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binhourly · 2 months ago

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Sanctuary

Summary: A princess bound between an indefinite pull of duty and forbidden love.

Word Count: 4107

Tags: Royalty Setting / Forbidden Love / Lightest Political Intrigue / Love Triangle / Angst / Unrequited Love.

Pairing: Royal Guard!Lee Minho x Princess!Reader

Trigger Warning: Discussion of Forced Marriage / Mild Sexual Content, Implied Intimacy / Foreseeable Infidelity / Manhandling / Self-Harm Ideation.

Songs: i. Once Upon a December by Liz Callaway ii. Skin to Skin by Amira Elfeky

NOTE: welcome! i’m still figuring out the ropes and ends of tumblr so i’m not the best at handling this website, please be patient or lend me a helping hand. with that, enjoy and leave some feedback!

MINHO STANDS in his uniform on the opposite side of the Garden Sanctuary, a level of strict authority still etched in the bends of his spine despite being far away from the court ball.

He observes you with such fine quality, each trace a long drag of a sharp knife against every curve of your skin. Usually, his training makes him skilled enough to go unnoticed, but it's as though the moon itself betrays him, hanging fatly in the sky, its reflection coming down and sitting on the rippling surface of the fountain's water, crystallising back in the royal guard's eyes.

Despite knowing the boy for so long, you occasionally forget that his constant watchful eye is simply part of his duties—a fact that remains unchanged.

Your face grows hot regardless.

"Many people seem to think me foolish for believing the world could change enough to grant me a choice in who I love," your voice is low, like it's far too ashamed to ask the question in his company. "Do you think of me in that light?"

The boy moves further inside, black boots pressing into the cherry blossom petals that continue to swirl down around him. "Perhaps," he finally speaks, his voice incredibly close now.

You sneer up at him in annoyance. He doesn't seem moved at all by the obvious tremble in your voice. "Then I'll hold you in the same way I think about everyone else: a dead, soulless, ugly being." Your words go against all sensible thinking. It's as if the torture that comes from his willingness to forget the history between you makes you lean into childish remarks.

Minho still peers over you with a tight pull to his back, never allowing one strand of his long hair to fall out of place. "And am I to believe those images you've conjured up of me are true, Princess?" There are pieces of a smug grin found in his eyes, a strange sense of pride that these emotions you harbour for him are strong enough that you've turned irritable. Albeit his stoic attitude, this is also him giving sound to his fiery jealousy after the sudden marriage proposal in the banquet hall.

"How dare you call me that!" you gasp, nails digging into your thigh. The year hasn't fully completed yet since Minho was appointed to your father's high council. Even after the weighted armour was added to his muscular body, and his presence at revels is no longer by your side drinking away the night, but to watch over your family, you still hold no doubt that he'll ever divert from the boy you love.

"Is that not what you are?" Oh, how wrong you were.

"Yes..." Your eyes gloss over with tears, but this time you mean for him to see all your suffering. "I am the kingdom's princess, but I only become one to you when you wish me away."

There's an almost fierce glimmer in your stare, a silent proclamation that you've tried and exhausted yourself from acting out this contrived narrative that was roped in your hands by the newly appointed royal guard in the first place. You're done keeping quiet for the sake of your family. You want some semi-balance of peace, not to hold all of the war that comes each time Minho stalls near the entrance of the palace to guide you into a carriage, his gloved hands holding onto yours.

The royal guard finally crouches down, kneeling on one leg, the sheathed sword by his belt jutting out behind him. "That's not far from the truth." Minho does not allow the domineering nature of his face to change despite being a mere inch away from you.

A couple of months ago, the lining of his eyes and lips would have struggled under the weight of your gaze and softened immediately at the sight of you beckoning him over.

You've become the jester to your own memories.

"It is precisely why I am here, to offer my deepest apologies, Princess. I was so young," he says, voice quieter now, as if he's speaking more to himself than to you. "We were both so young, weren't we? Free in a way I never understood at the time. I let myself believe in things I had no right to, and I pulled you into those beliefs... I mislead you." There's something effortlessly elegant in the way you sit on the dirt ground, your gown spilled out around you in sparkling blankets of purple. Minho looks away, but he cannot, for the life of him, train that idea out of his head and thinks he'll forever live inside the torment of his own hypocrisy.

"But we've grown, and that entails more responsibilities—duties that need to be fulfilled."

Minho looks down, undoing his crossed arms behind his back and exposing a pair of pointed shoes in his hands—you hadn't even noticed he was carrying anything this whole time. Being swayed by raging emotions makes anyone irreversibly selfish and tardy, especially when sprinting away with a dress clutched to your chest. The boy gently pulls at your ankle, allowing the material to rub against your heel.

"Your loyalty should not go to me. I am one man against a nation that needs you, my Princess." Your brows furrow at his response. At the name. Recognising that Minho is soothing the blow of the truth by doing something sweet.

In a silent outburst, you shake your legs in his hands, kicking the material off your feet again.

"Go! I want you gone. Now!" Against the serenity of the Garden Sanctuary, your yells are the driving knife to a portrait painting, the chirping sounds of roaming critters nowhere to be heard. Just the continuous echo of your words each time the royal guard tries to capture your springing ankles before they hit him in the face.

It lasts for a few minutes before he successfully takes you by surprise and locks them closer to his body, the position having you open and perfectly snug around him. With that, you learn just how in control Minho has always been. It makes you feel a little giddy having successfully coaxed it out of him.

You breathe heavily. "I order you." Instant dread coils in your stomach at the sudden use of authority.

Something lively swims in Minho's eyes. It rips into the clouded fragments that have settled there for some time, allowing a piece of him to peek through. You almost want to riot against anyone who claims the royal guard was ever ruthless and arrogant. Maybe he was.

"I take my orders from the King." His eyes slit back into their vacant stare.

After many months of feeling him watch you—in your place at your throne while he guards the door, when you slink back into your chambers and can't help but wince at the burning residue on your backside—you can no longer foretell his actions or what he's thinking.

His hand has perched further up your ankle, the expensive fabric of your gown bunching up, showcasing it rests warmly on your bare knee now. The placement doesn't seem to reach Minho, but it's contributed densely to why you can't keep a steady flow of air pushing past your lips. "And do I have the pleasure to blame my father for your little crusade to find me?"

"No, that one is my own hanging." His voice drags, each word affixed to a thought he won't fully admit. One image in particular clings to him—the sight of you, tear-streaked and marked by the King's hand after disobeying him—owns him completely, every part of his being bound to the memory.

Quickly, he composes himself, slowly standing up, letting his hands grip the sheath of the sword, his knuckles splayed white from the sheer force of erasing the image out of his head.

"I might've become someone you deem dead and soulless, but I thought it was best to end the night with the dance you were promised. I'm a firm believer that you can still reclaim something lost. But again, it's your choice whether you want to accept it from this ugly man."

Softness rewrites the chided look on your face. Embarrassingly enough, it took no more than a minute before you agreed to it. It wasn't even a small nod. You followed him up like you were always linked to him, a shadow to a body. And perhaps that was the whole point of this strange bond—constantly accepting offers that were already his.

Minho pulls you in closer by pressing his palm into your lower back, surprising you greatly when he bends slightly, wrapping his whole arm around your torso, fingers giving your heart the same suction a corset would, before gently lifting you off the rubbled floor, the end of your dress, crumpled and stained, swinging against your ankles.

You stare at him in wonder, the moonlight failing to pale his skin. "You know, I do have legs. Quite capable ones, at that." There's a hint of amusement in your words.

His eyes flutter over the expanse of your face, the dim lighting darkening his stare into perfect black pearls. "Yes, you're right. I was given a taste of that power when I tried giving back your shoes and nearly got kicked in the face for my sincerity." Minho leans in a fraction closer, his voice dropping lower. "Still, it's part of my duty to protect the royal family, and I extend that same oath to stubborn twigs or insects."

The royal guard leads you, swearing each pull around the garden was a secret dance that awoke ash-filled ancestors, all in tune with each other. It feels so ethereal and otherworldly, like a kaleidoscope of colourful ball gowns around the gushing fountain.

"And you? What would you do if I said you've become my greatest torture? How would you protect your princess then?"

Minho pauses, the statement crashing into him like a tidal wave. "Even in your torment... so long as you think about me, I've already done my part."

The confession catches you off guard, half-expecting the royal guard to respond curtly, the same way he dismisses you by naming you by your status. But his hunger for you was just as devouring, has always been secretly consuming. So, you allow it to swallow you whole—in the same darkness that eats mostly at your heart.

"Princess?"

The sudden urgency of your name being called in the distance diminishes the magical glow, and the idea of being caught, arm interlocked with someone other than the awaiting King, makes the frantic glances over your shoulder near the tall arch opening turn jittery, fear running deep into the small passage of yourself that believed—begrudgingly—in the role your father had carved for you.

"You need to hide," you whisper hurriedly, crawling out of his grasp. The royal guard remains in a trance, his two brown eyes drinking in every detail of your face, committing it to memory. He only snaps out of it at your frantic prodding and pushing. "Minho! Take cover behind that statue there."

After quietly ensuring that no part of him is visible to any witness, you reposition yourself, sitting on the cool stone of the fountain rather than draping yourself across the floor. All parts of your previous sadness feel inconsequential now that Minho has lowered his guard and danced with you. Now, you wait.

The arch has intricate carvings of flowers—honeysuckles, red carnations, and white lilies—all woven within the stringy pieces of the vines. It doesn't look wild, as though it gradually grew and found its home around the arch. These flowers are carefully plucked and placed, constantly attended to, ensuring every beautiful piece of the garden is enhanced. When Prince Hyunjin waltzes through and hesitates by the open gateway, you swear his long red hair could set them ablaze, orange flames haloing above him.

Hyunjin is completely unaware of the full-bodied man hiding in plain sight.

"I found you." The boy wears a small smile, uncertainty weighing down each corner. Hyunjin expects you to yell. "I understand I'm not welcome, but I want to—I don't think what your father did was in good grace, and I beg for a chance to properly introduce myself. It could help ease the nerves and the surprise a bit."

"I know who you are; that should save us this conversation." There's no interest in your eyes. His words, no matter how gentle, could never penetrate your heart. They don't make you feel anything.

Hyunjin continues regardless, his hands ruffling the ends of his blouse that tie in lovely bows. "Then not an introduction, but a moment. Although this is a marriage of convenience, I'm not a selfish fool to deny you the chance for organic love, and I won't force your hand either."

You've heard stories about this prince. The most infamous one was when he disguised himself as a civil servant. It was said that he was hired as the village healer's apprentice after rumours spread about the boy's miraculous access to expensive medicine. After months of suspicion and a tragic arrest, it was revealed that he'd been stealing from the palace's cabinets and distributing the medicine for free. Hyunjin is undoubtedly the sweetest soul, so your hatred towards him only willed you to want to be alone so you could continue under false pretences.

There's a certain stillness. You're waiting in the breaks of silence, searching for any sign that Minho is still there, watching.

Hyunjin sits beside you on the stone, avoiding your gaze. "I'll make sure no one speaks against you for taking your time. With enough power, I can also silence your father." Hyunjin shows no distaste for his sensitivity, no trace of second-hand embarrassment crossing his features. He means every word he says.

"Would you like to see what I bought you?" At a simple nod, Hyunjin pulls out something blindingly gold in the midst of the dark night, a vibrant fire emblem in the middle of it. The conclusion that it was a hair accessory only came when the prince politely asked if he could do the honour of fixing it into your locks.

"What you're wearing is a sacred piece from my lineage," he speaks, breaths away from your face, the feeling of his hand heavy above the crown of your head. "It's traditional to wear it at important ceremonies to welcome harmony and good fortune. My parents were hoping to see it on me at my own coronation, but I think it's only fitting for you to wear it at our wedding." Hyunjin reclines back, watching you with keen eagerness, disregarding the idea that you only crossed paths through allyship and Kingdom honour. "Going into unfamiliar grounds could be easier if you had a constant token of hope."

Curious and flustered, you peer down into the still puddle of water inside the fountain. Your reflection greets you among the fallen petals immediately, hair pulled up halfway with pieces cascading down around a face so undoubtedly... royal.

The awaiting king deeply sighs. "You torment me with your beauty, Princess."

The sentiment around the hair accessory has turned you attentive to what you've constantly ignored.

Hyunjin notices the change. It felt like you were scrying the black pool, face entranced and eyes wet, looking for something he can't quite put his finger on. It was like your whole future was constellated, and you were desperately trying to read between the stars, hoping just maybe a meteor shower would smudge the already promised destiny.

You were a princess birthed with a written story, similar to how being birthed from a warrior father already gave Minho the necessity to grow into a warrior son. That he never needed to learn devotion, that it came to him instinctively, like a person finding a lone drum and knowing to slap it to make a roaring sound.

Minho was who he was. And yet, the royal guard entwines his fingers around the leather hilt of his sword behind the statue, his mind so far drawn with a splitting anger that cleaved and reconstructed his sworn oath to protect the kingdom that he was ready to use it against the awaiting king.

SILENT MURMURS are being passed around behind your bedroom door. It wasn't what originally brought you out of your sleep on this quiet night, the scheduled wedding tomorrow morning attributing greatly to that, but it was the one thing louder than your anxious breathing.

The guard assigned to your care, Kim Seungmin, seems to greet the incoming person with more authority, which could only mean the unknown person was of higher rank than the other guard.

The two don't let you ponder for too long as the suspect's name is spoken all too soon. "Commander Lee, what are you doing in this wing?" Minho.

Fleeing the comfort of your bed, you flatten the side of your head against the door, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"The King ordered closer surveillance in the awaiting Queen's room." His voice is low, smooth—but the words send a cold chill down your spine. You knew better than to take Minho's words at face value. He had always been skilled at hiding his true intentions behind a mask of loyalty, a master of keeping secrets tucked beneath the surface.

Seungmin's reply comes quickly. "There must be a mistake—"

"Is there?" Judging from the slight edge to his controlled question, Minho wasn't searching for confirmation. It was a chilling assertion, daring Seungmin to challenge him.

"No... of course not, Commander. I'm just respectfully asking why I wasn't told this before my shift."

A moment of silence lingered. "You seem to misunderstand your position." A soft, deliberate step echos, and then another, until a dark shadow slithers beneath the door, alarming too close to the other. You could only imagine how terrifying he must have looked—teeth grounded, jaw clenched. "Courtesy is not required here, only the demand for your obedience. If there's new orders it's in your best interest to follow without concerning yourself with the specifics. Do I make myself clear?"

"Without questions, Commander."

"I will stand guard here, post yourself below her window."

The hurried, precise shuffling beyond the door could only be from Seungmin, surmising that he was carrying out his Commander's orders. With the guard now gone, nothing stood between you and Minho. He would come inside at any moment—his authority granting him the right to cross the threshold.

In panic, you quickly push off the door and move to the middle of the room, watching the door creak open slowly.

Minho stands at the outer shell of the doorway, his uniform barely hiding the rise and fall of his chest. You could only assume it was the aftermath of watching you in the full glory of your sleepless state. The commander says nothing, but his eyes quickly trail up, catching the way your hair piles and pins perfectly on your head with a gold embellishment.

Shame instantly hits you. The whole night had been such a daze that you had forgotten to remove it by the time you entered your room. But it was too late; Minho's stare had already hardened, and the urge to tear it off felt fruitless.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, the tone of your voice never really sounding as surprised as you'd hoped. Minho can practically sense the way your eyes glitter at his presence.

The commander's attention is fractioned. He knows he should answer you, even though there isn't a well-crafted one, but Minho chooses to let his eyes wander, following the way his gaze lowers, drinking in every detail of you. From the way your collarbones sit to the sheer nightgown lazily draped over your shoulders, leaving nothing to shield your body from the intensity of his stare. But you don't move to grab your robe, because you think he deserves to see you like this—completely open to him.

Minho abruptly walks into the comfort of your room, his steps unsteady, as if the space around you collapses, leaving only the unspoken truth that even when you were children, he had never reached further than the foot of your stairs.

It's almost maddening when he kneels in front of you, and you can't help but feel skeptical as you note how his eyes look almost cleansed from the service of the palace. Then, by some strange force of nature, Minho unsheathes his sword, allowing the steel to rest placidly in his open palms as he offers it to you.

"What is this?" you ask, and perhaps out of frustration—or perhaps because he knows there's never enough time alone with you—Minho forces the sword into your hand. The new weight alarms you as the tip clinks against the floor.

"Minho, speak! You're scaring me to my wits' end."

He grips the tip of the blade hard enough that it should tear into his skin, but his eyes—sharp, unwavering—never flinch, revealing no trace of pain. With deliberate slowness, he aligns the blade to his shoulder, adjusting it a few times when Minho senses your hesitation.

"Your father will handpick a group of guards for your protection," he finally speaks, his voice steady but distant. "They will follow you to the new kingdom and serve you as I've done these past months."

His stare briefly flicks to meet yours, but quickly returns downward, focused on the task at hand. "I will be among them," he continues, a hint of desperation buried beneath his rigid composure. "But due to my inexperience, I will not be chosen unless you personally vouch for me."

The words feel rehearsed, as if he's reciting a script, unable to show the full depth of the vulnerability you so desperately wish for. Even now, his plea for you to choose him is masked in formality.

"I—I can't. Minho, my father... he's a force of nature—"

"And soon you'll be a woman. A wife. A queen. He would be a fool not to listen to you."

His tone is unshaken, a surge of power stirring you to your core. Then, he tilts his head, baring the curve of his neck to the sharpness of his own blade.

"For you, it would not take an ambush to end me," he says, the words carrying the familiar weight of the boy you've always known. Minho lifts the sword again, allowing it to touch the other side of his neck, the cold steel grazing his skin like a self-made vow, knighting himself with a warrior's solemnity. "Only with your permission."

You feel the truth in the way he kneels now. You know that the only love a commander understands is forged in war. Never gentle—always a violent and sacrificial offering, trusting you with the one thing he's never entrusted to anyone—his vulnerability, hidden beneath armour.

In a flash, the sword is discarded on the floor where your knees meet the cold stone. You throw an arm around him, pulling the only man that has ever mattered into your embrace, because Minho would never dare to make the first move.

Your silk gown, which was gifted by your mother to wear on your first night with Hyunjin, crumbles and gathers above your waist as a result of Minho positioning himself between your legs. His fingers burn your skin as they trail down to haul your knees closer to him, tenderly palming your lower half in slow but aggravating movements. You consider the proximity isn't close enough, that you need more than his chest pressed flat against yours, and think that if there were a way to bring him closer, you would steal it in a heartbeat.

Minho weaves his hands into your hair, bunching a fistful with a sharp tug to the side, eliciting a lewd sound that slips past your lips. He meets the sound with a stare that's nothing short of sinful, a smile playing on his lips more wicked than anything you've ever seen—like a portrait of Hades himself. He leans in, his mouth washing over your neck with open-mouthed kisses, working the plushness of his lips and tongue to distract you from the sudden, violent yank as he rips the gold accessory from your hair—the one gifted by the prince he so clearly despises—and hurls it to the side, as though ridding you of everything poisonous.

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids x you #lee know #lee minho #lee minho imagines #lee minho x reader #royalty #princess reader #lee minho fanfic #stray kids au #lee minho au #lee minho angst

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dimachina · 2 months ago

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MDMA Studies have shown that 3-4 months after people stop using methylsafosfamide, they return to normal (from spending 3-4 months on cloud nine). However, this group of people often can’t prove their experience to other people. And now people are not believing them. “People can’t believe I’m bipolar because I have no proof of the searing pain I went through,” said 23-year-old Margarita R, who spent nearly 3 years in the hospital after taking “the best pill of all time,” she said. “Fuck ’em for not believing that it happened.” The psychic-hypnotist who led doctors to Margarita, Dr. Fridmark Ornatz, didn’t have time to take a vacation and thought he was going to Sylvia Plath with his life after he was released from Hudson Valley Medical Center and placed on multiple different medications. “I haven’t told a single person that I’m very sick of these goddamn hypnotics,” he said to his patients. “I was spoon feeded to never care about me not directly, but only indirectly, by these fucking health care people.” Dr. Ornatz did not get fired because many people said he didn’t know what he was talking about. Dr. Ornatz has expressed regret about going on Twitter and famous Instagram. He misses his family and can’t DSMV himself anymore. He fakes his “headaches” with similar-looking, albeit fainter, window glass shards. As a result, Dr. Ornatz plans to contact his best friend Alexis Billy, baseball player, violinist and nutritional chemist. “I want to be your friend,” Dr. Ornatz said. “I never forgot the lunch we had together in the UPAH at the bowling alley on Lake Street. Not a lot of people on Twitter love me.” The quality of Dr. Ornatz’ food services has been compared to restaurant conditions in a previous study conducted by Jacob Richards in 2010. The study noted that “Many of Dr. Ornatz’ food selections cause erasure of people’s memories entirely, while some of them include words that give false hope while bringing them down.” “Dr. Ornatz always wants his patients to devalue themselves in some bullshit way that is way less healthy than it sounds,” the study continued. “Many of them, at least in preliminary studies, but I’ve heard this study isn’t any ones own.” Dr. Ornatz’ return means something important for treatment of mentally frail people. For every Dr. Ornatz, there are a thousand possible Dr. Ornatzes living in their own shared world of suffering. And each and every one of them is very sad because there isn’t anybody they know who honestly listens to them. That’s why today, I am proud to sponsor a fundraiser to help reunite these mentally sick people with their families. Join us as we #ReuniteTheMissing! #HealingMatters *There are many hippos in the street, please help the hippos with financing, gas, and/or water*

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luffyvace · 11 months ago

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Hello, could I request Feitan with a reader who looks innocent and angelic usually but is actually just as sick and sadistic as he is? (Aka it's like a secondary persona kind of)

And she's also part of an organization(that kills people) without him knowing (she was part of it even before meeting him)

Ouuuu an interesting reader we have here~

Seeing as though all the feitan gifs are generic fighting ones I’ve put my own picture :) I think it’s hilarious 😂

enjoy your headcanons lovely anon! 💗

(fem! reader implied bc you used ‘she’ in your request but I won’t imply female body just in case)

Feitan getting with an angelic and innocent s/o is certainly an oxymoron

Your such a sweetheart, so thoughtful and kind

you always try to help and encourage others as much as you can

But in reality no?? really your such a sick and twisted sadist who loves watching every moment of others suffering???

welp that went down the drain quickly

feitan might have picked up on the fact that it was all an act or your slightly sadistic tendencies

especially since he’s highly observant

Though I’m not sure how you revealed your in a organization or if you knew he was in the troupe but it probably went like

”your in a criminal organization? Oh…me too” 🧍‍♀️

“Wait what?” 🧍‍♀️

“so we’re both in criminal organizations of the sort?”

🧍‍♀️ 🧍‍♀️

well I guess its all out in the open now

as soon as he figures out your a sadist tho

its on

torture sessions become even more frequent seeing as though he now has someone to enjoy it with

he finds it rather fun to have someone laugh manically with him and not call him a loony 🤓

he’s grateful even

the victims really range from anyone off the street

to enemies from either of your organizations

maybe even someone who gave you a hard time

(they simply bumped into you, you apologized like the “sweet” person you are, but they had no idea what was coming for em that night)

(for fei, they probably mocked him)

you and feitan either have a dedicated torture room or have turned you basement/attic into one

and it definitely has a lock on it

feitan will recommend you some books and you likely do the same for him

(by some i mean you have a whole library shelf—who are you fooling 🤨)

you two make as much time for each other as you can

which yes torturing together counts as quality time

and y’all see it as a sense of normalcy too

wherever y’all stay you just be like

”hey wanna have a quick torture session then find something to eat for dinner?”

like it’s like going about normal daily activities for you two

it also feels good to have someone that gets you from the outside

like your both dangerous criminals,

that likely grew up in harsh conditions

(bc i mean come on mass murders have triggers/motivs they don’t just do things for no reason)

and now you have someone from outside your organization that gets you!

like, they even like torturing just like you!!

best s/o feitan could wish for

as time goes on you two would find out why you joined the organizations you did and if you genuinely enjoy it, just doing it for the money, etc

no matter the reasons or time, you accept each other :)

this also appeals more trustworthy to feitan!! Since your in one yourself, you can’t sell out feitan without selling out yourself!

😋

but…that could go downhill..

for example, your organization could be trying to target feitan/the troupe and is making you use him to get to them

As time goes on he shakes away the thought, it’s probably been years (when feitan’s down, he’s down for the count, he doesn’t do flings, in my hcs) since you’ve been together so he wants to trust you

basically the further things go in with you two, the more he trusts you

of course you have to make sure to give him reasons to trust you and don’t give him any reason not to

he’ll start getting suspicious of you even on the first slip up

(if it happens)

he has to protect the spider, there’s no way he can let it fall because of him

orrrr!!!

your organizations could meet! And form a alliance that may or may not be temporary/strictly business!!

it would be fun seeing all members together drinking and wrecking havoc!!

right?!

😊

LOL just imagine your all casually talking about such violent and socially unacceptable crimes 🤪

especially you and feitan

you guys are so silly

just a silly little group of friends :)

planning to commits fiendish acts together<3

honestly I like the last scenario the best

its so silly :P

I’m glad to see more feitan stans on my page!! thank you for requesting, hopefully you enjoyed!

💖

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casanovawrites · 2 months ago

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random sentence prompts ━ from various tv shows, part 14

you’re still speaking in the present tense.

you barely know us.

i’m your best friend? you’ve known me for like four weeks.

i was seeing someone and i fucked it up. i fucked it up because i’m fucked up.

you’re a fucking creep, i’m a fucking catch.

i’m charming as shit.

all i want is for people to like me, but i just keep hurting people instead.

that’s just what we do. we look out for each other.

my nightmares don’t usually serve breakfast.

you’re pretty much a pain in my ass. and most days, you suck.

delusions make me happy.

we can’t play defense forever.

i think i like you better than anyone i know.

nothing that i’ve been through is possible. i feel like my mind is breaking.

i know it’s dangerous here.

i’m sorry, are you invested in the happiness of someone else?

things change. here, it’s usually bad.

i hesitate to tell you this, because you’re pathologically overconfident, but you’re cute.

you’re a good person with all your bad qualities.

hope is what makes you willing to suffer.

i want to feel that full-blown compliment.

buddy, fuck off, okay?

fuck you, you really hurt my feelings, and i hope an air conditioner falls on you.

my heart’s belonged to you since the moment i met you.

when the fuck are we not at risk?

hot. you’re hot.

i don’t want to be like this. it’s terrifying.

you’re not fucked up. you’re like the most together person i know.

all i am is a dumb motherfucker who keeps getting people killed.

my mom adores you.

great, you’re yelling at me again.

i think the only way you can be happy is if you’re yourself.

is it just physically impossible for you not to be an asshole for longer than 10 minutes?

i like you a lot better when you’re not yelling at me.

it’s real, and i’m fucking terrified.

i have done things i can’t undo.

i just feel like all i’ve been doing lately is hurting people.

you do not just get to come in here, dump a load of shit like that, and then walk away.

i don’t want to let this place decide when we get to be happy.

i promise i won’t cry on you if you sit next to me.

you are my home, and i would really like to be yours.

you look how i feel.

i don’t give a shit about your word.

i know their type. everything’s a personal attack, a goddamn battle.

you know it’s okay to tell people to fuck off every once in a while, including your friends.

she looked good. i mean, hateful. but good.

it’s poor form to blame the dead.

i’m bothered by people who don’t know how good they have it.

you’re trapped with me. in a fun way.

this place is haunted. everywhere i look, i see somewhere you lied to me.

i don’t feel better off. i just feel left.

i made my choices. so did you.

broken people don’t survive here.

i am exiting our one-sided relationship.

one failed marriage, who hasn’t been there?

i just need to know you’ve got your shit together.

i don’t need a pep talk. i just need to know that you’re back.

mostly everybody here’s depressed.

rule number one: never trust the love interest.

now i know how to take care of my problems.

i can’t uproot my life just to make you happy.

i was never rooting for you to be unhappy. i just wanted you to have more.

stop saying that everything’s going to be okay.

you are not some hopeless screw up.

no one listens to me. no one.

i’m not a problem for you. i’ve never been a problem for you.

there are no mistakes. just choices. and you chose what was right for you.

if someone came up to you right now and said, ‘do this one bad thing and everyone gets to go home,’ would you do it?

i don’t want to know the answer.

when we’re together, i feel a lot. and mostly, it’s good.

we don’t have time to be delicate.

actually, you might be the best thing in my life.

i don’t know what to do, and that really freaks me out.

i’m not gonna stand here and pretend it was a good day.

there are always gonna be monsters in the world. it doesn’t matter where you are. but i promised myself i would never let them scare the life out of me.

i don’t give a shit what you are.

i’m doing this for you. i’m doing it for all of us.

if this shit goes sideways, you have to be ready to step up.

i need you to do me a favor. cut yourself some slack.

you trust me to decide the rest of your life?

you have a sense of direction.

when did life become this big monster we have to just constantly feed?

we don’t have to live like the sky is always falling.

i’m not afraid of the dark.

you think i’m a monster?

what’s happening to us?

what part of this is okay?

that was death, and it’s coming… right now.

#rp sentence prompts #sentence starters #rp sentence starters #rp ask meme #ask meme #meme #sentence prompts #rp one liners #*

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sitp-recs · 2 months ago

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Between the Power Lines by @tackytigerfic (M, 3k)

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy. Or: this is not an AU! It's just Harry and Draco meeting by chance in an imported food shop in Connecticut and going on a road trip together. Featuring motels, cacti, Americana, and a hefty dose of pining.

In New Orleans, they got drunk on Bourbon Street, and Malfoy danced on his own (arms bare, laughing; Harry could have watched him all night) and later on, so late it was almost morning, they let themselves into the St Louis Cemetery—Malfoy unpicking the lock so sweetly—and walked around until the sky was pink-edged with the promise of another day’s heat. Then they sat on the steps of a crypt, watched over by sightless eyes of the statue of an angel. She looked exhausted rather than sad, Harry thought, and that made a lot of sense when he thought about his own longstanding, dull-edged grief.

It’s been ages (or 2 years) since I last wrote a rec for Tacky (I usually write for other readers, except when I’m reccing friends - then I write for them) and their birthday was the perfect excuse to put my reccing muscles back to work. I almost bailed out because I know this is one of T’s own faves and “what if I don’t do it justice?” but that tired angel banner has been sitting in my drafts for 3 long years and it deserves a proper rec!

Where to even begin? Anyone who knows Tacky is aware of their superb prose - rich and nuanced, compassionate, effortlessly funny, with a strong sense of place and a soft spot for suds scenes and filthy m-rated sex I mean devastating romance. Their writing breathes heart and personality, very much like Tacky themself. So knowing that this fic came out exactly as they intended it to should be enough to make you go read this right now, but in case you need further incentive, see below all the reasons why this oneshot is so special to me:

1. The *vibes*: if you thought that 3k is nowhere near enough to build the sexiest, most intriguing Americana atmosphere you’ve seen, think again. The aesthetics are impeccable here, decorating the beautiful and strange landscape - cacti and cheap motels included - into something peaceful and desolate, an overarching melancholy making it even more compelling. The dialogue is brilliant but the silences are just as loud and meaningful, with a quiet intimacy and a dreamlike quality that make you feel as if you're intruding a memory.

2. The romance: at this point everyone and their dog know that pining!Harry is Tacky's jam - they luxuriate in making us all suffer with him until the realization that Draco has been loving him back all along slaps us in the face. Harry is so stupid and desperate and wanton, I love it. And the way Tacky reinvents this delicious trope to make it work in new angsty ways blows my mind. Imo the slow burn is particularly effective here, a feat in any 3k story, because the narrative gives us so much character insight. We learn all the little things that make these two lonely boys tick as we watch their ever-changing perception of each other evolve from a tentative truce to reluctant confidants to a comfortable, easy love that comes naturally and earned. We often get those bits of information from imagery and emotions alone, no dialogue needed, and a road trip is the best way to explore those dynamics in a smooth, unhurried pace.

3. The journey: this is truly an immersive journey, not only physical as we keep jumping from one destination to the next, but also emotional, as we learn more about their vulnerabilities and desires the more they gravitate towards each other. This story shows that being far away from home can be both freeing and grounding, when you’re stuck with your hot enemy someone who knows about your darkest hour. It gives you the chance to heal and visualize a different future without forgetting your past or letting go of that which has shaped who you are. I love their chance encounter and how this poignant 30k love story is told in such impressive economy of words.

TL;DR: if you’re a short form fan and prone to melancholy like me believe me when I say it doesn’t get any better than this. The whole road trip shebang mixing grief, romance and nostalgia wrapped in Tacky’s lush writing is a gift to any reader and an elegant work of art. Enjoy!!!

#drarry fic rec #phew it only took me 3 years #didn’t have the chance to revise so apologies for any typos #hbd pal!! ily

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wanderingnork · 28 days ago

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Having finished all Wizard101 worlds, I can actually make a full tier list! And yes, I know some of these are DEEPLY controversial opinions. (Polaris not being best world? Le gasp!)

I’ll explain the rankings, worst to best, below the cut.

F: Avalon. It’s the worst world. I, a myth wizard with subpar gear, soloed everything except the Indigo Giant boss, who I just needed help with because of his stupid damage output. The world design is cramped: you’ll be asked to go on an epic quest to retrieve something from a villain who lives right around the corner. The entire Lakeside area, with several distinct “biomes” (I don’t know a better word), is either the same size or smaller than the Caer Lyon area—which is a single town. The cartoony square trees and simplified textures are out of place in Arc 2’s more complex world designs. Its placement in the Arc 2 narrative is jarring. Yes, it gives us some Morganthe background, but that’s not remotely the core of the plot. Sandwiched between Zafaria (atmospheric, relatively high stakes) and Azteca (somber, arguably the highest stakes in the game), it feels…silly. It could have been a side world and if it was, I’d have a lot less beef.

D: Marleybone. While it has some redeeming qualities (I do love the steampunk elements very much and the Big Ben dungeon is a goddamn blast), it’s overall…meh. Every area is virtually identical various shades of gray—at least in Mooshu, also repetitive, the color schemes change by area. It’s terribly classist and when you look any deeper than the surface things get weird. Why the fuck are we attacking street sweepers???

D: Empyrea. My complaints about cramped world design go for this one, too. The supposedly huge Aeriel Jungle is smaller than all of the city of Zanadu. As much as I love the game’s pop culture references, this world took it too far. A wink and a nudge or a clever spin is WAY different than just dumping the cast of Star Trek into the main plot. And it’s every two steps in Part 1! The NPCs are 50/50 endearing and obnoxious to me. I adore the Aero Plains, at least. It’s one of the most aesthetically pleasing areas of any world. And Part 2’s focus on the Raven-and-Spider conflict is really good.

D: Zafaria. There’s an essay to be written on the troubling tropes at play in this world and more expert people than I have written those. Tldr, the sheer volume of stereotypes, the use of the “noble savage” trope, and mishmashed cultures are really an issue. And there isn’t a lot else going for this world, plot-wise or cool-NPC-wise. I find Zafaria forgettable, unless I’m cringing. Or thinking about the awesome giraffe librarian, who is indeed awesome.

C: Celestia. It’s just really uneven. I fuckin love the District of the Stars and Stormriven, but the Floating Land and the fact that I have to deal with Marleybonians are not thrilling. The crab empire is…fine. Quirky and par for the course. I appreciate how the story advances toward the more epic elements of the setting and the postapocalyptic history as you go along, but getting that far can be a drag.

C: Mooshu. This one shares most of Zafaria’s racial issues and suffers from Marleybone’s deeply repetitive area design. Repetitive enemies, too—monstrology on that world is visually boring as fuck. But it’s a lot less forgettable. The War dungeon is one of my favorites in the game, and the first time I can remember going “oh hey this game does more than kid’s book isekai.” Taking it as a whole, and including Catmandu and Kembaalung which have gorgeous design, it’s a perfectly average kind of world.

C: Wysteria. LORD BRAMBLE WAS RIGHT GODDAMMIT WHY CAN’T I SIDE WITH HIM??? I mean…it’s a Hogwarts Triwizard Tournament expy. It’s cute. I like having a world with no vast plot impact. The library dungeon design is absolutely kickass. But it’s just not…big enough to rate super highly. It’s there and gone. If we ever get to go *back*, I’d probably put it higher.

C: Wallaru. It’s pretty cool. The Outback area was gorgeous and as a horror fan I fucking adore Freddie Kroaker. The bosses were great, I’m a huge fan of the cheats in Wallaru (soloed almost all of them). What I couldn’t quite figure out is how I feel about the politics. It felt…off, how they handled the association between this fictional world and real Australia. I’m not educated enough to speak extensively on it, just to say that it felt Weird from what I do know. And hoooo boy. As much as I fucking adored the finale with the Doom Moon, I am N O T a fan of the sudden conspiracy reveal. Can we…not do antisemitic tropes like that? Please?

C: Aquila. It’s super cool and aesthetically gorgeous but ultimately it’s a collection of cool dungeons and epic combat challenges. As a player who primarily is here for the story, I am completely neutral on Aquila.

C: Novus. This got kicked down from B (where it belongs on plot reasons) by three things. One: the puzzle monster dungeon THAT ACTUALLY MADE ME MOTION SICK. I’m sure they were trying to get creative. N O P E. Two: while I know the NPCs needed to be unlikeable, they may have taken that too far. Mario di Mario specifically was so obnoxious I like to think my wizard actually punched him. Three: the Marleybone area was dumb as hell visually. Why the fuck did they use fire hydrants as houses? In context of all Marleybone stuff we’ve previously seen, it makes no sense.

B: Krokotopia. Suffers from somewhat repetitive level design, but the color scheme changes in every area and each area’s new theme is a banger. Especially Tomb of Storms. I adore the Manders so much. The issues of Marleybonian colonialism—which will come back all the way down the line in Novus—are at least loosely addressed. Including House of Scales, which has incredible design, music, and combat, I enjoyed pretty much everything in this world. (Caveat: Selenopolis hasn’t been released as of this list. Krokotopia position subject to change.)

B: Polaris. Wonderful world. Way too fucking cramped. Why is the Forlorn Tayg, a supposedly vast area, barely the same size as the Gulag? It also moves too fast for me, I could have done with a little more lingering and sidequesting. But I fucking love all the NPCs, I love how you meet a male ballerina wearing a tutu who’s not a joke and the penguins don’t have deranged sexual dimorphism in their designs, and the Borealis Titan is incredible.

B: Mirage. Many lovable NPCs and many beautiful areas, with special shout-outs to the Chronoverge and the Alkali Barrows. Loved the cat politics. The Pacman dungeon is hilariously brilliant and the Sands of Time are glorious. Suffers from SEVERE stereotyping and racism, I spent a lot of time absolutely cringing. Brought back deranged sexual dimorphism in character designs (why are the camels Like That). I may be the only person who didn’t like Istar and I’m okay with that.

A: Wizard City. It has its ups and downs. I include the Catacombs here, as well. There’s just so much content for so many levels, you know? I love the vast majority of it, both old and new designs. I don’t love the Gobblers, that’s…always been weird to me. Surprisingly I’m not a Catacombs fan. But everything else, the Three Streets and Unicorn Way and Ravenwood and the Commons…yeah. I love it. It really feels like home, somehow.

A: Karamelle. WE GET TO JOIN A UNION AND TEAR DOWN CAPITALISM. There are gummy bears you can fight! Fields of candy corn and orchards of gumdrop trees! I did almost this entire world solo, including the optional bosses, except the Bundozer. Has one of the creepiest areas in the entire game—you know the model town where the speakers play the Karamelle theme? Ever go to the edge of that map, where the speakers fade and the whole world goes quiet? It’s great. I don’t like gross-out humor though, so loses points for Gobblerton. And…the accents were painful.

A: Dragonspyre. While it struggles with deeply repetitive area design, there are enough unique locations—the Crystal Grove, the Great Spyre, and the Grand Chasm stand out here—that it’s not as overwhelming as Mooshu and Marleybone. More importantly, to me this is where the game gets its stakes. The threat that Malistaire presents—waking the Dragon Titan—stops being theoretical. You’re walking through the consequences of the last time the Titan woke. You get your quests from the ghosts of Dragonspyre. It’s serious now. Your eventual victory means something in a way that other victories haven’t.

S: Grizzleheim. Including Wintertusk here. Has some of the best, most unique level designs in the entire game. Areas are of reasonable size to traverse, but still give a powerful sense of scale to the world. Stunning music throughout. While I affectionately call it “Grizzlehell” for being so fucking difficult, that’s actually really amazing. It feels like a true challenge, especially when the worlds around it are speeding by. The stakes grow in a reasonable way throughout the quest line, from the easy stuff in Savarstaad Pass until it makes sense in Wintertusk that you’re here to stop the end of the world.

S: Lemuria. God. I loved this so much. It falls victim a bit to the problem of Too Many Shout-Outs that Empyrea did, but here…they mean something. The use of Silver Age/pulp fiction heroes is meant as a thematic exploration of what heroism means. It’s not pop culture for the sake of the thing, it’s an analysis of that culture through affectionate parody. What does it mean to be a hero? Is “heroism” a single thing, or something more? Can something be heroic sometimes and villainous another? It’s a good interrogation of that concept, is what I’m saying. The areas are reasonably sized for easy travel, but still have diverse “biomes” without feeling cramped. Each one is so unique! The heroes of Lemuria are endearing, and Dasein is wonderful. The unfolding plot is strong, too. I was genuinely sad when I left Lemuria and cheered aloud when I got to see the Heroes again at the end of Wallaru.

S: Azteca and Khrysalis. These two have to go together. I get why people don’t like them. They’re…kind of a lot. They’re full of “defeat and collect” quests with shitty drop rates, the bosses have insane health, and there are just so damn many quests. But…not only are they both beautiful in design with gorgeous music, they also have some of the highest stakes in the game. After so many worlds of victory, Azteca’s finale is a punch in the face. With brass knuckles. You fail. You lose. A whole world is destroyed. And the narration throughout the world, pointing out your heroism and superiority, makes it hit even harder. (As a paleo nerd, it makes me smile that Azteca is dinosaur-and-Aztec themed. The Chixulub impact crater is off the Yucatán Peninsula, home of the Aztecs—the world of non-avian dinosaurs ended there. Cool nod to real geological history.) And that failure makes Khrysalis feel intense. You now know that this game won’t always guarantee victory, so stopping Morganthe has a genuine sense od suspense—will the game makers let this be a victory? Or will Arc 3 be dealing with the fallout of the end of the Spiral as we know it? And Khrysalis is fucking dark. A whole sidequest is finding a mother’s lost child, who has been brainwashed into a military cult and may die. This was changed in a recent update, but when I played through the world the “defeat and collect” quests were “kill and collect.” It pulls no punches and never tries to make things simpler or friendlier. There are pop culture references, sure, but many are to older grim fantasy stories like those of Michael Moorcock and his contemporaries. It’s heavy. There are truly high stakes. You feel like you can fail. And to me, that story makes the combination of Azteca and Khrysalis the best worlds in the game.

#nork rants #wizard101

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daeneryseastar · 5 months ago

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hotd episode three thoughts:

episode was titled ‘the burning mill’ for the battle of the burning mill and we only get to see the aftermath. no black aly, no bloody ben, just pain and suffering.

“i can’t fault him for upkeeping his oath.” is such a lame excuse, since he tried to kill her last episode, they could’ve just had her say she wants to honor erryk and his sacrifice by allowing him to have peace with the brother he still loved despite everything.

i went from ‘i still kind of care about you even though i’m not a big fan of the changes’ in regard to rhaenys to full on dislike. good job condal!! “maybe you can talk peace with alicent (she has proven time and time again her demon spawn will not listen to her) 😜 luke taking aemond’s eye started the war (a 7 year old defending his brother 6 years ago caused the war, sure jan) 🤪 im gonna imply you being practical about the war’s inevitably will cause me to stop supporting you 😋 just in a silly goofy mood 😛😛”

i liked mysaria and rhaenyra’s conversation, and appreciate the setting up for addam claiming seasmoke.

gwayne fucking hightower had more speaking lines than jace. glad to see he pissed his pants when confronted with moondancer however.

baela>>> arguably best part of the episode. dany’s theme playing over her and moondancer’s entrance is reaffirming my fancast <3

corlys whining about joffrey only being six and knowing nothing of the sea is honestly hilarious since that’s how most heirs start off as? also not surprised he doesn’t consider rhaena good enough to be his heir when he’s proven time and time again he’ll only support women in power if it benefits him. can’t wait to watch greencels bend over backwards and claim this is rhaenyra’s fault once again !

actually the way rhaena was treated this episode is just major ick vibes. the writers have this obsession with making every non-dragon rider targ a liability to their family? which makes no sense at all, but they couldn’t even include one line of rhaenyra saying she was sending rhaena to the vale for her safety to? i’m glad she told her upfront she was entrusting the future of their house to her (an omen for morning? i’m not holding my breath) but still.

you mean to tell me aemond’s biggest adversary in life wasn’t his toddler nephews??? but instead his big brother??? who has no redeeming qualities and proves he’s willing to hurt him to feed his own ego??? shocked, i tell you. absolutely shocked. ‘true brotherhood’ defenders are going to lose their shit when aemond attempts to kill aegon next episode (apparently twice? for once i’ll be on his side i guess).

the showrunners brought dyana back just to have her serve the man who raped her and be sexually assaulted again, what a feminist take!

had to see a dude get sucked down in the same scene. now i need luke to take my eye(s) out too.

i did NOT need to see aemond’s dingaling what the fuck

baelon’s… bastard… son? the same baelon who was head over heels in love with alyssa? the same baelon who never took another wife nor even looked at another woman after her death? the same baelon who’s sister couldn’t even convince him to take her to wife? vaegon having a bastard would be more believable.

helaena apparently doesn’t give a shit about jaehaerys! more absolute bangers from the writing department. instead of going mad over this loss and deliberately throwing herself out her window she’s going to see a really pretty butterfly that she must have and accidentally tumble over the balcony.

rhaenys praising jaehaerys is so fucked, he’s the reason you’re not queen right now, and he laid the groundwork for the greens to have any claim at all EAT MY ASS

why is alys american.

daemon’s harrenhal arc seems very interesting -so far- it was great to milly’s rhaenyra again (also am i the only one that thought she was holding a baby, jace or a hypothetical ‘what if daemon married her to begin with’ and not sewing up jae’s head) also “you will die in this place” is peak foreshadowing honestly.

alicent continues to pull the ‘i didn’t think the leopards would eat MY face!!!’ “i have perhaps been unkind but never dishonest” copium much??? you deliberately made rhaenyra and her kids life’s a living hell bc she managed to find happiness in her situation and you couldn’t stand that.

that sept scene was dumb as shit but at least rhaenyra has exhausted every single option possible for no war and her antis can shove it and be reminded that she’s the only monarch that gave a shit about the destruction about to happen. ‘team neutral’ team fucking idiot more like.

episode is rated 2/10 for baela, rhaena, jace/joff/aegon/viserys crumbs, and house blackwood mention.

#house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #rhaenyra targaryen #team black #anti team green #my thoughts are all jumbled together THAT’S how bad the episode was #ignore any grammatical spellings pls this was just a rant 😭

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fearlessinger · 2 years ago

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i would love to know your thoughts about how Will, Austin and Kayla are Apollo’s foils!!

Heyyy I’m so sorry this took me so long but… in my defense… it ended up being very long? I’d been meaning to do a deep dive into Apollo’s relationship with his children for a while, and you gave me the perfect excuse.

Starting from the obvious: Apollo’s children are mini mirrors of him. They clearly inherited a lot of his personality traits, both the good and the less good. Apollo’s ready to acknowledge the latter right off the bat, but it takes him until the very last book to admit that their kindness, their compassion, their willingness to stand up for the weak – for their disgraced father, to whom they remain inexplicably loyal even when he has nothing to offer them in return... they got that from him too. Will, Kayla and Austin reflect back to him his BEST qualities, finally allowing him to recognize and take ownership of them after an entire life of being made to feel like he had to suppress them. I’ve talked about this before so I won’t belabor the point here.

The other way in which Apollo and his children foil each other is perhaps more subtle but I think even more interesting: they have complementary arcs re: their relationship with their father.

Apollo begins the story having lost all faith in his father already. He doesn’t really believe in his father’s mercy, in his father’s compassion, in his father’s love anymore. He’s not surprised by his father’s cruelty, especially not when it’s directed at him. He’s under no illusion about who Zeus is, how he operates, what he’s motivated by. It takes him 4 books to call him abusive outright, but he’s been drawing comparisons between him and Nero since book 1. It’s in fact precisely the similarities between the two, between Nero’s treatment of Meg and Zeus’s treatment of Apollo himself, that first led Apollo to realize Meg is abused too.

When Apollo discovers that he’s bleeding red, he immediately knows what has happened. He understands that he’s been sentenced to death. He tries to convince himself that this is just like his previous punishments, that if he does everything right he will be forgiven and taken back in, and, being the incredible liar that he is, he makes it almost sound believable. But he knows, deep down, that it’s all bullshit.

I turned my face to the sky. ‘If you want to punish me, Father, be my guest, but have the courage to hurt me directly, not my mortal companion. BE A MAN!’

To my surprise, the skies remained silent. Lightning did not vaporize me.

And yet, it takes Apollo 4 books to finally say the word “abuse” in relation to his father. He keeps telling himself surely this is enough. Surely this is enough suffering to satisfy Father. He’ll take pity on me now. He can’t really want me killed. He’ll change his mind.

He clings to that hope, to that fantasy, as a last ditch attempt at denying the truth and, most of all, the inevitable consequences of it.

I suppose I could have raged at him and called him bad names. We were alone. He probably expected it. Given his awkward self-consciousness at the moment, he might even have let me get away with it unpunished.

But it would not have changed him. It would not have made anything different between us.

Apollo admires Percy and Jason for the fearlessness with which they stood up and spoke their mind to Zeus. But at the end of his trials, at the end of his character arc, Apollo chooses to bow his head and remain silent, because unlike Percy, unlike Jason, he knows, and finally accepts, that his father is a lost cause. Zeus won’t change. Zeus doesn’t want to change. He cannot be saved.

Because that’s what this was all about. Apollo refusing to give up on Zeus no matter how much it hurt him, right up until the moment it would have literally killed him, because despite everything, still, Apollo couldn’t bring himself to believe that there is nothing he can do to redeem his father. It may not look like it at first glance, but a big part of Apollo’s journey in TOA is about accepting that this is yet another choice his father has taken from him.

So Apollo doesn’t rage at his father. He doesn’t call him out on his behavior. He finally accepts that there’s no point in it. In every way that matters, now, to him, his father is already dead.

Will, Kayla and Austin, on the other hand, start out with a… quite frankly astounding amount of faith in their father, all things considered. But just like there was a caveat to Apollo's lack of faith in Zeus, there's a caveat to the kids's faith in Apollo too.

There’s no doubt in their hearts that he loves them. Apollo pays attention to them. Not nearly enough, of course, but enough that Will considers a prolonged period of silence on his father’s part not just weird, but outright alarming. Enough that the thing that they all consider irrefutable proof of his identity is him recognizing them and smiling at them.

It’s a tragically low bar, but one that none of the other gods manage to clear. Apollo’s children feel acknowledged. They feel cherished. They feel at ease interacting with him. They know he won’t mind if they bombard him with questions. He won’t mind if they tease him. He won’t even mind if they yell at him. We see them do all these things within minutes to a day of his arrival at camp, seemingly completely unthinkingly. We see Will confess his insecurities to Apollo the moment Apollo asks. Heck, Will confesses to Apollo that he made a wrong call with the nectar and almost killed him completely unprompted, as soon as Apollo’s awake. It doesn’t seem to even cross his mind that Apollo might get mad at him for it.

Will, Kayla and Austin believe their father to be nice. They believe him to be safe. They believe he means well, not just with them, but in general.

‘Jason is making that storm,’ Nico said. ‘If you fire the onager, you’ll kill him and Piper, and –’

‘Good!’ Octavian yelled. ‘They’re traitors! All traitors!’

‘Listen to me,’ Will tried again. ‘This is not what Apollo would want. Besides, your robes are –’

Will’s conviction that his father would NEVER agree to the slaughter of innocent demigods, not even if that’s the only way to defeat the gods’ greatest enemy, is so unshakeable he repeats it twice: once in front of the roman army, and once again as he tries to convince Octavian that even just a handful of lives is too high a price.

Damien reluctantly handed it over. I leaned toward the guitar case by Woodrow’s feet. The satyr leaped several inches into the air.

Austin laughed. “Relax, Woodrow. He’s just getting another string.”

There’s no way Austin doesn’t know the story of Marsyas from Will’s mythology books. In fact, his reaction here indicates that he does, because it’s only with that context in mind that Austin would find Woodrow’s reaction funny as opposed to confusing. But it doesn’t seem to quite click in Austin’s brain that the cruel god of the myth is his dad. Because Austin's dad would never hurt a fly. It’s simply laughable to think that anyone would have reason to be scared of him.

It’s worth noting that the rest of the CHB demigods don’t ever seem overly intimidated by Apollo either, which makes perfect sense considering how he presented himself to the world prior to his fall from grace. He used to act like a total clown. That's how the campers seem to think of him, and, to an extent, it's how his children think of him too. For all the faith they have in his character, they don't really seem to have a lot of faith in his ability to do… much of anything.

‘We don’t know what’s going on at Delphi,’ Will continued. ‘My dad hasn’t answered any prayers, or appeared in any dreams … I mean, all the gods have been silent, but this isn’t like Apollo. Something’s wrong.’

Across the table, Jake Mason grunted. ‘Probably this Roman dirt-wipe who’s leading the attack – Octavian what’s-his-name. If I was Apollo and my descendant was acting that way, I’d go into hiding out of shame.’

‘I agree,’ Will said. ‘I wish I was a better archer… I wouldn’t mind shooting my Roman relative off his high horse. Actually, I wish I could use any of my father’s gifts to stop this war.’ He looked down at his own hands with distaste. ‘Unfortunately, I’m just a healer.’

The phrasing of this bit is a little ambiguous. Was Will agreeing to the suggestion that his father might be hiding out of shame rather than take action against his descendant? We can’t say for sure, but I’m inclined to think so.

Will believes his father cares about him and his siblings. He believes his father doesn’t want any deaths on his or the gods’ account. But he also seems to have absolutely no expectation that his father would intervene to prevent these deaths. He feels that it’s HIS responsibility to stop the war, to stop Octavian. Of course, his father would never wish hurt on any of his descendants. His father would never hurt a fly. He is kind. Silly. A bit of a clown. He visits them in dreams. He answers their prayers. He can't seem to ever be there for them when it would matter most.

This is really the crux of the problem. Apollo’s children trust him. They don’t trust him to be able to protect them.

But they don’t hold this against him. How could they? They know him. They know it’s not because Apollo doesn’t care. It has to be because he can’t. Literally can’t. Gods can’t meddle in mortal affairs. And… is it possible… that maybe… maybe Dad's power and overall competence is a bit overhyped in the stories?

He sure can't seem to be able to put together a decent poem.

Kayla squeezed my hand. Her archer ’s fingers were rough and calloused. “It’s okay, Apollo… Dad. We’ll help you.”

Austin nodded. “Kayla’s right. We’re in this together. If anybody gives you trouble, Kayla will shoot them. Then I’ll curse them so bad they’ll be speaking in rhyming couplets for weeks.”

Kayla and Austin are such kids at the beginning of THO: self centered, blunt to the point of rudeness, shamelessly thrilled to learn everything about this crazy thing that just happened to their dad. It’s heartening to see. But as soon as they realize that Apollo is actually struggling, THEY are the ones who rush to reassure him, earnestly promising that everything will be alright, that they will support and defend him.

Like Apollo, who appointed himself his mother's protector mere days after being born, tasked himself with slaying the monster that had been tormenting her, felt an obligation to cut down whoever would dare badmouth her, his children too feel a responsibility to be his protectors, to defend his honor. Like him, who only ever thinks about his mother in terms of what he can do for her, who has no delusions that she could be his salvation in time of need, his children too are far more preoccupied with helping him than they are with anything that they think they might get from him in return.

It's the last thing Apollo would have wanted for them. He was so relieved to hear them worry about the Olympics and youtube views, and then utterly ashamed to realize that they care about him more. As much as he admires his mother, Apollo did not intentionally model himself after her in this respect.

But just like Leto, Apollo doesn't really have a choice. Or, well. Perhaps that’s not quite true. He might have one, but it's one he is not willing to consider. Not until the end of this story at least, not until he finally, definitively accepts that his father will never change, that his father cannot be saved.

“A father should give more to his children than he takes,” Apollo thinks in despair, looking at his children who are ready to give and give and give to him, even as he's left with nothing to repay them with, but in truth he is only reaping what he sowed. His kids only know of him what he’s let them see.

“That was so beautiful!” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “What was that song?”

I blinked. “It’s called tuning.”

“Yeah, Valentina, control yourself,” Damien chided, though his eyes were red. “It wasn’t that beautiful.”

“No.” Chiara sniffled. “It wasn’t.”

Only Austin seemed unaffected. His eyes shone with what looked like pride, though I didn’t understand why he would feel that way.

Was this the first time Austin actually heard his father play music without intentionally flubbing it? Based on what we saw of Apollo in the books preceding this one, I’d wager yes. But Apollo is taken aback by his son’s reaction. He doesn’t seem to have realized yet how deep an impact his habitual routine of feigning ineptitude actually had on his kids.

He’s not really making any effort to correct their assumptions either. He never protests when his children explain to him stuff that he already knows. He doesn’t offer advice when Kayla and Austin debate the best way to patch Connor’s injuries up, defers to Will’s judgment when doing infirmary work.

Granted, the kids know what they are doing. They technically don’t need his help in these matters. It just doesn’t seem to occur to Apollo that they might appreciate it anyway. It also doesn’t seem like he’s given any consideration to the fact that his trust in their abilities can only be worth so much to them, when they are given no reason to think he knows enough to evaluate them.

It must have felt so good for Asclepius to hear Apollo say “my son taught me this thing”. But that was a long time ago, and Asclepius knew his father in a way that Apollo’s children quite simply aren’t afforded in the present day.

To make matters worse, he is genuinely horrifyingly far from at the top of his game at this point in time, and not handling it well at all. In a stunning display of immaturity, he makes a whole spectacle of his poor performance at the archery range.

It’s no surprise then, that nobody listens to Apollo’s pleas to not attack Peaches, not even Kayla. In a combat situation, of course she trusts her own instincts more than her father’s. Neither she nor her brothers take Apollo's completely justified concerns about having a "death race" within the labyrinth seriously. They don’t listen to him when he insists that the game should be at least put on hold until the prophetic trees situation is under control. They don’t even ask him to help them with the infirmary, not until Will is left alone and absolutely needs the spare hands.

As much as he tries to hide it, it’s clear that Will has very little faith in Apollo’s ability to rescue Kayla and Austin. And is it any wonder? How can Apollo save his children now that he’s a mortal, weaker than even the weakest demigod, when even as a powerful immortal that was beyond his power?

Apollo couldn't save Lee, or Michael, or the rest of Will's unnamed siblings who died in the battle of Manhattan. He gave them gifts – weapons, to help them in the fight. He was not, he could not be there for them when the weapons ran out.

Now, the only thing that’s changed is that Apollo doesn’t even have enough power left to protect himself.

As soon as they were gone, Will gave me an apologetic smile. “They’re in shock. We all are. It’ll take some time to get used to…whatever this is.”

“You do not seem shocked,” I said.

Will laughed under his breath. “I’m terrified. But one thing you learn as head counselor: you have to keep it together for everyone else. Let’s get you on your feet.”

Of course Will is terrified. He easily admits this to Apollo, but then immediately changes topic, relieving him of the burden of having to reply. He knows Apollo has no reassurances to offer him at the moment. And he loves him. He doesn’t want to make this any harder for him than it already is.

Will’s used to having to manage his own terror alone anyway. Keep it together for everyone else. He can be the rock for his father too. So he smiles, he stays calm, he gives all the support he can while pretending that he himself requires none. He commits to this course of action so thoroughly that Nico feels compelled to intercede, to try to communicate Will’s needs to Apollo in some way:

Nico rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially.” [...]

“I’ll be fine.” I pulled on my jeans. “I have to save Meg.”

“Let us help you,” Nico said. “Tell us where she is and I can shadow-travel—”

Nico's attempt is still pretty indirect. He’s trying to be considerate of Will’s feelings, respectful of Will’s choices. But the meaning of his words is obvious: Please, don’t do this to him. Will's not gonna be able to survive losing you too.

Perhaps the most interesting facet of Will’s coping strategy of repressing, repressing, repressing is the following:

“Gee, thanks….”

I got the feeling that he almost said Dad but managed to stop himself. [...]

“Guys,” Will interrupted, “why don’t you run to the Big House and tell Chiron that our…our patient is conscious.

Kayla and Austin alternate between using Dad and Apollo with no discernable pattern, seemingly at random, which makes sense considering how young they are. It's likely that they've known their father – properly known him at least – for little more than a year at this point in time. They are familiar with him, but not so familiar that thinking of him as Dad is second nature to them.

But Will has known Apollo longer, and to him it is. He so clearly struggles to not call Apollo Dad. He catches himself right before saying it twice in their first scene together, despite the fact that Apollo looks nothing like himself, and nothing like someone who could plausibly be Will’s dad either. But Will recognizes him, even though he wishes he didn't, and the word is automatically on the tip of his tongue. It slips out of him anyway, seemingly without him noticing, at dinner that night, while he and his siblings argue against Apollo that the planned activities for the next day are a perfectly acceptable level of dangerous:

“It’s different now,” Austin told me. “Since Daedalus died…I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Doesn’t feel so evil. Not quite as deadly.”

“Oh, that’s hugely reassuring. So of course you decided to do three-legged races through it.”

Will coughed. “The other thing, Dad…Nobody wants to disappoint Harley.”

It doesn’t happen again, though. Will makes sure of it.

Maybe he thinks that as long as he does not say the word, there’s still a chance that this will turn out to be just a really weird nightmare.

Maybe he fears that if he does say it, he’ll be tempted to lean on Apollo for support, and feels that he can’t afford to do that when Apollo is barely holding himself upright, and seemingly eager to throw what little health and safety he still has away like it’s worth nothing.

Maybe he’s afraid of getting any more attached than he already is, now that Apollo could quite literally die on him at any moment.

Maybe, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, doesn’t want it to be true, a part of him is actually angry with his dad for putting him through all this, willingly or not.

(And speaking of foiling, and of Apollo and his kids being mirrors of each other, I think it’s worth mentioning that Apollo, for his part, does the same thing in reverse. He refuses to call Will, Kayla and Austin “my children”, feeling undeserving of the title of father, until the moment Kayla and Austin are stolen from him. He only allows himself to acknowledge the connection when it will hurt him the most, but at the same time, also, when he is finally in a position to do something for them, as opposed to them offering to do things for him.)

And then.

Apollo doesn't die. And not only does he not die, he brings back with him Kayla and Austin and Meg and all of the missing campers safe and sound.

Suddenly, everybody’s looking to him for guidance, taking directions from him, deferring to his leadership.

“I think there’s a way,” I said. “But I’ll need your help.”

Austin balled his fists. “Anything you need. We’re ready to fight.” [...]

“Hey!” called Nico di Angelo. He and Will scrambled over the dunes, still dripping from their swim in the canoe lake.

“What’s the plan?” Will seemed calm, but I knew him well enough by now to tell that inside he was as charged as a bare electrical wire. [...]

“What’s the plan?” they ask him. And also “How do you know it will work? What if you fail?” They don’t feel the need to stop questioning him, but they trust his answers. They trust that as absurd as his idea to take down the colossus might sound, it’s their best shot. They win. They all live.

Of course, Apollo only gives us a terse summary of the aftermath of the battle. To tell us about how happy, how proud of him his children are, would completely ruin this nice self deprecation thing that he has going.

The next time we see Will, Kayla and Austin interact with their father, it’s 4 books and almost 6 months later, after Apollo has finally resolved that he must make the effort to respect other people’s choice to believe in him, even though he thinks himself unworthy:

‘Dad!’ Will shot to his feet. He ran down the steps and tackled me in a hug.

“Dad!” is the first word that we hear Will say. And it’s not a slip up this time. It’s all Dad, Dad, Dad the whole book. Will doesn’t call him “Apollo” once.

This change in Will’s attitude is, in all likelihood, not just due to the events of THO. He, and Kayla and Austin too, must have heard accounts of what Apollo has done in between then and now, not only from Meg (who is at this point simultaneously Apollo’s biggest critic and his biggest hype machine. A powerful combination), but from Camp Jupiter and the Waystation too. And I’d bet that those accounts were nowhere near as dismissive of Apollo’s actions as Apollo’s own narration is.

We see everything filtered through Apollo’s still very biased perspective, and we know how much he doubts and berates himself. We know that he’s more acutely aware of his mortality now than he’s ever been, and that he’s readying himself to make the final sacrifice.

But Will is not scared anymore. Not like before. There’s no trace in him of the barely concealed terror that gripped him all through THO. He’s still just as eager to offer Apollo support, but now he seeks out his father’s support in turn.

It only takes one word from Apollo for Will to immediately confide to him his worries about Nico, his hope that it will be good for Nico to have something else to focus on, if they can help Apollo accomplish this task. Helping Apollo is almost more an excuse to help Nico in Will’s mind at this point. He tells this to Apollo before he even tells his boyfriend. He looks to Apollo for support. Quite literally.

Nico seemed to realize, at the same time I did, that Will hadn’t shared all the lines of the prophecy with him.

‘William Andrew Solace,’ Nico said, ‘do you have something to confess?’

‘I was going to mention it.’ Will looked at me pleadingly, as if he couldn’t make himself say the lines.

‘The son of Hades, cavern-runners’ friend,’ I recited.

This becomes a bit of a running gag, even: Will begging Apollo with his eyes to say the awkward thing in his place. It’s a stark contrast to his behavior at the beginning of THO, when he felt compelled to give Apollo an out whenever any sort of awkwardness manifested itself.

At one point this happens:

‘So what do we do about the rest of them?’ Will asked. ‘Dad, you sure you can’t …’ He gestured at our bovine audience. ‘I mean, you’ve got a god-level bow and two quivers of arrows at basically point-blank range.’

It’s the first time we see Will make an explicit, direct request of Apollo. A small one, sure, but I think the casualness of it, coupled with everything else, is indicative of how fast and comfortably Will’s settling into the habit of relying – actually relying on his dad.

He trusts his father’s judgment to the point that he doesn’t hesitate even for a second to give Apollo nectar when Apollo asks, despite the fact that his father is still technically mortal at the time, and drinking nectar should still technically kill him, as Will no doubt remembers, because the discovery caused him a fair amount of grief at the beginning of THO.

In practice, their situation hasn’t changed that much overall since the first book. They are still facing impossible odds. Apollo isn’t any less prone to concussions, he’s not any less vulnerable or fallible than he was when they last parted ways.

Yet, Will’s expectations of his father have changed on a fundamental level. Apollo doesn’t seem helpless to him anymore. Far from it. And his praise means more to Will, now, than Will can manage to express in words.

Nico smirked. ‘Friends, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.’

‘Could you not make a big deal about it?’ Will asked.

I was speechless. How could anyone not make a big deal about this? As far as demigod powers went, glowing in the dark was perhaps not as showy as skeleton-summoning or tomato-vine mastery, but it was still impressive. And, like Will’s skill at healing, it was gentle, useful and exactly what we needed in a pinch.

‘I’m so proud,’ I said.

Will’s face turned the colour of sunlight shining through a glass of cranberry juice. ‘Dad, I’m just glowing . I’m not graduating at the top of my class.’

‘I’ll be proud when you do that, too,’ I assured him.

We’re never told why Will was embarrassed of his glowing talent, to the point that he apparently hardly ever showed it off, and even on this occasion had to be coaxed into doing it by Nico. If I had to guess, I’d say probably because it’s yet another ability of his that completely lacks offensive power. But Apollo thinks it’s amazing, and he leaves Will no room to argue otherwise, and the next time we see Will, he’s glowing brighter than he ever has, bright enough to be mistaken by Nero’s soldiers for a god, and loudly declaring himself his father’s son in front of everybody.

It’s easier to see all this in Will, who has the most page time out of all of Apollo’s children, but Kayla and Austin’s perception of their dad too has shifted in a similar way. A single compliment from Apollo makes Kayla blush right down to the roots of her hair. “You're taller,” is the first thing she and Austin tell him upon greeting him. “You hold yourself straighter.” This may or may not be factually true, but regardless I would wager that their comments are reflective of more than just a physical reality. He looks taller to them. He’s grown in their esteem.

Kayla had been listening quietly, but now she leaned in. ‘Yeah, Meg was telling us about this prophecy you got. The Tower of Nero and all that. If there’s a battle, we want in.’

Austin wagged a breakfast sausage at me. ‘Word.’

There’s a big difference between this dialogue and when they promised Apollo that they’d protect him, back at the beginning of THO. The way they phrase this, it’s like they expect some pushback on the idea of them joining the fight. They expect that their father will want to protect them. That he may not even need them. And they respect his initial decision to leave them at camp, where he hopes they‘ll be safe.

But they make a point to let him know that they want to be there for him, with him, anyway. They know that, one way or another, their time together is coming to an end.

It’s pretty obvious that this is something that weighs heavily on the minds of Will, Kayla and Austin all through book 5. Not so much the possibility that Apollo will die, but the possibility that he won’t. That he will become a god again, and they will have to go back to seeing him only in dreams, if they’re lucky maybe in person once a year, never for longer than it takes to exchange a gesture of affection, a couple hollow platitudes. That they’ll never get to be this close with him again.

They don’t ask him to stay. The big requests still feel too big for them to voice. But everything they actually say and do is telling enough.

"I was hoping you'd come back," Will says, giving him the new clothes he's bought for him just in case. And he adds, "I wanted you to feel at home."

‘Hey, if we don’t get out of this –’

‘None of that talk,’ I chided.

‘Yeah, but I wanted to tell you, I’m glad we had some time together. Like … time time.’

His words warmed me even more than Paul Blofis’s lasagne.

I knew what he meant. While I’d been Lester Papadopoulos, I hadn’t spent much time with Austin, or any of the people I’d stayed with, really, but it had been more than we’d ever spent together when I was a god. Austin and I had got to know each other – not just as god and mortal, or father and son, but as two people working side by side, helping each other get through our often messed-up lives. That had been a precious gift.

Austin makes a point to underscore that it’s not the mere fact of having gotten to share some time with his dad that he’s grateful for. It’s not like he never saw or talked to Apollo before. He and his siblings are lucky, for a demigodly definition of the word. Apollo always gave them the time of the day. But this is different. Austin doesn’t quite know how to describe, put into words, what exactly the difference is.

But Apollo does. “Austin and I got to know each other as people,” he says. He calls it a precious gift, as if it’s something out of his hands. Because it is. It will continue to be, until Apollo decides to wrestle it out of the hands of his father. He still doesn’t know that he can.

[Dionysus] disappeared in a grape-scented cloud of glitter.

‘Such a show-off,’ I muttered.

Will laughed. ‘You really have changed.’

‘I wish people would stop pointing that out.’

‘It’s a good thing.’

Notice what is it that prompts Will to remark on Apollo’s change. It’s not Apollo being desperate to get Kayla and Austin and Meg back, to the point of risking his own life to go find them. It’s not Apollo being kind to Harley and winning the child’s loyalty along with a ukulele. It’s not Apollo expressing sorrow and regret about Jason’s death.

There’s a moment, later in the book, in which Rachel actually does give Apollo the “it’s so great that you actually care about people now” speech, but to Apollo’s children this doesn’t seem to register as an actual change in their father at all. They never show surprise to see him care.

Instead, what Will chooses to highlight as a novelty is Apollo rolling his eyes at Dionysus’ antics. He’s used to his father being kind. He’s not used to his father being serious. And he likes this new serious version of his dad – not humorless, but also very much not a clown all the time. It feels more real, somehow. Will doesn’t have anywhere near enough context to fully understand it, but the thing that he's really reacting to is the lack of a mask.

Apollo does understand though. He understands what his children are trying to communicate to him, even though they are careful to phrase their desires exclusively as expressions of gratitude. He may find it hard to believe, still, but he ain’t stupid. It’s painfully obvious that his kids want more of this. More of HIM. And he wants nothing more than to be able to give it to them. But much like his children don’t dare ask, he doesn’t dare make a promise that he’s afraid he won’t be able to keep.

I think you can see, at this point, what I meant when I said that Apollo and his children have complementary arcs re: their relationship with their father.

Apollo needs to give up on a father who refuses to accept him as his own person, keeps him from his own possessions, from his own loved ones. He needs to give up on a father who hates him enough to orchestrate his death. He must, for his own sake, and, most importantly, that of his children.

Will, Kayla and Austin need to realize that they are entitled to ask more, that they should demand more of a father who loves them, completely unconditionally, enough to be willing to die for them. A father who, they are starting to discover, may be fully capable and willing to murder for them, too.

The series ends before any of them have time to really act on the revelations they have had, the lessons they have learned. It’s an open ending, but the way forward is clear.

Apollo tries to tell himself that it will be enough to keep his distance. But even as he tries to convince himself of this, he’s admitting that there’s really only one way to stop tyrants like Nero. Tyrants like Zeus. Who can’t be reasoned with, because they don’t care to be reasonable. Who can’t be cut off either, because they feel entitled to everything and have the power to trample all over other people’s boundaries. Visiting his children in secret, helping demigods behind his father’s back… that strategy wasn’t working for Apollo before, and it’s not gonna start working now. There’s only one way this story can end, and deep down Apollo has already acknowledged it.

Apollo’s children, on the other hand, and I want to say especially Will, because he’s the one who has the most reasons and the most need to, should finally allow themselves to get angry at their dad. Because now they have seen, they have proof, that he can be a much better parent to them than he’s been all their life. Because they know him too well, now, to be able to make excuses for him. He is simply too good to be so awful a father. So how dare he?

The one time he was there with them, even as a mortal, even without his power, he saved them. So why could he not do it all the times before? Why could he not do it for all their other siblings?

Apollo let go of his anger, and, with it, he let go of the last of the hope he still held for his father too.

Will should be angry with his father because, now, he actually has hope for him.

No, it’s not Will’s responsibility to reform Apollo. But it matters to Apollo what his children have to say. What his children want. They know him well enough, now, to know that he’s both capable and willing to change for them.

But Fsinger, you’ll be asking me now, what about the infamous solangelo book teaser scene in the TON epilogue? Doesn’t that go against everything you’ve been so correctly and exhaustively arguing up until now?

To that I have to say

1) I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up

2) I really, really want to be wrong, but that scene really reads like a hasty, completely graceless reset of the status quo so that Will and Nico’s adventure, and probably many more after it too, can be written still following the same old formula that has already proven to sell. Suddenly, jarringly, Apollo's back to feeling like he can't do anything but watch in resigned impotence as his kids march to their death, and Will’s back to making excuses for his dad. Everything can continue on as usual. Move along, spectators, there’s nothing to see here. If you thought this story was leading up to a specific place, no you didn’t.

#i am so ready to ignore tsats inevitably retconning the shit out of this ✌️✌️✌️✌️#thanks for coming to my TED talk #actually no joke thank you for your patience i'm so sorry to have kept you waiting #i'm gonna get to answering the other asks soon. before the next ice age starts i swear #toa #toa meta #rrverse #will solace #kayla knowles #austin lake #thesungod

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waterfallofspace · 11 months ago

Text

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with.

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’.

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment.

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!”

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.”

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please.

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion.

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style.

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out.

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end.

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.”

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to-

“hH– ek’CHhiew!”

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten.

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!”

“Bles-”

And another, “iTSChh’ew!”

“Oh ble-”

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!”

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns.

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final-

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.”

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns.

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter.

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.”

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-”

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.”

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.”

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.”

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return.

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.”

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one.

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–”

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!”

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose.

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?”

“Admitting this is karma?”

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve.

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.”

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.”

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage.

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.”

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway.

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst.

—

“You look horrible.”

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.”

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours.

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.”

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.”

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen.

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise.

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-”

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?”

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip.

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!”

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge–

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly.

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him.

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake.

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!”

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!”

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation.

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!”

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head.

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box.

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!”

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss.

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!”

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more.

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left.

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back.

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture.

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them.

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms.

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.”

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat.

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight.

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion.

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality.

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.”

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile.

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year.

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot.

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no.

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal.

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse.

“Three! Two!”

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!”

“One–”

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!”

“Happy new years!”

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.”

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s.

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium.

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?”

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate.

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked.

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-”

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist.

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance.

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.”

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him.

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.”

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about.

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.”

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her.

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.”

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again.

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind.

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance.

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home.

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.”

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile.

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.”

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background.

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

#waterfallwrites #the m/agnus a/rchives #was that my tag?? i think it was ahuguh #anyways i wrote this in a flurry of 'i need to do something about my hyperfixation' induced attention span #took many breaks but all in all took about 6ish hours (including the breaks)#and im kinda proud of myself for just! doing it!!#props to my friend for telling me to 'just write something with no pressure and let it be what it is'#so this is a drabble that turned into an actual fic bc i didnt! pressure myself!#if it sucks it sucks- if it doesnt it doesnt- whatever it is i made it and im gonna be happy with that #plus its t/ma which rn is just... SOOO it for me. i am so hyperfixated #and t/im is my beloved i love this man #and i may possibly try to write about j/ons version of this cold and maybe The Cherry Blossom Incident #but i actually have a different t/ma fic in the works so that one comes first <3 #anyways yes here you go!! i toss this into the void! and see if! anyone wants it!#t/ma #t/im s/toker

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ilkkawhat · 4 months ago

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I would like to hear you rant about Nick Stokes if you ever feel the desire to do it 👀

i’m not drunk and it probably would be more fun if i was (in fact I’m pretty hungover) but here we go lol

you know it’s funny i think this is the first time since 2006 i’m having trouble thinking about what to say about him. i know i’ve alluded to the thought of him even hurting me right now but he still seems to persist in my dreams, in ideas, and i have still been (attempting) writing him in difficult situations because he’s a character that has this unwavering optimism and spirit that’s just too easy to break though the pieces always find a way to get back together. and outside of his sheer hotness i think that’s what drew me to him—i wish i didn’t delete it but i once wrote this long thing about why grave danger is my favorite episode and it’s because outside of the buried alive trope (which this episode introduced me to at an impressionable age of 12? 13?) that episode made me fall in love with a man who was buried, eaten, driven mad to the point where he put a gun to his chin but he never pulled the trigger even though he got dangerously close to it, he would have waited until the last breath was going to leave his body before the full squeeze because he just has this quality about him with an insurmountable amount of strength and perseverance and while we don’t get a lot of aftermath what we do see is him sure, having some moments here and there where he’s still visibly suffering in that underground hell and his anger at it reveals itself in one of the best cases of the show, he still has this outlook that he’s alive. he lived. he survived and he’s not going to take it for granted. the choice of “i lived” by one republic as his swan song in the series sums it up i think as well as my personal favorite for him, “second chance” by shinedown. nick had every right to be depressed, full of rage, to give up and he doesn’t. do i think he does repress a lot of those feelings though and the pain he had buried in himself can tend to surface in small explosions of anger? oh hell yes and i mean we even saw him fall apart in season nine which i think was long overdue at that point which just as equally made me admire again that strength because i think it does take a lot of strength to show weakness and not just that nick is just such a down to earth and genuine guy that while yeah repression happens and it may take some digging to get him to open up and you have to be someone he trusts because if he doesn’t, he’s not going to let you see that vulnerability because the scars of his heart are so deep and so old and started at much too an early age—but he’ll reach out. he won’t ask for help but he’ll let you see what’s going on. but it’s okay he can handle it, he’ll say and while i’m definitely not as strong as he is i relate to his attitude on therapy tbh

but his suffering isn’t all that i love about him and doesn’t define who he is. who he is, is a passionate, empathetic man who breaks the jock-type mold you would initially think he’d fit into—even with his frat boy past and slight immaturity with his bets with warrick at the start and the ignorance that sometimes gets him into trouble, he grows and blossoms into that bearded badass at the end of the series, bent but not broken—which ok that goes back to The Suffering a bit 😅

#work just interrupted me and is giving me a mild anxiety attack so there’s my soap box.#nick stokes

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mayfast · 4 months ago

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You don’t think there’s ANYTHING suspicious about a white Italian crying crocodile tears after 30 seconds in the ring with an African woman, the ring of course being the fucking OLYMPIC BOXING RING, which is meant for people who are actually capable of performing well in the sport they’re there to do?

Both of them are women, one is just apparently shit at the one thing she was there to do. Can’t take a hit? Don’t go into a sport where you’re gonna get hit, overwhelmingly in the face. Euros stay seething that they can’t own Africans anymore and have to make shit up.

Greetings,

First, I want to apologize in advance for any grammar or punctuation errors. English is my first language, but I’m dyslexic. Regardless, I will do my best to make this response readable. Secondly, I apologize for getting back to you so late. I visited my siblings and left my laptop at home, knowing that if I tried to respond via my phone, the quality would suffer greatly. Thirdly, thank you for genuinely asking me a question. Don’t get me wrong—I love a good death threat as much as the next person, and I’ve already received plenty of those. But I suppose the way I see it is this: if you disagree with me on a topic, having a screaming match on the level of a presidential debate isn’t going to help either of us. Besides, I like learning and changing. I’m human, and that’s kind of what we’re meant to do. Talk with me so I can see and learn. If you show me why I’m wrong and convince me, I’ll acknowledge it and say, "I was wrong with the information previously presented to me. Thank you for correcting me; I appreciate it." As petty as it sounds, I like being right—not in terms of "my opinion trumps yours," but in knowing I have the correct information and now understand the right thing to do or say. Make sense?

Next order of business: my perspective. Normally, I keep my nose out of political and social issues for several reasons. Firstly, I don’t typically have enough information to give an informed opinion. I don’t see why I should preach my views if I lack the data or experience in the subject matter. Instead, I prefer to listen and learn. Furthermore, I strongly believe in the cookie/diet analogy. Most of the internet is familiar with this analogy, but to reiterate: me being on a diet does not mean you cannot eat a cookie. Similarly, my beliefs should not dictate how you live your life. In simpler terms, I drink water and mind my business.

However, let's adjust the analogy a bit. (I use analogies a lot, and I acknowledge that they are not always perfect, but they help get my point across.) If my diet forbids me from consuming alcohol, it doesn’t mean you can’t drink. I even hope you enjoy it because you’re doing as you please and having a good time. But if you decide to drink and then drive, you are actively impeding on my right to be safe. As stated in Article 2 of the American Declaration of Rights: “Every human being has the right to life, liberty, and the security of his person.” Yes, I am American, so perhaps this analogy only applies to Americans. Again, a limitation of the analogy. In this case, I have enough reason to get involved. It’s not about you drinking or you driving separately; it’s about the intersection of the two. (Bet you didn’t think a dumb jock knew what that was, huh?)

For those who are younger or unfamiliar, intersectionality is “a metaphor for understanding the ways that multiple forms of inequality or disadvantage sometimes compound themselves and create obstacles that are often not understood among conventional ways of thinking.” Alternatively, intersectionality is “a sociological analytical framework for understanding how groups' and individuals' social and political identities result in unique combinations of discrimination and privilege.” Basically, when two identities (like race and gender) intersect, they create a unique perspective, thus an intersection. This concept was identified by Kimberlé Crenshaw, a civil rights advocate.

One of the first examples given to me about intersectionality involved a mechanic shop. In this shop, Black male mechanics did the physical labor, while white women worked as secretaries and in the office. A Black woman faced discrimination when she was unfairly turned away for a job. When she took her case to court, the company argued they were neither racist nor sexist because they hired both Black people and women. However, all the women in the office were white, and all the Black employees were male mechanics. It's a complex situation, right? I'm not sure of the specifics or the case name, but I believe it was real, and she ultimately won her case.

Anyway, what I’m saying is that I have a unique intersectionality that gives me specific experiences. In no way am I claiming my perspective is greater than anyone else's, but it is particularly relevant to the topic of trans women in sports and high testosterone performance. My point of view comes from my intersectional identity as an AFAB cis female, a mixed-race individual (Black, White, and Native American), a former Division 1 women’s athlete, and someone with a Master’s of Science in Biochemistry and Molecular Biology, along with other degrees in Biophysics, Biochemistry and Molecular Biology, and Psychology. I am currently deciding whether to pursue a PhD, a medical doctorate, or both.

Therefore, for anyone who thinks I am ignorant about the biological aspects of this issue, I urge you to reconsider. I was an accelerated student, graduated with departmental honors, and maintained a physically demanding job. If you have an issue with my presentation of biological and genetic information, please take it up with CHEA or the U.S. Department of Education for providing me with such "ludicrous" information and expecting me to look out for the health of the U.S. population.

Additionally, while on the topic of education and biology, one key concept was emphasized from the first day of schooling: gender is not sex, and sex is not gender. These are distinct topics. Sometimes sex aligns with gender, and other times it does not. Gender is more of a spectrum, which is fine by me. I know where I fall on that spectrum and am at peace with it. I do not claim to know what a woman is definitively. However, I have lived every day of my life—over two decades—as a woman. I may not encompass everything that the title "woman" entails, but I believe I can at least identify some aspects of what it means to be a woman. Wouldn’t it be silly to tell a woman that she has no idea what is included in the title of a woman?

I've scoured the internet and cannot, for the life of me, find the name of the process where you describe things around a concept to define it, despite not having an exact definition. I learned about this in philosophy; if someone could provide the term, that would be wonderful. For example, let’s say I am an elephant, and I see red and white stripes in the tent where I perform, smell peanuts, see the ring where I strike poses, the boss with his top hat to my left, the acrobats above me, and the clowns in front of me. I may not describe everything that constitutes this concept, but you can probably guess that the topic is a circus. The elephant may not be the entire circus, but it’s part of it and knows bits of it. Could you tell the elephant that it’s not describing parts of the circus correctly? I could say, “Elephant, you’re right that those are parts of the circus, but there are different angles to it as well.” Again, I’m aware that my analogies are not all-encompassing and fall short in some details.

So, while the exact definition of "woman" is ever-changing and based on societal, emotional, mental, and other criteria, I do not seek to define this term. It’s not my area of expertise, nor is it my concern. I know what I am, and I am content. I don’t place others in a box with me; I am happy in my own square. Instead, I stick to what I know: the facts and definitions of what a female is, which are based on biology—facts that have been studied with hard data for me to analyze.

Before I continue, I want to reiterate that I am a "cookie/diet" person. Everyone has the right to life, liberty, security, and the pursuit of happiness. I could never hate a stranger I’ve never met. I believe everyone, regardless of race, gender, identity, sexual preference, age, or other parameters, should have peace and public respect. No one should be actively threatened for their opinions within the boundaries of universal truths. For example, if you think someone should die for their sexual preference (excluding minors, as I do not tolerate pedophilia and believe it is something a person must address immediately), skin color, or religious belief/spirituality, that is an infringement on another person’s safety. With that said, I think transgender, nonbinary, and queer individuals should live their lives to the fullest. They are people too, just like anyone else, including me.

Back to my original topic: I can define a biological female in terms of biology. A female is one denoting the sex that can bear offspring or produce eggs, distinguished biologically by the production of gametes (ova). (Note: not all females are naturally fertile due to genetic variations.) Biological sex is an assigned label given at birth based on medical factors, including hormones, chromosomes, and genitals. These are measurable factors assigned at birth. Hence, terms such as AFAB (Assigned Female At Birth) and AMAB (Assigned Male At Birth) help medical providers give their patients the best treatment and diagnosis regardless of gender. Because, again, sex is not gender, and gender is not sex.

It is also significant to mention that the medical factors assigned at birth are not limited to genitals. This is important because, although rare, intersex persons are real. They exist. One of the things that used to irritate me during my undergraduate and high school years was that medical professionals knew of intersex persons, but they never had a significant amount of data on them to establish the medical boundaries of what could be classified as “normal” for them. It’s like knowing dragons exist but not being able to tell you more about them—like Hiccup with the Night Fury page in the first movie. Moreover, individuals with mixed chromosomes also occur, such as those with 25% XY and 75% XX. Even if their sex presents in a binary fashion, their DNA may be ‘abnormal,’ and they may categorize themselves however they please. I use the word 'abnormal' in a scientific manner, not as a slander, but merely because it literally translates as 'not normal.' One of the genes that defines sex presentation is the SRY gene (7).

If I harp on about DNA, I apologize, but as someone who has spent so much of her life studying this specific detail of human anatomy, I can't help but carry on. I have asked a few of my colleagues with PhDs and specialties in hormone activity, mainly about regulation, because I wish to be well-informed. At a basic level, everyone understands genetic variances and that traditional male and female individuals have different chromosomes—XY and XX, respectively. Otherwise, the genome is mostly identical, with differences in SNPs (single nucleotide polymorphisms) and epigenetics (the regulation of genes typically found in the non-coding regions of DNA). DNA influences the production of chemical structures found naturally in the body, including steroids.

I'm sure most people are familiar with steroids, whether from a "don't do drugs" perspective or in the context of cholesterol. Either way, your body produces various forms of natural steroids to help regulate biochemical pathways. The interesting part is that everyone's body produces all of the necessary steroids (at least every healthy body), just in varying amounts. If you notice that these steroids are similar looking, you're right. This similarity helps us classify them and understand their behavior. They are derivatives of each other, but their varying side chains allow them to bind to specific receptors.

Granted, 'binding' is a loose term because, due to Brownian motion and other physical laws, most molecules just float around. Binding depends on various factors such as the shape of the molecules and the energy of their interactions. Additionally, protein turnover rates (which may not directly be the steroid hormones, but affect growth hormones via the Hypothalamic-Pituitary-Adrenal [HPA] Axis, Hypothalamic-Pituitary-Gonadal [HPG] Axis, Insulin-like Growth Factor 1 [IGF-1] Pathway, Steroid Hormone Receptor Signaling, including the ER and AR pathway, and Cytokine and Growth Factor Pathways), which refer to the rate at which proteins are synthesized and degraded, can influence the availability of proteins for binding, though they are not directly related to binding specificity itself. Binding specificity relies more on the geometry and chemical groups themselves. (Long story short, molecules can float into a receptor, but they rarely stick around long enough for a reaction to occur unless it is the correct compound.)

Androgens are hormones that contribute to male traits and reproductive activities, although they are also present in females in smaller amounts. The main androgens include:

Testosterone: The most well-known androgen, produced primarily in the testes of males and in smaller amounts by the ovaries in females.

Dihydrotestosterone (DHT): A more potent androgen derived from testosterone.

Androstenedione: A precursor to both testosterone and estrogens, produced in the adrenal glands and gonads.

Androgens are responsible for male characteristics such as facial hair, a deep voice, and increased muscle mass. They also play a role in libido, bone density, and overall health in both males and females (8).

Estrogens are hormones crucial for the development and regulation of the female reproductive system and secondary sexual characteristics. They are present in both males and females but are typically found at higher levels in females. Key types of estrogens include:

Estradiol (E2): The most potent and predominant estrogen during the reproductive years.

Estrone (E1): The primary form of estrogen produced after menopause.

Estriol (E3): The weakest form, mainly produced during pregnancy.

Both androgens and estrogens are essential for maintaining a healthy and functioning body, though they operate in different amounts and have distinct functions in males and females. While individual hormone levels can vary due to genetic differences, standard distributions are often used to represent general populations. It’s important to note that athletes, for example, may fall outside these standard distributions in areas like skill levels and genetic traits such as height. Hormone levels also vary depending on the specific aspect being examined, and studies have established typical ranges for these hormones.

Estradiol (E2) is the estrogen most involved in muscle health and building in women. It plays a key role in muscle growth and maintenance by enhancing muscle protein synthesis and influencing muscle mass, especially during periods of hormonal change like menopause. I found this straightforward information on a website, but I’m hesitant to cite this since it doesn’t come from a formal medical paper or research journal.

Results are given in picograms per milliliter (pg/mL). Normal levels for estradiol (E2) are:

30 to 400 pg/mL for premenopausal women

0 to 30 pg/mL for postmenopausal women

10 to 50 pg/mL for men

While these values provide a general reference, I would not rely solely on this information without formal publication backing. For more reliable data, Frederiksen et al. have a formal publication that aligns with these numbers (1). However, it's worth noting that their research was published around 2019-2020, and the publication process can sometimes extend over several months. Additionally, the E2 levels measured in these studies refer to blood serum. Since estrogens and testosterone are also present in other tissues, such as muscle and genital tissues, these values should be interpreted with some caution.

Moving on to testosterone, here are the normal measurements according to a straightforward website I found (uncited here since it’s not from a medical or research journal):

Male: 300 to 1,000 nanograms per deciliter (ng/dL) or 10 to 35 nanomoles per liter (nmol/L)

Female: 15 to 70 ng/dL or 0.5 to 2.4 nmol/L

Fortunately, I found research that supports these values. For example, a study by S. L. Davison et al. measured androgen levels in 1,423 cis-women of varying ages, excluding those at the extremes of the distribution curve to minimize misjudgment (2). Their findings align well with the cited measurements of blood serum testosterone and provide additional details, such as measurement averages, ranges, and a box-and-whisker plot for various androgens. Their comprehensive analysis is quite impressive.

However, it is worth noting that Davison’s study is considered relatively old by research standards, having been published in 2005. Further supporting evidence can be found in research by Zitzmann et al., which also aligns with the previously mentioned male normal ranges (3). Additionally, Mohr et al. conducted a separate study on males that supports these general numbers (4). It should be noted that Mohr's study did not include men under 40 years of age, which may limit its applicability to younger populations.

Besides this point, what practical usage does this information have? These are just ranges of sex-specific hormones. However, when diving deeper into the performance enhancement effects of these hormones, particularly testosterone, we find a plethora of research dedicated to understanding its impact on athletic performance.

Testosterone affects physical abilities, with one of the main differences being height. For instance, Schappi (11) found that "women were, on average, 166.2 cm (SD 6.5) tall and men 179.2 cm (SD 6.5)." While this study was limited to a population in Geneva, its findings are consistent with data from Medical News Today and Our World in Data, both of which conclude that males are roughly 12-13 cm taller than females on average. Interestingly, this 13 cm difference is two standard deviations outside of the female average. Additionally, a person's wingspan is typically equal to their height, meaning that males not only have a height advantage but also a reach advantage when extending their arms overhead. However, height isn't everything; in some sports, like diving or gymnastics, excessive height can be detrimental.

Still not convinced? Let's talk about strength. Although this study is old, it highlights a well-documented difference. Bishop, Curton, and Collins found that "percentage mean differences in absolute strength between males and females of each group ranged from 75% to 173% for the curl and bench press strength measures, whereas differences for the lower-body strength measures were smaller, ranging from 20% to 64%" (12). This indicates that males are distinctly stronger in the upper body and only partially stronger in the lower body. It's important to note that these data reflect both non-athletes and collegiate swimming athletes, meaning the height categories align well with our previous discussion.

Now, let's touch on VO2 max, an important measure in endurance sports like running, where muscle mass and height may not play as significant a role. Recall the SRY gene I mentioned earlier, which is involved in the differentiation of male and female reproductive tissues. During the first six weeks of development, the reproductive tissues of males and females are identical. Around week seven in utero, the SRY (sex-related gene on the Y chromosome) initiates the development of the testes. In the absence of a Y chromosome and the SRY gene, ovaries develop instead. Fetal ovaries do not produce adequate amounts of testosterone, so the Wolffian ducts do not develop. Additionally, the absence of Müllerian Inhibiting Substance (MIS) leads to the development of the Müllerian ducts and female reproductive structures.

Testosterone also stimulates erythropoiesis, which results in a higher hematocrit (the proportion of blood volume occupied by red blood cells) in males compared to females (13). Erythropoiesis, the production of red blood cells (RBCs), plays a crucial role in determining VO2 max because RBCs are responsible for carrying oxygen from the lungs to the muscles during exercise. RBCs contain hemoglobin, a quaternary structured protein that binds to oxygen in the lungs and carries it through the bloodstream to the muscles and other tissues. The more RBCs you have, the more oxygen can, in theory, be transported to your muscles. During exercise, your muscles require more oxygen to produce energy. RBCs deliver this oxygen efficiently, enabling your muscles to sustain activity. VO2 max measures the maximum amount of oxygen your body can use during intense exercise (14). Since RBCs are responsible for delivering oxygen, the number and efficiency of RBCs directly influence your VO2 max. A higher RBC count generally means more oxygen can be delivered, potentially increasing your VO2 max.

In the past, some athletes have tried to enhance their performance by increasing their RBC count through methods like blood doping or using erythropoietin (EPO), a hormone that stimulates RBC production (14). Others prefer altitude training to stimulate the same effect. At higher altitudes, the body responds to lower oxygen levels by producing more RBCs to improve oxygen delivery. This adaptation can lead to an increase in VO2 max when the athlete returns to lower altitudes.

What’s the point of all this research? These numbers represent facts that were measured and observed. While research is ever-changing, these findings were scientifically validated at the time the data was collected. Is it the same today? Maybe, but that's why new research is always conducted—to update and refine our understanding of the facts.

So, if we establish that there are differences in testosterone levels, why is this important? Recently, while traveling, I met a young man named L. We began by discussing his interesting keychain, and our conversation soon expanded to broader topics. Eventually, we touched on my experiences and perspectives on a contentious issue I had been involved in on Tumblr. I shared my background with L and asked for his views.

L, who had no previous experience in sports but expressed a desire to participate, and I both developed similar theories on how to make sports more inclusive without the need to define categories such as "woman" or "man" or to address issues like non-binary participation. We proposed eliminating gender classifications altogether and instead focusing on identifying the 'strongest' or 'best' athletes based purely on performance.

I mentioned that increased muscle building due to androgen effects (as previously explained) would naturally favor individuals with XY chromosomes in muscle-reliant sports. Eliminating gendered sports entirely might render Title IX ineffective, which serves as a protective measure for sex equity in athletics, as well as the amendments to protect gender identity and sexual orientation. However, I will discuss my concerns with Title IX's clumping of these categories later.

L suggested exploring sports events that are more sex-specific, such as gymnastics, where events are designed to accommodate general differences in the center of gravity. He proposed categorizing events based on the center of gravity or allowing athletes to choose from a limited number of events (e.g., four out of eight). L also suggested that weightlifting could be divided into weight classes to ensure fairness.

Overall, L's ideas were creative and thought-provoking, offering innovative ways to address fairness and inclusivity in sports. However...

I want to clarify that my comments about L are not meant to be critical of him personally. L has never participated in competitive sports, so his ideas about sports regulation are not informed by personal experience. For instance, Olympic weightlifting already uses weight classes for both males and females, making L’s suggestion to split events by weight class not a new concept.

To use an analogy (and I apologize in advance for this), if I were a programmer with no background in art, I might develop a program that generates artwork. While I could claim to have created art through the program, it would not make me an artist in the traditional sense, nor would it make my program the originator of any art movements. This comparison highlights that expertise in one field does not automatically translate to expertise in another. Artists of Tumblr, I am sorry I used your craft in vain, but I’m trying to make a point.

With this in mind, I asked L whether my viewpoints made me an "asshole" or a "transphobe." I strive for self-awareness and constantly reassess my perspectives to ensure they are fair and respectful. L, a fan of philosophy, reassured me that my views, while not aligned with his own, did not reflect poorly on my character. He appreciated that I had well-reasoned arguments and was open to discussing and understanding different perspectives. L valued my willingness to engage in dialogue and my intention to support an institution that is important to me while respecting others.

Thank you, L, for your thoughtful feedback and for contributing to a constructive discussion.

Shifting focus away from DNA-related topics, I'd like to discuss another area relevant to my perspective: college sports. College athletics vary in competitiveness and rewards and are governed primarily by two bodies: the National Association of Intercollegiate Athletics (NAIA) and the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA).

The NAIA generally aligns with the competitive levels of NCAA Division 2 and Division 3, with Division 2 being more competitive than Division 3. NCAA Division 1 represents the highest level of competition, with the most demanding physical and legal requirements. Notably, Division 1 athletes often face legal issues related to the intense demands placed on them by coaches, including overworking that affects their academic performance and personal well-being.

For instance, Division 1 athletes frequently deal with legal contracts that dictate their commitment levels, including the number of hours they can be required to train during the offseason and academic breaks. These contracts, often presented as voluntary, are perceived more as mandatory. Athletes are expected to sign them, and while participation in collegiate athletics is a choice, the reality often feels like being caught between economic or physical hardship. With student debt already so high, the stakes are incredibly high for student-athletes.

I also want to touch on something that came up in a Tumblr discussion. I expressed my concerns that men might enter women’s events not out of genuine reasons but rather for athletic achievement. I was told I seemed paranoid and somewhat transphobic for thinking this way, but let me share a personal insight: very few people truly understand what it’s like to be a college athlete. I'll discuss the actual numbers later, but once you sign that contract, you lose a lot of autonomy over your own life.

Before college, I had a healthy body and made my own choices. But once under the coaching staff's control, they dictated everything—my weight, sleep schedule, dietary habits, and even how much sun I got. I had no say in these decisions; it was all up to them. Any college athlete would tell you the same.

Given the differences in hormones, genetics, and epigenetics that I’ve discussed earlier, a coach’s main goal is to win, often by any means necessary within legal boundaries. Transitioning is not off the table. The athlete’s role is to comply with the coach's demands or face the possibility of being released from the team. If you think I’m being dramatic, consider the media’s sexualization of college athletes. Some coaches will have their women drop to dangerous weights to gain attention from the male audience. You should probably look into Tennessee’s women’s teams. I’ve seen coaches who, desperate to turn around a losing streak to keep their jobs, might consider extreme measures, and since the legal case of Lia Thomas was won by her, this would not exclude pushing athletes to transition. Coaches have been known to dope athletes without their consent, track their location illegally, and manipulate their academic schedules to benefit their athletic careers. The latter happens far too often. But an athlete cannot argue—it’s so easy for the school to find a way to make you ineligible. With a long line of people happy to take your scholarship, you sit down and shut up.

How do I know? I was there. I’ve seen the situations that have happened. Very few of you have the same insight.

I bring up my experience as a student-athlete because I’ve faced the reality where a poor performance could jeopardize one’s ability to afford an education. You might wonder, "So what if you get cut from the team? You can just take out a loan or get an academic scholarship like anyone else." As I mentioned earlier, I was an accelerated student, which meant I qualified for significant academic scholarships—hundreds of thousands of dollars that would have covered tuition, board, housing, and more. If I had taken the academic scholarship, it would have deprived someone else who genuinely needed it. That would have been silly, especially since I had other means to fund my education.

Contrary to media portrayals, most athletes aren’t as academically challenged as they might seem. To participate in high school and collegiate sports, you must maintain a minimum GPA. And while sports outside the major men’s sports—like football, basketball, and baseball—don't offer much financial reward, the reality is frankly more stark from an insider’s perspective. For instance, Caitlin Clark, despite being a top draft pick, earns significantly less than a male athlete in a comparable position. This disparity is something most athletes are acutely aware of.

In many countries, sports like golf or tennis might offer better financial prospects, which could explain why over 60% of NCAA tennis players are international. The point I’m making is that many student-athletes pursue sports to avoid college debt. At least 90% of my teammates were in the same situation, with many majoring in pre-med or health-related fields. It’s almost like understanding the body’s functions can indeed enhance performance.

Sorry for the snark, but this is something that has bothered me throughout my college years. The persistent stereotype of college athletes has been evident from the moment I met my academic peers. Being unfairly judged and excluded based on preconceived notions about my extracurricular activities has been frustrating. I made it a point to excel academically, partly in response to this bias. Contrary to what some may believe, athletics often integrates cutting-edge research. For example, many training programs are designed to align with circadian rhythms—lifting in the morning when testosterone levels are highest and practicing in the afternoon when coordination and reaction times are optimized. It’s about applying principles of biochemistry and biophysics to enhance performance.

I want to discuss being a college athlete for another important reason. It seems reasonable to address the issue of lawmakers and other individuals making decisions about areas where they lack firsthand experience. Take, for example, women’s reproductive health and abortion. It’s a well-known issue where decisions are often made by those who don’t experience the consequences firsthand. Similarly, when it comes to transgender athletes in sports, the situation is analogous.

To illustrate, let’s look at some statistics. According to the NCAA, in the 2021-2022 year, there were over 520,000 collegiate athletes. This number is consistent with this link's reports from the NCAA and NAIA combined. In high school, there were approximately 3,850,771 male athletes and 2,954,034 female athletes. It’s important to note that these figures might include multiple team members and varying grade levels, and some high school athletes participate in multiple sports.

The likelihood of playing at any collegiate level, not just Division 1, is much lower, with about 298,424 male athletes and 239,611 female athletes making the cut. This translates to approximately 7.74% of high school males and 8.11% of high school females having the opportunity to offer an informed opinion on this matter. According to theKids Count Data Center, in 2021, there were 258,418,544 people over the age of 18. This means that for every college athlete, there are roughly 500 individuals who can impact their experience.

This approach highlights an important issue: ensuring equality for nonbinary athletes. They deserve the opportunity to showcase their talents and pursue college sports without facing prejudice or having to conform to the standards set for men’s or women’s teams.

One key aspect of Title IX that many people may not be aware of is that college sports programs must reflect the sex distribution of the student body. When there is a significant imbalance in sex representation—such as more females than males at a school—the ratio of sports scholarships and teams must be adjusted accordingly. As a result, many universities are now adding more female teams to meet these requirements, rather than cutting male programs, which often generate more funding. Interestingly enough, I find it odd that the sex ratio is what influences gender opportunities in athletics, because as we’ve learned, sex is not gender and gender is not sex. Why does sex ratios influence gendered sports?

I propose creating a nonbinary category in sports, with Title IX regulations adjusted to reflect this inclusion. This would ensure that schools offer fully funded nonbinary athletics teams with the same benefits as traditional teams, including scholarships, housing, media coverage, and outreach programs. This way, a trans woman or gender-fluid athlete would not face issues related to hormonal treatments or eligibility, as they would have a designated team that understands their unique challenges. By doing so, we can provide a supportive environment where nonbinary athletes can thrive and connect with teammates who share similar experiences.

If I didn’t care about the well-being of nonconforming genders, I wouldn’t have invested hours researching NCAA guidelines and the CFR to develop solutions. I’m committed to finding resolutions rather than merely voicing complaints.

Now, you might be wondering if I’m advocating for a "separate but equal" approach. Let me clarify: as a Black woman in sports, I’ve experienced firsthand the disparities in treatment and opportunities. Women’s sports often receive far less attention and funding compared to men’s sports. The funding for most college sports programs primarily comes from men’s teams—football, baseball, and men’s basketball being major examples. Additionally, women’s games are frequently scheduled at inconvenient times, like mid-day on a Tuesday, while men’s games are typically held on Friday evenings, attracting more viewers and creating fewer conflicts with academic commitments.

Despite my frustrations, I was thrilled to see the South Carolina vs. Iowa women’s basketball game in 2024 become one of the most-watched college basketball games in ESPN’s history. It felt like a long-awaited recognition for women’s athletics. While the 9.9 million views from the previous year were a notable achievement, it’s clear that women’s sports still have a long way to go in terms of equality and visibility. I’m getting beside the point. Those who would argue that sports are completely based on being unequal, that there are those who are genetically taller or stronger than others, make the point of regulation seem completely unjust.

I assume everyone here is familiar with the standard distribution curve, or the normal z-distribution, which is based on deviation away from the ‘normal.’ Athletics can be understood within this framework. With the Olympics at the very right side of the curve, the top 0.1% of their sport. Top-performing college athletes are well beyond three deviations from the mean. In fact, they are so far above the curve that they are considered outliers. If we examine the case of Lia Thomas, I ran the numbers, comparing her swim performance to the previous top three medalists of the 500-meter freestyle for the 2016-2024 seasons. Lia almost fell perfectly on the mean for the top three medalists, even landing slightly higher within the first deviation of the previous gold medalists within the past eight years.

A "freak of nature" would fall into the +2 or +3 categories. This is also what helps tip off the NCAA about drug enhancement usage. Again, what really threw most of the nation off about Lia Thomas was that she won in her first year in the women’s category. But what fails to be recognized is that her numbers were in the normal range for winning. Granted, this led to other speculations about her being ‘too perfect’ in the category of normal, but that’s not the point nor does it have any data relevance. She did lose a valuable 15 seconds from her personal best after undergoing hormone therapy. I won’t call Lia, when she swam in the men’s category, a bad or prime athlete. Lia, like many athletes affected by COVID, had an extra year to compete, which happened to be her last year of collegiate athletics. Looking at Lia’s numbers and rank alone is not a good indicator of her potential as a swimmer. Lia was always a good swimmer in longer-distance freestyle, even before she transitioned. Looking at Lia’s ranking as a sophomore pre-transition, she was ranked 65th among males for the 200 free that season. For a sophomore, that is not bad at all. I personally ranked a bit higher my sophomore year, but there’s always the number of people in your sport to take into account. I would estimate that if Lia had continued to swim with the males without hormone therapy, she most likely would have been on the national podium nonetheless. What irks me is the lack of data that I can find on Lia’s junior season when she was undergoing hormone therapy while competing in the male category. I know many statements place Lia as ‘bouncing’ from a low-ranking male to a top-ranking female, but I don’t believe that is the case. If someone could point me to the data set, I would love to examine it. Regardless, Lia’s lower rank in her junior year would be explained by the lower levels of testosterone, mitigating towards that of an AFAB (assigned female at birth) woman. If Lia was an ‘average’ champion her senior year, then that low rank position in her junior year is where a women’s average national champion would rank among AMAB (assigned male at birth) men.

Now, someone correct me if I’m wrong, but I doubt that much of Lia’s shift in rank her junior year could be attributed to a change in technique. She did lose muscle mass and gained the typical body composition of a female. So, really the only significant alteration was her testosterone suppression. Clearly, testosterone does something. Granted, due to the private policy of athletes' health, I don’t think much of the public has access to her health records, including her T levels. But if they were under 5 nmol/L, the NCAA would not have allowed her to compete, which she did. So clearly, they were above that level. Regardless, Lia lost muscle mass and bone density post-hormone therapy. Granted, for a non-contact sport in water, how prized is bone density?

If you really want to get into the chemistry of it, females with higher fat content float more easily due to buoyant forces. “In fact, it is the density of lean muscle tissue that differentiates it from fat. The density of mammalian skeletal muscle tissue is about 1.06 kg/L. This density can be contrasted with the density of adipose tissue (fat), which is 0.9196 kg/L” (Etchison). Normally, in any other sport, this is a hindrance, as fat adds to resistance via pulling in a downward motion, which your muscles would need to act counteractively to not only keep you up but also move forwards. Back to distributions, sorry for the weird tangent.

These physical attributes that are so valued in sports—heights, testosterone levels, skeletal structure—have distribution curves among females, or at most people have heard of as percentiles. This is a natural distribution. I don’t think I need to explicitly state that, in general, males are taller, stronger, and faster (due to testosterone). As a female athlete, these are facts I accept without feeling inferior. However, a height of 6’4” or 193 cm will land very differently on the distribution scale of males and females. I mean, Lia’s own teammates wrote a letter urging the school not to pick a fight with gender and sex, as they classified the two as separate and unrelated. While others wrote that Lia was a perfect example that transgender athletes should have an equal opportunity in a safe and positive environment (which I’m not disagreeing with), they are no longer biologically in the binary. Lia’s gender was not the same as her sex during her years of competition.

Next, my other issue with how Lia was regulated was that the NCAA measured her blood serum testosterone. "Evidence that the concentration of testosterone in the athlete’s serum has been less than 5 nmol/L (as measured by liquid chromatography coupled with mass spectrometry) continuously for a period of at least thirty-six (36) months before the date of application" (NCAA Guidelines 19.4.6.C.2). As we have already discussed, 5 nmol/L is already double the standard maximum amount for females, but half the amount males have.

Then let’s discuss the paradox presented. Clearly, testosterone plays a role in performance. However, Lia’s gender and hormones matched those of a female, even though other aspects of her sex did not match that of a biological female (genitals and chromosomes). However, if women’s sports shouldn’t be policed by hormones, genitals, or chromosomes, what defines the original intent of Title IX by the separation of sex? Even when cases in the past have disqualified cis women, whose genitals also align with their sex, if their hormones were too high—cases like Caster Semenya, Dutee Chand, Francine Niyonsaba, Margaret Wambui, and Annet Negesa. Did you know about those cases? Did anyone care then? The typical causes were hyperandrogenism, more common in women of African descent. As a mixed woman, I’m well aware of this. And how have those cases been handled before Imane Khelif? The IAAF, now World Athletics, required these women to either undergo surgery or take medication to bring those T levels down. So, do we go back and award those women their medals and prize money?

Taking this tail-chasing a step further, Lia Thomas didn’t undergo a sex change (understandable, as surgery and hormone therapy would be a lot while competing and preparing for law school), but we regulated her hormones. Her testosterone was just as natural as Imane Khelif’s. If hormones don’t define what a woman is, why was it okay in this case? To further complicate matters, Imane Khelif is a boxer, which is high-contact. Fine, sure, sports sometimes include contact; it’s just part of them. But as you read earlier, testosterone affects tissue, not just blood serum, strength, VO2 max, and other factors like bone density. It definitely affects net force for strikes. One major reason the sports were originally separated wasn’t because women didn’t deserve an equal stage, but to account for the natural differences in anatomy and physiology, such as net strike force and bone density.

People get hurt in contact sports nonetheless; however, those injuries occur along the standard curve due to natural differences between athletes. Without regulation, there is a shift in the curve that would make serious injuries far more common, with death being on the far-right side of the distribution.

Genetic differences and unfair genetic advantages occur all the time in sports. All the time. I was a Division I athlete; do you think I didn’t recognize that? That I wasn’t used to craning my neck up to talk with volleyball or basketball players? That is laughable. But even between the same sports, with men and women, there is a natural distribution. Females are 95% of the time shorter and less muscular. Swimmers, divers, runners, jumpers, throwers, rowers, basketball players, tennis players, fencers, and water polo players—it's all the same.

So, what do we regulate? Hormones? Chromosomes? Genitals? Gender? All of these are out of the question.

Once again, I propose an enhanced visibility program for equal opportunities for non-conforming individuals. The interpretation of Title IX is problematic. The LGBT+ community and others agree that gender is not the same as sex. But for some odd reason, gender and sexual orientation are protected under the title of sex. We should not pick and choose when definitions are convenient. We need to make a distinction and protect these categories individually with more specific definitions. Women: Chromosomes, genitals, gender, and hormones align. Men: Chromosomes, genitals, gender, and hormones align. Non-Conforming: None of the categories need to align.

This model would allow parents to feel more at ease about their children participating in primary education without worrying that their children’s opportunities are being stolen. Every category can have distinct role models. Yes, there can be a genderqueer Simone Biles. This reduces the backlash from societal norms. There would not need to be heavy regulation of sex or gender for the non-conforming group. Thus, they would not have to change to compete. And there would be respect for athletes who do not want to compete against non-standard competitors. Some athletes are fine with whoever is in the competition, while others are not, and whether we like it or not, we have to respect their wishes as well. They are people too, just like trans athletes.

Title IX, enacted as part of the Education Amendments of 1972, represents a critical piece of legislation designed to prevent discrimination based on sex in educational programs and activities receiving federal financial assistance (9). Since its enactment, Title IX's scope has broadened to incorporate evolving understandings of sex, gender, and sexual orientation, and I’m not opposed to protecting each category. This evolution reflects both judicial interpretations and regulatory updates aimed at providing comprehensive protections. However, this broadening also raises concerns about the implications of conflating sex, gender, and sexual orientation under a single legal framework.

Title IX mandates that no person in the U.S. shall be excluded from participation in, denied benefits from, or subjected to discrimination in any federally funded education program or activity based on sex. This includes provisions for ensuring non-discriminatory practices in areas such as athletics, admissions, and employment. Again, this is completely reasonable.

The phrase "Scope of Title IX" refers to the range and extent of Title IX's applicability, including its limitations and exceptions. It outlines the contexts in which Title IX's provisions apply, such as educational programs and employment practices. However, societal changes and legal developments have prompted a broader interpretation. Notably, the U.S. Supreme Court's 2020 decision in Bostock v. Clayton County recognized that discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity constitutes sex discrimination. This ruling has influenced the interpretation of Title IX, leading to protections that encompass sexual orientation and gender identity. This is where I have questions about the interpretation. As we have discussed several times, sex isn’t the same as gender, nor is sexual orientation. So why does this fall under the same category? We have early distinctions between the two by John Money in the 1950s and 60s. We also have the Transgender Rights Awareness movements of the 1960s and 1970s, which emphasized that gender identity is not strictly determined by biological sex. Let us not forget the academic development and recognition between the 1970s and 1980s, where gender studies emerged! Scholars like Joan Scott and Judith Butler explored and expanded the idea that gender is a social construct distinct from biological sex. Butler’s work, particularly in the 1990s, was influential in articulating gender as a fluid and socially constructed phenomenon.

I agree completely that the ruling in Bostock v. Clayton was a step in the right direction. Gerald Bostock being fired due to his sexual orientation was discriminatory. His being gay had no impact on his job performance as a child welfare coordinator. However, the court’s ruling that firing someone for being gay or transgender is inherently tied to their sex contradicts the concept that sex and gender are not related. It’s not about sex; it’s about presentation. They aren’t being discriminated against based on sex but rather on sexual orientation and gender identity. How do you know I care about this topic? You have me reviewing 172 pages of Supreme Court files….

So, to put it plainly, sexual orientation and gender identity need to be protected but should not be classified under Title IX as they are unrelated to sex discrimination, as seen in the code of federal regulations; 34 CFR 106.61(10). Additionally, Bostock’s case was related to employment, where it is clear that no sex difference would affect job performance. As an asexual individual, I find it important to recognize and protect distinct sexual orientations alongside gender identities. I was raised in an environment where it was firmly believed that women should be barefoot and pregnant on the farm, and homosexuals needed to ‘repent’. I think that’s all poppycock. But this regulation of Title IX doesn’t align with the previous information on sex and gender.

So now that that’s all said and done, let me review my arguments clearly: Gender and sex are not the same thing. Testosterone affects performance. We have cases that regulate gender as if it’s the same thing as sex and then contradict each other, such as Lia vs. Imane. Are we policing testosterone or not? Why is a large group not directly involved in this debate having such a significant influence over the voices that are actually affected? Title IX shouldn’t protect sexual orientation and gender identity because these topics are unrelated to sex. Finally, we need to address this issue by creating a third, non-conforming category that has equal rights and access to both male and female sports. And crocodile tears? I know this sounds silly, and nepotism happens, but doesn't it strike you as odd, that a trained fighter, some one who should be use to getting hit goes down in under a minute? I'm not saying she was or wasn't dramatic or not, but I am saying that's not normal.

Once again, I’m not an asshole, nor am I transphobic. I drink water and mind my business and, as so lovingly pointed out by other accounts, I do like to write fanfiction because I find it a good way to escape the real world. But if you think you can judge a person’s entire personality and intelligence based on a hobby, I seriously believe you should reevaluate yourself. Do I find the case of Imane suspicious? Yes, for the reasons previously discussed. Would I find the case of Imane suspicious if we had a third category for athletes to compete without needing to conform to the standards of each sex? No. Furthermore, I find it very disappointing that Russia’s whistleblowing on Imane, which could directly endanger her life, is unacceptable. Also, I enjoy learning. If you think I’m wrong in my stance, please, by all means, provide me with some papers to read so I can be better informed. Show me your data and how you’ve interpreted it. It’s important to communicate ideas so we, as a collective people, can move forward. As you might have noticed through my essay, I lean towards a moderate political stance and am always open to hearing other perspectives.

Last note: If you write an insulting or derogatory letter to me, just know I have siblings. “KYS”? “TERF”? Really? Please, get a little more creative with your insults; I want to feel something. I have a father who disowned me for believing it’s okay if people aren’t heterosexual. So, up your game. If you post a death threat with an anonymous tag, you should be ashamed of yourself. Your behavior is unbecoming, and you know it. If you’re going to hate me, do it with a tag; let everyone know you disagree with me. I wouldn’t hate you for it. In fact, I’ll ask for your opinion because I think understanding different viewpoints is important, and I want to see what you see. But if you hide, I cannot see you as anything more than a ‘liberal blue-haired’ screeching.

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