#and of course that's an incomparable bond

[randomgodfatherthoughts]

I know that Vito's line "Look how they massacred my boy!" rightly gets a lot of attention but I have to mention that in the background, Tom Hagen, is so completely devastated by Sonny's death that he can't even bear to look at his bullet riddled body. He refuses to even take a glance at what they've done to his brother, his hero and his rescuer.

[sadprose-auroras]

'Dulcissima' - Lucius Verus x Fem!Reader SMUT

dulcissima: Latin; my sweetest

A/N: My god. I saw Gladiator 2 yesterday, and this utter filth just came pouring out of me. A major shoutout to everyone who has BEEN writing for this character, I just had to contribute my little part. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Also take a shot every time I mention his big blue eyes and massive arms like hello I'm sorryyyy can you blame me!!! Also it starts off a bit shaky but trust me stick with it! I just can't not have some kind of backstory y'know

Word count: 3.3k

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut, breeding kink, brief size kink, cumplay, vague oral fixation, brief mentions of colonisation and injury

RATING: 18+. By clicking 'read more,' you are confirming that you are 18+

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Pressing the cloth against his skin made him wince, the muscles in his arm jump, and though you typically would not, you pulled it away.

“I’m sorry, but I must,” you said gently, and it occurred to him that nobody had treated him with such humanity and sweetness in such a long time. “It will be over soon.”

You continued to clean his wound as gently as possible, trying to ignore the heat emanating off his body simply due to your proximity. To distract him, you decided to make conversation. You were no stranger to what it felt like to be a slave. For your home to be destroyed, to be dehumanised in such a monstrous way.

“Hanno, where is your home?” you ask, as you continue to work.

“My home no longer exists,” he said with a level of defensiveness, eyes lowering to the floor. “Not as it once did.”

“My ancestral lineage hail from Aduatuci. My parents, my parents’ parents, have all been slaves. We do not know any different,” you said. “But I have dreams of a free Rome, one of hope. I have heard of it, and I know it can exist. If not for myself, then maybe for my future children.”

The lilt of hope in your voice softened his shoulders immediately, and he finally made eye contact with you.

“Numidia. Numidia was my home. I was taken as a slave as they took our land. I will not know peace until I see the world you speak of.” You nodded with understanding, carefully placing your hand on his knee. His demeanour was completely different to the survival instincts you witnessed in the stadium. He was kind, gentle.

“I believe we can fight for that kind of world,” you reassured.

Once you finished tending to him, you gathered your supplies and stood up to leave.

“May the Gods bless you, Hanno,” you said. He reached out to grab your hand as you turned to leave, a lightning bolt of electricity shooting through you. You turned back.

“Wait,” he said, letting your hand go. “Will you come and see me tonight? Please? I could do with some company.” The vulnerability in his bright eyes made your heart melt.

“Of course.”

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Somehow, yourself and Hanno developed a bond. It became a cycle. Each time he was forced into the arena, you watched with a pit in your stomach, tears welling in your eyes. Each time he was victorious, the relief that flooded through you was incomparable. Afterwards, you would tend to his wounds, talking about your hopes and dreams for the future. He would speak of his life back home, tell you all about his childhood and his father.

Each night, you would sneak into his cell to talk more. It had dawned on you that he was your only friend. The only person who had ever understood you.

One night after a horrifying battle in the arena, you snuck in to see him. Drawing your hood down, you nodded to the guard at the door who allowed you through. He had also become an ally to you both, closing the door behind you and moving away to give you some privacy.

Hanno, or Lucius, as he had recently revealed to you was his name by birth, was sitting with his hands clasped together, gazing thoughtfully at the floor, a crease between his brows. When he saw you, his leg ceased shaking and he stood up to embrace you. His strong arms engulfed you, and you immediately relaxed at the familiar feeling. The prospect of losing the familiarity between you was becoming more and more frightening to you. An air of heaviness clouded this particular visit. It felt different this time.

“I am so happy to see you,” he breathed out, pulling away, caressing your arm. Casual touches between you were comfortable and common, especially considering you were required to touch him all the time when tending to his injuries. And yet, every single time, a shiver ran down your spine. Likewise, every time he pulled away, you could feel yourself physically tense once again. He made you feel like you could breathe.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you murmured, your bottom lip trembling, with what you weren’t entirely sure. It was like every time you saw him, your inhibitions were lowered more and more. You spoke without thinking, acted without speaking. It was dangerous.

“Oh now, dulcissima.” His hand caught at your chin, raising your head to look at him. Your heart immediately began racing rapidly, face flushing. The endearing term all the permission you finally needed, you gently cupped his face, gazing into his stark blue eyes, his long lashes. They stood out against the dirt on his face, the stained red blood smeared across his forehead. A shiver ran through you as his eyes flickered in pleasure.

“Han-“ you began. “Lucius,” you settled on for now. You could never decide what to call him. Either way, he was still the same. Strong, tender, solid, beautiful. Yours.

“I will always be yours, can you not see? This life and the next. You cannot lose me.”  

Unable to come up with any eloquent answer, you decided actions were more powerful. As if your lips had a mind of their own, you raised up ever so slightly on your toes to kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly. His kiss was soft and gentle as you tested out the feeling with one another, his hands moving to protectively cup the sides of your face, thumb stroking your cheek making you exhale through your nose. Your lips explored his, moving together in perfect harmony, coming up for air every few moments.

Your head was spinning with desire, everything else in the world fell away when he kissed you. His hands had moved into your hair, fingers threading through it, not quite pulling. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own, running all over his bare back, sides and chest. The feeling of the hard muscle underneath your fingertips, especially when you could feel it jump with sensitivity, made you want to lick your wet tongue all over his body. You wanted, needed, to devour every inch of him.

Hanno’s kisses grew hungrier by the minute, hands massaging and tugging your hair now, pulling it free from its style. You moaned into his mouth, which made him pull away for a moment and press a finger to your lips.

“You must be quiet, dulcissima.” You fought the urge to buckle your knees at the sound of such a sweet term in his rough voice.

“I know,” you murmured against his finger, absentmindedly scratching your nails down his back as you spoke, revelling in the way his mouth opened slightly at the feeling, eyelashes fluttering. “I will be, I promise.”

“Do you?” he asked, finger now teasing at the entrance of your mouth. You nodded ever so slightly, taking his finger in your mouth, swirling it with your tongue. You closed your eyes, coating his finger in wetness, moving your mouth up and down exploringly.

“Mmmhmm,” you moaned as an answer around his finger. The way he was watching you with hooded eyes, bottom lip taken between his teeth, was making the wetness pooling between your thighs impossible to ignore. He gazed at you as if you hung the stars, as if you were a goddess he was worshipping.

You took your mouth off his finger with a pop, and he began to trace it down your throat slowly, leaving a trail of your own spit. You trembled under his touch, lifting your chin to allow him more access. He reached the swell of your breasts, continuing down between them. You pushed your garments down off your shoulders, arched your back to close the gap between you, chest heaving in desperation. You would feel pathetic if it was anybody else. But he made you feel so safe. You could completely be yourself, express your desires.

“My Lucius, my strong one, please,” you breathed, hungry hands now tugging at his hair. “I need you to take me. Make me forget everything. I want to only remember you.”

Without warning, he swept you up in his arms, a gasp escaping your lips, as he expertly laid you down, hovering above you. You took a moment to take him in; his pink, pillowy lips, tousled hair, scruff beard, shining eyes. Not even the midnight night sky, nor a sunset, or a shimmering ocean, was so breathtaking.  

“My love,” he scanned your face, causing your heart to skip a beat. “My love,” he repeated himself, beginning to kiss down your neck over your shoulder, across the top of your breasts, sucking and nibbling. Your entire body filled with goosebumps, and you briefly considered that you were not being nearly as quiet as you had hoped. It was so difficult when he was making you feel this overcome with ecstasy.

“I need to feel your skin on mine,” you whispered, tugging at his clothing. He lifted himself off you, standing before you. He removed his loincloth, tossing it aside, his erection standing before you. Your mouth watered as you took the sight of him in, face becoming impossibly hot. His manhood was proportionately large and thick, much like the rest of his broad, toned body. It made you feel so delicate in comparison. Various images flashed in your mind’s eye. A large, strong hand coming down hard on your ass. The other wrapped around your throat. His back muscles flexing as he pounded into you from behind, his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

“You are so-“ you began to say, but couldn’t find the right words. Before you could finish your thought, he moved towards you again.

“Can I undress you?” he asked, hands moving steadily down your clothed body. You nodded vigorously.

“Please,” you squirmed, fluttering your lashes at your love. He motioned for you to sit up so he could pull your tunic off your head, placing it on the floor. You were left entirely bare, and if it were anybody else in front of you, you would feel self-conscious. But the way his fingertips gently stroked your sides, his big blue eyes bore into yours with care and understanding, made you feel like a goddess yourself.

“I want to worship you,” he began, covering his body with yours, mouth covering one of your breasts. “Lay you on an altar and pray over every single part of your body,” he murmured as he took your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue. You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders for stability.

“Tell me what else,” you whispered.

“Well,” he said between wet kisses over to your other breast. “Once I worshipped you, my goddess,” he said as he began to suck on your other nipple, tweaking the first with his fingers, making you arch your back. “I would then ravage you,” he said, not giving you a chance to respond except to moan into his mouth as he kissed you, the kiss all tongue and desperation. His beard was scratching at your delicate skin deliciously. You ached to feel this on your thighs.

You began to grind against his body as you kissed, attempting to relieve some frustration. You could feel his hardness pressing into your stomach, and it made your mouth water.

“Lucius,” you groaned into his mouth, perhaps a little too loudly.

Shhhhhh, he placed his hand over your mouth, tutting at you. He kept his hand there, his other one tracing a line down your stomach. Your entire body was shaking as you spread your legs apart, drops of wetness falling down your thighs.

“Quiet, my love,” he whispered, one singular finger finally, ever so gently, tracing your folds. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, bucking up into his hand. You needed more.

He noticed his reaction, groaning to himself. He couldn’t help but give you what you wanted. He used two fingers to apply more pressure, running up and down your soaked folds, hitting your clit and making your body twitch each time. He watched in amazement as you writhed in both desperation and pleasure, guiding his hand with your bodily movements.

Something switched in you at that moment, and you pushed his hand off your mouth, flipping yourselves over so you were now hovering above him.

“I need you in my mouth, lest I die,” you said breathlessly. He looked amused at your dramatics, but you felt his cock twitch against you.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he said, and you both chuckled. Wordlessly, you turned yourself around so your pussy was over his face, his cock standing proudly in front of you. It was throbbing, looking almost painful. It made you love him even more, that he wanted you this badly.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, using your thumb to swipe the precum dribbling out of his head, licking it curiously. His deep growl was animalistic, and you felt his nails digging into your ass as he took you in his mouth, devouring you just as he promised. Simultaneously, you moaned as you licked a stripe up the underside of him, spitting a generous amount before slowly taking him into your mouth.

Being unable to see him only made you feel closer, as you could feel his mouth reacting to what you were doing. At the same time, his suctioning and licking of your pulsing clit, licking up and down your folds, was making you groan against him, the reverberation contributing to his pleasure. You began to grind your hips against his face in rhythm with your head bobbing up and down, eyes fluttering open and closed in bliss. His beard scratching against your inner thighs was painfully delicious, even more so than your imagination. You could barely breathe with how fast you were taking him in your mouth, but you did not care.

When he took your clit between his teeth and gently tugged, you gasped in pleasure, making you gag. You pulled him out of your mouth, a line of spit following. You felt the vibrations of him laughing against you. You turned around so you were face-to-face again, your legs trembling.

“Did that feel good, my darling?” he asked, unable to help himself from drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with two fingers as he spoke.

“I-Oh-So-G-Good,” you choked out.

“Would you like me inside of you?” he asked, teasing your entrance with his fingers.

“Yes, please,” you begged. He wasted no time in flipping you over once again, using his strength to pull your legs up onto his broad shoulders, your ankles intertwining behind his neck.

“I am yours, yours, yours,” he repeated like a mantra. “Yours,” the last one came out with a groan, as he swiftly entered you halfway. Your breath was taken away in the best possible way, his thickness impossibly stretching you out.

“You’re so big,” you moaned, shaking your head, inadvertently clenching around him. He gritted his teeth.

“It feels so right. So right to be this close to you. I need you every day, every night, all the time,” he rambled, as he pushed all the way into you, bottoming out. You nodded rapidly in agreeance, finding it difficult to speak.

“Is that okay?” he asked, intertwining your fingers together above your head. You nodded again, licking your lips. Your mouth had gotten a little dry from hanging open in pleasure.

“I want you to fill me up like this forever,” you answered, tossing your head side to side deliriously. “I will always need you.”

Something flickered in Lucius’ eyes. He dropped one of your hands, instead pinning both of your wrists down with one hand. He used the other hand to draw circles on your clit, as he began to move inside you. Slowly, gently at first, but not for long.

Before you knew it, it felt as it he was going to split you apart. He was grunting with each thrust, your promises to keep quiet entirely forgotten. The rhythmic sound of your wetness as he moved in and out of you echoed throughout the cell, and it was quite possibly the most melodic sound he had ever heard. You could feel him deep within you, hitting your cervix which took your breath away each time.

Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, the veins in his arms protruding out. You moved your hands so he was no longer holding your wrists down, and he complied immediately. You needed to touch him. With shaking hands, you ran your fingertips all over his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles flexing with each thrust. You worked your way up over his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair, then back down to his arms. You dug your nails into his biceps, surely leaving marks.

“Fill me up with your seed, dulcissime,” you echoed his sentiment from earlier. “Make me ripe with a child so that we may carry on a hopeful legacy for generations to come.”

He groaned, profanities escaping his mouth in a deep, guttural voice.

“Say that again,” he demanded, fingers still circling your swollen, aching clitoris.

You gripped his hair in your hands, pulling him close to whisper in his ear.

“Get me pregnant, dulcissime. I need your hot, sticky seed inside of me.”

This undid both of you. You reached for one another, mouths slotting together in harmony. You stifled your moans with kisses, as you felt him spill inside you and warm you up. The feeling sent you over the edge, as you pulled his hair even harder to steady yourself. A warmth flowered all the way from your sternum to your extremities, your pussy pulsing around him as you rode out the high. Your entire body felt like it was floating, spots clouding your vision.

“My love, my darling,” Hanno murmured, his stomach rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. You kissed again, as he cupped your face gently.

Wordlessly, he gently, achingly, pulled himself from inside of you, and you both watched in awe as the point where your bodies met were no longer together. His seed was dribbling out of you, coating you and making you itch.

“Can I clean you up?” he asked gruffly, barely waiting for an answer as you sighed out, “God, yes,” as he moved down your body so his face was crowding between your thighs. He licked a swipe up you, making your entire body twitch with aftershock. You practically screamed, the overstimulation almost too much to handle. Almost. You shoved your fist into your mouth to stifle the noises.

You watched through hooded eyes as he licked up every drop of his own seed, grinding onto his face, chasing the pleasure. You were delirious, not a single thought in your mind beside Lucius. When he was finished, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and you moaned out loud at the sight. He returned to kiss you once more, and you could taste the familiar taste on his tongue, making your stomach swoop with desire.

Pulling away for a moment, he rolled over onto his back, pulling you with him so you were folded into his side, leg draped over his, his large arms engulfing you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your sweaty temple, wildly juxtaposing his actions from mere moments ago.

He gazed down at you with those incredible eyes, sighing blissfully. He moved a piece of hair from your face as he spoke his next words.

“I hope you know I meant every word, dulcissima. I want to build a future with you, for you, for our children. I vow to always protect you.”

You pressed a sweet kiss to his lips.

“We will build our home together,” you replied. And for the first time, the future you imagined, a future full of hope and possibility, felt closer than ever before.

[puzzled-pegasus]

Percy and Paul headcanons because I need something sweet rn

The first time Percy called Paul dad was accidentally and they both looked at each other like 😧 and then paul gave percy a big hug and probably told sally really excitedly later

Paul texts very professionally and in complete sentences like a nerd. "Hello, Percy, I hope you are having a good day. Have you gotten your mom a Christmas gift yet? Also, do you have any ideas for what she might like me to get her? Thanks. 😊"

He goes to all of Percy's basketball games that he can and probably tries to play with him sometiemes idk I think that would be cute if they shot hoops together

This is more canon than headcanon but I feel like we all just collectively forgor that Paul has taken Percy crabbing before 🦀

Also imagine being a step parent and the bio parent is a literal god like how do you deal with that you'd feel so incomparable (although Posiedon is of course kinda deadbeat so oh well Paul wins that one)

Paul helping teach Percy how to drive

Sometimes when Percy asks his mom for help with something she's like "oh honey can you help him I'm busy" but she's actually just sneakily getting them to bond >:)

Omg imagine there being an argument and then Paul comes and apologizes to Percy and Percy with the Gabe trauma is like :000 wtf a grown man apologizing to Me⁉️

I think Percy would talk to Paul abt cars and paul tries to engage but he doesn't actually know that much abt cars lol

[siriuslystyle1989]

Hard Liquor Mixed With a Bit of Intellect (Part 4)

Modern!Azriel x reader

Warning: Angst, Cheating, Elain bashing

series masterlist main masterlist

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As days faded into weeks, and weeks faded into months, Y/n and Azriel's relationship became a well known fact within their inner circle.

Fortunately for Y/n, after that dinner, her and Feyre's sister Nesta had sparked up an unbreakable bond that was only strengthened by Nesta and Cassian's unlikely relationship.

As an autumnal breeze swayed its way through her apartment, Y/n breathed in a sigh. This was her favourite weather, sweater weather. Days got shorter and evenings drew long, allowing for the perfect ambiance when she lit a few scented candles.

Taking a long drag of her cigarette, Y/n began to reminisce on the way her life had changed. She never thought she would have so many friends. The hours of gossip her and Mor would share was incomparable to anything she had ever experienced before, smutty book shopping with Nesta had become a favourite pastime, visiting Feyre to see her and baby Nyx was also incredibly enjoyable. Y/n had even seemingly cracked Amren who appeared to have a soft spot for the girl.

The only one she had never properly spoken to was Elain.

Elain seemed to veer away from conversation with Y/n. She had brushed it off as shyness but she saw the animated way she talked to Azriel and couldn't help but wonder what her intentions were.

Y/n took another drag of her cigarette, these thoughts swimming through her mind as the doorbell rang.

Hastily, she put the stick of nicotine out, moving towards the door.

As the block of oak swung open, she was met with the face of Mor. However, not gracing her usual giddy smile but rather laced with worry and remorse.

"Y/n, I..." she spoke, hesitating.

"Oh my god what's wrong?" Y/n replied placing her arms around Mor to try and ease the distain on her face.

"Can... can I come in?" Mor spoke again, quietly, not in her usual boisterous manner.

"Yes of course." Y/n spoke, clearly confused.

As Mor sat on the plush sofa, she rejected Y/n's offer of a beverage.

"Y/n honey, I need to tell you something."

"Yeah? What's up."

"I'm gonna need you to sit down."

Following her friends instruction, Y/n took a seat next to Mor. Grabbing the girls hands Mor spoke up once again.

"There's no easy way to tell you this." She sighed, looking up as if about to cry.

"I saw... well me and Feyre saw... well Azriel and Elain... kissing."

Y/n's heart dropped in disbelief. There's just no way. She began to shake her head.

"No, no he wouldn't- no." She shook her head as tears began to fall.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry he's such a dick, you deserve so much better."

"But why- I- I don't understand."

Mor brought her arms around Y/n and squeezed tightly.

"Shhhh, I know honey, I know."

As Y/n's sobs began to quiet down Mor spoke softly.

"Do you want me to stay?" She asked, wanting Y/n to get the comfort she needed.

"No, I- I think I need to be left alone." Y/n replied, her tear stained eyes looking up into Mor's.

"Okay, well text me if you need anything at all, either me, Feyre or Nesta will come, kay?"

"They all know?" Y/n looked down to her feet.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed, its not your fault. We're all seething at Azriel, Rhys and Cass included, he won't walk away from this with no consequences, trust me."

Y/n let out a shaky laugh "Thanks"

As Mor walked out of the apartment, Y/n began to feel icy rage take over her, travelling up her like a wave.

She moved towards her phone, picking it up and making her way to Azriels contact.

BLOCK.

.............................................................................................................................

Azriel laid in bed, scrolling through his phone. He really needed to stop doing that.

He struggled to sleep when Y/n wasn't next to him.

Two more nights and she would be back in his arms again. They had been apart for a week, Y/n having loads of college work to finish and not wanting to have any distractions.

Two more nights.

Putting his phone down, Azriel tried to snuggle down into the sheets, tightly shutting his eyes.

He felt the coldness of the other side of his bed seemingly reach out to him. Calling him to talk to his love.

Opening his phone once more, he began to text her.

Azriel: I miss you lying next to me, can't wait to see you sweetheart.

*Message not sent, recipient has blocked you.*

"What-"

Confused Azriel tried to send another text.

The same thing happened.

no- why would she do that. He hadn't done anything to upset her. They had been sending "I love you" and "I miss you" just hours before.

Why would she suddenly block him?

Suddenly realisation slithered its way into his mind.

Oh.

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A/n: Sorry for the slow updates im trying my best </3

Taglist:

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover @lilah-asteria

[joejhang]

anyone who says jinx is a better older sister than vi can fucking choke because they are so incomparable it's killing me. vi was a literal child when she took on both a sibling AND parent role towards powder. like hg was literally 15 years old. and despite her age and their shitty circumstances vi still did really fucking well as an older sister. she always protected and defended powder, always tried to do what was best for and by her, never downgraded her or made fun of her and always made sure to comfort and support her. everyone who says "vi abandoned her!" like do you know how stupid you sound. yes it wasn't right for vi to lash out the way that she did, but she was a teenage girl who just lost (another) parental figure (indirectly caused by her younger sister, no less) and who went thru some terrible trauma in the span of like...half an hour tops and even tho powder obv just wanted to help, it was partially her fault, so of fucking course vi would be upset and angry, she's literally grieving and trying to process all of that. and she literally retreated as soon as she came to her senses and realised she'd hurt powder. she didn't abandon her, she walked away to catch her breath, and kept powder within eyesight and as soon as she saw silco was going to run back to her but was forcibly stopped by marcus??? like she was literally fucking knocked out and arrested. she never left powder by choice and spent the next seven years living through hell on earth thinking about finding her sister again. "jinx is a better older sister than vi" OR she's an actual adult who's had a good role model for an older sister/parental figure and also just has an entirely different personality and entirely different bond with isha than vi and powder had??? jfc arcane fandom makes me wanna tear my hair out sometimes.

[chemblrish]

Hey Lena, any tips for how to make friends in uni as a nerdy but introverted/socially anxious girlie? 🥺 thank youu

Hi!

I need you to know I saw this ask and immediately thought, "Did I just get a message from my past self?" 😅 Nerdy and introverted? Check. Used to have very bad social anxiety? Check. I was in therapy though and it was immensely helpful! I'm still a little shy but doing incomparably better, so I can tell you what I've learnt and hopefully some of it can help you too :)

Excuse the language, but first of all, you need to give yourself a fucking break. Shy people, we tend to fixate on ourselves: our looks, our posture, on whether what we just said was weird, and so, all our flaws (both real and imaginary) appear magnified tenfold - but only to us. Because truth is, nobody else is judging you half as harshly as you're judging yourself. Nobody is analyzing all your jokes or the way you walk. If you trip or say something awkward, it genuinely doesn't matter. It happens to everybody sometimes, it's okay. Remember that there's nothing wrong with you. Maybe you're shy, maybe you're easily overwhelmed, maybe you have very little experience making friends - but none of these make you inherently weird. So give yourself a break. You're sincerely doing a lot better than you think, I promise.

Small talk is actually not a bad thing, no matter what some edgelords may try to tell you. I used to spark up a lot of conversations early on in uni by bringing up things like the last test (because most of the time I'd get a mildly pained sigh in response and then we'd bond over how hard it was and how the professor was crazy lol) or the upcoming lab class ("Any interesting exercises in your schedule?") or how my commute to uni that day wrecked me and hey are you a commuter? Oh, you live in a dorm, how do you like it? And many other things of this sort, because if you think about it, uni is a neverending source of conversation topics when you're a student talking to another student.

You know how shy people are advised to just ask questions because everybody loves talking about themselves? That's not a bad advice. The trick is to be genuinely curious about other people. Don't ask just to say something, ask to hear what that other person has to say. This is helpful for two reasons: it takes the focus away from you (which is exactly where shy people shouldn't keep it) by directing it at the other person, and it actually helps to keep the conversation going, because it allows you to find either another thing that might interest you about that person or something to share about yourself.

Maybe it's obvious, but don't hide yourself. I know it's a lot easier to just curl up in a corner with your phone, but you gotta put yourself out there. Hang out with the rest of your course mates outside the lecture hall as you're all waiting for the professor. Take your time packing up afterwards instead of dashing straight for the exit. Don't look for that secluded spot where you can hide safely with a book (even though your introvert instinct tells you to do just that), be where the other students hang out.

Sometimes you have to keep choosing someone. Storytime with a moral: I took a liking to one of my current friends very early in the first semester. She seemed like exactly the kind of person I wanted to stick with in uni. I'd always come up to her and talk to her first but she hardly ever did the same. For some time I'd think, "Welp, clearly she doesn't dislike me, but she doesn't seem to like me much either." Now I can't even remember when that changed, but in an honest conversation we had maybe last month (so after almost two years of knowing each other!!), she told me she often struggles with figuring out whether someone likes her and wants her around or not, so she usually just stays away. You aren't the only introvert out there. Maybe the person you're trying to befriend is also a little anxious and needs a bit more time and effort from you. Don't give up too easily!

Not all people are your people and that's okay. You'll find that trying to talk to someone continuously feels like a chore no matter your good intentions. That doesn't mean there's something wrong with you or with them. Everybody can't click with everybody and that's fine!

And lastly: "different friends for different things" is a liberating philosophy. Maybe there's this one person in this one class that you always sit with and get along with well, but it doesn't seem like either of you wants to take it any further than that. Cool! That's your buddy X from Y class. Not everyone has to be your bestie who knows all your secrets and shares all your interests. Be open to the concept of casual friends, so that you don't miss out on the more meaningful relationships by chasing someone who's just not feelin' it if you know what I mean.

Good luck my fellow introvert. Remember getting better at making friends is a process but also a skill that can be practiced and polished. You got this, I'm rooting for you!

[mythalism]

I cackled at your post lamenting PR disaster after *that* Mythal screen, ngl XD

Super curious to hear your thoughts on qunari specific line with Mythal in Crossroads, where she claims to still love Solas. (in fact, that both of them still do). Also the fact that the foil to their relationship there seems to be motherly love is…messy. Their whole situationship is.

it on EIP Gaming youtube channel

i did see this though i wasnt able to watch the full vid at the time, i just watched it now. someone else also asked me my thoughts on this in my inbox so ill just answer this one, but i think its so funny that people are asking me about it hehehe. i wasnt surprised by it at all i think it makes perfect sense. of course she loved solas and of course she still does. just because she loves him doesnt mean shes not an absolute freak. it doesnt mean her love isnt literally poisonous. its still love, but shes a corrupted spirit. she loves being a god and the power over other people it gives her. shes not like other girls. shes a freak, shes a weirdo. anyway. my point is that i think shes right when she says that "we" (both rook and us as the audience) genuinely cannot understand the bond they had because their immortality would have made it something unrecognizable to us. shes being racist when she says it but idk why anyone would expect her to be anything but racist. however i think the sentiment when turned towards the audience is true. they were spirits together. they have known each other for an incomprehensible amount of time. we will never be able to understand the extent of their devotion even if it was ultimately ruinous. you can love someone and still abuse and manipulate them.

as for rook randomly bringing up fucking SHATHANN (no shade to miss shathann, i actually thought she was very interesting and the highlight of taash's storyline and that their relationship was compelling).... rook is a loser and an idiot and this is just them acting in congruence with their overall characterization as a loser and an idiot. if anything it actually proves mythal's point that rook cannot understand their relationship when they randomly start bringing up shathann and taash. dumbass fucking thing to say. i think its extremely reductive and literally just makes rook look so stupid. solas and mythals relationship is complex because they COMMITTED WAR CRIMES TOGETHER. it is so incomparable to taash and shathann having a very relatable and typical teenager/mom conflict over taash's identity and finding themselves. meanwhile solas and mythal were literally creating a bioweapon. anyway.

the mother implication doesnt actually bother me LOL. ive been saying the vibes are oedipal since before this game came out. again, we cannot understand it. people say things like "mother/son" and i even throw around "oedipal" and "freudian" but genuinely the ancient elves had such different conceptions of relationships due to both their immortality but also their origin at spirits that there is really nothing comparable. they did not have families and they probably had very different ideas of romantic relationships. this is something i really wish the game had explored more lol add it to the list! we just get glimpses of how they cared about each other. piecing together the 20,000 years is impossible. i believe it was intended that way. we are supposed to struggle to quantify it. i doubt they themselves could label the nature of their relationship if they tried. "love" is the closest word that exists.

as for mythal agreeing to help because she loves him? yeah. of course. im not surprised it works. she loves him, whatever the fuck that means to her. she also has a miserable lonely existence. yes she used him as a tool but he cannot function as a tool to her anymore, not in her sorry state, and so she is able to see him as a man and thus let him go. though maybe shes bamboozling everyone, morrigythal is about to pull her out of that statue again in da5 and pull one over on us, and she released his ass just to get him off the chessboard so she can get her reckoning. a girl can hope

[robinico]

The Lost Hero, Tristan and Piper McLean, and Native Americans and Palestinians.

TL;DR: An essay/vent about Rick Riordan writing offensive stereotypes about Native Americans and Arabs while including a positive throw-away line about Israel and the connotations of this in young adult fiction. And insight into the relationship between Native Americans and Palestinians.

So, I'm rereading The Lost Hero as Rick Riordan's several mythological series are comfort books for me that I reread every so often. Some quick background that I'm sure is a common sentiment among readers: when I was younger and first read The Heroes of Olympus books as they were published, I never really questioned the writing or characterizations. I was too young and too caught up in eagerly eating up more of the Percy Jackson world that I loved. As I got older, learned more about the real world, reread and actually analyzed the books, I found a lot of flaws that has made the quality of The HoO series incredibly incomparable to the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Every time I've reread the PJO series, I've gained further appreciation for the writing (which has its own flaws, of course), whereas my frustration has grown with The HoO series, lol. Again, I know this is not an unpopular opinion.

This includes Piper McLean's characterization and the representation of her Cherokee ethnicity. I've read some insightful posts in the past explaining how Rick Riordan really messed up with Piper and while he's gained brownie points for diversity and trying, it does not absolve him of the specific choices he made with representing her Cherokee culture and how his writing is insulting to the broader Native American identity.

Throughout Piper's chapters, readers learn several things. Piper is Cherokee through her father, Tristan McLean. They are from Oklahoma and her grandfather Grandpa Tom had a home that Tristan still owns despite being a famous actor because it is the physical link to his ancestry. Grandpa Tom and Tristan taught Piper a lot about her Cherokee heritage including their beliefs and folk tales which Tristan has denied believing in them the way his father did. He still obviously feels strongly about his identity and the pain of historical discrimination and oppression against his people and this trauma passes onto Piper. It is the reason why he never plays any Native American role.

Specifically, I want to highlight this excerpt from Chapter XXI, in which Piper recalls a conversation with her father about the movie roles he's accepted.

"He'd played all kinds of roles— a Latino teacher in a tough L.A. school, a dashing Israeli spy in an action-adventure blockbuster, even a Syrian terrorist in a James Bond movie."

She then follows by asking her father why he never accepts Native American roles.

"'Doesn't that get old? Aren't you ever tempted, like, if you found the perfect part that could change people's opinions?'

'If there's a part like that, Pipes," he said sadly, "I haven't found it.'"

When I first read this, I remember being deeply uncomfortable with the Syrian terrorist example. Yeah, as a Muslim, I'm very familiar with the stereotypical Middle Eastern terrorists in media. I know the reason it exists and why it will continue to exist. Riordan could've and should've chosen any other example of a different character role.

However, rereading this today has made me so upset on another level because I did not remember the prior example and Riordan's connotations until now.

"A dashing Israeli spy." I cannot describe the disgust I felt reading this. No, my disgust is not because it's a "trendy" opinion to hate anything Israeli. I am disgusted because in the three examples Riordan gives, only one has a positive adjective (dashing) attached to the stated role (Israeli spy). The other two roles are minority identities (Latino, Syrian) that have no positive connotation attached. In fact, the latter has a negative attachment (terrorist). It's almost laughable how Riordan decided to write "dashing Israeli spy" and "a Syrian terrorist" in the same sentence and thought that was okay. This is what Americans are led to believe. The narrative that "Israel is good and the Middle East is bad" is so ingrained in American culture, that it is so casually placed in young adult fiction.

And even more disrespectfully, this is about a Cherokee man. A man whose ancestry is tainted by several lifetimes worth of oppression, genocide, ethnic cleansing, and censorship. It should be common information now that the injustice and horrors Indigenous Americans faced (and are still experiencing less publicly and obviously) is aligned with the very same injustice and horrors the Palestinian people have been experiencing for 75 years. The relationship several Native American tribes and Palestine is strong. There is a shared history and solidarity between these oppressed groups. I strongly recommend learning more about their relationship if you haven't already. The Palestine Pod, a podcast that aims to educate the public about Palestinian history, culture and resistance, did an episode with Dr. Steve Salaita, author of Inter/Nationalism: Decolonizing Native America and Palestine (p. 2016) in May 2021. Several reviews have described the writing in the book as heavy on academic language so I believe the podcast will be more digestible.

There is absolutely no way a character like Tristan McLean would ever accept an Israeli role. The man who rejects any Native role because there is no perfect part that is written well and respectful enough for his standard would play the role of an oppressor? What the fuck Rick Riordan? And let's not forget that he is a brown man. He is not white-passing, which is why he can fit different minority identities and the Spartan king role. So of course, Israeli spy is just perfect isn't it? Even if someone wanted to argue that Israel's actions as a colonizing state were not as well-known in 2010 and Riordan's writing is unfortunate ignorance, that argument does not hold up when you remember that he clearly compliments the Israeli role (dashing) which highlights his personal bias. Oh, but maybe he's grown and learned more in the past 13 years and has changed his opinion? Except, remember when he released a really detailed neutral statement on the "conflict"? I will acknowledge that he said, "genocidal proportions" regarding the attacks in Gaza, but he also calls for support and security for Israeli. Whatever, I don't care for dissecting neutrality. I'm not exactly shocked by Riordan's position.

Maybe most young readers would pass over the excerpt as a whole like I first did. But for others, it lingers. The connotations are clear and pervasive despite being a small insight into a tertiary character in the grand scheme of such a large series. Riordan's attempts at representation mean nothing when his writing is flawed, contradictory, and insulting regarding his characters of color.

I am glad that I am rereading TLH. It's reminded me the importance of reading old and new material. I channeled the anger I felt reading this excerpt into writing this post and finding a new informative source on Palestinian and Native American oppression. It is important that we continue to challenge ourselves, our nostalgia, our biases, our understanding of the world. It is important to grow from there and continue learning. Especially for Americans and Canadians, we must understand the systemic censorship against Native Americans in order to unravel the problems caused by these very systems.

Continue fighting. Fight for the oppressed. Fight for Palestine.

And do your daily click!

[jsprnt]

Healing Hearts PT. 19 | Virgil van Dijk

Would a fresh start bring you more than just a new job?

A/N: AHHH babes, we're done with the story!! Thank you all so much for taking the time to read something I put a lot of time and energy into. Hopefully this story met your expectations when you first started reading! It's going to be weird to be done with this story, but don't worry! My (VVD, other Liverpool players as well) requests are definitely open. Please don't hesitate and send me a request if you want. Again thank you so much for reading. Love you all and stay healthy! <3

W/C: 2.878

Summary: Y/N L/N is a very skilled and praised physiotherapist. A certain event pushing her for a fresh start, as a physiotherapist for Liverpool FC. One question always being in the back of her mind: Will she be able to let go of her past and allow herself to experience new things?

"It is weird, especially since we worked together for three almost four years on the same team." I say, my arms crossed in front of me as I talk to Ten Hag.

He'd pulled me aside after the match, hugging me warmly after noticing me walk back from the team's changing room.

Liverpool had just drawn against Manchester United, a underwhelming game after all of us had grown confidence about winning easily. That was the thing about football, it could go any way- no matter how much you train and prepare.

"We could work together again, if you accept my offer." He says, placing his hand on my shoulder.

I laugh, raising my brows at the sudden comment.

"You know my salary has gotten much higher than when I was at Ajax!" I joke, smile on my face as he laughs.

I could only decline his offer with a joke. In the past when I got a job offer by a rival team than of the one I worked for I didn't really care about the rivalry. It was just work to me. Yes, of course I grew close to players and staff, but it wasn't a factor which I let affect my career choices.

But Liverpool FC was different, nothing close to the bonds I formed in my former work environments. It was a community, a family even. The relationships I had with the players and staff were incomparable to what I had experienced in the past. Adding to this, I didn't really like the vibe the team gave, especially certain players.

So joining a rival team- Manchester United was definitely a 'no' for me.

"If it's you and your expertise- I could easily make sure you'd join our physio team and be paid handsomely."

"Very flattering, but I think-especially now, I'm very happy with my choice."

"Stubborn as always, makes me remember when you insisted the injury time of players could be shortened if we went by your methods."

"I was right every single time though!"

"That's why I'm not going to push this any further. I'm sure you have a good reason."

I feel a sudden presence behind me, turning my head to meet Virgil who had just walked out of the press corner. His expression looking a bit irritated.

"There's our Dutch captain!" Ten Hag exclaims, the men giving each other a handshake and hug.

"Needed to hear what you're convincing my girlfriend to do." He jokes, pearly teeth showing as he smiles.

"Right, my wife told me about you two, you two fit together very well." He compliments, pointing to us.

"Oh how's Bianca? I miss gossiping with her." I say, asking about his wife.

"She's alright, adjusting to life in Manchester still. You know those two didn't stop talking from the second they saw each other until they left each others side." He says to Virgil. 

"Being a baby physio was boring at times!" I shrug, defending myself. Feeling Virgil's arms wrap around my shoulder as he chuckles.

The conversation ends a couple minutes later, Virgil and me getting in my car.

"What did he talk to you about?" He asks as I start the car.

"Old times, tried to convince me to join his team." I laugh, grinning at the thought.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, but I denied. I don't like some of their players- give me weird vibes." I say, glancing at his confused expression.

"You know who I'm talking about, the punchable looking one, he looks like a super villain." I add, focusing on the road.

"The one with the abuse allegations- Antony, like why haven't they thrown the fucker out yet?" I say, voicing my dislike as my grip on the steering wheel gets tighter.

"Isn't a very easy process, but it's definitely overdue." He says, his hand on my thigh as if to calm me down.

"Exactly.."

I reread my sleepily written e-mail to my lawyer for the hundredth time it feels like. Adding a comma here and there as I feel like my screen is fogging and blurring up. I had finally requested a restraining order against the man who broke into my home, the police finally starting to finalize the charges against him at my request.

He'd thankfully confessed about being ordered by Theo to break in. For now, I could only get a restraining order against the intruder, as getting one for Theo wasn't actually possible due to us living in different countries. I was satisfied as long as he could be charged in any way possible. Then I could finally be at peace.

I finally press the 'send' button, sighing as I lean my head back against the bus seat. Alerting Virgil of my annoyance. We'd been returning from the match against Burnley, the last before some time off until the new year.

He grabs my phone out of my hand, shaking his head at my protest. His hand coming to rest on my jaw, and I look at him, trying to make out his expression in the dim lights of the bus.

"Sleep, you've been up since six this morning. It's like nine thirty." He whispered, taking note of the fact that half of the players had already passed out. Journeys on the bus made everyone sleepy, whether it was being tired after an intense match, or the fact that the bus rocked just enough to make you fall asleep.

I feel him guide my head onto his shoulder, his arms wrapping around me as a content sigh leaves his lips. I don't protest, letting my body relax as my eyes grow heavy. Fatigue washing over me as I slip into a peaceful sleep. The last I remember being the feeling of soft kisses on the top of my head.

I’m nudged awake maybe an hour or two later, feeling confused and disoriented as I open my eyes. I'm not in the team bus anymore, but in Virgil's car. My eyes darting around to see that we were parked the driveway of his home.

"What? Where- how did I get here?" I ask, my eyes moving from Virgil's form to the windows. Rubbing my eyes tiredly, not even caring about smudging all my mascara anymore. Probably because it was already smudged.

"I carried you out of the bus into my car, your bag is in the backseat." He says nonchalantly, shrugging as he pulls the keys out of the ignition.

"Seriously? You couldn't wake me up? Instead, you put on a show?" I ask, closing my eyes as I cringe, imaging the situation.

"You sleep like the dead my love." He says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on my forehead before stepping out of the car. I sigh, unbuckling myself before I watch him open my door. Then he goes to collect our bags from the backseat.

"Come on, let's go inside." He ushers, making me step out of the car. I follow him, punching in his code before we both step into the home. I immediately make a beeline to the sofa, throwing myself onto it. A sigh leaving my mouth as I shift to get comfortable, grabbing the cushions to rest my head on them.

"Hey, get up if you sleep again you'll stay awake all night. Your sleep schedule is going get messed up." Virgil says, coming to shake me awake, making me groan in protest.

"I'm just resting my eyes.." I mumble, knowing damn well I'd already be fully asleep if he didn't shake me.

"That's what you say every time, then you fall asleep." He accuses, making me sit up straight.

"Did you pack your suitcase already?" He adds, sitting next to me.

"Of course- but say, do you have any space left in your suitcase?" I ask, my eyes snapping open.

"I do, why? Is yours full- did you exceed the weight limit? We have like 32 kilograms of allowance, are you serious?" He asks, looking at me shocked.

"You see, heels are pretty heavy and you definitely won't bring 32 kilograms right?" I begin, grinning sheepishly at him before he grabs me, shaking me playfully.

"Alright, you can give me some of your stuff."

"Is this good? You don't want it to be too tight on your head." Virgil asks, his hands adjusting the buckle of my pink helmet as I hold his gloves in my hand and support both of the snowboards with my arm.

I raise my hand, fidgeting with the buckle myself, before look at him with a smile.

"Feels alright, here." I say, handing him the gloves. Watching him put them on, my eyes flickering over the white piste. Since we'd wrapped up the last game of 2023, and finished top of the table. The both of us decided to go on a little ski resort trip in eastern France.

"Ready?" He asks, looking at me as he grabs his board.

I nod, starting to follow him.

"Will you help me get up when I fall?"

He looks at me, my reflection starting back at me through his goggles.

"I thought you were a pro?" He asks, showing me his heart-throbbing smile.

"I have experience but not a pro. Last time I skied or snowboarded- I was like twenty-two." I defended myself, jogging slightly to catch up with him.

He hums, starting to look ahead as we walk up to the ski lift.

"Hey, staying close to me will also minimize your change of getting injured." I add.

"Why? Are you the injury prevention whisperer?"

"No, but I can heal them.."

"I can still feel my legs burn. I forgot how much it hurts.." I complain, jumping into the hotel room bed after showering and pulling the blanket on my body. At least dinner was insanely delicious.

"I'm actually freezing." I say, the iron supplements I was prescribed didn't work at all. Definitely because, when I took them in the morning, I'd throw them up an hour later. I had to revisit the doctor for a lower dosage when we got back.

"Getting in bed already?" Virgil asks, turning on the heating before walking up to me.

I yawn as if on cue, lying on my stomach as I feel the bed dip, making me shift towards him. Bringing my hand up to the side of his face. I caress his cheekbone, my cheek squished against the fluffy pillow.

"You had fun right?" He asks, pulling me closer.

"I did, well after the third time I fell on my ass.." I joke, soft chuckle leaving my lips as I trace the top of his lips with my thumb.

"You'll like it more tomorrow, since you got used to the feeling again." He replies, the collar of shirt moving as he shifts, revealing his collarbone.

I don't respond, my thumb hovering over his lip as my eyes flicker to his, the silence of the night surrounding us.

My heart thumps in my chest, eyes roaming on his features as my palm rests on his jaw.

"You know babe-" he begins, making me return my attention back to eyes. Raising my eyebrows slightly as if to urge him to continue.

"-everything you said could be understood as an innuendo."

My face forms to that of disbelief, recalling my words before groaning in annoyance.

"Why- would you ruin the moment like this?" I exclaim, honestly trying hard to contain a laugh, starting to get up, trying to remove my hand off his jaw, but he grabs my wrist again.

He pulls me closer my chest hitting his, placing my hand back on his jaw, peppering soft kisses on my palm as he murmurs soft apologies.

"I had to say it." He chuckles, his hand still holding onto my wrist. His chest vibrating against mine.

A sudden blasting of my ringtone makes me jump slightly, a gasp leaving my lips as my eyes widen.

"Scared the crap out of me.."

I try to get up, remembering I left it on the sofa, but I'm pulled back again. My wrist still in his hold, though not being painful.

"Stay, get it later.." He whispers lowly, voice deeper as he stares it my eyes. I lower my hand, tracing his jawline, hearing him take in a rushed breath. I ghost my fingers on his skin, trailing my hand down to his collarbone before tracing it.

His grip suddenly returns to my wrist, guiding my hand onto his chest, right on top of his heart. The quick heartbeat thumping underneath my palm.

"You're making it hard to resist- you know that?"

"Open the link I sent you? Right now!" Jul shouts through my phone speaker, making me frown in curiosity as I click the link. It taking me to a news article.

"Dutch Billionaire family caught in fraud and embezzlement scheme."

"What the fuck!" I exclaim, my eyes roaming around the article to understand what had happened. Freezing as I see a picture of Theo handcuffed as multiple police officers escort him.

I feel a sudden rush of adrenaline flow through me. I sit up straight from the sofa, unfolding my legs. Blinking at the screen in front of me.

This is was all I needed.

"Would laughing at this be inappropriate?" I ask Jul, switching to FaceTime again as a laugh threatens to fall from my lip.

"Laugh all you want girl, this is the karma you wished for."

"If I was back home in The Netherlands I'd be lighting fireworks with the teenagers of my neighborhood." I laugh, taking a sip of my drink.

It was New Year's Eve, Virgil and me going out to celebrate with the other teammates. Monet and her boyfriend also flying over to celebrate with us. We weren't drinking at all. Or at least Virgil and the rest of the players. Me deciding to not drink for moral support. Drinking did not bring the fun, however company did and it was great. Besides, the ice-cold virgin mojito with Red Bull I was drinking was enough to keep me up all night.

I feel Virgil's hold on my waist tighten, his lips on my shoulder as we both sway to the music in the club.

"This is better though.."

I remove his hands from my waist, turning and facing him as I wrap my arms around his neck instead.

"You know, new years isn't usually a happy time for me. I used to get so sad when the clock ticked twelve, like it made me emotional. I regretted every single thing I did that year. But this time it feels different.." I confess, running my fingers up and down his nape as he kisses my cheek.

"In a good way?" He asks, his thumb holding up my chin.

"Yeah, I feel good. I think I'm finally feeling positive of the year I had. It was definitely rough at times, and you've been amazing support, but I think the changes I've made lead me to the best outcome of my life."

"That is?"

"Moving here, to Liverpool. Joining the club, meeting you.."

"Yeah, I'm a part of that 'best outcome'?"

"Of course you are. I've never said it directly, but you've been the best companion I've made this year. So really, thank you for everything..." I continue, the sweet words falling off my tongue in a delicate manner.

I watch a smug expression form on his face, but his brown eyes are sweet, like dark molasses.

"Could say the exact same thing about you my love. You've been the best doctor, lover and support. Everything I could have ever dreamed of. You're amazing in every single way, I can't even begin to count all the times you've motivated to keep me going." He tells me, his other hand on the small of my back as he leans in to kiss me.

"So sweet." I mumble in between kisses, pulling him closer by his collar. The sudden shout of everybody starting to count from ten making me pull away as I admire the lights flashing. I grab onto Virgil's bigger hand, squeezing it as we all start counting down.

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

I hold my breath for a moment, feeling Virgil's hand on my jaw as he pulls me in. Our lips crashing together, the cheering of "happy new year!" loud and clear as our eyes flutter shut. The taste addicting as I reach up to hold onto his bicep. We get lost in the moment, not even pulling away to breathe as we lose ourselves in the sensation.

"Happy New Year, my love."

No, this would be my fresh start.

[beesincognito]

Perfect Strangers part one: The Academy

Viktor x Fem!reader (SFW)

part two

Takes place before Arcane and works its way there, did my best to combine the different versions of lore. (nsfw in later parts)

(you and Viktor meet on your first day at the academy and bond over being habitual, awkward loners. The story revolves around class issues and a sense of belonging mixed with lore and Arcane plot. The story will split at some point and you choose which ending you want to read. Kind of self-indulgent... Based on interactions in platonic and romantic relationships with the men in my life.)

*no warnings for this part*

Word Count:  2,857

******

Viktor was anxious, but masked it with a newfound sense of ambition as he stepped onto the grounds of The University of Piltover for the first time. He was only twenty and in a completely new city. Between his life in Entresol, and now Piltover, it was incomparable. He already knew he was capable of excelling with his work after already improving peoples’ lives back at home. It was only a matter of using the facilities and resources here to greatly expand his research. Then he could help people on a much larger scale instead of improving a factory here and there back in Zaun. 

     He followed the crowd of new students, taking in all of the chatter and splendor surrounding him. The university was so unnecessarily grand above him as he passed through an obnoxiously large doorway gilded in gold. Inside of the first hall the chatter grew to a low roar as every sound began to echo off of the walls.

******

That morning had been anything but exciting for you as you struggled to get out of bed. Filled with a sense of dread as you were stepping well past the point of no return. Today was orientation day at the academy as well as the last day to respond to the artists’ guild. Piltover’s guilds were nothing to scoff at, especially now when you had been so close to becoming one of their apprentices. 

     Stale hotel furniture greeted you as you finally sat up in bed and gave your aching back a much needed stretch. You couldn’t believe you weren’t going to the guild and there was nothing you could do about it at this point. Arguments had filled your family home for years about what you were going to do with your life. Applying to the artisan guild without your parent’s knowledge was your first act of rebellion in your golden-child life. Getting in didn’t even seem like a possibility until you had received a letter, only days before orientation, announcing your acceptance into the apprenticeship program.

     You had already accepted your seat at the academy by then, which your parents were overjoyed by after getting what they so desperately wanted, for you of course. Your family had always been from Piltover, as long as you could remember, but your parents believed in building your own legacy before joining the family business. Generations of your family had made names for themselves, all separate from the business. It was up to you to maintain your life and status in Piltover. At least they weren’t trying to use you for their own gain, they were just worried about giving you the best life possible by building character. Being an artist was not character building in their eyes

     Taking your sweet time getting ready was your last act of a subtle rebellion for no one else to see or know about. It wasn’t like you were even running late, sleep had eluded you all morning once the sun peeked its ugly face through the useless sheer curtains; if anything you were early. 

     Uniforms were nothing new to you, getting ready without having to think about your outfit choice was one less thing to worry about. At least the uniforms made you feel more confident, it was almost like a status symbol. You were one of Piltover’s “finest and brightest” like your parents kept saying for years every time your school reports were sent home. Sometimes you wished you never tried so hard in academics, then maybe you’d be at the artisan guild learning how to beautify the city, and possibly beyond, instead.

     Just in case boredom occurred, you tucked your latest sketch book into your, mostly empty, bag. Shoving your feet into the standard school loafers, you gradually made your way out of the hotel room and through the lobby. Breathing in the fresh air, or at least as fresh as a concrete city could feel. 

     People were everywhere, walking and talking like they belonged. Obviously they did, but something so mundane never came easy to you. You couldn’t help but stare too long at others or everything around you, overthinking about everything, as you kept your stride slow and controlled. Getting worked up wasn’t on your list of things to do before classes even began. You hadn’t even moved into your dorm yet. 

     There was a crowd in the courtyard of the campus. Not a huge crowd, but it must’ve been the new students. Imagining a sea of uniforms was overkill now that you could see everyone in person and realized not everyone who applied was accepted into the academy. Something about that made you feel special, especially when this whole situation was never your first choice.

     Walking towards the lecture hall filled you with a good kind of excitement for the first time during this whole ordeal. 

     That was when you first saw him all those years ago. You were just trying to survive the crowd as you were pushed back and forth between people that seemed to tower over you. Maybe it was just your social anxiety making everything seem so much larger than it actually was. The noise was almost overwhelming. Entranced by him, from across the crowd as everyone began to pour into the lecture hall, you felt calmer. Remembering you needed to feign some sense of grace, these people were going to be your peers after all. 

     Even though he didn’t tower over everyone else, you kept seeing his tousled chestnut hair peeking out through the crowd when you’d lose sight of him. 

     He was handsome. Shamelessly, but still inconspicuous enough to not be noticed, nudging your way through the crowd you finally found yourself close to him. Given that it was your first day on your own, you no longer had childhood classmates alongside you to keep company with which meant you needed to try and make real connections. Orientation was the way to start. Familiarity wasn’t going to get you anywhere at the academy. Plus, he seemed shy, with the way he was looking around and avoiding people, and so were you usually. This sneaking dance through the crowd was a first for you and it made you a little giddy, not in a romantic way. Maybe you were a little proud of taking the first steps by yourself for once. 

     When you had your bag settled under the seat behind your feet, you noticed he was holding a cane between his knees as he continued to look around the spacious building in awe. The way he seemed to be soaking everything in told you he wasn’t from around here. Maybe he’d just never seen the university before. You let your gaze linger for too long around his eyes because he turned suddenly and caught you staring. You couldn’t do anything else besides pretend you were staring at the scene behind him and awkwardly grin as you turned away. Suddenly you were uncomfortable with the situation you created.

     “Big room,” you practically have to squeeze out when it was your turn to feel his continuous stare. 

     “Yes, it is.” He smiled as he spoke which put you at ease.

     “I haven’t been here for a while, I did a tour a few years ago.”

     “So you’ve had your sights set on this place?” 

     You hesitated and waved your hands awkwardly while trying to formulate an answer that didn’t insult everyone in the room, “You could say I have ambitious parents. I don’t hate the opportunity even if it wasn’t my first choice.”

     Your answer seemed to intrigue him, “What would you rather be doing? Wasn’t it hard enough getting here?” There wasn’t sass or judgment in his questioning, just curiosity. 

     “It feels wrong to say it here, but I was training to be an artist. My academic skills were somewhat ‘impressive’, or at least that’s what they said,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and it felt rude immediately. You made an awkward waving gesture with your hand to try and focus, “eh, so I was encouraged to pursue a more academic route. I’ve settled on mechanical engineering for now and yes it was very hard for me to get here.”

     “Whether you wanted this or not, you have enough passion for it to have worked out so far.”

     His words were encouraging and he seemed sweet which was already making you feel flustered inside. “Thanks, now we just have to see if I survive.” You gave a small shrug and slouched in your uncomfortable seat. 

     You both continued to whisper comments here and there throughout orientation. It was long and you could hear a snore every once in a while as quotes about progress and innovation flew over your head. You figured you would be seeing him occasionally as your tracks had a lot of similarities so there was no rush to ask for his life story.

     When you had stopped talking you sketched in your book, occasionally feeling him shift to watch you work. The fresh smell of his body wash made you blush when you were so used to being around your fathers business partners smelling like cigars and expensive cologne. It made you tuck into your seat further as you furiously sketched people around you in the lecture hall. Ignoring the intrusive thoughts you had about this stranger.

     “What’s your name?” you whisper once your nose was able to part ways with your sketches.

     “Viktor,” he straightened his back, sitting up from watching you work, “you?”

     “y/n.”

     “That’s a nice name,” his smile made you blush as you went back to your book. 

     When orientation ended you offered to walk together and continue talking. Students wouldn’t be moving into their dorms for another week so you both had until then to explore this part of the city. Your parents hadn’t been keen on traveling back and forth twice just to get you moved in so they had set you up in a hotel for the week. However Viktor said he was already moved into a room given his circumstance, but admitted he appreciated the company. 

     “I figured you were from out of town,” you teased as you meandered around the grounds. 

     “What makes you say that?” his eyes felt so intense to you. From his perspective he thought he didn’t stand out too much at a first glance.

     “Everything seemed dazzling to you back there,” you gestured to the lecture hall you had both just left. It was a fancy building, but when you grow up around everything looking luxurious you don’t really notice it anymore. 

     “Well… you’re right, I’m from the edge of… Entresol, I transferred from the Academy of Techmaturgy,” he didn’t look at you as he said this. Almost as if he was awaiting some sort of judgment. 

     “Wait, that's… in Zaun. You must have worked so hard to get here,” you grinned and continued to walk in an effort to make him feel at ease being so far out of his element. “Was there somewhere you wanted to go? I can leave you alone if you’d like; we’ll most likely have some classes together anyways.”

     He considered doing what he always did, which was spend the rest of the day, and following week and a half, alone before having to attend classes. He was pretty set in his ways of just working all of the time in his lab in Zaun. Even as a child he was often alone, not intentionally. It couldn’t hurt to start interacting with someone, you seemed nice and not overbearing. What he feared was potential friends losing interest in his company if he couldn’t keep up with them physically. For him that just meant working more to prove himself. 

     His grip on his cane tightened and his knuckles were whiter than his already pale skin. “It would be nice to have company. I was going to visit the library before calling it a night.”

     As you both walked along a quiet path, listening to the city around you hum, the occasional tapping of his metal cane against the hard ground kept you both at the same steady pace. Your time at the library was relaxing as you looked through research books that you undoubtedly would have to reference later in the semester. There were private study areas that Viktor seemed to especially enjoy as you both were habitual loners. 

     You both finished off the evening with a stop to get a couple of hot drinks before you intended to part ways with him and leave it up to chance to run into him again eventually. It was a large campus.

     “I’ll see you around, Viktor,” you give him a soft smile and slowly stand from your shared café table.

     “Wait, y/n- I uh was,” the clatter of his cane stopped you in your tracks as he reached to pick it back up, “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

     This took you by surprise as the intentions of his innocent offer were lost on you, making your mind wander elsewhere. You stammered and made a quizzical gesture with your hands. 

     “You wanted to come back to my place?” you teased. Maybe you were emboldened by your change in scenery being far from your strict parents. It wouldn’t hurt if he really did want to come back to your room.

     Embarrassed at the realization of what he must have implied, he raised his free hand and waved it nervously with a forced smile.

     “No not, ehm, not like that. I-” he sheepishly chuckled as he stood from his seat slowly and you both shared toothy grins as you walked away from the café. Laugher cured whatever awkwardness Viktor had felt for that short moment. 

     Part of you felt a little disappointed, but you knew he was just being a gentleman so instead you chose to be amused. This whole day had been out of your comfort zone and contrary to your usual behavior, throwing caution to the wind was far from off the table if Viktor changed his mind by the time you reached your door. Perhaps it felt freeing to expect jumping into bed with someone you just met because there wasn’t much to lose, no long relationship to ruin, only a budding one. 

     Walking back to the hotel wasn’t awkward in the slightest, if anything it was more jovial than the entire evening had been. A metaphorical baseline had been drawn and you both settled in comfortably as perfect strangers. 

******

The rest of the week was the most socializing you’d ever done with a person one on one, especially with someone you just met. Viktor was different, he was emotionally complex and passionate about his research. It was inspiring to hear him talk about his life in the undercity and how he only wanted to help people in need. Listening to him felt like a kind of meditation just letting his mind wander as you drew. 

     Viktor hadn’t intended on seeing you every single day of the week, it’s just how it happened. The following morning you had seen him reading by himself on a bench and you greeted him awkwardly. He was polite and asked you how you slept, which made you blush. You thought he was just being polite, but he was honest and said you looked stressed.

     “I didn’t really sleep, I stayed up to read. Couldn’t pass out afterwards.”

     “Nervous?” 

     “Always, it seems…” you tried to quietly laugh it off with the roll of your eyes as he smiled at you. That damn grin. You’d never interacted with someone like this before even though it was probably simple for most people.

     He offered to go for a short walk and you both got tea at the campus café. That short walk turned into a late lunch, which turned into reading together in the library, and then more walking. Not before long, you both realized the entire day had passed you by, but it didn’t feel wasted and you both felt rather relaxed instead. 

     Viktor, quite the gentleman, offered to walk you back to your hotel room again, but you could tell his leg was bothering him. He was good at hiding it most of the time, slowing down instead of swaying against his cane or expressing discomfort. You just patted his arm and let him know he didn’t have to even though it was nice.

     The rest of the week pretty much went that same way where you would either run into each other exploring the campus or meet up at a spot you agreed upon the previous day. It was intoxicating getting to be with each other even though you’d just met that week, but it felt like so much longer already.

     There was nothing romantic in the air as far as you could tell, just having this new platonic friendship, where he seemed eager to be around you as well, was wonderful. 

     At night when you were alone in the dark and struggled to sleep, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to Viktor.

******

Thank you for making it to the end :)  more to come soon!

[qweerhet]

Re: community bonds: if you continue to allow sexual aggressors access and support then they will continue to sexually-violate, for the same reason as if you combine a pack of wolves and a herd of sheep, after a while only wolves are left. Let's not allow leftism to be an excuse to turn a blind eye to/wave away harms people do in the name of 'bUiLdInG a CoMmUnItY!!!!111111'

this is a profoundly dumb and conservative response in that it boils down "sexual aggressor" into an innate category of nature; it negates all interrogation of the conditions under which sexual violence occurs and the structures that make it possible. the comparison to predator and prey species really tips the hand here, positioning those who commit rape and other sexual harm as so profoundly different, so innately incomparable to other humans, that they are a different species altogether. of course they are not loved ones, not family members, not people in our lives--their natures are so innately and ontologically attuned to violence that they may as well not even be humans!

quite silly, eh? i'm posting this because it's awfully easy to get taken in by this sort of emotionally charged language combined with the surface-level appearance of logic; it can be quite difficult to learn to recognize this kind of rhetoric for what it is. still, it's important to do so--if you think this way, you're vulnerable to not seeing and addressing systems of harm and individual perpetrators of violence in your own communities. a little cognitive empathy goes a long way towards recognizing when someone you care for deeply and do not wish to abandon may be perpetuating severe harm; simultaneously, a step back from the individual can reveal entire systems based on teaching and enabling sexual harm--even forcing it, in some cases!--that must be dismantled before the individual can be fully and properly addressed.

[gracefullou]

i used to be a hardcore hrry fan, but overtime i just felt so disconnected from him because he doesn’t show his human, real side and instead it’s basically a brand. i won’t lie, i can’t hate him or dislike him, i was too attached and that’s hard to let go, but i stopped following him and listening to his music. louis has always been my favorite though. i love that he’s as authentic as he can be in the industry and shares this special bond with fans. that’s something hrry can’t have and it’s truly sad. he got plenty of success, but in return he became a product to sell to audiences, with “fans” who don’t truly care about him and many just wanting the clout of being at a hrry stles™ show, meanwhile louis has fans who care about him and his music. who feel that connection. who make fan projects for him and other fans, and in return he shows his appreciation for us and includes us in his success. personally, i wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. hrry’s fanbase is not long lasting, louis’ is, so, who really won at the end?

It depends on what you see as winning and therefore who you ask. Louis will never be as commercially successfull as Hrry, he will never have those streaming numbers, he will never have lead roles served to him on a silver plate even when he has zero acting talent. So if that was the prize, he lost. But I don't think that's what Louis thinks. I don't think that's what any rational person thinks. Fans tend to draw comparisons between the two but it's not fair, or even rational. You can't compare an indie movie with a Marvel one, simply bc the investment was not the same, the amount of money and power put into the two projects is incomparable and therefore the projects themselves are. It's the same here. I don't follow Hrry and idk what's happening with him/ his career unless i see a post in my tl and even if i did, i can't claim if he's happy or not, dead inside (like he looks) or not but it is clear atp that everything publicly available about him is a calculated move. I don't care about him, i never did so i can't relate to you anon. Ofc, the moment i became a Louis fan i was bombarded with 1D and Hrry content but i never cared about him. I heard his first album once and never again (same with his second one). I remmember not liking his music, it's very repetitive, not really catchy and he writes very amateur and generic lyrics. I didn't like him as well, i think a lot of what his fans "see" in him is an illusion, a false perception. They think he's interesting and deep so they find his slow speech and goofiness charming but the moment he opens his mouth when asked a question that he didn't prepare for, you see that there's nothing really there. Anyway, enough about him. What I care about is Louis. He looks so good, i don't think i've ever seen him happier than this last year. He's making the music he wants and doesn't have to answer to any external pressure anymore. And what magical songs he's making 🥹❤️‍🩹. Faith in the future is a perfect perfect album and is a far cry from anything he wrote with one direction no offence. He had an arena tour and played to thousands of fans night after night, even did a few stadium shows in Latam and had a live stream from one of the shows. He released AOTV as well. I agree that his music is so good, so well written it inspires the listener. Of course i wish he had a better team to prompte him and his music but there is something beautiful about how no matter how many streams a song of his get, you know it's organic. You know it's bc all the people (or at the very least most of them) who listened to this song loved it. Might be silly but i get emotional when i listen to always you, a non single from walls has 22M views on YouTube with zero promo, all from people who loved the song bc it's pop perfection duh. Fingers crossed for LT3, I know it will be another perfect album from Louis and i can't wait to hear it

[dirtanddistance]

King of Pain and Festival Ready: Diez Vista 50k 2024

10 years ago, I decided to run my first 50k. As all good running ideas are, it was a suggestion from a friend and running partner. While she did not end up on the starting line with me, it was the beginning of a path that would lead me to the start line on Sasamat Lake, far from alone this time. The 50k distance has always been special to me. It was the race that made me an ultramarathoner, it introduced me to trail running. Every 50k I’ve done has been so deeply impactful on who I have become as a person; from that first race in Florida, to the 50k I ran while I was in podiatry school in Ohio that showed me that I had no idea what a trail race actually entailed. The 50k back in my hometown, a repeat of my first that I signed up for because I knew that I needed it to force myself to keep eating, keep taking care of myself while my dad died right before I graduated. I can still feel how disconnected and lonely I was out there that day if I think about it for too long. How miserable, numb. I won my gender division and felt nothing. I didn’t touch a 50k for years after that. Partially because I was in residency and had no time for that level of training, but also because I just… couldn’t, not after I dragged myself through it just to stay alive that last time. It wouldn’t be until last autumn that I would tackle that specific distance as an event again, this time with a group of fearless friends in my local running club on their run around the perimeter of Burnaby, BC. While I never mentioned it to any of them, getting to run that distance with them, sharing the joys and the pain, helped put together a few little broken pieces I’d forgotten about deep down in my soul somewhere. And along this path, I was delivered at the moment when I would ask Elise if she would like to run a trail ultra.

Convincing Elise to sign up for a trail ultra was actually a pretty easy sell. We’d done some exceptional leaf-peeping trail runs earlier in the season, and a pretty spectacular group trail run up to Panorama Ridge the summer before. We’d gone backpacking together and determined we could wander around in the backcountry for days on end without it getting too weird. More importantly, we’d bonded over our mutual burnout for road racing. It was nerve wracking, worrying about paces and times, comparing ourselves to others and to previous versions of ourselves who we knew deep down shouldn’t be emulated but damn, they put down some good times. Trail runs were a chance to escape that. You’ve never run this course before so you can’t really decide what a good time for you is. It might be the same distance as another one you ran, but the terrain makes them completely incomparable. Only the top three people get awards, so as solidly average runners there’s no need to wonder if you could have nabbed the podium in your age group. Most importantly, it’s far enough of a distance over challenging enough terrain that simply getting to the finish line feels like accomplishment enough, time be damned. So on entry day, one morning in I think December, I woke up an extra few minutes early and texted my running buddy, and signed up for the 2024 DV50. Minutes later, I got a text back confirming it. We were both really in it now.

As an aside, there is nothing I enjoy more than getting to do someone’s first [insert race distance here] with them. Even better if we’re running it together; I highly recommend trying this strategy for joymaxxing your race. You get to turn your competition brain off. Your only job is to shepherd your companion along this journey that you’ve gone on before. You don’t really think about whether or not you can do it or how you are feeling at any given moment. You’re concerned about how they’re holding up, if they’ve got enough water or slept well the night before. Some of my most treasured running memories are watching a friend finally take a crack at a race. You know you can do it. And you know they can do it, and that you’re gonna do it with them.

Race day dawned without a raindrop to speak of. Apparently this was only the 3rd time in the 26 year history of Diez Vista 50k that there was ‘good’ weather on race day #luckygirlsyndrome. I was infinitely thankful for this, if only because I’d already spent hours upon hours trudging up and down Diez Vista completely saturated and covered in mud while training for this race and emotionally I wasn’t sure how much more of that I had in me. We arrived pretty much in perfect timing to park, apply face gems (one must be festival ready when your race falls on Coachella weekend) get our drop bags situated, hit the bathroom, and take a couple photos before the starting gun (except there is no starting gun. This is British Columbia not a Florida high school track meet). As we started to pick up our feet and cross over the starting line while AC/DC’s Thunderstruck blasted, it really, well, struck me that we were really in it now. 

First half of the race was well trodden ground after Run Ridge Run a little while back. We fell into a groove, the mass of participants still fairly thick as we crossed the bridge and started our ascent. We ended up near another run acquaintance I hadn’t had a chance to chat with since before Squamish last year, which broke up the first bit of the climb before we all became a bit too winded to do much more talking. The DV climb, which had been the bane of my existence up until today, went by faster than I could ever recall it passing on previous jaunts. There was nothing but the relentless desire to be done with it, to be over the (big) hill and on with the rest of the race where we could actually chat and enjoy ourselves.

Finally, we were past it and pulled up to Aid Station 2. AS2 had impeccable vibes. First of all, we ran into our friend Keri working as a course marshal on the way in, and seeing a familiar face is always a surefire morale boost. There was Dua Lipa playing on the speakers. A woman dressed up as a shark complimented our festival-ready face gems, and another volunteer told us we looked fresh (if anyone reading this has ever wondered what you should say to a runner when you’re volunteering at a race, anything along the lines of ‘you look fresh/strong’ is 10/10). We loaded up on snacks and headed back on our journey around Buntzen Lake. 

The toddle to the third aid station was uneventful; once more we were rewarded with a volunteering friend sighting (hi Clarence!) and the Big Fuel waiting in the drop bag - a PB&J and some apple sauce. This aid station had everything, and it was far enough into the race that I was starting to want exactly none of it. Fortunately, the PB&J went down the hatch without much protest and there was a real bathroom on the way out of the aid station to boot.

The next chunk of the race was a bit uneventful; these miles kinda just slipped by, along with aid station 4. We finally ran into another pair of pals course marshaling before the split to head out along the powerline trail, bright eyed and optimistic. We’d run this trail by accident before, not realizing it was actually part of the course. It had been pouring rain that day, in contrast to the blazing sun spilling over the undulating path ahead of us, visible snaking infinitely into the horizon. With no concept of what was about to happen to us, we plodded off in decent spirits. We got to the point in the course where we saw everyone ahead of us passing back and coming back; the quantity of ‘way to go’, ‘looking strong’, and ‘good work!’s that were offered to increasingly bleak-faced compatriots ticked up and up, punctuated with bursts of more heartfelt excitement when we saw faces we recognized charging back towards the finish line. It was during this trudge that I was asked by a physically unflagging Elise, ‘what do you do when the mental game goes south? Asking for a friend.” I realized I was deeply lucky to not be too deep in a psychological rut despite the never ending uphill trudge we were on. The answer to that question is that there really isn’t an easy way to force your way out of it when you have that much race left to run. I let my brain empty itself out and start offering me its very questionable Pandora channel, flicking between songs whose places in my brain I couldn’t even begin to explain. Sometimes it kinda works, but more often you just kinda hang out there and then it shifts. And soon after that conversation, the uphill trek shifted back downhill and the passers by in the opposite direction began to say, ‘you’re nearly there!’ with a sincerity that was not to be questioned. Two course marshals with more enthusiasm than an entire high school cheer squad were all the confirmation we needed before we turned the corner to the shouting and a massive “Swift Kelce 2024” flag. 

When I say that Aid Station 5 was a transcendent experience, I am not exaggerating in the least. I hadn’t been so excited to see more people I knew since the last time I’d seen one of our friends on course and the taste of the Sour Patch Kids and peach rings I ate out there will never be matched by any other candy experience in this world. I had no idea how far the power line trail went on before I got to that point, but finally could rest knowing that it did in fact have an end and that we could now spend the next few miles floating back downhill. Which we did, but maybe a little bit more stiff than graceful, filled with candy and lifted spirits. Spirits that were light enough to muster up a jump-for-joy when we ran past the course photographer again. Spirits that were ready for the final push to the finish line.

The final section of stairs before the finish line was definitely an insult but was certainly less than the 200 stairs that were described at the pre race briefing. At the top of the stairs, I caught sight of my husband parking his motorcycle (or doing his best to in the busy labyrinth of the Sasamat Lake parking lots) and remarked that he wouldn’t make it down before us as we made the final descent towards the lake, looking out onto the beach and holding back tears as I said “we did it, we made it!” to Elise. We dodged the children on the beach as we traversed that final gauntlet to cross the finish line together, hitting Gary with that double high five and reuniting with all of our run club friends.

While this was one of the less intensely-trained-for ultras I’ve completed, it was by far the most fun one I’ve done and mentally the strongest I’ve had. An emotional redemption of this distance, and an unforgettable experience with a beautiful friend. There is nothing quite like sharing months and miles together working toward a goal, and getting to cross the finish line with someone who knows exactly what it took to get there. With our sparkly face gems intact, we finished as the kings of pain, and also ever festival-ready.

[jerzwriter]

Reset - Character Profiles: Chloe Daniels

The house was nearly silent as Chloe made final preparations for her trip. She had yet to experience the relief that normally filled her as she checked off the boxes on her to-do list, but she wasn't anxious either. Perhaps it was because this was becoming old hat; this was to be her fourth tour, after all, and she knew what to expect. At least, that's what she told herself.

She looked at her watch; her plane was taking off in just six hours. Six hours until she could escape to where the only thing that mattered was her work. Where she was as anonymous as one of the billions of trees that surrounded her. It was the only place she felt at peace. She was just shy of thirty-two years of age, and she had accomplished more than those who were twice her age. Still, it seemed to impress no one, at least no one that mattered.

With her education, her ability, her pedigree, and, if God hadn't smiled upon her enough, her beauty was at least as incomparable as her mind. Of course, she excels, people would say; she's had every possible advantage. Why wouldn't she?

Chloe pretended not to hear the chatter. She made a conscious choice not to focus on the words, though each one was etched in her mind. At thirty-two, she had already managed to create a legendary career... but she had no idea how to create a life.

"You know, you don't have to go," a voice said softly. "You don't have to do this."

Chloe turned to her step-sister Jenna with a half smile. "I don't have to do what, exactly? My job?"

Jenna's arms crossed in front of her chest. A knowing-looking reminded her sister she could pull this off with most, but not with her.

"Cut the crap, Chloe. You can do your job here, in Durham. You could do your job in LA or New York City if Durham is not your thing. Hell, the CDC would gobble you up in a second... you don't have to head off to parts unknown again to make a difference. You have nothing to prove, Chloe."

Now it was Chloe's turn to serve a knowing look in the form of an irritated smirk.

"Come on, Jenna... the hell I don't."

All characters will have somewhat different backgrounds in this universe. Learn more about Chloe's below.

Since Dr. Chole Daniels is an OC, some basic background.

Full Name: Chloe Alexandra Daniels

Her Family: Chloe was the only daughter of Dr. Richard Daniels, a world-renowned epidemiologist, and his late wife, Camillia Koval Daniels. Camillia died from p.vivax malaria when Chloe was nine years old. Her father remarried her stepmother, Anna Caradis when Chloe was twelve. Anna was a widow and had one child, Jenna Caradis, who is Chloe's only sibling.

Her Past: Chloe's father worked in the field for the WHO and other organizations. His innovative work in the field of epidemiology earned him awards, recognition, and prestige. His first wife, Chloe's mother, was a nurse who traveled with him. While Chloe's family healed from various parts of North Carolina, she spent her childhood moving from location to location, most of them remote, to support her parent's work. Her mother came down with p. vivax malaria, and complications that arose from it caused her death. Her father fell into a deep depression, knowing he had saved the lives of countless people, but could not save his own wife.

He met Anna at a fundraiser the following year. Both widows, they bonded, and Anna helped bring Richard back to life, and she brought joy to Chloe as well. The family somewhat settled in Durham, where Dr. Daniels accepted a position at Duke, but they still relocated on occasion for shorter periods of time. It was a happy time, but short-lived. When Chloe was 16 and Jenna was 12, Anna died suddenly of an aneurysm. After that, the family of three remained in Durham.

Richard loves Chloe very much, but he always puts very big expectations on her shoulders. He loved Jenna as his own but never expected her to live up to the standards he set for Chloe. The two girls were very close, but Chloe was often hurt by the nature of her father's relationship with Jenna, and that led to her wanting to escape. She attended Cornell University for her undergrad and then Columbia School of Medicine, but she spent a good portion of those years traveling to different regions of the world.

Before she even completed her residency at Columbia Presbyterian in NYC, she was already involved in groundbreaking research and sought after major hospitals and universities worldwide. Yet, she chose to work in the field for the WHO more often than not.

When we meet her, she has been working at Duke for 6 months after returning from a tour in the Amazon. But she was unhappy and resigned to accept another assignment in the rainforest. Her relationship with her father is strained as his expectations remain sky-high, and while he is very proud of her successes, he doesn't let her see it... always inquiring about what's next. Meanwhile, Jenna is a dressmaker in Durham. She's very successful at what she does, but Richard lauds her with compliments, leaving Chloe feeling hurt.

Romantically, Chloe has tended to be hurt more often than not. Although, the erratic nature of her life has made long-term friendships and relationships challenging. She did fall in love with a surgeon, Nasim Khan, while she was in NYC, and they enjoyed a loving three-year relationship. When he started talking about rings and a future, Chloe panicked and accepted a position with the WHO. They did not end things when she left, but the distance proved to be too much of a challenge, and they broke it off two months into her assignment.

Chloe's happiest when she's working in the field; it is what she knows, but it is also an escape from reality and provides her with a cover for not laying down roots.

She is a strong, determined leader who earns the respect of others through her knowledge and fairness. She can be quite funny, but it's often to hide scars. She is warm and friendly, but she becomes very nervous when she gets too close to people in any type of relationship.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

WIP Wednesday

This is the start of a piece called "Goddess" in which poor Agi Wildheart is comparing herself to Gale's previous lover---Mystra.

“I want it to be perfect---to bond with you in the way that gods do…intertwining our spirits in the Weave.”

At the time, Agnes thought it was deeply romantic. And I still do!

But that’s also what he did with Mystra.

Going from a literal goddess to me.

How can I ever compare?

I’m not a goddess.

I will never be a goddess.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Gale asked as Karlach and Lae’zel cleared some brush along the Rosymorn Monastery Trail. “You know you can unburden yourself to me.”

“I’m alright,” she said, giving him a small smile. “Just thinking a bit too much.”

He looked at a nearby rock and sat on it, motioning for Agnes to sit next to him. “Well, if you wish to share, I’m all ears. Goodness knows I’ve done the same to you, my love.”

He’s not wrong. Maybe this will help. “Hey Karlach, Lae’zel---we’re taking a short break, alright?” The two nodded, and Agnes smirked when Karlach dragged Lae’zel further away from the two of them. You are the best! She moved to sit next to Gale with him offering a hand. “You really don’t have to, you know. I’m short, but I can manage.” She teased lightly, secretly loving that he cared so much for her. Maybe…STOP. Stop thinking!!!

He smiled warmly, taking one of her hands in his. “I would be a poor gentleman indeed if I didn’t help my lady.”

I love you. I love you so much. But am good enough? Am I enough? They sat for a few moments before she spoke again. “I can’t help but compare myself to a certain someone.” She admitted softly, staring at the ground. “Because when I think about your last relationship—”

“That ended rather poorly, in case you need reminding.”

Rolling her eyes, she chuckled. “Well, yes! Of course! I just mean…I…I’m…I’m not a goddess, Gale.” She glanced up at him. “I’m just me. I’ll never be as beautiful or powerful as Mystra. And don’t get me started about her and me in the bedroom.”

Gale’s expression was one of anguish. Are there tears in his eyes? Oh no, I fucked up. I fucked up. Oh gods… “My love, I had no idea you felt that way. What you said about your power versus Mystra’s…there’s no contest. However,” he took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “You’re incomparable as individuals. Your smile. Your laugh. Your beauty. Gods, your heart. Your fiery spirit. All those things and so much more are why I love you. Why I will always love you. Why I would rather love you than her. So please, darling, don’t ever worry about how you compare, because to me, at least, there is no competition. It’s you. Always you.” He held her close, placing kisses on her red hair. “You are my everything, Agi. My sun, my moon, my stars, my sky, my universe.”

“OH MY FUCKING GODS, THAT’S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I’VE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE! GALE, SERIOUSLY THAT’S BRILLIANT MATE!”

[late-to-the-fandom]

Chapter 4: The Ohn'Ahran Plains

In which a certain centaur couple has a wedding, illuminating new possibilities for Renathal and his former Maw Walker. Rated G. Read on Ao3 here.

It was decided fairly early on in their adventure to keep Renathal's identity a secret wherever possible. A high-ranking ruler of one of the realms of death seemed likely to invoke a volatile reaction in the mortals whose lives and lands were riddled with it. Thus Elisewin - to the chagrin of Renathal's incorrigible curiousity - tended to vet the majority of his questions on the grounds they would be considered conspicuously strange.

Which was why Renathal had to wait until she was absent to ask the centaur -

"What precisely is the purpose of this ritual? I confess, I fail to see any obvious merit."

He heard the strident note of condescension in his voice, entertained the idea of apology, and dismissed it as quickly as it came. His current mood was uncompromising. Even sheltered as he was from the brilliant sun of the Ohn'ahran Plains by the river's sparse copse of trees, the Dark Prince was out of sorts.

Windsage Dawa looked up from the feathered bracer he was preening.

"Surely, people are also married in … wherever it is you hail from?"

For the first time since Renathal had met Dawa two days previous, curiosity supplanted the centaur’s glazed, lovesick expression. Stooping to avoid the surprisingly perceptive stare, Renathal plucked the waiting pauldron from the grass and brushed traces of earth from the leather and feathers.

“We have our own …custom for joining one to another,” he replied, choosing his words with care, “but it is a true binding together of the souls. A communion of knowledge and power. One gains the strength of the other in a tangible way. What do either of you stand to gain by such a very... ceremonial practice?”

On balance, it would have been stranger had the Windsage not found this offensive. He dropped his arm abruptly, the bracer's feathers fluttering in the weak, watery breeze, and blinked. For some reason, this visceral reminder of his Soulbind, currently providing similar assistance to the Windsage’s intended miles away, increased Renathal's sense of agitated unbalance.

"A primitive race,” commented the centaur obliquely, “to join together purely for power.”

But it was only the thought of Elisewin - and what she would say if she found out he had given himself away doing the very thing she had specifically asked him not to do - that kept Renathal from launching into a proud and pious defense of the Venthyr, and a choice rebuke at the hubris in denigrating an eons-old civilisation from a being whose people still lived in tents. He contented himself with an eyebrow raise that was nothing short of regal as he affixed the pauldron to Dawa’s shoulder.

“Power is, of course, not the only thing one gains by soulbinding,” said Renathal, both his words and the leather straps he was positioning rather tighter than strictly necessary. “One is granted an intimate and incomparable insight into the soul of the other. Memories may be visited, feelings communicated without the confines of speech. Why, when the anim-" He caught himself just in time and hid the word behind a little cough. "That is, when the magic is strong enough, one's own thoughts might even be shared. It is truly a singular experience," he finished, stepping back, "The grand culmination of a devoted bond."

A short survey of his handiwork, and his impassioned speech, had Renathal fighting down a smirk of satisfaction; a battle cut short by Dawa's barbed rejoinder of, "As is a marriage," before the centaur turned and clopped away, following the river at a dignified canter. 

It crossed Renathal's bemused mind to simply watch the centaur leave. Let the creature trot along to his own bloody wedding while he himself took a well-deserved rest under the rare and blessed shade. But to allow the mortal the final word on an issue that had bothered him since their very first meeting was anathema to Renathal. And anyway, he still did not have the answers he craved. Why marriage mattered so much to the Windsage. Why it mattered to mortals at all. Why anyone would go to such lengths to complete a rite that, as far as he could see, amounted to semantics.

So, forgoing the drooping boughs of his shelter, Renathal pushed his tinted lenses up his nose and set out into the open, unprotected plain behind the Windsage, trying to shake off the inexplicable irritation that had buzzed around him like a belligerent corpse fly ever since he had initially accepted Dawa's request for aid.

As soon as he was near enough for speech to carry comfortably, Renathal continued, “No one is questioning your devotion, of course,” which was as close as he could come to diplomatic melioration. “It is obvious, even to an outsider, the Hunter Narman and yourself share a deep and abiding love. But that is what makes the imperative of such a ceremony all the more…" Perfunctory? Nonsensical? He struggled for tact. " ...Intriguing.”

Now just behind the Windsage, Renathal slowed to match the centaur’s measured pace, keeping a sword’s length between them as he continued to broach the boundaries of civility.

“After all, it is merely ... words, is it not? What lasting purpose do they serve? How do they edify your already established bond? What does this ritual provide mortal lovers they do not already have?”

He heard the slip too late, and winced as the Windsage halted abruptly, hooves kicking up flecks of dirt and grass. Renathal, too, dropped anchor and assumed a subtly defensive stance. But the earth-colored eyes Dawa fixed on him were filled with neither fear nor the confusion one might have expected, nor the righteous indignation to which he was arguably entitled. On the contrary, he seemed, if anything, more at ease, as if some hidden question had been answered; his broad, heavy features smoothed into something like wary respect.

“My... champion,” he said, in a voice to match his expression, “it is true, I do not undertake this most sacred of rites to accrue any personal gain. Unless it be the privilege of possessing a greater responsibility for the happiness and well-being of the one who is my world.” The Windsage spoke slowly, lingering over the words, as if unsure which of them Renathal might understand. “The essence of a marriage is not in the gaining of power, but in the offering of it to another. I offer my whole self - my power, my person - to my love. It is a sacrifice, but one willingly, joyfully undertaken.

"Today," Dawa paused and inhaled deeply as if savouring the thought, "I publicly dedicate myself to the service of the one I adore. For such an honour, there are no lengths to which I would not have gone. Including," he lowered his eyes in Renathal's direction, "the humble prayers for assistance I offered Ohn'ahra. I now see my prayers did not go unanswered," and he bent his front legs, lowering his head until his beard trailed against the grass.

Renathal supposed he ought to be concerned his cover had been apparently - if incorrectly - blown. However, he was more preoccupied with the Windsage’s words, and the look on face as he spoke; that bright, besotted glow. The bliss of love reciprocated, the delight in its public display. Both were pleasures Renathal well understood, just as he understood, at last, what bothered him about the whole affair.

He wanted this ritual to mean nothing. Because if it meant nothing, then he was missing nothing. And if it mattered… Renathal's eyes flashed red behind his lenses... if it mattered, then he and Elisewin were not quite as bound together as he thought.

This was not the first time he had feared the waning strength of their connection. The idea had preyed on his thoughts since arriving in the mortal realm, where lack of anima reduced their Soulbond to a dim echo of its once vibrant song. This, realised Renathal, was the true culprit lurking behind all the other complaints he had endured since the Waking Shores: the irritation of the pressing heat, the frustration of endless labours, the restless agitation at the lack of regular physical release; all found their root in the loss of an intimacy, so long-awaited and so little-enjoyed.

Something of his consternation must have shown through Renathal's dark lenses, because the centaur's sun-browned face blanched as if worried who - or what - he had offended.

“Of course, I have seen you with your companion," he said quickly, tail swishing restlessly behind him. "Wherever you are from and whatever your customs, I am certain you are bound together by more than mere desire for mutual power."

“No," agreed Renathal absently. He was only half listening. His mind was enveloped in the memory of those moments just before their souls were joined. "It was not power we sought in soulbinding," he mused aloud. “It was ... eternity. To be inseparable. By anything or..." He swallowed, as the shadow of his former Master fell dark across his vision, "-anyone."

"A most worthy desire."

Dawa's voice reached Renathal distantly, as if from another plane of existence. Renathal blinked hard behind his lenses, then, on a whim, tugged them from his eyes. He squinted in the sunlight, letting it sear away that insidious presence.

"It was," he agreed, a little wistfully, "but a sadly uncelebrated one."

Acknowledgement of this little hidden wound drew the irritation from him as though it had been harvested, and Renathal exhaled shakily, feeling a weight drop from his shoulders. 

"Something we might do well to remedy. A little ceremony is good for the soul, after all."

In the glare of the sun, he could just make out the centaur's outline executing another deep bow. 

"If there is anything I - or my Narman - might do in your honour at our celebration-"

But Renathal was shaking his head before the Windsage had finished. He had caused enough of an international incident for one day. 

"Certainly not," he said, with far more gracious authority." I would not dream of wresting any moment of this day from you. However," Renathal replaced his tinted lenses and gestured in the direction of the hills he could now more clearly see, "you might indulge my curiousity a bit longer as we walk? I should very much like to hear more about what exactly a wedding entails."

The Windsage's lovestruck flush returned at the prospect of this most pleasurable request, and he spent the rest of the journey to Maruukai gushing over the details he and the Hunter Narman had planned. 

And if the engagement had been an elaborate and complex procedure steeped in nuance and centuries of tradition, the ceremony itself was even more so; and Renathal, for all his curiosity, even less attentive to it. He stood on the outskirts of the circle of centaurs, polite interest fastened to his face as he watched the lovers in the center declaim and the crowd around them respond in approval. Each vow elicited another round of cheers and stomping, and the whole ceremony was set to the rhythmic pounding of drums.

But it was not the crushing noise that kept Renathal from processing the centaurs' words. It was the being beside him, standing on tiptoe to say into his ear, “It’s certainly interactive, isn’t it?” and the satisfaction he felt in wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her closer. This, at least, was a part of himself he would never again be forced to hide.

Renathal tilted his head, lips brushing the tip of a long, lavender ear as he mused, “Perhaps we ought to have a wedding.”

Elisewin blinked. Whatever words she might have said were lost in a swell of enthusiasm from the centaurs, obliging both outsiders to shield their faces from the dust kicked up by half a hundred stomping hooves. But Renathal needed neither a powerful ritual connection nor even to look at his Soulbind to recognise her surprise.

When relative peace resumed, she leaned in again to say, more quietly, “Surely being Soulbound holds a great deal more significance?”

“Absolutely,” and even Renathal’s low murmur could not mask his note of pride. “But, if you recall, it was rather a rushed affair. Nor were the events that followed quite the celebration to which we were entitled.”

When Elisewin did not answer, Renathal glanced at her face. She was staring at the Windsage and the Hunter, facing each other and clasping hands across the gently smoking fire. A similar cloud crossed Elisewin’s face before she shook it physically away and met his eyes, admitting in an undertone, “I suppose it doesn’t make for the most pleasant memory.”

“And,” continued Renathal quietly, “extremely disappointing for our friends. Theotar, in particular, was inconsolable for days when he discovered he had not been present.”

At this, Elisewin snorted, then immediately clapped a hand across her mouth as the heads of the nearest centaurs whipped around. She met the severe gazes with eyes full of exaggerated apology, while Renathal bowed his head, hair covering his face, fighting valiantly not to laugh. A quick glance at the couple in the center confirmed they, at least, had noticed nothing. From the looks on their faces as they gazed at each other, Renathal doubted they would notice if their whole crowd of witnesses disappeared. 

After several beats of dutiful silence, Elisewin whispered, "Very well," against Renathal's ear. "Once we return to Revendreth, we'll let Theotar plan us a party."

“A wedding,” he clarified softly, and her lips were close enough he could feel her thoughtful frown.

“Really? You want all this? Stomping and drumming and dirt everywhere?”

It was Renathal's turn to stifle an instinctive snort of laughter.

“Not that part,” he hissed behind his hand. “But this part -" He lifted his chin in the direction of Dawa and Narman now exchanging their final promises of unswerving loyalty, "-yes." 

"Does it ... really matter?" asked Elisewin, forgetting to whisper in her curiosity. Long, dark hair fell across Renathal's shoulder as she cocked her head, presumably to follow his gaze. "They're just... words, after all."

The echo of his own ignorance made Renathal smile. For a moment, he said nothing, only watched the two centaurs step forward at last, their faces mirrors of beaming devotion as they reached for each other in a kiss that, magic or no, Renathal could feel the power of even from a distance. He thought, from Elisewin's silence and the way her fingers found his, she could feel it, too. He squeezed her hand.

“Yes,” Renathal decided then and there, “it does matter."