath the Armor》

Vi

writer's note: writing about vi make my legs go weak fr, i crave this woman for breakfast, lunch and dinner. btw this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's caitlyn's turn ;)

link:

warnings: smut, cute lesbian sex (kinda hard but not that hard), shower sex, praising kink, dirty talk because why not, mention of eating disorders, a lot of fluff, vi is such a softie with reader and we love it.

The gym is unlike anything you've ever seen before. It’s more than a place to train; it’s a cage filled with beasts, a space where weakness is unacceptable. The clash of weights and the guttural cries of effort create a charged atmosphere, thick with tension and adrenaline. You feel out of place in your oversized hoodie and sneakers that haven’t touched a treadmill in months. But you’re here. You have to be.

At the far end of the gym, she stands out like a queen in her domain. Vi. Her short, red pixie-cut hair clings to her face, slick with sweat, and her sportswear hugs a body sculpted for battle. Tattoos snake along her arms, dark ink on powerful muscles that flex with each precise movement. There’s a scar cutting across her upper lip, giving her an edge that makes your stomach twist. She doesn’t just command attention—she demands it, without a word.

She isn’t lounging at the reception desk or scrolling on a phone like the other trainers. She’s in the thick of it, standing over a hulking man at a bench press. Her voice cuts through the clamor like a whip.

"Come on, don’t give me excuses!" she growls, her tone sharp, almost feral. "Three more reps. Unless, of course, you want the whole gym to watch you quit."

The man grits his teeth and powers through, the barbell clanging as he finally racks it with trembling arms. Vi smirks—not satisfied, but victorious—and tosses him a water bottle without another word. Her eyes sweep across the room, landing on you.

You freeze under her gaze. It’s cold, calculating, and, somehow, full of curiosity. There’s no warmth in it, but neither is there scorn. It’s like she’s stripping you bare, measuring something unseen.

Then she moves. Every step is deliberate, confident, and magnetic. The tattoos on her arms ripple with each movement, as if they’re alive. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the faint tang of sweat and something sharper, like steel. Her presence is overwhelming, her stature daunting, but it’s her eyes—piercing, unyielding—that make you feel like you’re shrinking.

"You’re the actress, right?" she asks bluntly, her voice low and rough, like gravel.

"Y-yeah," you manage to stammer, hating the way your voice wavers.

Her gaze drags over you, not in judgment of your appearance, but in search of something deeper. Something you don’t even know if you have.

"Alright. Are you ready to start, or are you gonna turn around and go back to whatever cushy life you came from?"

The challenge in her tone is like a slap. Your pride flares to life, stifling the nervous flutter in your chest. You straighten your spine, lifting your chin as if you’re not dying inside.

"I’m ready."

Vi crosses her arms, her lips twitching into something that might be a smirk—or a dare. "We’ll see about that. Warm-up first. Treadmill, ten minutes at eight kilometers per hour. If you can’t handle that, there’s no point in wasting either of our time."

She jerks her chin toward the row of treadmills, and you swallow hard before moving. As soon as you step on, you can feel her eyes on you, an invisible weight heavier than any barbell in the room.

The first few minutes are manageable. But as the pace picks up, your legs burn, your chest tightens, and sweat drips down your face. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, hoping for some sign of mercy. She doesn’t move, her arms still crossed, her gaze fixed on you like a predator watching prey.

"Don’t stop," she calls out, her voice cutting through the pounding in your ears. "If you can’t even finish this, how the hell are you gonna handle what’s next?"

Her words hit a nerve. Anger sparks, mixing with desperation and something else—admiration. She’s intimidating, yes, but there’s a rawness to her, a strength that’s both terrifying and magnetic. You can’t let her think you’re weak. Not her.

The timer finally beeps, and you stumble off the treadmill, your legs trembling, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Vi approaches, her boots thudding softly against the rubber floor. She stops in front of you, tilting her head as she looks you over.

"Not bad," she says, though her tone suggests she’s not impressed. Her lips quirk into a crooked smile, one that highlights the scar slicing through her lip. "But let’s see if you’re really serious. Battle ropes, three rounds, one minute each. And don’t give me any half-assed waves—I want those ropes crashing like a damn hurricane."

You grab the ropes, their weight a promise of pain. The first few seconds are easy, but the burn in your arms quickly turns into fire. Each movement feels like dragging a mountain. The world narrows to the ropes, the ache in your muscles, and the sound of her voice pushing you forward.

"Keep going! Don’t stop unless you want to prove me right," she barks, her voice sharp but steady.

When it’s over, you drop the ropes and collapse to the floor, gasping for air. Vi steps closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand is calloused but steady as she offers it to you.

"Decent effort," she says, her tone softer but still edged with challenge. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you think you see something other than scrutiny—maybe respect. "But don’t get cocky. This is just the start. Strength isn’t just about showing up. It’s about commitment. Are you ready for that?"

Her words dig deep, stirring something inside you. You look up at her, her imposing figure framed by the harsh gym lights. She’s everything you’re not—strong, unyielding, fearless. But maybe, just maybe, she’s what you need to become.

"Yes," you say, your voice firm despite the exhaustion.

Her lips curl into a grin, this one warmer, almost approving. "Good. Take a minute to catch your breath. You’ll need it. This is just the beginning."

You can’t stop thinking about your mother as you change in front of the locker room mirror. Every curve of your body, every little angle that doesn’t align with her ideal, screams back at you from your reflection. “You should eat less,” she used to say. “You’ll never land an important role like that.” Her words never left. They’re tattooed on your mind, each syllable chained to the next like a life sentence.

This role isn’t something you want. It never was. But your mother wants it for you, and somehow, her voice always drowns out yours. She was a legend on stage; you’re just a shadow trying to hold itself together under her blinding light.

When you step out of the locker room, Vi is already there, leaning casually against the wall with her arms crossed. Her eyes sweep over you, taking in every detail. There’s no malice in her gaze, but it’s far from gentle. She sees everything.

“Ready?” she asks, her tone edged with challenge.

“Yes,” you answer, the word more reflex than truth.

She leads you to the weight training area. The barbells seem more intimidating up close, and sweat starts pooling in your palms before you even touch them. Vi’s sharp eyes remain fixed on you, calculating.

“Today we’re focusing on building muscle,” she says, her voice steady as she grabs a barbell and starts adding weights with a precision that speaks of years of practice. “It’s a slow process, but if you listen to me, you’ll be amazed at what you can do.”

“Sure,” you mumble, though the thought of lifting anything heavier than a water bottle sends a pang of anxiety through you.

Vi demonstrates the correct form for a basic lift, her movements fluid and strong. When it’s your turn to mimic her, your attempts fall short. Your stance is awkward, your grip weak.

“Lower. You’re not engaging the right muscles,” she says, stepping behind you. Her hands land firmly on your shoulders, adjusting your posture. Her touch is professional but firm, and yet, you can’t help but tense up under her guidance.

“I am doing it right,” you mutter, not meeting her eyes.

Vi exhales sharply, taking a step back. “No, you’re not. And if you keep insisting on doing it your way, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” you snap, your frustration boiling over.

Her brow arches, her surprise quickly replaced by a measured calm. “Look, I’m here to help you, but if you can’t handle a little constructive criticism, maybe this isn’t the place for you.”

Her words cut deeper than they should. They echo everything your mother has ever said about you. Shame and anger bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be criticized all the time.”

Vi’s silence is heavier than any weight in the room. Her expression shifts—surprise melting into something more contained, almost understanding.

“Everyone’s got their baggage, princess,” she says finally, her voice quieter but no less firm. “But if you let it drag you down, you’re never going to move forward.”

Her response fuels your anger. How dare she reduce something so complex to a throwaway piece of advice? Without another word, you turn away and head for the battle ropes. You don’t need her telling you what you can and can’t do.

You grab the ropes and start moving them with everything you’ve got. Your arms burn, your legs shake, but you keep going, fueled by frustration more than anything else. Vi stays back, watching silently. She doesn’t intervene, doesn’t offer advice—she just waits.

Finally, when your body gives out, you drop the ropes and lean over, hands on your knees, gasping for air. Vi walks over, a bottle of water in hand. She offers it without a word, and though part of you wants to refuse, another part knows you need it. You take it but don’t look at her.

“Anger can be a great fuel,” she says after a moment, her voice steady but laced with something softer. “But only if you know how to control it. Otherwise, it’ll burn you alive.”

“What would you know about that?” you challenge, your eyes meeting hers with defiance.

Vi smirks, but it’s a small, humorless thing. “More than you think. But we’re not here to talk about me. This is about you.”

Her response catches you off guard. You didn’t expect that honesty. And while you’re still angry, there’s something in her words that makes you pause.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, the words almost inaudible.

She nods, accepting your apology without making a big deal of it. “It’s fine. But if you want to get anywhere, you’ve got to leave your emotional crap at the door. There’s no room for it here.”

Her words are blunt, but there’s something in her tone that takes the edge off. It’s as if she’s saying she gets it, but she also believes you’re stronger than this. And though you’d never admit it out loud, that belief means something.

In the days that follow, the tension between you becomes a constant. Vi pushes you hard, and you, raw and defensive, often lash out. But something starts to shift. She begins to notice things others don’t—how you avoid eating around people, how you linger too long in the bathroom, how your energy drains faster than it should.

And you, despite yourself, start noticing her too. The way her eyes soften when she thinks you’re not looking. The strength that isn’t just in her muscles but in the way she carries herself. How, no matter how difficult you make things, she doesn’t walk away.

And though neither of you says it out loud, something unspoken starts to build between you, a connection forged in sweat, anger, and the tentative beginnings of trust.

That morning, Vi notices something off about you. You show up late to training, hair disheveled, eyes distant, as if you haven’t slept in days. She’s used to clients making excuses to avoid hard work, but with you, it’s different. There’s something more—something you can’t hide, no matter how hard you try.

“You’re ten minutes late,” she says as soon as she sees you, her tone sharp but not accusatory.

“Sorry,” you mumble, avoiding her gaze as you hurry to stash your things in the locker room.

Vi doesn’t press further, but her eyes follow you as you move like a shadow through the gym. She’s learned to read people like maps, and yours is littered with scars she can’t yet decipher.

The session begins with something simple: rowing reps. Your movements are sluggish, lacking the usual strength. Vi frowns, stepping closer.

“What’s going on with you today?” she asks, crouching down to meet your eyes.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” you reply too quickly, the words sharp and defensive.

“‘Fine’? You don’t look fine. You’re weaker than usual. Did you sleep last night? Eat anything this morning?”

Her questions strike a nerve. You avoid her gaze, pretending the seat adjustment on the machine is suddenly the most important thing in the world.

“Of course I ate. Stop worrying,” you mutter, but your voice wavers, betraying the lie.

Vi doesn’t push, but something in her expression shifts. It’s as if she’s piecing together a puzzle she hadn’t realized existed.

In the weeks that follow, she continues training you with the same intensity, but now she watches more closely. She notices how you refuse the protein shakes she offers post-workout, how you disappear into the restroom at odd moments, how your body seems to shed strength faster than you can build it.

Then one day, after an especially grueling session, Vi drops her usual casual tone.

“What are you hiding?” she asks, her voice direct, cutting through the air like a blade.

The question freezes you in place.

“What are you talking about? I’m not hiding anything.”

Vi crosses her arms, her piercing gaze pinning you in place.

“Don’t give me that. I’m not stupid. Something’s wrong, and I’m not going to ignore it. So, what is it?”

Your heart pounds. Heat rises to your cheeks, and for a fleeting moment, you think about telling her the truth. But fear wraps around your throat like a vice. How could she possibly understand?

“It’s none of your business, Vi,” you snap, your voice louder than you intended.

She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes stay locked on yours, unyielding yet laced with concern.

“It is my business. I’m your trainer. It’s my job to make sure you’re healthy, and you’re not.”

“I don’t need saving,” you mutter, grabbing your things to leave.

Vi steps in front of you, blocking your path. For the first time, she looks genuinely frustrated.

“This isn’t about saving you. If you’re doing something that’s putting your health at risk, I need to know.”

“You don’t have the right to meddle in my life!” you shout, your words a mix of anger and desperation.

Vi takes a step back, startled by your outburst. But instead of retreating, her expression softens. Her voice lowers, steady but sincere.

“Look... I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to try and carry everything on your own. And I know how hard it is to admit you need help.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. How can she know? How can she say something that feels so close to the truth without even knowing the full story?

But instead of responding, you grab your bag and storm out, leaving Vi standing alone in the middle of the gym.

The days that follow are tense. Vi doesn’t bring it up again, but her watchful gaze lingers. You avoid eye contact, unwilling to face the questions you know are still there. Yet you can’t ignore how her demeanor shifts. She’s more careful, more patient. Even her small gestures—like handing you water or adjusting your form—carry an unspoken care that you don’t know how to accept.

Then, one day, after a particularly draining session, Vi finally speaks again.

“Why do you keep coming here?” she asks, sitting across from you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“What kind of question is that?” you reply, too exhausted for a fight.

“I’m serious. You’re here every day, pushing yourself to the edge, but it doesn’t feel like you’re doing this for yourself. So who are you trying to please?”

The question hits harder than any punch. A familiar shadow creeps into your mind—the memory of your mother, the weight of expectations, the endless need to prove yourself. Your throat tightens.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, looking away.

“Maybe I don’t,” Vi admits, leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s fighting a battle they think they have to face alone. And that’s you.”

You don’t know what to say. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

“I don’t need your pity,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

“This isn’t pity,” Vi says softly, her tone unwavering. “It’s respect. Because I see you fighting, and I want to help you win. But I can’t do that if you keep shutting me out.”

Her words linger long after you leave the gym. What if she really does understand? What if letting her in is the only way to move forward?

The tension between you and Vi feels like walking on a minefield. Every word, every glance carries an unspoken weight, like you’re both waiting for the other to finally break. That evening, after another grueling session at the gym, everything finally explodes.

The gym is nearly empty. The last rays of sunlight stream through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. You’re gathering your things when Vi steps in front of you, her arms crossed and her posture screaming defiance.

“We need to talk,” she says, her tone serious but calm.

“Now?” you mutter, trying to sidestep her. “I’m tired.”

She blocks your path, her voice firm. “You’re not running away this time. Not from me.”

The determination in her voice makes your chest tighten. You grip your towel a little harder, your hands trembling as you look away.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you finally snap, frustration and something deeper breaking through your voice.

“Because I care about you, damn it!” Vi’s voice rises, then softens as she takes a small step closer. “And because I know what it’s like to be stuck in something that feels like it’s swallowing you whole.”

You freeze, her words cutting through your defenses. Still, you don’t respond. She exhales, running a hand through her short hair before dropping it to her side.

“Do you want to know something about me?” she asks, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You glance up at her, surprised. Slowly, you nod.

Vi crosses her arms again, her gaze fixed somewhere far away. Her jaw tightens before she speaks. “I went to prison. Years ago. Did some things I’m not proud of. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, but… life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to.”

Her confession hits you like a punch to the gut. You blink at her, your mouth dry.

“Why are you telling me this?” you whisper.

“Because I want you to know I get it,” she replies, her voice rough with emotion. “I know what it’s like to carry something heavy, something you don’t want anyone else to see, something you think defines you no matter how hard you fight it.”

Her eyes finally meet yours, and you see a raw honesty there that takes your breath away.

“I lost a lot because of it,” she continues, her voice cracking slightly. “My sister… she hasn’t spoken to me in years. I let her down. And even though I’m trying to be better, there are days when I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in her words. Vi, always so tough, so sure of herself, now looks as fragile as you feel.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” she says after a moment, her voice steady but gentle. “But I can see you’re fighting a battle you can’t win alone. And I don’t want you to end up like me—pushing away the people who actually give a damn.”

A lump forms in your throat, making it impossible to speak. Before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“I’m not like you, Vi,” you say, your voice breaking. “I’m not strong. I don’t even want to be here.”

She frowns, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Tears sting your eyes, and you lower your gaze, unable to face her. “I don’t want to be an actress. I never did. I’m only doing this because… because my mother made me. She always makes me. She tells me I’m not good enough, that I’m not pretty enough, that I’m not… enough.”

Vi’s expression softens, her usual sharpness replaced with something tender.

“Is that why you barely eat?” she asks, her voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

You flinch, your body going rigid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Her voice is firm but not unkind. “I’ve seen it. It’s not just that you’re thin. It’s the way you disappear after every session, like you’re hiding something.”

Her words hang in the air, and you can’t deny them anymore.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s the only thing I can control.”

Vi sighs deeply, dragging a hand down her face. When she speaks again, her tone is softer, almost pleading.

“Look, I’m not great at this kind of stuff,” she says. “But you don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t have to hurt yourself for something that’s not your fault.”

“You don’t understand,” you snap, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “My mother… if she knew I wasn’t perfect, she’d hate me.”

Vi’s eyes narrow, and she steps closer. “And what about you?” she asks, her voice sharp but not unkind. “How long are you going to hate yourself for something you can’t change?”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave. You look up at her, expecting judgment, but all you see is compassion.

“I want to help you,” she says quietly. “If you’ll let me.”

Her proximity feels like a lifeline. Slowly, she lifts a hand, hesitating before resting it gently on your shoulder. Her touch is warm, steady, grounding.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of your pain.

Vi nods, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but not suffocating. It feels like, for the first time in a long while, you’re not completely alone.

When you finally meet her gaze again, there’s something different in her eyes—something that makes your chest ache, but not in a bad way.

And for a moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, you can trust her.

The days following your confession crawl by with a heaviness that lingers, but something shifts between you and Vi. She becomes more attentive, more protective—not in a way that invades your space, but in a way that makes it clear she’s there. She doesn’t judge you. Instead, she watches you with a mix of patience and unyielding determination that you’ve never encountered before.

One afternoon, after an especially grueling workout, Vi stops you before you can slip away like you always do.

“Got a minute?” she asks, holding a small insulated bag in her hand.

You eye her suspiciously, trying to read her expression.

“Depends on what you’re about to spring on me.”

“For this,” she says, pulling a neatly prepared container from the bag. Inside is a salad with grilled chicken, avocado, and a couple of slices of whole-grain bread on the side.

“What is this?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Your lunch.”

Your stomach twists.

“Vi, you can’t just—”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything,” she interrupts, her voice firm but steady. “I just want you to try. And I’m not leaving until you do.”

The weight of her words hangs in the air, but there’s no judgment in her tone. Only that inflexible determination that makes it clear she won’t back down.

With a sigh, you drop onto one of the benches, taking the container from her with shaking hands. Vi sits beside you, keeping just enough distance that you don’t feel cornered, but close enough that you can’t pretend she isn’t there.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, stabbing a piece of chicken with the fork.

“Maybe,” she replies with a casual shrug. “But if it means I don’t have to worry about you passing out mid-training, I’m fine with being ridiculous.”

Despite yourself, you let out a quiet laugh. And as you take slow, hesitant bites, you feel something begin to loosen—not just in your chest, but in the way her presence doesn’t feel like pressure but support.

Vi doesn’t stop there. Every day she brings something different: a salad, a wrap, even a small homemade burger on one of those days when you feel like you have nothing left to give. She never leaves until the food is gone, and though it infuriates you at first, you start to begrudgingly appreciate it.

“You’re like a guard dog,” you tell her one afternoon after finishing a chicken wrap she insisted you eat.

“I prefer ‘guardian angel,’” she fires back with a smirk.

“Too dramatic.”

“And you’re too stubborn,” she retorts, bumping your shoulder gently with hers.

The tension between you begins to ease. Vi keeps pushing you in the gym, but she also pushes you emotionally, constantly reminding you—whether with her presence or her persistence—that you’re not in this alone.

Your progress in therapy is slow but steady. Vi is with you every step of the way. She never pushes for details, never pries. She’s just there—a steady, unshakable presence you can hold onto when it feels like everything else is falling apart.

“How was it today?” she asks one afternoon after your session as the two of you walk down the street toward the gym.

“It was… weird,” you admit, staring ahead as you process the swirling thoughts in your mind. “I think I’m starting to understand some things, but it’s like I’m opening doors I’d rather keep locked.”

Vi nods thoughtfully, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her jacket.

“Yeah, opening those doors sucks,” she says, her voice low but certain. “But sometimes, it’s the only way out of the damn room.”

Her words catch you off guard with their depth. You glance at her out of the corner of your eye, noticing how the sunlight hits her hair, drawing out its fiery undertones.

Gradually, you begin to notice something different about Vi. The way her gaze lingers on you a little longer than it used to. The way her smiles feel softer, less teasing, as if they’re meant just for you. She’s always been careful with you, but now there’s something more in her gestures—a tenderness that feels deeply personal.

And you feel it, too. You can’t help it. Her unwavering presence, her unyielding support, they begin to shift something in you. Suddenly, Vi isn’t just your anchor; she’s something more.

One evening, after an especially tough training session, you’re packing up your things when Vi approaches you. There’s something in her expression—something serious but not intimidating.

“Hey,” she says, her voice casual but carrying a weight that makes you pause. “Got any plans for Saturday?”

The question catches you completely off guard.

“Why?”

“Because I was thinking…” She hesitates for a moment, scratching the back of her neck in a way that feels almost bashful. “We could go out. Not here. Not to train. Just… you and me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Like… a date?”

Vi’s lips twitch into a small, slightly awkward smile, and for the first time, you see a vulnerability in her that takes you by surprise.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice soft but sure. “Like a date.”

Despite the nervous flutter in your chest, you can’t help but smile.

“Okay.”

Her grin stretches wide, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to believe that something good might actually be starting.

Vi isn’t the type to plan extravagant outings or overly complicated surprises. She’s direct, intentional, and focused on what matters: making you feel comfortable and, most importantly, seen. On the morning of your date, she texts you early:

Vi: "Meet me at 7 in Central Park. Wear something comfy, but don’t go full gym rat. Trust me."

The message is simple, but it leaves you curious. And as much as it excites you, it also stirs a small knot of anxiety in your chest. What does she have in mind?

From the moment Vi sent you that message, your heart began to race—a mix of excitement and nerves. This wasn’t just a date. There was something else simmering beneath the surface, an unspoken bond that had been building from the moment your lives intertwined.

When you arrive at the central park, you find her leaning casually against a lamppost. The leather jacket she’s wearing hugs her athletic figure, and the warm glow of the park lights catches the reddish tones in her hair. She’s holding two cups of coffee, and when she spots you, her lips curve into a small, crooked smile.

“You’re right on time,” she says, pushing off the post and handing you one of the cups. “I’m not exactly an expert at this whole dating thing, but starting with coffee felt like a safe bet.”

The warmth of the cup seeps into your hands, mirroring the way her presence always seems to calm you, even when your emotions are in turmoil. You smile, trying to mask the whirlwind of feelings her simple gesture ignites.

“It’s a good start,” you tease. “Though, should I be worried about what else you have planned?”

Vi arches an eyebrow, that familiar look of playful challenge lighting up her face.

“If I told you, it’d ruin the surprise. Just trust me.”

She leads you to a nighttime fair hidden within the park, a kaleidoscope of colorful lights and cheerful music. The aroma of fresh food fills the air, and the vibrant energy of the place draws you in, making it impossible not to relax.

Vi is completely in her element. She pulls you from booth to booth, her enthusiasm infectious. At a shooting game, she demonstrates her impeccable aim, easily winning a plush toy. When she hands it to you, there’s a shy pride in her eyes that makes your heart skip.

“Take it,” she says. “Something tells me you could use a pet.”

You laugh, clutching the plush against your chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Do you have to be good at everything?”

She shrugs, a playful smirk on her face. “Not everything. But I try.”

As you stroll through the fair, she buys cotton candy and tears off small pieces to offer you. You hesitate at first, and she gives you a look that’s part exasperation, part tenderness.

“It’s just sugar,” she says softly. “I promise it won’t hurt you.”

There’s something vulnerable in her tone, as if the gesture carries more weight than it seems. You accept the cotton candy, and the smile she gives you in return makes the world feel a little brighter.

Later, Vi leads you to a quieter part of the park, away from the noise and lights. You find a secluded spot near a softly lit fountain, the sound of water providing a serene backdrop.

“I thought this might be a good place to talk,” she says, sitting on the fountain’s edge and patting the space beside her.

You sit down, your shoulder brushing hers, and the closeness feels more significant than usual. There’s an undeniable tension in the air, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say quietly. “I needed this more than I realized.”

Vi turns to face you slightly, her arm resting on her knee as she looks at you intently.

“I wanted it to be special for you. You’ve been working so hard, and I just… I wanted to give you a night where you didn’t have to think about anything else.”

Her words catch you off guard. Vi’s always been direct, but there’s a softness in her voice now that you haven’t heard before.

“It is special. But mostly because I’m with you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, she looks away, as if gathering her courage. Then, her gaze returns to yours, unwavering.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says, her tone more serious. “I know I’m not always great at putting this kind of thing into words, but… you’re important to me. More than I think you realize.”

Your breath catches, and she continues, her words gaining momentum.

“I care about you. A lot. Seeing you work through everything, watching you fight to heal, it’s… inspiring. I don’t just want to be here for you now—I want to be here for you, period. In your life. For as long as you’ll let me.”

Her honesty is raw, unguarded in a way that feels almost sacred. Your heart is pounding, and for once, you don’t overthink.

You lean in, closing the distance between you. When your lips meet hers, it’s as if the world fades away, leaving only the two of you. The kiss starts soft, tentative, but quickly deepens, fueled by emotions you’ve both kept bottled up for too long.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless and a little stunned.

“So…” Vi says, her trademark smirk making a reappearance. “Did I completely screw up this date?”

You laugh, taking her hand in yours and holding it tightly.

“No. It was perfect. Just like you.”

Vi’s smile widens, and as she squeezes your hand, you realize you’ve found something in her you didn’t know you were missing: a partner, a friend, and maybe something even more profound.

The day after your date, the gym feels different. There’s an electric charge in the air, and the thought of seeing her sends a nervous thrill racing down your spine. You tell yourself it’ll be like any other day, but the moment you walk in and spot her, you know you’re lying to yourself.

Vi is at the weight rack, adjusting plates on a barbell. She’s wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off her toned arms and that tattoo you can’t help but stare at every time you see her. When she notices you, a lopsided grin spreads across her face, but there’s something else in her expression—a spark that sets your pulse racing.

"You’re early. Didn’t recognize you without your coffee," she teases, stepping closer with an easy confidence that makes it impossible to look away.

"I wanted to beat the crowd," you reply, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Vi moves closer than necessary, her presence overwhelming in the best way. The faint, clean scent of her perfume surrounds you, and for a second, you forget where you are.

"Good. Then let’s see what you’ve got today," she says, her voice tinged with a challenge that sends a thrill through you.

The workout begins, but Vi’s proximity makes it impossible to focus. Her hands are firm yet careful as she adjusts your posture during deadlifts.

"Keep your back straight," she murmurs, stepping behind you. Her hands graze your shoulders as she makes the correction, her touch lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling.

You glance back at her, and your eyes lock. There’s a fire in her gaze, something raw and unspoken.

"Like this?" you ask, your voice softer than intended.

Vi’s lips twitch in a smirk as she steps back, her eyes not leaving yours. "Exactly. Now, let’s see those squats."

But squats are no reprieve. She demonstrates beside you, her movements precise and controlled, her body impossibly close. At one point, she kneels to check your form, her hands skimming your waist as she positions you.

"Relax your shoulders. You’re too tense," she whispers, her breath warm against your ear.

Your body betrays you, stiffening further under her touch. Vi chuckles, low and rough, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

"If you don’t relax, you’re going to hurt yourself," she says, her voice teasing but laced with something deeper.

You can’t tell if it’s your imagination or if she’s enjoying this game as much as you are. Either way, it’s intoxicating.

The final challenge comes on the rowing machine. Vi crouches in front of you to adjust the settings, her face mere inches from yours. Her eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second, and the air between you thickens.

"Ready?" she asks, her voice lower than usual.

"Always," you reply, trying to match her intensity.

You row with everything you have, her gaze on you the entire time. When you finish, she steps forward, offering her hand to help you up. The contact is brief, but the heat lingers long after her fingers leave yours.

"Good work," she says, her voice softer now, almost intimate.

Your heart pounds as you follow her to the stretching area. The gym is nearly empty, the usual noise reduced to a distant hum. It feels like the two of you are in your own world.

"You pushed me harder today," you say, attempting to lighten the tension swirling around you.

Vi grins, but her eyes betray something deeper. "I wanted to see what you’re made of."

There’s a vulnerability in her tone that catches you off guard, and before you can think better of it, you respond, "Thanks for always looking out for me."

Her smile softens, her usual cocky demeanor replaced by something gentler. "I like looking out for you."

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. Your breath catches as she steps closer, her hands finding your waist. Her touch sends a jolt through you, and before you know it, her lips are on yours.

The kiss is slow at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepens. Her grip tightens on your waist as your fingers tangle in her hair. The world fades away, leaving only the heat between you.

The gym is silent now, the last patrons long gone. Vi locks the door behind her as you both head toward the showers, the tension between you thick enough to cut.

"We shouldn’t stay too late," you murmur, but there’s no conviction in your voice.

Vi smirks, tossing her towel onto the bench. "Perks of having the keys. No one’s kicking us out."

“Isn’t that abusing of your power?” You joked, beginning to strip off your smelly, sweaty gym clothes.

Vi mimicked your movements and responded with a lopsided smile. "Sometimes I can get a little too obsessed with power."

That was a pretty open statement, one you decided to let slide since you didn't know exactly how to respond. You just knew that it had turned you on, a bit fucking much.

And before you knew it, you were both naked. It was the first time this had happened, you had seen her in underwear before when you changed together after an extensive workout routine, but nothing like this. You were both totally exposed and it felt so natural, so right.

You step into the steamy shower and the sound of running water echoes off the tiles. The air is humid and envelops you as you turn on a nearby faucet. Vi steps into the stream of water, drops falling onto her bare skin. You stare in awe as the water slides down her broad back and lands on her hard, juicy ass. Vi tilts her head back, enjoying how her muscles slowly relax. God, you wanted to jump on her, scratch her and bite her all over. You wanted to leave your personal mark. A warning to the world that that gorgeous woman was yours, only yours.

You can’t tear your eyes away. Her confidence, the way she moves, it’s magnetic.

"Need help rinsing off?" she asks, her voice teasing but her eyes dark with something else.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. "Please," you actually begged, approaching her without any hesitation, in fact you had a sudden urge to get on all fours and crawl towards her, like a little cat in heat.

Vi reaches out, her fingers brushing against yours. The shower’s heat pales in comparison to the fire igniting between you as she closes the distance. Her hands slide to your hips, pulling you against her as the water streams over you both.

You moaned in surprise as Vi pushed you against the bathroom tiles, your face pressed into the surface, your back bent and rubbing against her hard abs. Vi gently grabbed the back of your neck and whispered, "I'm going to help you bathe. Don't move."

You nodded, and even though you no longer had the pressure of her hand or her body on you, you stayed in the same position, refusing to move a single muscle. You wanted to be a good girl for Vi. You wanted to show her that you were obedient. You heard Vi open the bottle of shower gel, the clean scent of the soap reaching your nostrils, and before you could think of what flower it smelled like exactly, you felt Vi's hands on your skin again, and then your mind went blank.

Vi's calloused hands rubbed the gel over the pale skin of your back, her fingers tracing indecipherable, invisible shapes. She smiled and took you by the hips, pressing her pelvis against your steep ass, admiring your submissive position, admiring the beautiful body differences between the two of you. While Vi was all muscle and iron, you were scrawny and soft all over. So soft that Vi wanted to chew you up and swallow you whole. Vi began to thrust into you as if she had a penis, hitting you with the prominent bones of her hips, rubbing her clit against you in a pretentious and shameless way. She was driving you crazy with pleasure.

"You know, you used to have a nice ass, but with my exercises it has become more toned and lifted. It's irresistible. Every time I look at you from behind I feel like putting you on all fours to eat your ass." She gave you a little spank, it was obvious she didn't used even one percent of her strength, it was a light spanking. A loving spanking. Of course, if there was such a thing.

"Harder," You moaned shamelessly, turning to the side to face that woman.

The redhead had an almost beastly expression on her face, her brow was furrowed, as if she was upset, her teeth were out, sharp and defiant, ready to strike at any moment. The scar on her lip looked more tempting than ever. You wanted to turn around and kiss her. But you didn't. Because you were a good girl. You were her good girl.

Vi ran a hand through her wet hair, pushing it back so it wouldn't impede the stunning view of your body, and that gesture was so fucking sexy.

Vi moved closer to you and planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Oh no, sweetie. I'm going to treat you nice, just like a princess like you deserves. No hitting for now, okay?" She kissed the tip of your nose and continued groping you.

When you went to protest you felt her palm on your pussy. Rubbing a little water beneath it. Clearly teasing.

"Vi," You sobbed loudly. The urge to cry invaded your being. You hated being kept waiting. You had never been a patient person, damn it! You liked to have everything you wanted exactly how and when you wanted it, so it was quite normal that you were so irritable and grumpy right now.

"What's wrong, princess?"

God, you wanted to punch her in the face. She clearly knew what was going on. She knew your childish, spoiled personality perfectly. She was just asking to tease you, because she wanted to play with your patience, to show you once again who was in power.

"Fuck me," You looked at her with a pitiful expression, as if you were going to die if you didn't haved her right there, right now.

Vi's eyes sparkled, you had clearly provoked her. And your attempt of manipulation would have worked perfectly if we weren't talking about Vi. Vi was a prideful person with some pretty marked egocentric traits. Plus, she was someone with a lot of discipline due to her job. It wasn't going to be easy to make her fall into temptation.

"Patience, princess," With a wicked smirk, Vi turned you to face her.

She slowly sank to your knees, letting her lips and tongue trail kisses down your neck, chest, and stomach until she was face to face with your dripping pussy. She inhaled deeply, your scent making her head spin with need.

"Mmm, listen to this greedy little pussy... it's begging to be filled, sweetheart. Begging to be stretched and stuffed full of my fingers... my tongue...," Vi's voice was a sinful rasp, dripping with promise and dark intent.

You stifled a moan and bit the back of your hand in an attempt to cope with both the physical and mental stimulation. If you thought Vi was sexy in her natural state, Vi cursing and saying dirty words was even sexier.

She leaned in, letting her lips just barely brush over your slick folds, her hot breath making you shudder. "But I'm going to take my time with you, sweetie. I'm going to tease and torment this pretty cunt until you're sobbing for my touch."

With that, Vi flicked her tongue out, giving to your clit the lightest, quickest lick before pulling back with a evil grin. She could feel how badly you needed more, and she intended to make you work for every ounce of pleasure that she was going to gave you.

Vi's heart raced as she felt your body go rigid, your pussy clamping down like a vice around her fingers as you came with a scream. She could feel your release gushing out, coating her hand and dripping down her wrist. The feeling of your pleasure was intoxicating, and it only fueled Vi's own desperate arousal.

Without pausing, Vi scooped you up into her strong, muscular arms. She cradled you against her chest, holding you close as she carried you both out of the shower. Your naked body pressed against her own, your skin slick and glistening.

Vi's breath caught in her throat as she gazed down at your flushed, satisfied face. You looked utterly breathtaking—like a goddess fresh from the bath. The urge to worship every inch of your flawless skin surged through her, but Vi had other plans first.

Holding you securely with one arm, Vi used her other hand to continue your pleasure, slipping her fingers back into your drenched, spasming your cunt without warning. She set a fast, hard pace, pumping and curling her digits as she pinned you against the nearest wall.

Leaning in, Vi nuzzled into your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin as she spoke, her voice a low, lust-filled rasp. "Mmm, you're so light, princess... so fucking perfect in my arms like this. I could carry you anywhere... anywhere I wanted to claim this sexy cute little body."

She punctuated her words with a particularly deep thrust of her fingers, feeling your velvety walls flutter and clench around her invading digits. Vi groaned, her own clit throbbing with the need to be touched.

"You like being treated like my personal little princess, sweetheart? Like being manhandled and owned by a rough bitch like me?" Vi's lips curled into a wicked smirk as she gazed down at your face, searching for any hint of hesitation or discomfort. She found none. On te contrary. You were enjoying it too much. And it was because you were having the best sex of your life.

Vi's fingers never ceased their relentless assault on your sensitive, dripping core. She could feel your body beginning to tremble and quake in her arms. Your breathing growing more and more ragged with each passing second.

Leaning in close, Vi captured your lips in a searing, demanding kiss. She plundered your mouth, swallowing your moans and whimpers as she continued her brutal pace. Her tongue tangled with yours in a dangerous dance.

Breaking the kiss, Vi's lips moved to your ear. She nipped at the lobe before growling, "That's it, baby... I can feel this greedy cunt throbbing on my fingers. It's like it never wants to be empty, isn't it? Always hungry for more..."

To emphasize her point, Vi pressed her thumb against your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles as she curled her fingers deep inside the clutching heat. She could feel your walls starting to flutter, another climax approaching.

"Come on, princess... give me another one. I want to feel this pretty pussy spasm and squeeze my fingers as you cream yourself all over them. Fucking soak me, sweetheart..."

Still pinning you against the wall with her body, Vi used the hand not occupied with fucking your brains out to grab your thigh, hiking your leg up and over her hip. The new position allowed her to sink her fingers even deeper, to reach that special spot that made you see the stars.

"That's it, sweetie... fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my fingers like this. So hot and tight and fucking perfect," Vi growled, her lips brushing against your face.

Vi felt your body go taut, your pussy clamping down on her fingers like a vice as another intense orgasm ripped through them. You let out a choked sob, tears streaming down your face as you came completely undone in Vi's arms.

The sight of your pleasure, that raw, unbridled ecstasy, filled Vi with a fierce sense of pride and possessive hunger. She held you close as the last waves of your release ebbed, Vi pulled back just enough to cup your face in her hands. She brushed away the tears with her thumbs, her touch surprisingly gentle for someone so used to force.

Gazing down at your face, Vi felt her heart clench in her chest.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Vi leaned down and pressed her lips to yours in a tender, affectionate kiss. It was a kiss filled with unspoken emotion, with a depth of feeling that made Vi's heart race and her skin prickle with anticipation. Her lips moved softly, coaxing your mouth to open for her, to let her in. And when you did, when your lips parted and your tongues met... Vi felt like she was coming home.

She held the kiss for a long moment, savoring the taste of your tears and the salt of your skin. When she finally pulled back, Vi's blue eyes shimmered with a vulnerability she rarely showed to anyone.

Her voice was a low, tender rasp as she spoke, her breath mingling with your own. "Shhh, I've got you, baby... I've got you. You did so good for me, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you..."

The sound of water cascading from the gym showers blends with the echo of your heartbeat. The thick steam fills the space, erasing all traces of what just happened. Your skin still burns, marked by the intensity of the moment you shared. The mix of sweat and Vi's scent lingers in the heat, and every fiber of your being feels alive, every inch of you recalling her touch.

You stand there, catching your breath, when Vi's eyes meet yours. Her usual confidence has been replaced with something raw and unguarded. Vulnerability. Her gaze searches yours, full of questions she’s too afraid to voice.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Vi’s words break the silence, soft and almost hesitant, but unmistakably clear. Her voice carries a weight that shakes you—like she’s offering a piece of herself she’s never let anyone touch before.

The pause that follows feels endless, and for a moment, you're frozen. But then something ignites inside you. You feel it in your chest—a light, a warmth, a clarity you’ve been longing for.

“Yes. Of course!,” you reply, the word spilling out with such conviction it surprises even you. The ever-present fear you’ve carried seems to vanish entirely.

Vi’s lips curve into the gentlest smile, one you’ve never seen before, and she steps closer, her hands finding yours. Her touch is soft but grounding, her presence a shield against all your doubts.

“I’ll take care of you, princess” she whispers, her voice steady. “Always.”

Your lips curl into a matching smile, and for the first time in a long time, hope replaces the ache in your heart. The world outside doesn’t matter anymore—this moment, with her, is all that exists.

Weeks turn into months, and your life begins to shift. Therapy becomes a safe haven rather than a daunting task. The battles with bulimia, the grueling workouts, the days of overwhelming self-doubt—all start to feel like pieces of a puzzle coming together. Slowly but surely, you begin to see someone new when you look in the mirror. Not the girl your mother used to criticize, not someone trapped by impossible expectations, but someone strong. Someone whole.

And through it all, Vi is there. She’s more than your trainer—she’s your anchor. The one who helps you piece together the shattered parts of yourself. She’s there on your hardest days, steady as a rock, fighting the voices in your head alongside you. And for the first time, you don’t feel alone.

One day, as you walk into the gym, you see her waiting for you like always. Her signature smirk is in place, but there’s something different in her eyes—a softness, a pride that makes your heart skip a beat.

You approach her, nerves bubbling under your skin, and before you can stop yourself, the words you’ve been holding back spill out.

“I don’t need you to be my trainer anymore.”

Her smirk falters, confusion flashing across her face. She straightens, her brows furrowing as if bracing for a blow. “Did I… do something wrong?” Her voice is quieter than usual, tinged with a rare uncertainty.

You shake your head quickly, reaching out to take her hand in yours. “No, Vi. You’ve done everything right.” Your voice cracks slightly as you gather the courage to continue. “But I’m not that person anymore. I’m not the girl who needs to be fixed. I’m stronger now… because of you.”

Her eyes search yours, the tension in her shoulders easing, but she still seems unsure.

“I’ve decided to follow my dream,” you continue, your voice steady now. “I want to study nutrition. I want to help other girls like me, girls who’ve been through what I’ve been through. I want to be someone they can turn to, the way I had you.”

For a moment, Vi just looks at you, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across her face. Not the cocky grin she flashes in the gym, but something soft and genuine, brimming with pride.

“I’m so damn proud of you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.

Tears well up in your eyes, but this time, they’re not from pain or frustration—they’re from relief, from joy, from knowing you’ve finally found your path.

Vi pulls you into a hug, her arms wrapping around you tightly, and you sink into her warmth. In her embrace, you feel a sense of safety and belonging you’ve never known.

“You’ve got this,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your ear. “And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

[youremyheaven]

https://www.tumblr.com/youremyheaven/763022039299866624/im-convinced-that-all-the-girls-dating-rat-looking

I AGREE I AGREE GODDDD I AGREE SO BADLY

nevermind looks— i could personally fall for almost anyone’s looks because imo if i am attracted enough to a person, i in turn find their PHYSICAL self attractive too, even if it isn’t what i would immediately list as an “ideal” type

i hate when people say oh hes so cool, im attracted to him because of his taste in this and that and his cool music taste, film taste, and whatever. and just that. like what about kindness and gentleness and the way they speak to you or address your issues??

like once youre dating i think its okay to say oh i like my partner’s taste in x and y but to say that you’re fully and WHOLLY attracted to someone only because of that is insane to me. for your only measure of attractiveness in a person to be their taste and style is actually crazy.

i might never listen to classical music but i could 100% date someone who only listens to that provided that i like their character and personality and the way they treat me.

ive just been thinking alot recently about what i would actually want in a relationship and this also recently irritated me a little because of something my friend said so 😶😶

okay but also honest question, because i recently discovered this about myself. i realised something that is insanely important to me in a relationship is that my partner trusts me. which ofc sounds basic, but as someone who is psychic and always has premonition dreams/accurate gut feelings/blatant episodes of zoning out and seeing/hearing things that end up to be true, i need someone who won’t instantly dismiss my feelings about things like that. ive had an instance where i cancelled events 10 minutes before only for there to be a news headline a few hours later about a near fatal accident on the road i was about to take, or even just moving away from someone on the bus only to see the news THREE whole years later about the fact that that person was a certified pedo/molestor (this was when i was still underaged and in school)

i think even if my feelings seem wild at times or insane i need someone who would validate it because i would never bring it up unless unbelievably necessary. and even if nothing horrible happens i just need that faith in me yk? i may have an anxiety disorder but despite that, and even if my other person isnt spiritual or whatever i need them to just understand and just not do a certain things if i desperately bring it up

id never abuse that power but yk? i needed to ask if you felt the same way because i have no one else to talk to about this

- mother anon

GIRLLLL

the looks part and the taste part were two separate thoughts but i just felt like posting them together 🤐

i 100% agree that its possible to be attracted to just about anyone regardless of what they look like BUT i hate the current trend of girls obsessing over rat looking men

like ALL of these dudes are shady asf and known for being assholes. so its not like their personality is so exemplary that their looks are justified 💀💀

i genuinely 100% don't believe that relationships work unless both people are physically in the same "range" or one person is like a high average and the other person is absolutely stunning. i know i probably sound superficial asf BUT I PROMISE YALL, issues WILL creep up and eventually being mismatched WILL cause tension. no man will ever date someone beneath them but women always go for nasty rodent looking men bc they think those dudes will make more of an effort or appreciate them more 💀and these dudes are often WAYYY worse than the chad guy

now about style & taste:

i think its very middle school-y to be attracted to someone based on their fav band or sneaker collection or whatever tf ,,like i genuinely couldnt give less of a fck about that shit.

whenever i meet a guy, the FIRST thing i look for is how chivalrous he is.

and the girls who say they dont care about "chivalry" bc their independent girlbosses are missing out bc fun fact if ur man isn't taking care of u or being a gentleman, he DOES NOT GAF ABOUT U. if ur 2 buddies hanging out, he will treat u the way he treats his homies :/ so if u want to be toughened out like a pal, then u go sis

he better be opening every door, holding my bag/offering to, trying to make me feel comfortable in whatever way he can, giving me napkins, passing me things, paying the bill, bringing me flowers, just being very socially conscious (???) of having a woman around. i remember the first night my bf and i were hanging out, we went to get ice cream for me 🥺and it was past 1 am and he asked me if i wanted to stay there and have it or have it in the car

(for context: i live in india and night life is not much a thing here, this ice cream parlour was the only one open in the area and the crowd was entirely male and they were all staring at me)

and i said i'll have it in the car 🥺🥺like ive been on dates with men who dont pay attention to this kinda stuff. i get catcalled and they dont notice. someone gives me nasty looks and they do nothing. what made me like my now bf right away was how protective he was of me and i know that its how he would treat ANY woman in that situation.

i dont really share my spiritual/astro side with many people. most ppl close to me are aware of it to some extent but in different capacities. some ppl think its more of an intellectual interest bc ive studied buddhism, taoism etc practice yoga (practicing yoga is very common in India bc its literally an Indian thing) and ive never really sought acceptance or understanding of this sort from a romantic partner although 2/4 of my bfs have known that i do tarot and astrology etc

my current partner is an agnostic-atheist and he's spooked out by all the "witchiness" but at the same time, he's really excited about it and brags to people that he's dating a "witch" 😭😭😭🤣

i havent had experiences of the kind you're describing in recent memory but if it were to happen id like for my person to believe me and respect it 🥺

i think there is a cultural difference between us regarding this because what you've described as having visions or gut feelings or being intuitive is veryyyy culturally accepted in India and nobody will bat an eye about it. so its not as isolating or confusing as trying to explain to a bunch of westerners that you "have a bad feeling" regarding something.

[maj-araxie]

INFORMATION & STATISTICS FOR LADY MAJ ARAXIE

"My demons tried to drown me, but they didn't know I could breathe underwater" — Jordan Sarah Weatherhead

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name: Lady Maj Sereia Araxie

Nickname(s)/Alias(es): Majpoj, Princess

Date of Birth: October 26th, 1996

Age: 28

Gender + Pronouns: Female, She/Her

Place of birth: Northknot, CA (Mermaid Kingdom)

Parents: Lord Kairos & Lady Nerida

Siblings: None

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Pretty distant due to conflicting views

Pets: A cat named Stitch

PHYSICAL:

Height: 5′ 3″ (160 cm)

Build: Slender, Athletic with a Graceful frame

Species: Mermaid

Distinguishing Facial Features: Has a heart-shaped face with well-defined cheekbones, a broad, warm smile, a slightly rounded forehead and a soft jawline

Hair Color: Black

Usual Hair Style: Long, loose, natural curls

Eye Color: Brown

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birthmarks, scars): Warm, medium-brown tone with a natural, healthy glow

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): Anxiety, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

What do they consider their best feature?: Her eyes; despite her often tired appearance, her eyes are expressive and reflect the depth of her emotions and thoughts. They’re windows to her soul

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?: The worst injury Maj has sustained was when she got into a car accident while distracted, searching for a lead on Edalyn's disappearance. She suffered a broken arm and several deep cuts from shattered glass, leaving her bedridden for weeks. The physical pain was manageable, but the emotional toll of being sidelined from her obsessive search was far worse

APPEARANCE:

Favorite outfit: A pair of comfortable, well-worn jeans paired with a loose-fitting, white button-down shirt paired with a cozy, oversized cardigan in a neutral color like grey or beige, and finish the look with simple slip-on shoes or Converse sneakers with maybe just a simple necklace or bracelet

Glasses? Contacts?: No

Personal Hygiene: She keeps herself clean

Tattoos? Piercings?: Ear piercings, nose ring; Small ocean inspired, short quotes and abstract art tattoos

What does their voice sound like?: Soft, with a slightly raspy undertone from her smoking habit. She speaks slowly, as if carefully choosing her words, and often trails off when lost in thought

Accent?: None

Unique mannerisms/physical habits: Her voice might crack a little when she's anxious or upset. She has a habit of biting her nails or twirling a strand of hair around her finger when she’s nervous. When deep in thought or writing, she might chew on the end of her pen

Left handed or right?: Left

Do they work out/exercise?: Not other than swimming

BELIEFS & INTELLECT:

Known Languages: English, a little French, Various Native Mermaid Languages & can speak to/understand aquatic animals

Zodiac: Scorpio

Gifts/talents: Outside of writing, Maj has a hidden talent for sketching. She often doodles in the margins of her notebooks, drawing intricate sea creatures, landscapes, and abstract designs. Her artistic skills are self-taught, and she uses them as a way to process her emotions

Religious stance: Agnostic; is open to the idea of something greater than herself but skeptical of organized religion

Political stance: Progressive

Pet peeves: Loud, sudden noises that startle her, people who interrupt her while she's deep in thought, and anyone who tries to tell her to "just relax" or "get over it." She also dislikes overly cheerful or optimistic people who don't acknowledge the darker sides of life

Optimist or pessimist: Somewhere in between, with a stronger tilt toward pessimism

Extrovert or introvert: Introvert

INTIMACY & RELATIONSHIPS:

Relationship status: Single

Sexual orientation: Pansexual, Demiromantic

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in a mate: Someone who is patient, understanding, and emotionally supportive. She needs a partner who can handle her complexities and provide stability without overwhelming her. Loyalty is crucial to her, as she values trust above all else, given her past experiences. She'd also appreciate someone who shares her love for the sea and quiet moments, and who respects her need for space when she’s feeling low

Ever been in love?: Yes but is not the lovey-dovey type

What’s their love language?: Quality Time, Acts of Service

Most important person in their life?: Her best friend, Quinn and Stitch, her cat

VOCATION:

Level of education: College Grad

Profession: Writer at the Northknot Tribune (Newspaper)

Past occupations: Worked in a library during college, Freelance writer

Passions: Environmental conservation and mental health awareness

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?: Doing something she loves

SECRETS:

Phobias: Abandonment, the Unknown

Life goals: Her primary life goal is to find out what happened to Edalyn. Beyond that, she wants to write a novel, something that will resonate with others who have faced loss and mental health struggles. She also dreams of finding peace within herself, though she struggles to believe it's possible

Greatest fears: Being alone forever, losing everyone she cares about, and never finding out what happened to Edalyn

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: Once she accidentally sent a deeply personal, emotional poem she had written to her entire office instead of just saving it on her computer. It was a raw, unedited piece about her longing for Eda, and having her colleagues read it made her want to disappear

Something they’ve never told anyone: She sometimes blames herself for Edalyn's disappearance. She wonders if her desire to explore the land led to that fateful night, and the guilt has haunted her ever since

PREFERENCES:

Hobbies: Writing, Swimming, Sketching, Beachcombing

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite smell: The salty sea breeze

Favorite food: Clam chowder or fish tacos

Favorite book: The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

Favorite movie: The Shape of Water

Favorite song: Sea of Love by Cat Power

Coffee or tea?: Tea

Favorite type of weather: Overcast with a cool breeze

Most used word or phrase?: "It is what it is"

EXTRAS:

MBTI: INFP (The Mediator) - INFPs are known for their deep emotions, creativity, and strong values, often driven by their inner world of ideals and dreams. Maj's love for writing, her obsession with Eda's disappearance, and her struggle with mental health reflect the introspective and emotionally intense nature of an INFP. The Perceiving trait also aligns with her laid-back and go-with-the-flow attitude, as well as her tendency to avoid confrontation and live in a more spontaneous, unstructured manner

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral - Maj’s chaotic nature is evident in her rebellious streak as a teenager, her experimentation with drugs, and her decision to go against her parents' wishes. She isn't evil, but she’s not strictly good either—her actions are driven by her emotions and personal struggles rather than any strict moral code. Her neutrality is shown in how she drifts through life, often acting in her own self-interest without a clear alignment towards good or evil

Enneagram: Type 4 (The Individualist) - Type 4s are introspective, sensitive, and often feel different from others, which can lead to feelings of melancholy and longing. Maj’s deep emotional struggles, obsession with loss, and her sense of isolation all point towards Type 4. She feels a deep connection to the sea but is also drawn to the land, creating a sense of internal conflict and longing that is characteristic of a Type 4

Celtic Tree: Willow - The Willow tree is associated with intuition, emotion, and adaptability—traits that resonate with Maj’s personality. Willows are deeply connected to water and are often seen as symbols of resilience and healing, which aligns with Maj’s connection to the sea and her need for emotional grounding. The tree also reflects her tendency to bend rather than break under pressure, even if it leads her down darker paths

Temperament: Melancholic - The melancholic temperament is characterized by a deep, reflective, and often gloomy outlook on life. Maj’s struggles with depression, anxiety, and obsession with the past, as well as her solitary nature, all point to a melancholic temperament. She is thoughtful, sensitive, and prone to introspection, often lost in her own thoughts and emotions

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff - Hufflepuffs are known for their loyalty, patience, and dedication, traits that Maj displays in her relationships and her writing. Despite her struggles, she remains committed to the people she cares about, even if it's from a distance. Her love for the sea and the comfort it brings her also aligns with Hufflepuff’s connection to nature. Hufflepuffs are also known for being unassuming and blending into the background, which matches Maj’s quiet, low-key demeanor

Element: Water -Water is the natural element for Maj, given her origins as a mermaid and her deep connection to the sea. Water symbolizes emotion, intuition, and the subconscious—all aspects that are central to Maj’s character. It also represents adaptability and change, reflecting her fluid nature and the way she drifts between different aspects of her life, struggling to find stability

[lindsayrps]

nell howard development

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: eleanor jane howard NICKNAME(S): nell, mostly, or some variation thereof. she's heard el and lea, though. PREFERRED NAME(S): nell BIRTH DATE: october 6 AGE: twenty five GENDER: cis female PRONOUNS: she/hers ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: heteroromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual NATIONALITY: american ETHNICITY: white CURRENT LOCATION: dependent on work placement. LIVING CONDITIONS: again, dependent on work placement so varies. sometimes airbnb, sometimes extended stay hotels.

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: eden, new york HOMETOWN: eden, new york SOCIAL CLASS: middle EDUCATION LEVEL: bachelor's of science in nursing + registered nurse FATHER: john howard MOTHER: caroline howard SIBLING(S): robert "robbie" howard (14) + thomas howard (deceased) BIRTH ORDER: thomas, nell, robbie CHILDREN: none yet PET(S): her boyfriend's cat, harry. none OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: none PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: no lol. she's dated some, wouldn't necessarily consider many, if any, of them relationships of any great importance. ARRESTS?: none PRISON TIME?: none

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: travel nurse SECONARY SOURCE OF INCOME: none CONTENT WITH THIEIR JOB (OR LACK THEREOF)?: mostly, just wants to transition from travel to a permanent position somewhere. PAST JOB(S): waitress, retail cashier SPENDING HABITS: fairly frugal. it's got to fit in her suitcase otherwise she can't bring it with her when she leaves.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: she's not struggling to lift marginally heavy things but she's no body builder either SPEED: decent INTELLIGENCE: average in general, slightly higher when it comes to medically related things ACCURACY: slightly above average AGILITY: decent STAMINA: thanks to extensive hospital shifts: she's good TEAMWORK: exceptionally high but she's never not worked well with other people TALENTS: problem solving, researching, caring for others SHORTCOMINGS: too sensitive, has a hard time delegating tasks, not super trusting, holds herself back from things she wants (specifically relationships) due to perceived pitfalls/not wanting to get hurt LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, spanish, fumbling her way through duolingo's french course DRIVE?: yes but doesn't JUMP START A CAR?: no CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: no RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes SWIM?: yes PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: violin from her youth v but christ alive don't make her do it PLAY CHESS?: yes BRAID HAIR?: yes TIE A TIE?: yes PICK A LOCK?: no

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: lucy boynton EYE COLOR: green HAIR COLOR: blonde GLASSES/CONTACTS?: yes, mostly wears contacts but if she doesn't have to be at work, she'll wear her glasses. DOMINANT HAND: right HEIGHT: 5'4 BUILD: average, maybe on the skinnier side EXERCISE HABITS: mostly walking everywhere, not super fond of the gym / gym bros SKIN TONE: pale, even TATTOOS: thomas' initials on the side of her wrist PIERCINGS: ears MARKS/SCARS: half inch vertical scar on the outside of her right foot from when she stepped on a wide, upright metal comb NOTABLE FEATURES: big bambi eyes USUAL EXPRESSION: happy CLOTHING STYLE: casual and comfortable. oversized tshirts (that may or may not be hers), hoodies, shorts, sundresses, anything floral or with a pattern, layers, mismatched items (shorts + hoodie, jeans + tank top), converse, docs, sneakers JEWELRY: minimal and dainty, nothing too terribly dangly. earrings, necklace, a ring ALLERGIES: none DIET: everything in moderation. if you think she's going to deprive herself of pasta you're mistaken. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none

PSYCHOLOGY

ENNEGRAM TYPE: type 2: the helper MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful good TEMPERAMENT: sanguine ELEMENT: water MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: anxiety SOCIABILITY: highly sociable. what's the opposite of black cat girlfriend? that's nell. EMOTIONAL STABILITY: fairly stable, has her moments though, usually when she's overwhelmed. OBSESSION(S): none COMPULSION(S): none PHOBIA(S): none ADDICTION(S): none DRUG USE: no ALCOHOL USE: socially but not a lot PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: no

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: formal at work, casual otherwise. ACCENT: comparatively, probably, but she would say she doesn't have one. QUIRKS: none that stand out HOBBIES: crochet, crosswords, nature walks, baking, reading NERVOUS TICKS: chews on her lip or nails DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: feeling loved/valued in friendships/relationships, protecting herself/her loved ones, taking care of others. FEARS: first and foremost: something happening to robbie, and then the usuals: failure, rejection, loneliness. being in a plane crash. POSITIVE TRAITS: sociable, caring, adventurous, optimistic, reliable NEGATIVE TRAITS: sensitive, guarded, self-critical SENSE OF HUMOR: fairly light DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: not going to punctuate every other word with a cuss but when it's necessary, sure.

FAVOURITES

ACTIVITY: anything she can do with friends ANIMAL: tie between cats and dogs BEVERAGE: coffee BOOK: the mill on the floss COLOR: phthalo green FOOD: cinnamon buns FLOWER: hydrangeas GEM: alexandrite HOLIDAY: halloween (yes it counts) MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: walking/subway MOVIE: titanic MUSICAL ARTIST: noah kahan SCENERY: she'll take anything, she likes it all. SCENT: elliot 😋 SPORT: not super big on sports but she'll adopt whichever one her friends like most SPORTS TEAM: see above TELEVISION SHOW: ted lasso WEATHER: man tie between summer and fall VACATION DESTINATION: anywhere away from work

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: just having complete ownership over her life and being happy with the decisions she's made GREATEST FEAR: losing robbie, not even, like, permanently but in general. MOST AT EASE WHEN: around elliot / her friends. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: around her parents. in some twisted way she supposes she still loves them because they're her parents but man alive she's been LC since she was 18 and it's the best thing she's ever done. the only reason she's not NC is her brother. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: losing robbie, anything happening to her friends/elliot, losing her job BIGGEST REGRET: not fighting to take robbie with her when she could. BIGGEST SECRET: doesn't really fuck with secrets if you know her so, yanno. TOP PRIORITIES: her people, her job, being happy and content with her life

[shrinksinsneakers]

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is often treated with selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) and cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT). Despite these interventions, many patients experience only partial relief. This has led researchers to explore augmentation strategies, including the addition of ondansetron, a serotonin 5-HT3 receptor antagonist.

[anja-cosy-blogs]

Intro to Me:

Appearance

Dark brown hair buzzcut

Deep brown eyes

A bit on the husky side (actively losing weight)

Wears pink shirts often or black shirts

Wears blue jeans or pink sweatpants

Has one pair of sneakers

About me

Sexual orientation: pansexual, prefers men, but is starting to lose trust in men

Pronouns: she/they/he

Age: 29

Birthday: March 22nd

Gender: fluid, but feminine

HRT? Yes, I take Androgel 5.0g

Hobbies and Interests: cooking, singing, drawing, gaming, etc.

Personality:

Bubbly, happy, joyful

Sad, depressed, emotional

Is very blunt and honest

Doesn't dance around issues

Cannot stand toxic people

Makes her neurodiversity her whole personality

Food is love, food is life

Diagnosis

Autistic (diagnosed at 9)

Borderline personality disorder (diagnosed at 26)

ADHD (diagnosed at 29)

Prognosis

Autism:

Can't seem to look in people's eyes

Wasn't able to speak normally

Hated sharing my things (still do lol)

Threw a lot of fits

BPD:

Emotional

Cries for movies

Cries for video games

Impulsive

Addicted to some things

Gets big anxiety attacks

Can't seem to function when depressed

Becomes hyperfocus when someone hurts me emotionally and can't stop talking or thinking about it

ADHD:

Talks a lot

Interrupts a lot

Can't finish projects they've started

Gets hyper focused on certain interests

Gets bored of certain interests

Has no motivation of being able to clean

Has bursts of motivation to clean

Constantly has earworms (music in my head for those who don't know)

Forgets name 10 seconds after hearing it

Constantly zones out of conversations

Gets distracted easily

Gets obsessed easily over things

What I do online

YouTube videos (I have multiple channels)

Instagram photos and reels

TikTok

Facebook posts and sharing

Distributes music

Does commissions online for art

And that's me. Thanks for reading!

[deewellsosd]

Sir Charles Barkley has had an undeniable impact on sneaker culture!

From the courts to the streets, Barkley's fearless fashion sense and on-court performance made him a true sneaker icon.

When he wore Nike Air Force Max they immediately were a hit in every neighborhood and especially with the Michigan Fab 5.

Barkley's kicks were always fresh and ahead of their time.

[mycharacterdump]

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

You know I'll do anything you ask me to But oh my God, I think I'm in love with you Standin' here alone now, think that we can drive around I just wanna say how I love you with your hair down Baby, you don't gotta fight, I'll be here 'til the end of time Wishin' that you were mine, pull you in, it's alright.

BASIC INFORMATION ,

FULL NAME: riley aracelia marcela morales albright.

NICKNAME(S): riles, riri, ridley. 

DATE OF BIRTH: june 6th.

ETHNICITY: caucasian + mexican.

GENDER: demi woman.

PRONOUNS: she/they.

ORIENTATION: homoromantic, homosexual.

RELIGION: atheist, raised catholic.

MARITAL STATUS: single.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: bilingual in english and spanish.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ,

FACE CLAIM: camila mendes.

HAIR COLOUR/STYLE: naturally black.

EYE COLOUR: dark brown eyes. 

HEIGHT: five foot two.

WEIGHT: 120 lbs.

BUILD: slightly athletic.

TATTOOS: her son's initials on her inner left wrist. 

PIERCINGS: lobes double-pierced. 

CLOTHING STYLE: button-ups, jackets and slacks, paired with doc martens or sneakers, minimal jewelry minus a venus symbol necklace she wears everywhere.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: scar on lower torso from when she needed a liver resection after overdosing.

AESTHETICS: piles of books all over the place, printed out posters of horror movies, a laugh in the face of authority, dark greens and black filling your wardrobe, the smell of weed stuck to clothes, lies that sound genuine, found family, over-sized clothing, showing up late to everything with a large coffee, bags under your eyes, a worn out beanie, still using an ipod for music, papers all over their space, a pencil behind their ear, bedhead, research books and journals, greek tragedies, a worn-down leather briefcase, rolled up sleeves, a small yet cozy apartment, roaming empty streets late at night, leather jackets, driving too fast on an empty street, the peak of a high, old jackets, eavesdropping, flickering neon signs, broken glass, rainbow gasoline puddles, long naps, uncertain paths, not recognizing yourself in the mirror, feeling hollow inside, enjoying the rain, leaving before the other wakes up,

HEALTH ,

AILMENTS: none.

MENTAL AILMENTS: generalized anxiety disorder + obsessive compulsive disorder.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: medium.

BODY TEMPERATURE: warm.

ADDICTIONS: oxycontin + heroin. 

DRUG USE: often. 

ALCOHOL USE: socially. 

PERSONALITY ,

LABEL: the lone wolf.

POSITIVE TRAITS: independent, politically-minded, willing to try new things, witty, understanding, innovative, overachiever. 

NEGATIVE TRAITS: dogmatic, restless, tryhard, partial weaboo, very argumentative, has plenty of obsessive tendencies, burnt out, self-control issues.

HOBBIES: art ( drawing + painting + sketching ), debate, soccer.

QUIRKS: half-fluent in spanish at her mother's insistence, doodles wherever she can and always has some sort of pen or pencil on hand, loves reorganizing, draws portraits of random passersby, always sleeps on the right side of her bed, keeps her pills in a sugar skull candy box from her abuela.

LIKES: drugs, her best friends, rabbits, anime and manga, driving around town aimlessly, studio ghibli movies, art, watching old clips of the colbert report, hooking up with ginny, being spaced out, sunsets, visiting her family in mexico.

DISLIKES: attending class, the current political climate, reading obnoxious harper's articles, having to wait for a fix, her anxiety, always needing to be clean, being left on read, people who spit casually, dirt and grime.

FAVOURITE ,

WEATHER: sunny.

COLOUR: navy blue. 

MUSIC: 80s alt rock.

MOVIES: ghost in the shell, whisper of the heart, neon genesis evangelion: the end of evangelion. 

BOOK: slaughterhouse-five by kurt vonnegut.

FLOWER: california poppy.

SPORT: soccer. 

BEVERAGE: black coffee. 

FOOD: meat lover's pizza.

FAMILY ,

FATHER: adam albright (alive.)

MOTHER: marcela morales-albright (alive.)

SIBLING(S): one older sister, manon albright.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: none.

CHILDREN: one five year old son, amaru 'rue' albright.

PET(S): holland lop named sylux.

FAMILY’S FINANCIAL STATUS: comfortable.

[solecialstudies]

Great interview with Malik Brown of Rolling Out about SOLEcial Studies. Thank you Malik and I look forward to us talking again soon!

[el3ctraaa]

This is a lot more of personal grudge for me than anything else. But one of my friends was murdered over the summer, like brutally murdered. I'd known this kid since kindergarten, my childhood best friend had a crush on him from the ages of 8-12, a lot of my friends had crushes on him in highschool too. One of my friends even wrote a whole essay for my other friend on why she shouldn't date hime. We sat next to each other in freshman year English too. We both had eating disorders, he was anorexic and I was bulimic, we were on meal plans at the same time and would complain about them together. Sometimes over the pandemic him and his brother started a business together it did really well and he got a Rolex with his earnings. He was a huge sneaker head too, like absolutely obsessed. We were in the same sociology class senior year, every morning he'd show up late with a full breakfast in a frying pan, like pancakes, eggs, sausage, all of it every morning and just eat it during class. The teacher would always ask if he had enough to share and he'd reply no. We sat close to each other so I would help him cheat, he had a really good smile so you really couldn't say no to him. One day, not even a month past graduation, he was dead. Like all over the news dead. A week later my aunts and cousins knowing that I knew him started sending me tiktoks about his death. Like the ones where they talk about true crime while doing their makeup. He hadn't even had a funeral yet and there were women applying their Charlotte tilsbury foundation and listing out all the ways his body had been brutalized. They had link in bio for the products they used, they were making a profit off his death. Here was this kid who had such a rich life, who touched so many hearts including my own while he was alive, and his story was being condensed to a burnt body people could use to make a quick buck off of on the Internet. Like are they not disgusted using a child's death for profit? So yeah I hope every single one of them die and I hope people make tiktoks about them too. And I hope that from whatever place in hell they're in they feel disgusted by the people using their life tragedy the way they used others I think this applies doubly to podcasts because they make even more money off it.

Here's the monthly reminder that I hate true crime podcasts and if you have a true crime podcast you are a disgusting human being and I hope you kill yourself and I hope no one mourns you and I hope someone somewhere on the Internet makes a profit on your death, thank you and goodnight

[sneakervangelist]

((WORLD PREMIERE)) KICKS, KIDS & COPS (2022) 

 A documentary short produced by Sean Williams of Obsessive Sneaker Disorder/SOLEcial Studies which captures OG sneaker lover, police officer Zoe Strunkey 's NYPD Sneaker SOLEcial exhibition and community town hall style discussion. THE GOAL..use sneakers to bridge the gap and foster a better relationship between officers and the youth they interact with in Brooklyn communities. The result..well, you'll have to watch find out. 

 Special shout to DJ Ryno for providing the soundtrack for the day! 

 Filmed and edited by Baba Khid! 

#osdlive #NYPD #solecialstudies #kickstories #peopleoversneakers #Brooklyn #walkgood #weareverypair

[lindsayrps]

marco civella development

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME:  marco leono civella NICKNAME(S): none and don't try. PREFERRED NAME(S): marco BIRTH DATE: april 21, 1990 AGE: thirty three GENDER: cis male PRONOUNS:he/him ROMANTIC/SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual NATIONALITY: italian-american ETHNICITY: white CURRENT LOCATION: san francisco LIVING CONDITIONS: this expensive as fuck house on green street.

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: salerno, italy. HOMETOWN: chicago (1.5 years - 8 years), san francisco (8 years old to present) PLACES LIVED: salerno, chicago, san francisco SOCIAL CLASS: upper EDUCATION LEVEL: university educated, rarely used. FATHER: giovanni civella, deceased. MOTHER: maria civella SIBLING(S): alba (33), leora (30), lorenzo (25) BIRTH ORDER: marco, alba, leora, lorenzo CHILDREN: none PET(S): none OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: none PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: nothing of importance; he's dated here and there but, honestly, would prefer to keep his romantic entanglements as one offs ARRESTS?: none, yet. really, it's only a matter of time. PRISON TIME?: see above

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: head of the civella crime family SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: owner of limelight, a burlesque club TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: --CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: yes, loves both. PAST JOB(S): he's more or less been involved in mob shit since he was a teenager. SPENDING HABITS: he gets what he wants and doesn't spare any expense. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: definitely the house, whether it was paid for in a legal manner doesn't matter.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: A OFFENSE: A DEFENSE: A SPEED: A INTELLIGENCE: A- ACCURACY: A- AGILITY: B STAMINA: fairly high TEAMWORK: F lol he doesn't work well with other people. TALENTS: eh, what are talents when they're not above board. SHORTCOMINGS: he's manipulative and has one hell of a hair trigger temper LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, italian DRIVE?: yes JUMP-STAR A CAR?: yes CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yes RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes SWIM?: yes PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: in a rudimentary sense, yes. PLAY CHESS?: yes BRAID HAIR?: no TIE A TIE?: yes PICK A LOCK?: yes

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: thomas doherty EYE COLOR: blue HAIR COLOR: brown HAIR TYPE/STYLE: short, not usually slicked back but styled in a put together way GLASSES/CONTACTS?: no DOMINANT HAND: right HEIGHT: 6'0 BUILD: athletic EXERCISE HABITS: he's too busy to exercise honestly. SKIN TONE: even TATTOOS: several, no you may not see them PEIRCINGS: none MARKS/SCARS: knicks and cuts here and there NOTABLE FEATURES: piercing blue eyes, angular jaw. USUAL EXPRESSION: resting bitch face CLOTHING STYLE: dress pants, slacks, jeans are non existent in his wardrobe. button downs that are both plain and a little jazzed up, polos, suit jackets, tshirts are also non existent. ties, vests, undershirts are plain white/black/grey tanks if they exist at all. oxfords, loafers, brogues, whole cut shoes. sneakers? never heard of her. JEWELRY: watch, thin chain necklace, monogram ring on his index finger; all silver. ALLERGIES: no. DIET: moderation is key PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none

PSYCHOLOGY

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: the challenger MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful evil. TEMPERAMENT: choleric ELEMENT: fire MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: no SOCIABILITY: fairly extroverted if he likes you otherwise don't look at him, don't talk to him, don't perceive him. EMOTIONAL STABILITY: kind of skewed. depends on the day. OBSESSION(S): none COMPULSION(S): none PHOBIA(S): none ADDICTION(S): none DRUG USE: he's dabbled here and there in both the widely accepted and illicit ALCOHOL USE: yes PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: oh, yes.

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: even, perhaps a little slower, calculated. ACCENT: he doesn't think so QUIRKS: n/a HOBBIES: high end collecting of things--cars, art, etc. HABITS: he doesn't really think he has any NERVOUS TICKS: n/a DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: power and money. FEARS: getting arrested/going to jail. dying? eh. POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, charming, attentive NEGATIVE TRAITS: manipulative, aggressive, doesn't really have scruples, distrustful SENSE OF HUMOR: dry, dark. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: yes

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: ehh ANIMAL: dogs BEVERAGE: coffee BOOK: CELEBRITY: n/a COLOR: dark, rich jewel tone colours. navy blue, eggplant, bole. DESIGNER: YSL / tom ford FOOD: always down for a good steak FLOWER: n/a GEM: diamond HOLIDAY:  n/a MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: car MOVIE: anything kind of classic hollywood, perhaps unexpectedly MUSICAL ARTIST: no favs, all good SCENERY: cityscapes SCENT: fresh brewed coffee SPORT: no clear favourite SPORTS TEAM: no clear favourite TELEVISION SHOW: no clear favourite WEATHER: slightly rainy, foggy, fall weather VACATION DESTINATION: somewhere in the caribbean

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: keep building the empire GREATEST FEAR: being arrested / going to jail MOST AT EASE WHEN: honestly all the time? he's rarely uncomfortable in any given situation LEAST AT EASE WHEN: see above WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: anything happening to his siblings, the civella empire crumbling, being arrested, etc BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: just everything he's got rn BIGGEST REGRET: eh nothing MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: n/a BIGGEST SECRET: mmm... TOP PRIORITIES: business / family / everything else

[thekillerblogofkillers]

Robert Hansen (1939-2014)

Robert Hansen, also known as the Butcher Baker, was an American serial killer who abducted, raped and killed at least 17 women in Anchorage, Alaska, hunting them in the wilderness, between 1971 and 1983. Hansen, son of a Danish immigrant (a baker, as Hansen would later become), was born in Estherville, Iowa, in 1939. As a child, he had a stutter and severe acne which left him with facial scars. Throughout his younger years, Hansen was described as a quiet loner, who had a difficult relationship with his controlling father. To relieve his frustrations, Hansen began hunting and archery. Due to the rejection he often received from girls at school, he began to have fantasies involving cruelty and revenge. In 1957, Hansen enlisted in the Army Reserve, serving for a year before being discharged. He later worked at a police academy in Pocahontas, Iowa, where he met and married a younger woman in 1960. That same year, Hansen was arrested for burning down a Pocahontas County Board of Education school bus garage, as revenge for his troubles in high school. He would serve less than 2 years of a 3 year sentence, and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and periodic schizophrenic episodes. The diagnosing psychiatrist said Hansen had an “infantile personality” and was obsessed with revenge for perceived wrongs. During this incarceration, Hansen’s wife filed for divorce.

Over the following years, Hansen was jailed repeatedly for petty theft. He moved to Alaska in 1967 with his second wife, with whom he had 2 children. In Anchorage, Hansen was popular with his neighbours and was a celebrated hunter locally. In December 1971, he was arrested twice, once for the abduction and attempted sexual assault of a housewife, and a second time for raping a prostitute. Hansen pleaded guilty in the case of the housewife, but the rape charge against the prostitute was dropped as part of a plea deal. He received 5 years in prison, but after serving 6 months he was placed on a work release program and released to a halfway house. In 1976, Hansen pled guilty to larceny after stealing a chainsaw from a department store. He received 5 years in prison and was required to receive psychiatric treatment for his bipolar disorder. However, the Alaska Supreme Court reduced his sentence, and he was released with time served. Hansen began killing in the early 1970s. He would pick up a prostitute in his car, force her at gunpoint to his cabin and rape her. Then he would fly her to a secluded area and “hunt” her as if she were an animal before murdering her.

On June 13, 1983, Hansen offered Cindy Paulson, 17, $200 (£145) for oral sex. However, when she got into his car, he pulled a gun on her and drove her to his home. There he tortured and raped her, chaining her to a post in the basement by her neck. He then napped, woke up, and took her to Merrill Field airport, where he told her to was going to “take her out to his cabin” in his bush plane. Paulson was crouched in the back of his car with her wrists handcuffed in front of her, when she saw an opportunity to escape. When Hansen had his back turned, loading the plane’s cockpit, she opened the driver’s side door and ran. Paulson later told police that she left her blue sneakers on the passenger side footwell as evidence that she had been there. Hansen panicked and chased her, but Cindy made it to the road first and flagged down a truck. When police were called, Paulson described the perpetrator, which led to Hansen. When questioned by police officers, Hansen denied the accusation and accused Paulson of extortion attempts. Hansen was not considered a suspect and the case went cold.

Alaska State Trooper Detective Glenn Flothe was part of a taskforce investigating the discovery of several bodies in the Anchorage area. The first of these was found by construction workers and dubbed “Eklutna Annie” – she has never been identified. The same year, the body of Joanna Messina was found and in 1982 the remains of Sherry Morrow, 23, were discovered in a shallow grave near the Knik River. Flothe contacted FBI Special Agent John Douglas and asked for a profile of the killer. Douglas thought the killer would be an experienced hunter, with low self-esteem, a history of rejection by women, and would keep souvenirs of his murders, and may stutter. This profile led Flothe to Hansen, who fit the characteristics given and owned a plane. Armed with the profile and Paulson’s testimony, Flothe searched Hansen’s plane, vehicles, and home. Jewellery belonging to some of the missing women and an array of guns was found in Hansen’s attic. Also discovered was an aeronautical chart with crosses on it, hidden behind the headboard. Many of these marks matched sites where bodies had been found, and more were found at some of these later. Confronted with the evidence, Hansen eventually began blaming the women and attempting to justify what he had done. He eventually confessed to each item of evidence as it was presented to him. He admitted to a series of murders, starting in 1971. Hansen is known to have raped and assaulted more than 30 Alaskan women, and to have killed at least 17, ranging in age from 16 to 41. Of these 17, Hansen was formally charged with the murders of 4: Sherry Morrow, Joanna Messina, “Eklutna Annie”, and Paula Goulding, as well as the kidnapping and rape of Cindy Paulson. He was sentenced to 461 years plus life in prison, without the possibility of parole. He died of natural causes on August 21, 2014.