#highly recommended embracing the urge first run

[staticpoison]

Having done embrace!durge on my first playthrough, doing a normal Tav run is kinda surreal. There's so much content. Who are all you people?? You have a storyline? I killed you in cold blood cause I thought it would be fun, but I actually love you??

#dont get me wrong i love my durge with all my heart #shes my first bg3 love #her and her awful vampire ascendent boyfriend #but like #wow its a whole new game #highly recommended embracing the urge first run #theres so many new things #dark urge #the dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #durge #bhaalspawn #bg3 bhaalspawn #bhaal

[astraystayyh]

Orange

hyunjin x reader. childhood friends to lovers. implied soulmates. hyune's pov.

this is the prequel & sequel to you're in the wind, i'm in the water. you need to read the prev fic first to understand how hyunjin and mc confessed to one another!!

this is very self indulgent but it's also my bd gift so i get a pass hehe also a tribute to one of my fav love languages which is peeling an orange for someone :')

based on Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey,, so highly recommend listening to it while reading :)) feedback is appreciated as always <333

i'm on the run with you my sweet love

The beige sand warms the soles of your feet as you and Hyunjin run along the shore. His parents sit by a towel, watching you with idle curiosity as you’re propelled forth by the brisk winds; and a sense of feedom only found in the tender hearts of children.

Hyunjin doesn’t know where you’re taking him. He didn’t question you when you entwined your fingers with his before running away, your footprints etched upon the sandy canvas. His sole attention was on your clammy hand, tightly clasping his.

Hyunjin didn’t yet understand what it meant to crave the hand of someone in yours, for it to feel natural for fingers to hold one another. He was only seven. What does one really know at this age?

But he knew that he was drawn to grand things. The beauty of fireworks as they unfold in the sky, dazzling colors rivaling the hues of sunsets. To the towering sunflowers his mother takes him to see, so tall their petals almost seem to be reaching for the sun’s embrace. To the full moon and the way it hangs close to earth, as if yearning to enter our horizon, to sink into the soil and rest.

But in that moment, as he watched your gleeful smile, the blush tinting your cheeks as you tugged him along, a different amazement grew within his soul. It was quiet, it was soft, it didn't overwhelm his seven-years-old heart. It was enough.

You finally stop by a rock, settling in the sand with your hair fanning around you like a halo. Hyunjin hovers over you, his tentative gaze tracing your features, trying to pinpoint what had made that peculiar feeling pour over his body, like candle wax finally meeting its destined mold.

He doesn't find an answer, only your kind smile as you tap the place near you. You were giddy, as if you had run far when his parents remained mere meters away.

Hyunjin had noticed this urge in you to flee, to wander, always. He didn't know what it means. He thought that perhaps you didn't know either. He wondered if you'd ever run away from him. The question burned the tip of his tongue.

"Will we always run together?" Hyunjin suddenly asks, kneeling to meet your eyes.

"If you want to," you shrug. "Will you run away with me when we're older?"

"Where to?" he asks, a note of apprehension coloring his tone.

"I don't know. We'll know later."

"Okay."

"You pinky promise?"

"I do," Hyunjin entwines his pinky with yours, before leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. He avoids your eyes as a dusty blush cascades on his cheeks, akin to the fading pink of a sunken sunset. You giggle, reciprocating the kiss before pressing your thumbs together.

"Sealed forever," you grin, eyes disappearing into moon crescents. Your contagious happiness mirrors instantly on Hyunjin's face, his nose scrunching up in delight.

He wants to keep this smile on your face, he thinks, this intricate joy that dawns upon your features, brightening up your face, making your pinky in his feel lighter, warmer.

So, he takes out an orange from his pocket.

"Where did you get this?" you chuckle, eyes widening in delight as if presented with the world's most treasured jewel.

"A vendor gave it to me," he shrugs, handing it to you.

Your thumb punctures the tangerine's thick skin, making the fruit’s juice drip down your hands. You attempt to peel it but the skin breaks instantly, falling into the sand.

"Here, let me," Hyunjin offers, taking the orange from your hands, peeling it for you.

A strange warmth slowly spreads through his being, akin to tree roots anchoring onto the soil, to the unfurling of petals on the first day of spring. It feels good, for some reason, to do this mundane task for you.

This newfound feeling only solidifies when you smile brightly at him, breaking the fruit into two halves and handing one part to Hyunjin.

You no longer look like you want to run. You look content here, simply sharing an orange with him.

Hyunjin suddenly wants to buy you a whole crate of tangerines. Maybe even a farm of it- just trees upon trees that he can plant for you. He chases the thought away, he's only seven, he doesn't have money, where would he even store the oranges?

Hyunjin didn't have the answer to this question, nor the million ones swirling in his mind. But he knew your smile, the kindness in your eyes, the lingering scent of oranges on his fingers, even after washing his hands. And the word that sat heavy on his soul, from that night forth.

Hyunjin knew he loved you when he was seven years old.

there is nothing wrong contemplating God; under the chemtrails over the country club

"Found you," Hyunjin whispers, reclining on the rooftop near you.

"Wasn't hiding from you," you respond just as softly, your gaze fixed on the turquoise sky overhead. Your words cause Hyunjin's heart to swell within his chest, growing, expanding, pushing against his ribs, yearning to escape and splatter at your feet.

His emotions were always so grand- his happiness consuming his entire being, the sadness, the loneliness rattling his bones with an invincible cold. Then the love for you, not in dependence, the way the planets orbit around the sun. But with choice, because he wants to, craves being near.

"What are you doing?" he asks after a while, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Watching the chemtrails," you point out a tiny plane leaving a white trail in the sky.

"It looks so far away," he whispers in wonder, and you hum with a melancholic expression. Hyunjin curls his hand into a fist, resisting the urge to smooth the delicate frown etched on your brows.

"Didn't you like your birthday celebration?" he finally asks. He knows the answer before you quietly say, 'yes.' You were never one for the chic attire, the fine china and polished silverware reflecting the guests fake smiles. You only ever came to the country club for Hyunjin.

"I just... these people are here for me, supposedly. And yet, I feel so invisible downstairs. I bet no one even noticed my absence."

"I did," he replies instantly, contradicting you vehemently, wanting to dispel the shadows that cloud your mind. "And... I brought you an orange," he adds, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It grows when you beam at him, the chemtrails momentarily forgotten.

"Did you?"

"Mm, here," he swiftly peels the fruit for you, instinctively breaking it into two halves.

"I'm sixteen and I don't know how to peel a tangerine because of you," you giggle, biting into one part eagerly. Water dribbles down the side of your mouth, and Hyunjin delicately wipes it away, his hand cradling your jaw gently.

His heart beats wildly, drowning out the country club's orchestra. He's never been this close to you, noses nearly bumping into one another.

"Don't learn how to," he whispers, licking his lips nervously. He hopes you can't feel the tremor in his hand as it slides down your cheek.

"Why?"

"Then you won't need me anymore," he says honestly, and your eyes widen at his words. Say it, his heart pleads, I can't contain this love anymore. Hyunjin shakes his head, silencing his own thoughts. He'll make room for it; his heart will expand, even if it means bursting at the seams. He can't face your rejection.

"Can I ask you something?" you say after a while, still as close to him.

"Anything."

"Do you ever feel like you don't belong anywhere? You have friends and family, but you feel like..."

"Nobody's son?" he suggests.

"Yeah, nobody's daughter."

"Maybe we're not meant to belong to anyone else but ourselves."

"Isn't that sad?" you ask, bringing an orange wedge to Hyunjin's mouth. "What if I don't always have myself?"

"Well, you'll always have me."

"Do you promise me?" you ask eagerly, eyes wide, tone almost desperate.

"I promise." The fog dissipates, light spilling over your face once again.

"Even though you're so sought after?" you giggle.

"I'm not!"

"You are! Everybody wanted to talk to you downstairs. You're always the man of the hour," you wink, lying down on the floor once again.

"Really? I didn't notice," he says, settling next to you.

"Mm, you never notice anything," you sigh, resting your cheek atop his shoulder.

It's quiet again, save for the tranquil sound of your breaths. Your eyes are trained on the sky, following the path of each plane.

"They look really tiny."

"Maybe we're the small ones," you muse.

Hyunjin doesn't agree. Not when his love for you feels almost ancient, drawn from the depths of the very first fountain of love. It has stayed with him for nine years, intermingled with the very molecules of his being. You can't be small when what he feels for you is grander than the world.

"Maybe we are," he says as he slides an arm underneath your back, pulling you closer to his chest.

"Hyune," you call out softly.

"Mm?" he hums in reply.

"What do you think you're made for?"

I'm here to love you, he wants to say, achingly, fully, on your grand days and your small ones. To fall apart at the altar of your soul and to rise anew, by you, for you. To be yours.

"I'm here to peel you oranges." He whispers instead, his confession, for now.

"And I'm here to eat them, then."

we laugh about nothing as the summer gets cool; it's beautiful how this deep normality settles down over me

"Did you know you have a straight trail of moles on your back?" Hyunjin whispers, his cool breath akin to a gentle zephyr.

"It starts here," he bestows a tender kiss beneath your shoulder blade, as if marking the start of a constellation. "Then you have another one here," his lips brush against your skin, coaxing forth delicate goosebumps, like ripples on a moonlit pond. "And here," he trails down your spine, his mouth weaving a trail only he can see. "And a final one here," he lingers longer near the last mole, lips meeting your lower back delicately, akin to the tender graze of a feather.

If you had told Hyunjin that he would freely kiss your moles, hands trailing down your skin scented with chlorine and vanilla, he would have thought you were insane. But now he has you, because you want him too, against all odds. Hyunjin wasn't alone in his love; every emotion in your soul mirrored his own. Two sides of the same coin. Two halves of the same tangerine.

"And then... it wraps around your stomach," he flips you around until you face him, giddy giggles escaping your lips. "You see it? It goes right here, another straight line," he whispers in wonder, tracing over the moles on your skin as if in worship. There is so much he longs to articulate, words yearning to spill from his mouth. He realizes he can say them now, drape them over your body like a blanket knitted with love.

"Someone plucked stars and arranged them on your skin. You're a galaxy on your own, you know that right? So beautiful," he whispers, eyes wide in adulation, raking over each feature of yours, so much they're seared behind his eyelids. The only sight he sees when he goes to sleep.

"So are you," you smile, hands gently cradling his cheeks. Hands that held him at age seven, then eight, ten, thirteen, and twenty. Hands that dried his tears, patted his back, and played with his hair. Hands that are much more sacred than his own.

"No, you don't understand," he hovers over you, gently smoothing down your hair. "You're so beautiful, so much it dizzies me, consumes me. You consume me, entirely, and I-" He sucks in a deep breath as you smile lovingly, reassuringly.

"I know," you say. "I feel it too."

"I can't believe this is real," he shakes his head, thumb tracing your lower lip gently. "I didn't even plan on confessing when i brought you to this pool. And yet... it feels natural for us to be this way."

You nod, grinning. "Like we belong to one another."

"I told you I'd stay," his eyes soften, capturing you with the same tenderness as always, savoring every part of you.

"You always keep your promises," you smile, hand sliding down the nape of his neck, smoothing a stubborn tuft of hair.

Normal, that's the elusive term he was looking for. It is normal for him to hold you, to kiss you, to look into your eyes and find love swimming in your irises. It is the way it's supposed to be between you. He couldn't ever think of another outcome.

His eyes trail down to your arm, where two moles match perfectly with his, down to the placement, the space separating them both.

"Is this where we kissed each other the most in our past lives?" he trails off, knuckles brushing against your arm gently. You mirror his touch.

"So you believe we're soulmates?"

"Mm, I've always known."

"And why didn't you tell me?" you grin, tilting your head to the side.

"I peeled you tangerines."

His words seem to ignite something within you, memories of each time he peeled you oranges flooding back. Every birthday, each time you were sad, every time the fruit was near.

You stand up, straddling Hyunjin's lap, and then you kiss his eye mole, then the one on his cheek, trailing down his jaw mole, his neck, his arms.

"What are you doing?" he giggles, warm hands on your lower back.

"Making sure those moles show up in our next life too."

And at your words, Hyunjin swore that the citrusy scent of tangerines suddenly wafted in the air.

washing my hair, doing the laundry, late night TV i want you only

Your legs are comfortably propped on top of Hyunjin's, matching pairs of beige pajamas seamlessly merging into one another. The sweet scent of shampoo lingers in the air—a fragrance Hyunjin carefully massaged into your hair twenty minutes ago, his fingers still as gentle as they grazed your scalp, now at the age of twenty-six.

Nearly two decades later, Hyunjin still knows that he loves you. It is a different one from the love he felt at seven—a metamorphosis akin to the moon's phases, from crescent to full, distinct yet continuous. It clung to his being, melted into the very essence of his soul.

"Just how many white shirts do you own?" you giggle, folding another pair of Hyunjin's clothing, the melody of your laughter still rattling the insides of his heart. He smiles sheepishly, planting a tender kiss on your forehead before responding, "You wear half of them with me."

"Your clothes are mine. You agreed on this when you proposed to me," you state matter-of-factly.

"And what else did I agree on?" he smiles, placing two pairs of matching socks in the basket—yours and his.

"That you'd kiss me instead of doing the laundry," you say mischievously, and he chuckles, tilting his head back. The clothes are momentarily forgotten as he lowers your body onto the couch, one hand cradling your head.

"You know I can't say no to you," he smiles, left dimple appearing as it always does when you're near.

"I know," you grin, pulling him down by the hem of his pajamas, your lips meeting his.

Hyunjin still kisses you with the same quiet passion, slowly, as if rediscovering you all over again. His hand cradles your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek gently, as his lips find yours again and again—rosy, plump, seeking solace in your familiar warmth.

He's always been drawn to mysteries, grand things, and overwhelming emotions that defy comprehension. Things he'd never fully know, things he'd never be bored of. Yet, with you, it's different; he knows you, he's learned you, and he loves you more every day—purposefully, by choice, because he can't fathom a reality where he doesn't.

His lips press upon yours one last time before he pulls you onto his lap, burying his head in the crook of your neck. "You smell nice," he whispers.

"I smell like you."

"I know," he smiles, a gentle breeze escaping his lips and caressing your skin.

He closes his eyes, savoring the quietness, the domesticity of the scene—the folded laundry on the table, the background hum of the TV, the meal you'll cook later, waltzing under the fridge's light. You, the one love of his life—the small love and the grand one, the first love and the last one. The embodiment of it all.

Your arms drape around his shoulders as you relax in his hold, your breaths syncing into a tranquil rhythm. He's built himself a home in the ridges of your collarbones, a place for him to rest in the crook of your shoulder blade. Both of you are okay, both of you are safe.

"Do you remember when we were seven? We traveled together for the first time," you speak after a while, a weighty emotion enveloping your voice.

"I do."

"You promised me we'd run away when we grow older."

"I did."

"I don't want to run anymore. I'm content with you, right here," you whisper, and the words feel like sunflowers blooming in Hyunjin's chest. "I was so scared of growing up, of never feeling like I belong. To myself, to anyone. But I do, with you."

"Always," he pulls away, bringing your hand to his mouth, leaving sweet kisses on your ring finger.

"Thank you, my Hyune," you say, tears gathering in your eyes like morning dewdrops on leaves. "Thank you for peeling my oranges."

Your nose brushes against his, his thumb drawing circles on your palm.

"Thank you for pretending you don't know how to."

#stray kids reactions #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz fanfic #hwang hyunjin x you #hyunjin scenarios #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fanfic

[the-curator1]

Oceans of Time

Vampire!Cardinal Copia x Female Reader

Author's note: This story was inspired by the amazing fic At The Mercy of Time(And Fragmented Memories of you) by @piaart. If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend doing so! Additionally, this is the first fic that I am publishing on my blog, so it may have some flaws. English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

AO3 Link

Summary: Copia and you love each other deeply, unconditionally. But cruel Fate decides to pull you apart from his grasp again and again. The story of two star-crossed lovers always reaching out to each other through the endless ocean of time.  (≈6300 words)

Tags:  Angst, so much angst, I put our poor Cardinal through hell, but I swear there is a happy ending (kind of), catholicism, Copia is originally a Catholic Cardinal, death, grief, loss of faith, implied smut, some depiction of graphic violence, vampirism, blood-drinking, some bits of unhinged and feral Copia, revenge, romance, some fluff, mostly Copia's POV, Shamelessly inspired by 1992 Dracula (the title ofc, a dialogue and a few elements in the story)

Vatican City, Italy, August 1677

“You cannot do such a thing.” 

The Camerlengo looked up at the Cardinal with a stern expression. His bushy eyebrows were so furrowed that they almost hid his dark eyes. The corners of his thin lips were turned up in a sneer of disgust and anger. The man had the appearance of a hawk, with his long, pointed nose and vicious, sharp gaze.

“Well, of course, I can, Cardinal. Not only can I do it, but I must." growled the Camerlengo.

Copia felt a shiver run down his spine and looked down again at his hands clasped in his lap. Shame. Anger. Fear. Worry. All these insidious feelings swirled in his mind as in a demonic waltz. But at that moment, all his thoughts were focused on you...

Oh dolcezza… Forgive me.

“You have broken your vows, Cardinal, " continued the camerlengo in a chilling tone, "Consider yourself lucky that I am not asking His Holiness to dismiss you immediately. Despite your lamentable mistake, you are still a good asset to our Church. Besides, the family of your... lover has urged us not to cause a scandal. Let's hope that this mission will help you think straight again. May God guide you back to the right path.”

Copia shot his head back towards his superior. His throat was knotted, and his heart seemed to hiccup in his chest as if it was shaking with sobs. 

No. No...

They couldn't...

They had no right to keep you apart like that! 

The Cardinal's hands tightened violently on his knees. He wished it was not his kneecaps he was squeezing between his fingers, but the neck of that old disgusting vulture. But he repressed these violent urges as well as he could. Without a word, Copia rose from his chair. Like an automaton, he bowed his head and walked towards the door.

Italy, Rome, August 1677

You looked out of your bedroom window, your hand resting against the cold glass. Mother had carefully locked the door to your balcony... she was probably afraid you would run away or jump to embrace the pavement two floors below.

Rome had never looked so foul and so fair, bathed in the glorious light of the evening. The sun cast its golden rays on the facades of the buildings bearing their bold fronts. Everything here was pompous, grandiose. Everything was too much. There was no questioning the beauty and majesty of the city... but how you hated it at that very moment. In your eyes, it was the monster of stone, marble and cobblestone that held the man you loved in its horrible clawed hands. It symbolized everything that was keeping you apart. You could have run away together… But where to go? Your family would not let you run away… never. 

Oh, if he had not been a Cardinal... 

The foolishness of your inner reflection struck you at once. If he had not been Cardinal... his beautiful green eyes would never have met yours in the first place. Your beautiful, sweet Cardinal Copia. Why did you have to be discovered? Why had Father decided to cancel his meeting and return home so soon? Why did he have to catch you and the man he had hired to be your preceptor in a passionate embrace? 

"It was bound to happen one day, amore..." whispered your Cardinal when he had come to visit you after the incident under cover of darkness. You had been able to escape the confinement of your room with the complicity of one of your maids. 

"And now, Copia? What are we going to do now?" you had asked, your eyes brimming with tears. Your forehead rested gently against that of your lover. His gloved hands rested on your face, his thumbs drawing delicate circles on your skin. 

"I don't know, my love. I don't know. But I want you to know one thing: Nothing can keep me away from you. Not even the Almighty, not even Satan below... I will always come back to you."

You had not been able to find the words... they were stuck in your throat. You had kissed your lover fervently, pouring all the love you felt for him into that kiss. The streets were quiet around you, there was only the distant shouting of drunkards mingled with the ringing of the church bells. But you could almost hear the wild beating of your broken heart.

Always. Always.

Your time had almost run out. You had untied your favourite silk scarf off your neck and slipped it into his hands. You had carefully infused the scarf with your perfume. Copia had studied your gift with his wide bright eyes. There was a consuming devotion in his eyes as if he were holding Christ's shroud in his hands. 

Your Cardinal had kissed your forehead one last time. In the darkness of the street where your secret meeting took place, you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes. He had not said anything after that.  Maybe the words were stuck in his throat too. Maybe he was afraid he could not say goodbye anymore if he had said something more.

Copia had taken a few steps back… and almost as quickly as he had arrived, Copia turned on his heels and let himself be swallowed up by the darkness of the streets. 

When you heard the stairs creak at the end of the corridor, you snapped out of your thoughts... It was them. You saw them arrive in the courtyard of your house in their austere carriage. You were not surprised. You were fully aware that, regardless of being the daughter of a powerful family, there remained only one destination to seek solace following such disgrace.

September 1677, somewhere off the coast of Italy...

Copia watched the coast disappear in the distance. The sea was calm this morning. But the gentle sound of the waves did not soothe him at all. Copia was well aware of what they must have done to you... and if he had not been so devastated he would have laughed at the irony of the situation. You, who had committed a sacrilege with a member of the clergy, were now compelled to join their ranks for the rest of your life.

He hated every moment he spent away from you and your arms. He hated every breath he took without feeling your skin against his. He hated the people who took him away from you.

Oh, how he missed you... 

How he missed your touch, how he missed burying his face into your hair, how he missed the sound of your voice. He felt like a part of him was missing, he felt like they tore a whole limb from him, he felt like they pulled his heart off his chest. 

Copia hated the boat that carried him away from the Italian coast. Away from you. 

Copia hated the red cassock he wore, it looked like it weighed thousands of pounds. The cross he wore around his neck felt like the chains of a slave

Copia hated the Church. 

Copia hated the God that separated him from the love of his life.

But in this whirlwind of hatred and resentment, Copia did not forget the promise he had made. He held the scarf up to his face to breathe in your perfect scent; it was his greatest treasure. Then he held it to his heart...

I'll be back, amore...

Italy, from Genoa to Rome, 16 February 1681 

His heart was pounding in his ribcage. It was beating faster and faster as the city of Genoa loomed on the horizon. All those years away from you had been torture. Those years spent in that alien land had been particularly trying for Copia. He had never been able to get used to India and to his mission there. How could he have preached the word of God when he no longer believed in it?

The Camerlengo had been wrong about everything. This mission had not put him back on the right track. On the contrary, all that time spent away from you had only increased his longing for you, his burning desire to be close to you.

All the thoughts that should have been for the Lord were for you. And, God, some of them were anything but righteous. He had not forgotten you, of course. The Cardinal had thought of you every minute of every day. How could he have forgotten your smile? The softness of your hair? The opal of your eyes? The melody of your voice? 

He had held your precious scarf to his face every night, breathing in your scent. Sometimes, as his mind lingered on you, he had let his hands roam over his own body. And he had felt no shame for it. Eventually, the scent of you on the scarf began to fade. It broke his heart when he noticed it. But the token was still something that had belonged to you. It had been wrapped around your neck. It had touched the skin of this part of your cherished body, a place where he liked to kiss you... and in the Cardinal’s love-struck mind, it was more than enough.

The Cardinal now had only one thing to look forward to: seeing you again, holding you in his arms and never letting go again.

It hadn't been very difficult to find out which convent your dear parents had sent you to. They were zealous and wealthy Catholics who were graciously giving money to the abbeys and convents of Rome. Especially that one.

He hoped that his authority as Cardinal would give him the right to see you, for even five minutes. His heart had not calmed down since he had got off the boat in Genoa. 

Upon returning to Rome, his heart continued to beat furiously in his chest. He did not care to go to Vatican City to announce his return first. The urge to see you was too strong. Standing before the convent gates where you had spent the past four years did little to alleviate his condition. It felt as though his heart longed to escape its confines.

As he had hoped, his red cassock had a great effect on the Mother Superior. She didn't seem suspicious when Copia told her his name. She seemed too focused on this habit to remember that it was the name of the Cardinal at the heart of a scandal within the Church a few years earlier. Even if the scandal did not blow in the eyes of the world, surely she would know about it. There were whispers, even amongst the clergy. But when he mentioned your name and asked to see you, the old woman's eyes darkened

The Cardinal's eyes were still dry when he placed his gloved hand on the tombstone engraved with your name. But he felt as if his whole being was shaking. He felt as if everything he was had been torn to shreds. 

He had not been there. 

He knelt down on the grass. The cold winter wind was biting at his skin but he did not care. He removed his gloves. His fingers delicately traced the outline of your name in the stone, but they tensed when they reached the dates engraved underneath. Your life was so short... You were too young. Far too young. And good. Far too good. Your family did not even retrieve your body. You were buried in the graveyard of the convent. 

He had not been there. 

Copia felt an awful pain searing behind his eyes as scorching tears attempted to break through his tightly closed eyelids. It seemed like the rapid beating of his heart, once intense on the boat's deck, had ceased entirely the instant the Mother Superior uttered the words.

Illness. Death.

He could not remember exactly what the old woman had said after "She is gone, Cardinal." He just remembered the feeling of a hot knife through his heart, followed by a dreadful sense of hollowness.

He pulled your scarf out of his pocket and brought it to his face. He knew that he never would be able to breathe in your scent anymore… and it killed him inside.

He had not been there. Copia leaned his forehead on the cold stone as he used to do with you. The realization that you were gone was slowly settling in. It was clawing at what remained of his heart, it was tearing his wretched soul apart.

You were gone and he had not been there for you. 

Did you think about him when you realized what was happening to you? 

When you had become too weak to do anything but lay in bed, did you hope for him to come back before it was too late? He promised after all…

Did you call out for him when the cold hands of Death seized you? 

Still leaning on your tombstone, the Cardinal began to weep. The howling of the wind blended with the sound of his sobs. After a while, Copia stopped crying. He felt like he had no tears left to cry. His sadness had faded. Now he felt a burning anger. A hot anger blazing like the fiery pit of hell. It was their fault.

Those who sent him away. Those who sent you in this wretched place. It was His fault! 

The God who had torn you away from his embrace. The God who was doing nothing but taking.

With an almost animalist cry, Copia tore the cross pendant from his neck and threw it away with force. At once, the wind gave a sharp howl, blowing its cold breath in Copia’s face. 

“Damn you” the Cardinal snarled, looking up at the sky. “I will avenge her. And not even you will be able to stop me. You will see. You will see”

With that he turned away, not sparing a glance at your tombstone.

  

The night had thrown its dark cloak upon Rome and the convent. Copia had left earlier without a word, storming out of the convent like a gust of wind. But his madness and desperation led him back there. He had removed his cassock to climb the closed gates of the convent but he had carefully put your scarf into the pocket of his trousers. He had almost impaled himself on the pickets of the fence. But that did not stop him.

The Cardinal was now standing in front of the small chapel, his chest was bare, exposed to the vicious assault of the chilling wind that was howling louder than ever. His chestnut hair was dishevelled. He looked like a madman. Maybe he was a madman. He tried to open the door of the chapel but it was locked. With a growl of rage and frustration, Copia slammed his fists against the wooden door.

Damn it.

The garden that surrounded the chapel and the abbay was plunged into darkness. But the full moon was casting a pale glow, it was enough for Copia to see around. He squinted his eyes. In the dim light cast by the moon above, he saw an axe stuck in a log of wood. The winter was cold, the nuns surely needed some wood to light their fireplace. Copia blessed the cold of winter and the nun who carelessly left this axe here. The Cardinal pulled out the axe of the log and then walked back to the chapel. Without a second thought, he lifted the sharp object in the air and struck the old wooden door with force. He struck again. 

Again. 

Again. 

He was breathing heavily. His mind was blank. It was his purpose. It was his design.

He did not care if the sound of the blade hitting the door might awaken the whole convent. Eventually, the door gave in under the Cardinal’s assault. Copia pushed the door roughly and entered the quiet chapel. He walked to the altar, still holding the sharp axe in his hand.

"What are you going to do now?!" Copia shouted in the silence of the chapel. "I told you that I would avenge her! You took her away from me. What do you have to say for yourself?"

His shaky voice echoed in the empty chapel, but there was no answer, no sign. The silence was deafening.

"Well, of course," Copia huffed.

His eyes were wide, his pupils fully blown, as an insane grin curled his lips. Hysterical laughter escaped his mouth.

"You know what, Lord?" he hissed. "I renounce you. You took away my chance to be with her... I know someone who will give me the power to avenge her."

With that, he plunged the axe into the large cross that hovered over the altar. The force of his own strength surprised him as the axe sank into the stone. Suddenly, a crack appeared, and the stone split open. A tiny carmine stream escaped the crack, swiftly rushing down the cross, growing larger and larger by seconds until it transformed into a monstrous red cascade.

The Cardinal instinctively took a step back, yet curiously, he felt no fear. His insane grin spread wider across his face as a strong metallic scent filled his nostrils. Darkness enveloped him like a cloak, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Finally, someone answered his call.

When he opened his eyes again, he witnessed the stream of blood pouring onto the marble floor of the chapel, a sight that ignited an intense sense of thirst as if he had not drunk in ages. He licked his lips. In that instant, the carmine liquid appeared to him like the finest wine. Without hesitation, Copia lunged forward, consumed by greed, and drank voraciously.

Rome, May 1677

You erupted into laughter as your lover pressed himself against you, peppering your neck with a multitude of feather-light kisses. His moustache playfully tickled your skin, sending delightful shivers down your spine. He gently pushed you on the bed.

"Copia!" you exclaimed, unable to contain your laughter, as you wriggled beneath him. "Stop, you are tickling me!"

The Cardinal hummed on your skin, pressing you further on the bed as a low laughter rumbled in his chest. “What if that is my purpose, amore?” he purred in your ear as he planted more kisses on your neck. His teeth were gently nibbling at your delicate skin. His voice was husky and filled with desire.  “I love to make you squirm”

Your laughter dissolved into soft moans as Copia tugged the hum of your low cut to press open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. He was not playing innocently anymore, his playful innocence had subsided with a burning desire for you. His warm lips seemed to leave your skin burning and aching for more. The Cardinal pressed his body up against yours, making you gasp. 

“Oh amore, you smell so good, your skin is so soft… you feel so good” he whispered as he kissed your neck and your collaborate with increasing fervor You blushed profusely, running your hands across his back. If this was so wrong, why did he feel so right? "Copia," you murmured, worry piercing in your voice, "My maid is in the next room... what if she hears us?"

Undeterred by your concerns, the Cardinal continued his delightful ministrations, his touch growing bolder as he gently lifted your dress, causing your blush to deepen.

"She will not hear us, amore... she never hears us," he murmured against your skin, his voice was carrying a playful smile. "She thinks I am a righteous Cardinal who teaches you about Roman theatre. How boring…"

You chuckled softly, throwing your head back into the pillow to let your lover devour your skin. But the worry did not leave your mind 

“But…” Copia's finger gently pressed against your lips, silencing your words

“Hush, Tesoro… I need you now. Let me love you… please” he pleaded, his gorgeous green eyes filled with longing.

As you looked into your lover’s beautiful eyes, you found that you could not resist him and his warm embrace. You wanted this. As much as him. 

But you both knew that the hardest thing to do now was to keep quiet amidst the intensity of your embrace. 

Vatican City, later in the night, 16 February 1681

Copia plunged his hands into the fountain, meticulously cleaning the blood from his face and skin. His hunger was appeased. A chilling calmness was surrounding him. Your father's life had been swiftly taken and Copia could still taste his bitter blood on his tongue. The man had consistently treated you poorly, he would yell at you, he would belittle you, and he did not care about your happiness. He had banished you to that wretched convent without remorse. He was one of the people responsible for your cruel separation and he deserved his fate. Copia was certain of it. The pathetic man had begged for his life, but Copia swiftly reduced him to silence when he snatched his throat with his teeth.

The Cardinal gazed at his own reflection in the tranquil water of the fountain, his eyes fixed on the image staring back at him. Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat as he noticed a profound change. His once vibrant green left eye had transformed, now displaying a chilling white hue. Copia stood there in shock for a moment… then a wide smile spread across his face. 

He really did answer my call, he mused, I don’t know what I am anymore… but I know I have the power to avenge my darling. 

He mused that his new gaze would look so much better with some black paint around his eye. Once he was sure that his hands were clean from the dirty blood of your father, he retrieved the silk scarf from his pocket. He held it to his face; savouring the lingering traces of your sweet fragrance. He found that he could smell those last remnants better than before.

“Do not worry, amore,” he whispered, “I will exact vengeance upon them all, and then I shall uncover a way to reunite us once more.”

With that, he put the cherished scarf back in his pocket and headed toward the clergy’s quarters. He had a Camerlengo to rip apart

Time passed slowly, the seasons changed, and the world kept turning and wavering faster. 

But Copia remained. 

Copia had found all the people responsible for your separation and he destroyed them all. But once he was done, what more could he do? He was now a creature of the night and he could not go back to who he was before. Copia harboured no desire to do so. He embraced his new existence and the power bestowed upon him by the Dark Lord. He stood there, a timeless observer. He would watch the people around him bloom and wither in the blink of his white eye and then fall into the pit of oblivion. 

But Copia remained. 

And he would not let you fall into oblivion. The world may have moved on, and Rome may have forgotten but Copia embarked this endless journey through the vast ocean of time, carrying the flame of his love for you. He would not let a day pass without mourning you. Each night under cover of darkness, he would visit you. He would lay flowers in your tomb. He would kneel beside your resting place, whispering words of love and devotion, hoping you would somehow hear them. 

You were gone.

But Copia remained. 

He remained in his loneliness, in his longing for you. The price to pay for being able to avenge you was high: He had to navigate without you. 

Copia remained.

Despair would gnaw at Copia's soul as he grappled with the cruel realization that the memory of your voice was slipping away from him.

Copia remained. 

But he did not forget his promise. He knew you were there. Somewhere.

He would sail until he finds you. 

Rome, a Garden in the Sun, April 1677

“Amore, you do really have a gift, you know that?” You smiled, feeling your lover's arms envelop you as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The soft fabric of your silk scarf gently caressed his skin. Your hand moved with precision, delicately tracing lines on the paper.

“Hush” you urged, your voice barely above a whisper “You will scare it away…” You gestured toward the small sparrow perched on a nearby branch, its cheerful chirping filling the air. Copia kissed the top of your head. The garden of your parent’s house embraced you both with its serene beauty. You were well hidden behind a massive oak. The gentle ray of sunshine caressed his skin. The scent of the blooming flowers filled his nostrils. The air was filled with the sound of chirping birds and the soft rustling sound of leaves in the breeze

He was supposed to teach you latin right now… but the weather was so beautiful and you wanted to draw. You had pleaded him to let you go outside. How could he say no to you? 

“My little artist, so perfect” he hummed contently as he held you in his arms. 

In an instant, the sparrow spread his wings and flew away, startled by the snap of a branch. Disappointment washed over you, and you let out a sigh as you set your pencil down on the sketchbook.

“Oh cara…” Copia leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. At that moment, he made a silent promise to himself. One day, you would both fly away like the little sparrow. He would whisk you away to a breathtaking place, a sanctuary filled with thousands and thousands of beautiful birds, where you could freely admire their splendour to your heart's content.

London, England, October 1808

Copia's existence was lonely, an enduring consequence of his immortality. He had to live alone. He did not want anyone besides, anyone but you. Copia had left Rome for a while now, reluctantly leaving your tomb behind him. He would go from city to city, from country to country, hoping that he would find a sign of you. 

But he had been searching for so long now and the former Cardinal started to feel hope falter within his heart. Could he ever find you again? Were you really out there? Maybe his twisted mind had been deluded. You were dead and gone. How could he ever be able to find you again? He held his hand to the pocket of his black cloak, the place where he kept your silk scarf close to his heart… time had damaged it and your scent had surely faded away now but he kept it nonetheless. 

Copia wandered in Spitalfields. It was late at night. The moon was throwing its pale light on the grey cobblestone of the street. The sound of silence filled the air only disturbed by the echoes of his heels on the pavements. The market which was usually overcrowded looked eerie at night. But none of those things aroused fear in Copia’s heart. Copia was hungry. 

Was there anyone foolish enough to go out at night in such a wretched place? Copia hoped so. But as he looked around, he saw nothing but cats and some rats. The immortal being wrinkled his nose… he had eaten rats a few times before to alleviate his unbearable hunger. But tonight, he did not want to feed on some rodents. He wanted fresh blood. He wanted to feel the thrill of sinking his teeth in someone’s neck. He had become this kind of monster after all... And he had done that many times before. Suddenly, Copia stopped. 

There she was. His prey. 

The woman was sitting on the edge of a small wall before an old statue, her hair was hiding her face. She was focused on something, blissfully unaware of the threat that was hanging over her. What was she doing out in this place at night anyway? This girl was undoubtedly looking to get herself killed! Copia licked his lips, his hunger growing. He could already taste her sweet blood on his tongue. He would...

Suddenly, the woman turned her head toward him. She gasped upon seeing him, her sketchbook dropping to the floor. In that instant, Copia's cold heart skipped a beat.

It could not be...

This woman wore your face!

Her eyes, her hair, the outline of her lips, the colour of her skin... She was your spitting image. His eyes snapped to the sketchbook on the ground. When it fell, it had opened on the page of a drawing… a sparrow. Copia felt his heart sink into his chest. His eyes widened, and his face turned paler than ever. He took a step back as the woman jumped off the wall 

"I have a knife!" the woman shouted. "I won't hesitate to cut you open if you try something!"

Copia's heart sank even further and his hunger disappeared all at once. The woman had your voice, he was certain of it. Even if he could not remember the melody of yours a moment before, he felt it was unmistakable; she was you. He had finally found you.

“I will not hurt you, bella,” Copia said eventually.

He took a step further, knowing that the darkness still concealed him from you. You pulled out a knife from your cleavage and pointed it towards him. A low chuckle escaped Copia’s lips, to his dismay, it sounded sinister. He found that he had forgotten how to laugh gleefully. But he did not let this dreadful realization hit him too hard. He had found you again. 

“Oh cara… You don’t know how long I have searched for you” In the dim moonlight, he saw you frown. A hint of confusion and terror flashed in your bright eyes.

“What…?”

Copia stood just a couple of meters away from you. Now, you could see his face.

Please remember me.

The vampire closed the distance between the two of you. You were obviously scared, trapped by the wall behind you. Frozen like a deer in headlights, you couldn't move. He knew he probably looked scary with his dissimilar eyes and the black paint around them. But slowly, and with careful movements, Copia raised his hands to your beautiful face. He was shaking with emotion, his mismatched eyes filled with love and devotion. Please remember me. 

"Please do not be scared, amore," he whispered, his voice soft like the murmur of a summer breeze.

You were still holding the knife toward him, but you never struck him. He could see that fear was gripping you, yet did not do anything to stop him from touching you. Eventually, his hands grazed your face as he cupped your cheeks tenderly. It felt like an electric shock, surpassing anything he had ever dreamed of; it was pure bliss. You were here, and he was touching you. The knife slipped from your trembling hand.

Please remember me.

He could see that you were closing your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the worst, but instead of something harmful, you only felt his gentle touch.

Please remember me. 

“I have crossed oceans of time to find you” he murmured, drawing soft circles on your skin Time seemed to stop as you opened your beautiful eyes to look at him. But when he eagerly plunged his gaze into yours, the sharp knife of sorrow pierced through Copia’s heart. You did not remember.

Your eyes were filled with confusion and intense fear. Suddenly, you shoved him away and ran. Almost sounding like a wounded animal, he called your name desperately—or the name that was your many years ago. But you did not stop. You did not turn around. You ran. And let yourself be swallowed up by the darkness of the streets.

Copia stood there for a long, stunned. He felt like his cold heart was bleeding out in his chest. With a shaky breath, he leaned to retrieve the sketchbook and the knife you had left behind in his shaking hands. They would join your silk scarf on his aching heart.

The next time Copia saw you, you were living another life, another life that he could have shared with you. Once again, he tried to reach you, only to be met with confusion and fear. His heart broke each time he tried until eventually the pieces of his heart could not be split any further.

It happened again many times after. He met you again. And again. It seemed as though the universe was trying to make up for all the years you had spent away from his eyes. However, it remained consistent in its cruelty. He would encounter you in all your lifetimes..

After a while, he decided to stop trying to get to you, to explain to you that you were his soulmate. Once he discovered you, he would simply watch you from afar most of the time. Every time you drew your last breath, he would embark on another search for you. He would watch you navigate through your lives, sometimes with a darling by your side.

How he wished he could be them...

The jealousy was hard to endure. Sometimes, he would even think of ripping these people apart out of bitter envy. But how could he blame them? You were so wonderful. And, in the end, Copia wanted you to be happy.

But as time flowed, and as he met and fell in love with you repeatedly, a cruel pattern emerged. Each time he discovered you more swiftly than before, fate seemed determined to tear you away from him just as quickly.

In this lifetime, you were a valiant nurse leaving to care for soldiers during the war. He saw you for a short moment on the platform of a train station before you climbed onto the train that would lead you to your ruin. In another, you were an ill girl of the night whom he managed to hold in his arms for one blissful night.

Every time, you were snatched away by Death with increasing haste. And always, you were robbed of your youth. The universe seemed eager to pluck you at the height of your bloom, as if unwilling to witness the slow decay of the magnificent flower you were.

But that meant you never knew a peaceful death.

That one time he attempted to spare himself the agony of finding you only to lose you again, you crossed his path unexpectedly.

The oceans of time were moody and tumultuous. You could never travel on the same boat. Each time he reached out for you, to grab you in his arms and never let go, the storm would snatch you away from him. Whatever he was trying to do, his heart ached. But he found that the pain was more intense when he could not see you...

So he would keep looking for you. Again. And again.

He would find you.

He would lose you. Again. And again.

Italy, Rome, March 1676

"Father, is this necessary?" you asked, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Your father glared at you from across the room, his disapproving gaze piercing through your soul.

"Yes, it is," he hissed, his tone sending shivers down your spine. "You need a prestigious education. You are my daughter. I won't allow you to be a disgrace or a disappointment. Is that understood?"

You remained silent, you knew he did not really expect an answer. You were well aware of your father's harsh and bitter nature. He had always resented you, perhaps because you were a girl instead of the precious son he had desired. But you were his daughter nonetheless, he had to keep up appearances. You knew he would not tolerate anything that could bring shame upon the family.

Turning away, you looked out the window of the opulent living room, yearning to be in the garden, drawing and savouring the melodies of the birds as they welcomed the arrival of spring.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn't turn around. You heard your father stride towards the door and open it.

"Ah, Your Eminence... it is such a pleasure to meet you," your father greeted with feigned politeness.

"Well, the pleasure is all mine, Signore," responded an unfamiliar voice, smooth and melodious.

A shiver ran down your spine upon hearing it. The voice was as sweet as honey, soothing and enchanting. You dared not turn around. Your father called your name, his tone a bit harsh. Slowly, you pivoted to face the man who had just entered the room. Your eyes met his captivating green gaze, and for a moment, it felt as if time had frozen around you. This man was undeniably handsome. When your father mentioned a Cardinal, you had envisioned an elderly and wrinkled figure. However, this Cardinal appeared quite young and attractive.

Donned in a red cassock, a wooden cross hanging from his neck, he possessed sharp features, with a slightly pointed nose. A small mustache graced his upper lip, while sideburns descended along his cheeks. His chestnut hair peeked from beneath the crimson biretta atop his head.

"H-Hello, Signorina," the Cardinal stammered after what felt like an eternity of gazing into each other's eyes. "It's... truly a pleasure to meet you."

A smile formed on your lips. In the end, you were grateful for your father's insistence on teaching you Latin.

Los Angeles, United States, after years of wandering in the dark… 

Copia had finally started another life. Some people had reached out to him, knowing what he was, and they did not mind at all. On the contrary, he became a symbol of their faith. Their Dark Lord had heard his prayers and blessed him with the power of darkness. His immortality and power symbolized the almightiness of Satan. He no longer had to hunt for blood; they provided it for him. Copia had regained the title of Cardinal, offering a slight distraction from his pain.

Years had passed since he last encountered you in one of your many lifetimes. It seemed like the universe had finally ceased its torture, and now Copia sailed on calmer waters. But he had to endure the pain of your absence again. Yet, Copia could not help but wonder why he suddenly stopped meeting you. Was the universe preparing something? What other vicious tricks did it have in store for him?

He tried to dismiss these thoughts and focus on the tasks ahead. But for now, he wanted to make the most of his peaceful afternoon stroll in the garden. Its serene beauty and the sweet smell of the flowers gently enveloped him. The gentle ray of sunshine caressed his skin, and the birds were chirping...

"Um, hello? Cardinal?"

The voice behind him startled him for two reasons—the suddenness of the person's appearance and the oh-so-familiar melody of the voice.

Cara mia...

Copia slowly turned around.

There you stood before him, radiating beauty and sweetness. Your face, your hair, your eyes, the colour of your skin and the beautiful outline of your lips. You smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes wandered to the silk scarf you wore around your delicate neck. It looked like the one he had no stop wearing against his heart all these years. 

Of all the encounters he had with you, it was the first time you approached him on your own accord, the first time you reached out to him. A glimmer of hope shone bright in his mind. Warmth settled in his heart as he smiled back at you.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe his journey through the oceans of time had finally come to an end. Perhaps he could finally set foot ashore.

#cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #copia x reader #dracopia #cardinal copia #vampire #vampire au #cardinal copia x reader #ghost bc

[theculturedmarxist]

During a Senate briefing last week, a federal counterterrorism official cited the October 7 Hamas attack while urging Congress to reauthorize a sprawling and controversial surveillance program repeatedly used to spy on U.S. citizens on U.S. soil.

“As evidenced by the events of the past month, the terrorist threat landscape is highly dynamic and our country must preserve [counterterrorism] fundamentals to ensure constant vigilance,” said Director of the National Counterterrorism Center Christine Abizaid to the Senate Committee on Homeland Security, after making repeat references to Hamas’s attack on Israel.

She pointed to Section 702 of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, which enables the U.S. government to gather vast amounts of intelligence — including about U.S. citizens — under the broad category of foreign intelligence information, without first seeking a warrant.

Section 702 “provides key indications and warning on terrorist plans and intentions, supports international terrorist disruptions, enables critical intelligence support to, for instance, border security, and gives us strategic insight into foreign terrorists and their networks overseas,” Abizaid said. “I respectfully urge Congress to reauthorize this vital authority.”

The controversial program is set to expire at the end of the year, and lawmakers sympathetic to the intelligence community are scrambling to protect it, as some members of Congress like Sen. Ron Wyden push for reforms that restrain the government’s surveillance abilities. According to Rep. Jim Himes, the ranking Democrat on the House Intelligence Committee, plans are underway to prepare a stopgap measure to preserve Section 702 of FISA as a long-term reauthorization containing reforms is hammered out. 

Sean Vitka, senior policy counsel at the civil liberties group Demand Progress, told The Intercept that now is the time to enact lasting and dramatic oversight of the 702 authority. “The government has completely failed to demonstrate that any of the privacy protections reformers have called for would impair national security, all while surveillance hawks in Congress have suffered a series of setbacks, so now we’re seeing people grasping at straws trying to turn everything into an excuse for reauthorization,” Vitka said.

He added that “agencies’ refusal to embrace this as a once-in-a generation opportunity to protect Americans’ civil liberties and reform our broken surveillance apparatus” could doom 702 in the long run.

Created in 1978, FISA was vastly expanded in the aftermath of 9/11 to provide federal law enforcement and intelligence agencies enhanced surveillance powers. While it was originally described as a way to collect information on foreign entities, the law enables the targeting of U.S. citizens in contact with foreign nationals.

This loophole makes it easy for federal agencies to target wide swaths of the U.S. population, and it has for years been condemned by civil liberties advocates who view it as a clear-cut instance of governmental overreach. The 702 authority has been abused to such a great extent that President Joe Biden’s own intelligence advisory board recommended curtailing the FBI’s ability to manipulate the authority to investigate and prosecute Americans.

The Brennan Center for Justice last month issued a document noting that the FBI has used the 702 authority to spy on U.S. representatives, senators, civil liberties organizations, political campaigns, and activists. Civil libertarians have proposed various reforms to the authority, including limits on the types of communication the FBI can search, the implementation of stringent warrant requirements to restrict FISA searches, and an end to the loophole that allows federal agencies to surveil Americans by purchasing data from private sector brokers. 

Abizaid’s statements to the Senate Homeland Security Committee followed similar appeals by FBI Director Christopher Wray and Secretary of Homeland Security Alejandro Mayorkas, who also spoke at the hearing. The push to extend the government’s surveillance powers comes as elected officials call for investigations into pro-Palestine groups — drawing condemnation from numerous civil rights groups, including the American Civil Liberties Union.

Already in Virginia, the attorney general has initiated an investigation into the nonprofit American Muslims for Palestine’s fundraising activities, including allegations that it supports Hamas, a designated terror group. The organization described the investigation as a dangerous and baseless smear.

#domestic spying #us spy agencies #FISA #christine abisaid #democrats #FBI

[sirthisisa-wendys]

hope i’m not too late, but congratulations on getting 500 followers! i adore everything you’ve written so far, keep up the good work!

can i request an exes au with geto x f!reader? not too angsty, but whether they get back together or not is up to you 👀

You said "not too angsty" but my mind said "HIT EM RIGHT IN THE FEELS" and I don't know wHyYyYyY

Please forgive me, but this... this is the epitome of my "ex of Geto" feelings. It literally flowed out of me in two hours.

"Yes, But...": Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 2k

tw: FLUFF AND A LIL' BIT OF ANGST

The large envelope slides from his hands to yours, and you look at the package in confusion as you open the flap.

“You want to get out of here and start fresh,” Geto begins, lacing his fingers together. You find a phone, two banking cards, and two passports inside, which is more than what you asked for. “You’ll need that.” When you open the phone, you see various apps loaded on the device - most of which are foreign to you. “Open the banking app.”

You do as your ex tells you, and see the collection of numbers (six digits) and the single comma that will change your life. You look up at the man in awe, trying to catch his black gaze as he looks outside, not speaking.

“Su, I just needed a new passport, not all of this.”

“It should put you in a good place for a few months until you get a good job. I have a friend in the States that should be able to put you up in a nice house, all paid for, of course. There’s a private school nearby so you don’t have to drive Haru there and back, just walk. And there are--”

“Suguru,” you stop him mid-sentence, placing your hand on the table to try and reach him. “We don’t need all of this. My parents are willing to--”

“I’m not sending you back to them, y/n. I want you to be independent of anyone else,” he retorts, nostrils flaring at the mention of your family. You know his frustration with your relatives comes from an honest place.

They had treated you savagely after you married into the Geto family, calling you all kinds of names and not even attending the birth of their first grandson. You weren’t sure if it was the ties to the underground that set them off or the fact that the Geto family had brought in a considerable amount of wealth and fame to your lives. Either way, you were cut off from them until you divorced Suguru due to--

“Our flight leaves at ten o’clock tomorrow,” you whisper, and Suguru shifts in his seat, sighing. “Will you come to see Haru before we go?” There’s a long pause as your ex-husband weighs his options, but you know his choice before he speaks.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he finally answers.

_____________________________________________________________

Tickets in hand, you try to keep your composure as you watch your son hold on to his father for the last time. Your other hand is captured in Suguru’s large palm, and he squeezes your fingers tenderly as you walk to the security checkpoint. While you walk, he talks to your son in gentle tones, telling him to write to him about all of the amazing things he sees and does, as well as the friends he makes, and how daddy still loves him no matter where he goes.

When he finally lets Haru down and places his Inosuke backpack around his shoulders, you turn to Geto, expecting him to say something final, something meaningful. But he doesn’t, opting to pull you into a deep embrace and kissing all over your face. “Please stay safe. Call when you make it in.”

“I will,” you whisper, inhaling the scent of his cologne and reliving your life together in a brief flash. “I promise.”

“I love you, y/n.” You want to reply that you love him, too, that the separation wasn’t his fault - but you just nod. The feeling of tiny arms around your legs makes you look down, and you both see Haru wrapping himself around your legs, holding you two together earnestly. When he lets go, Suguru lets go, and you hoist the toddler into your arms.

“Say ‘see you later,” you tell the child and he slowly waves his hand at Suguru as you walk past the agent at the checkpoint. Haru doesn’t stop waving until he can no longer see Geto, and he also waves until he can no longer see you, finally dropping his hand to his side and wondering why he felt so empty.

_____________________________________________________________

“Today we learned about the rainbow,” Haru sings as he skips with you down the sidewalk.

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh, holding his hand as he swings back and forth.

“And we played in the dirt.” That explains the messy pants, you muse, rounding the corner to the back of your home and unlocking the fence before letting Haru run up the back porch and inside the house.

You lock the fence behind you and follow your son inside, thinking of all the things you had to do before his sixth birthday party the next day. Suguru said he would be sending a surprise - you begged him not to send the fake nichirin sword you already purchased and stowed away - so you’d have to accommodate for whatever he sent your way, which was bound to be lavish.

Among other things that he provided (a house, a car, preschool, an on-call babysitter if you wanted to go out, a nain rug you looked at once and said you liked but you weren’t sure about), Suguru also spoke to Haru every evening, which made you feel at ease. He hadn’t ceased to be in Haru’s life after you divorced, so this wasn’t out of the blue. Co-parenting with him was still easy and somewhat effortless, even thousands of miles away.

You’re still lost in thought when the doorbell rings, and Haru leaps down the stairs to answer it, despite telling him not to do that time and time again. Quickly, you sidestep the boy and open the door, forgetting to check the peephole first. If you had, it might have prevented the massive shock both you and Haru have at the sight of Suguru standing in the entryway.

“Suguru…” you whisper, and Haru immediately goes to hug his father, squeezing him tightly.

“Oh, look at you,” Suguru groans, leaning down to pick up his son. “You’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you, huh?”

“I’m two inches taller!” You shake your head at the toddler’s estimation, smiling, but still in shock. Your eyes roam over the man’s appearance. He looks just as you left him, with long hair and that gaze that could see into the deepest parts of your soul. It’s been a year, but nothing’s changed at all.

“Come on in,” you urge him, and he carries Haru inside, setting him down in the foyer. Haru dashes up the stairs to retrieve something, and you walk into the kitchen, Geto following you around and looking over his surroundings.

“It looks beautiful in here,” he murmurs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“You should see upstairs,” you reply. “That’s your son’s domain.” Suguru chuckles, then places his hands on the counter behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted to surprise both of you,” he shrugs and you sigh.

“There’s no guest bedroom.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he replies, and your first instinct is to balk at his suggestion and offer your bed. But you know Suguru’s considered his options already and would have gotten a hotel if he wanted to.

“Are your things--”

“In the car. I wanted to see if I was welcome first before I barged in with my stuff.” Haru reappears, holding up his drawing from school today.

“I drew this today! They told us to draw something we love,” your child smiles widely, showing his lack of a right front tooth. You peer over at the picture and see you - with a questionable hairstyle - Haru, and Geto holding hands in front of what you assume to be your house, and a grey… horse? cat? dog? off to the side. “And we have a cat. I named him Gojo after daddy’s friend.”

_____________________________________________________________

You hand Geto a pile of blankets and a pillow, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm on the couch. “You can turn the heat up downstairs if you need to,” you advise, and he nods, taking the offerings. He pauses in your bedroom, wanting to say something.

“Thank you,” he finally whispers, then walks away, leaving you in the room to contemplate your still brooding feelings for the man who walked into your home less than six hours ago.

“Wait,” you call out softly, and he returns, searching your face. “Did you get me that job at the museum?” you wonder, crossing your arms over your chest. “The head of the museum told me I came highly recommended for the Director of Curation position.”

“And if I did?” he wonders, angling his head to the left a little and frowning. You recognize his tell immediately and nod, biting the inside of your lip. “I promised to provide for you and Haru for as long as I’m alive. I’m not going to break that promise.”

Those words stay with you as you toss and turn in the bed hours later, trying to sleep. You’re failing miserably, you realize when you look at the clock, and you rise out of bed, padding downstairs to get some tea and calm down. You tiptoe past the hallway to the living room, hoping you wouldn’t wake Suguru as you heat up a cup of water.

You’ve almost succeeded in your mission when you hear a yawn and the familiar cracking of toes and ankles as Suguru walks into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you explain and he nods, pulling a chamomile tea packet from the caddy by the cabinets. He rips open the packet and hands it to you, leaning against the counter as you dunk it in the cup and watch the color seep out.

“I still remember,” Suguru whispers, recalling the nights you spent awake while you were pregnant with Haru and how the tea was the only thing that could soothe you enough to sleep. He thumbs over to the living room and you follow, settling into the couch beside him. “Nightmares? Or just insomnia?”

“Insomnia,” you reply, and he motions for you to place your feet in his lap. He begins rubbing them methodically, taking his time on the soles as you lean into the arm of the couch and sigh.

“Remember when we used to watch Jeopardy before bed and you’d fall asleep mid-answer?” he chuckles, and you shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Those were some hard nights,” you reply, and he hums thoughtfully.

“I wonder where it all went wrong.”

You both knew where it went wrong. There was no privacy, no semblance of peace, nowhere you two could go without someone knowing everything and being in your business. And adding Haru to the mix made everything worse. The breaking point came when you were playing with him in the backyard and heard the sound of a shutter capturing your every move. Suguru broke the camera and the man’s arm, but the damage had been done. The only way you could escape the limelight was divorcing him and his name, then escaping somewhere where no one cared who you were or who you used to be. Here, you were just… y/n.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be the wife you wanted,” you whisper, and Suguru shakes his head.

“No, you were - are - the wife I want. I didn’t protect you enough. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Don’t,” you urge him, setting the un-sipped tea on the coffee table. “Don’t apologize.”

“Then I won’t,” he replies, pulling you closer. “But I have to confess something.”

“Say it.”

“My family bought property nearby. I’ll be stateside more often than not.” Geto smoothes a hand across your cheek, cupping your chin as you move onto his lap slowly.

“Haru will love that,” you breathe.

“But will you love that?” he wonders, ghosting his lips over yours.

“Yes, but--” He presses his lips to yours tenderly, cutting you off. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, feeling all of your shared love in that one kiss.

“Yes, but...?” he asks, pulling away and raising a brow.

“Was this your plan all along?” Suguru smiles, nipping at your bottom lip. His arm curls around your waist as he pins you beneath him, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“And if it was?”

“It’s definitely working.” Suguru hums in pleasure and continues to kiss you until you're at peace in his arms again, and fast asleep.

#getou suguru #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #getou x reader

[rapeculturerealities]

Long before she decided to help others eat better by becoming a dietitian, Jessica Wilson learned that the profession was unlikely to offer much to people like her.

Growing up as a Black girl in a mostly white area of Sacramento, Calif., she was bullied for her size and subjected to unpleasant visits with dietitians, who taught portion control with the aid of unappetizing plastic models of green beans and chicken breasts.

In her dietetics program at the University of California, Davis, Ms. Wilson was the only Black student. A single day was devoted to what the curriculum called “ethnic diets.” “It was not, ‘These are interesting and awesome,’” she recalled. “It is, ‘These are why these diets are bad. Next class.’”

Mexican food was dismissed as greasy. Indian food was heavy. Ms. Wilson was taught to prescribe a bland “kale-and-quinoa” diet. When she started treating patients — including many who, like her, are people of color or identify as queer — she learned how much those identities informed their perspectives on health, and how little she’d been taught about that.

“It makes people feel so guilty for not being able to eat what Goop would recommend,” said Ms. Wilson, 38. “I was no longer able to use the tools that had been given to me in school with good conscience.”

As the coronavirus pandemic has made Americans more aware of their health and eating habits, many have turned to registered dietitians like Ms. Wilson (or to nutritionists, who are not always required to obtain a specific education or certification). Yet the advice they get can sometimes seem more tailored to some past era than to the motley, multicultural nation the United States is in 2020.

In recent years — and particularly in the last several months, amid the national discussion about race — many dietitians have begun speaking out and reimagining the practice in a more inclusive way, often without institutional support.

Today, Ms. Wilson counsels many people of color on eating a healthy diet based on the foods they grew up with and love. Hazel Ng, 48, who runs a private practice in Alhambra, Calif., has created handouts for her Chinese clients that showcase produce found in Asian grocery stores, like bitter melon and lychees

In June, Sherene Chou, 36, a dietitian with a private practice in Los Angeles, organized a group letter to the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics — the largest and most powerful organization for food and nutrition professionals — outlining steps it should take to address systemic racism in the field, including antiracism training and more support for people of color. Leaders of numerous dietetics groups lent their support, signing the letter on behalf of 70,000 practitioners and students.

Many of these dietitians say the academy’s research, programs and articles ignore non-Western cuisines, or imply that they are unhealthy. They feel the profession places too much emphasis on consuming less and not enough on understanding individual eating habits. And, they add, it perpetuates an ideal of thinness and gender normativity that can exclude different body types and identities.

“It is a good-old-girls’ club where, as a person of color, you have to do so much to be invited,” said Jessica Jones, a dietitian in Richmond, Calif., and a founder of the inclusive dietetics website Food Heaven.

In response to these criticisms, the academy said it is working hard to broaden its ranks and resources to better reflect different cultures.

“Like other professions in health care and countless other fields, nutrition and dietetics has for many years experienced underrepresentation by persons of color in its membership and leadership ranks,” it said in a statement last week. “The academy knows change will not happen overnight. Still, we are making real progress that will create permanent change in our organization, our profession and our communities.”

The group is influential in setting the United States Department of Agriculture dietary guidelines that Americans are urged to follow; its members make up half of the 20-member committee that oversees those recommendations. In a July report, the committee acknowledged that the dietary approaches it studies don’t “qualitatively address cultural variations in intake patterns,” yet said the resulting guidelines allow a “tremendous amount of flexibility” that allows them to be tailored to an individual’s cultural and taste preferences.

The recipe database on MyPlate, the agriculture department’s healthy-eating website, includes 98 dishes classified as “American,” but just 28 “Asian” recipes and nine “Middle Eastern” ones. Though it lists 122 “Latin American/Hispanic” recipes, they include dishes like a “skinny pizza” made with tortillas. The Asian recipes include “Oriental Rice” and “Oriental Sweet and Sour Vegetables.”(A spokesman for the department said that “expanding the recipe database and other MyPlate consumer resources to reflect more diversity is one of our top priorities.”)

If the options seem narrow, they may begin with the narrowness of the profession. More than 71 percent of the nation’s roughly 106,000 registered dietitians are non-Hispanic white, according to the academy’s Commission on Dietetic Registration. Nearly 84 percent are women.

Entry requirements are steep: Practitioners must earn a degree from an accredited program, complete an internship (sometimes unpaid) or a supervised learning program, and pass a registration exam with a $200 entrance fee. Starting in 2024, a graduate degree will be required to take the exam.

“This is an expensive profession, with no guarantee that you are going to have a high salary,” said Lisa Sasson, a professor in the department of nutrition and food studies at New York University. She called the new graduate-degree mandate “unconscionable” and “an even greater barrier to people of color in our profession.”

The academy said that its charitable foundation provided more than $500,000 in scholarships and grants from 2017 to 2019 “for diverse individuals within the field,” and that those funds continue to grow.

Internships are highly competitive, and some even require the intern to pay. Alice Figueroa, 33, who runs a private practice in the East Village of Manhattan, said she struggled to afford food during her internship, even as she was advising others how to eat. Evelyn Crayton, 74, who was the academy’s first Black president, said many of the people in charge of matching students with internships are white, and may be more likely to select applicants who look like them.

Funding for dietetics programs at many historically Black colleges and universities, including Fort Valley State University and Grambling State University, has been cut since the 1970s. The number of Black dietitians fell by 18 percent, to 1,107, from 1998 to 2019, according to the academy’s Accreditation Council for Education in Nutrition and Dietetics.

Even when Dr. Crayton was president of the academy, in 2015 and 2016, she felt out of step with its other leaders. “I have heard that behind my back they called me an angry Black woman, because I raised questions,” she said. Her nominations of Black dietitians for leadership roles, she added, were frequently snubbed.

Told of her comments, the academy responded, “We were not aware of this until now, and we are very saddened to hear that Evelyn was subjected to these inexcusable statements. They do not reflect the academy’s core values and we are moving swiftly to investigate this matter.”

The profession’s exclusivity goes beyond race. Kai Iguchi, 28, a dietitian working at Rogers Behavioral Health in Oconomowoc, Wis., didn’t feel comfortable coming out as nonbinary to graduate-school classmates. “When the program itself as a culture is very cisgender, thin, white and female,” they said, “it is hard to be different and succeed.”

Mx. Iguchi said what they learned at school did little to address the unique problems that transgender and nonbinary clients face — being misgendered by their dietitians and family members, or feeling discomfort with overtly feminine imagery on health materials. Adult transgender people are also at high risk of developing eating disorders, according to a 2019 study by the Stanford University School of Medicine.

Even some dietitians who teach the standard curriculum find it wanting. “I have reached my limit with my textbook,” said Maya Feller, an adjunct professor in nutrition at New York University, adding that it doesn’t take into account social factors that often explain why people of color are disproportionally affected by health issues.

She said she was also unhappy with educational resources like MyPlate, which recommends meals like salmon, brown rice and broccoli, but not the curried chana and doubles served by her mother, who grew up in Trinidad. (After her interview for this article, Ms. Feller was hired as a consultant to help make MyPlate more inclusive.)

“If I saw that plate and then looked at my doubles, I would be like, ‘Well, my food is no good.’”

Ms. Feller, 43, tries instead to promote an “ongoing and consistent education around cultural humility” — not telling patients what they can’t eat, but considering the foods they have access to, and embracing, not stigmatizing, their cultural preferences.

It rankles Ryan Bad Heart Bull, 36, a Native American dietitian who works with the Oglala Sioux Tribe in Pine Ridge, S.D., that many of his peers praise the nutritional value of traditional Indigenous ingredients like salmon and bison, without understanding how federal government policies have made it harder for Native Americans to hunt and forage on their own land. To be ignorant of this cultural and historical context, “and then to turn around and say bison meat is one of the best meats you can eat and here are the ways you can incorporate it into your diet,” he said, “it is insulting and saddening.”

In 2019, he published a guide for the American Indian Cancer Foundation to educate Native cancer survivors about the nutritional value of their traditional foods.

Diksha Gautham, 27, a nutritionist in San Francisco, tells her mostly South Asian-American clientele that a healthy diet can include palak paneer and aloo tikki. As a child, she said, she harbored a blind perception that anything that wasn’t dry chicken and broccoli, including the dal and rice her mother cooked, “was bad for me.” No nutritional database she has encountered includes Indian ingredients, so she created her own guides to healthful Indian food.

A Toronto dietitian, Nazima Qureshi, 29, has self-published “The Healthy Ramadan Guide” with her husband, Belal Hafeez, a personal trainer. It includes meal plans that adhere to fasting guidelines, with recipes like stuffed dates and za’atar roasted chicken, and exercises to give people energy going into daily prayers.

Some of Dalina Soto’s Hispanic and Asian clients in the Philadelphia area have been told by other dietitians that they can’t eat white rice. “They shut down,” she said. “Either they go way to the extreme, where they are no longer eating any of their cultural foods, or the other side is, ‘I am just not going to manage my disease.’”

“My goal is to bring them in the middle,” said Ms. Soto, 32. She’ll suggest a salad alongside their rice and beans.

Still, many of these practitioners feel frustrated as they try to nudge the dietetic establishment toward change.

The profession is governed by the academy’s board. One subsidiary organization, the Commission on Dietetic Registration, sets professional requirements and fees; another, the Accreditation Council, certifies programs. Together, these entities and their majority-white leadership act as gatekeepers, their critics argue, limiting deep-rooted change.

The academy, which has about 100,000 members, funds research and hosts the largest annual conference for dietitians, the Food & Nutrition Conference & Expo. In 2016, it announced the Second Century Initiative, an effort to expand its reach and teachings around the globe.

The academy has had a diversity and inclusion committee since 1987. But, like all the academy’s committees, it is filled by volunteers. Teresa Turner, 37, a member from 2015 until May, said the academy offers the panel few “resources or benchmarks.” “Its only purpose,” Ms. Turner said, “is to make the academy look like they are doing something.”

The academy denied those assertions, saying the committee plays an active role, recommending strategies to recruit people from underrepresented groups to join the profession, and the academy, and promote their advancement.

A group that calls itself Audit the Academy (whose members include Ms. Turner, Ms. Figueroa and Ms. Chou) said the academy research it has seen is largely conducted by white dietitians studying nondiverse populations; if they study communities of color, they often do so from a white perspective. Members also see little representation of transgender and nonbinary people.

“If we are invisible in the research,” said Sand Chang, 42, an Oakland, Calif., psychologist who specializes in the transgender health and eating disorders, “we are going to be invisible in assessment and treatment.”

The academy, however, said it “offers materials, programs and educational opportunities to help its members provide care to a diverse array of clients,” including articles about treating transgender individuals.

In June, the organization responded to pressure from disaffected members by committing to developing action plans to address inequities in the profession. It has created a new Diversity and Inclusion Advisory Group, and conducted virtual forums to hear the concerns of 126 randomly selected members.

Shannon Curtis, 30, a Houston dietitian who helped found a group called Dietitians for Change, attended one of the sessions. “Although it was empowering to know that we are not the only ones screaming about this,” she said, “it was kind of a waste of time, in my opinion, because I am not exactly confident that they will take this information and put it into an action plan they will actually act on.”

Other organizations have emerged to address the inequities in the profession, like Diversify Dietetics, founded in 2018 by Tamara Melton and Deanna Belleny. It offers resources like mentors and educational materials to help students of color pass the registration exam.

In response to criticisms that it is harder for nonwhite dietitians to succeed in the profession, the academy offered an interview with Kristen Gradney, a senior director at Our Lady of the Lake Children’s Hospital in Baton Rouge, La, and one of several registered dietitian nutritionists who speak on behalf of the academy.

Ms. Gradney, 40, said that while the academy “has really missed the mark” in preparing dietitians to deal with diverse populations, it is starting to make progress. Still, she said “true change” would probably not come from the academy, but from grass-roots initiatives like Diversify Dietetics, where she serves on the advisory board.

In 2018, Dr. Crayton, the academy’s past president, hosted a conference in Montgomery, Ala., where she lives, for World Critical Dietetics, an organization that champions a more inclusive approach to dietetics. Panels discussed the role that unconscious bias plays in education, and whether the registration exam was fair to all students.

Dr. Crayton took participants to the Edmund Pettus Bridge, in Selma, where in 1965, peaceful protesters marched for civil rights. “I could never have done that with the academy,” she said with a laugh. She said events like that could help pave a path toward sweeping change.

“I don’t know how to get to people’s hearts, but it is a heart thing,” she said. In a discipline that deals with such a deeply personal matter — one’s eating habits — “there has to be a change of heart, where people really feel empathy for groups who they are trying to include.”

#diet culture #racism #food #xenophobia #colonialism #hostility to bodily autonomy

[sinnerandafool]

Winter to Spring - My Skyrim Thieves Guild Fanfic

This is my Skyrim fanfic, based loosely on my current play through. If you are able to use mods, I highly recommend Take Notes - Journal of the Dragonborn. Writing a journal as my character definitely made me more invested in her story. 

Here is the link to the whole story on Ao3 x.

I’m a rookie fic writer, so any feedback is appreciated, but mostly I hope you enjoy it, and that it serves as a good distraction from the hellscape we live in (Americans). 

Title: Winter to Spring

Chapters: 4/?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con (the MC experienced some in her past, and is experiencing sexual harassment in the first chapter.)

Rating: M (for violence, eventual sexual content)

Relationship: Brynjolf / Female Dovahkiin

Chapter 1

Aerlith woke alone, drowsily opening her eyes as the sounds of morning birds and running water filtered into her consciousness. A piney scent permeated the little fur tent. She rolled to one side, her sore muscles protesting. She closed her eyes, trying to fall back into the delicious dream she had been having. All she recalled were light touches, warm embraces, and a soft, deep voice calling her name. Well, not her name precisely. No one knew her true name, only the false one she used day to day. She sighed. For the thousandth time in her life, she cursed her past for making her a fugitive. She rolled over again, restlessly seeking sleep, but hunger nagged at her stomach, so she reluctantly got up and exited the tent.

Sitting on a boulder next to the stream babbling by, she stared up at the entrance of the ruin before her. The Twilight Sepulcher. The trials of the Pilgrim’s Path were still painfully fresh in her mind. Aerlith never liked ruins. The smell of decay, the damp darkness, and worst of all, the deafening silence, which often signaled the presence of slumbering draugr. She shuddered, recalling their evil glowing eyes and hollow flesh.

Despite her fear, Aerlith had been successful in her mission to return the Skeleton Key to its rightful place. She felt apathetic about Nocturnal, and suspected the lady of twilight felt similarly about her. Daedric princes were never concerned with the fates of their human worshippers, and to Aerlith it seemed a tad foolish to risk one’s life in exchange for unreliable favor. But no matter her skepticism, she’d completed Nocturnal’s trial, and at last reached the Ebonmere, where she returned the Skeleton Key. She didn’t do it for Nocturnal. She did it for her family.

She smiled sadly, thinking about Karliah and Gallus, saying their final goodbyes before he faded into the Evergloam. Gallus had extended his spectral hand to touch his beloved’s cheek with such tenderness and sincerity it made her heart ache. “Farewell,” Karliah had intoned softly, leaning into his intangible touch. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Her voice was even, and Aerlith couldn’t see her face, but something in her tone betrayed absolute misery at the parting.

Aerlith took the last bite of her apple and stood. She stretched, then set about packing up her camp. She was tired, yes, but she was also brimming with excitement. Nocturnal would no longer sabotage the luck of the guild, and their chances of success would increase. The wealth would marginally improve the lives of her newfound family, and she couldn’t wait to share in their happiness. And, of course, she was curious about what he would have to say.

Aerlith hired a carriage to take her from Falkreath to Riften, opting for comfort and rest in exchange for one hundred-fifty hard earned septims. But it was worth it, she thought, snuggled under a warm fur cloak and hood, watching the scenery pass by idly while the horse did all the work. Her life for the past few weeks had been constant hiking, camping and delving into dangerous ruins. She was ready for a break.

One long day and night later, the carriage creaked its way up a gentle rise, and Riften Stables came into view. Feeling lethargic and in need of exercise, Aerlith tapped the driver on the shoulder and asked him to let her off. He obliged, and urged his horse up the road without her.

She strolled languidly along the road, slowly stretching her stiff legs. The Rift was blooming. The aspens sprouted new leaves, wildflowers grew madly across the landscape, and birds were everywhere, singing their chirruping songs. Aerlith breathed in the clean spring air, intoxicated by the warmth and life of it all. After the dank Sepulcher and gloomy Falkreath hold, this was paradise.

By and by she reached the main gate of Riften, nodding to the guards in their livery, who smiled coyly at her as she passed. They knew who she was, or at least, they knew her reputation in the hold. She had been gone for a long time, and among the nosy guards there were several betting pools on whether she’d make it back alive. The guard guffawed and shook hands with his partner, who reluctantly tossed him a purse. Arielle had returned home at last, and he was rich.

Aerlith skirted the marketplace, moving quickly along the perimeter towards the keep. Though it was a warm day, she pulled her hood securely over her face, and kept her head down. Thankfully, it was a busy time in the market, so she was able to slip through without attracting much attention.

At the secret back entrance to the cistern, she nudged the button and waited for the coffin to slide back. As usual it made an unpleasantly loud grinding sound, and she wondered for the hundredth time why none of the citizens ever commented on it, or attempted to gain entry. It was another strange feature of Riften life. She still wasn’t used to the confounding apathy that permeated the city.

Below, she lifted the hatch and descended the ladder into the darkness. Though the cistern was damp and cool, warmth spread from her heart when she saw her guildmates gathered on the center dais. Everyone was here, safe, and from the looks of it listening raptly to Karliah. The dark elf stood beside Brynjolf, entertaining the small crowd with her part of the tale of the Skeleton Key’s return. Arielle approached silently to listen.

“I was working to clear some rubble when I saw the portal glow to life. I knew what must have happened, and I eagerly stepped through it and into Nocturnal’s sanctum. I just managed to catch the lady fading back into her realm, and then I saw Arielle. Her face was the perfect picture of shock. I called out to her and she looked at me as if from a hundred miles away. I swear I’ve never seen her look so bewildered.” Karliah smiled, and Brynjolf chuckled softly, looking thoughtful.

“In all fairness,” Aerlith said softly, feeling the eyes of her guildmates shift to her, “If you’d just taken a leap of faith, fallen toward your certain death, and then come face to face with a daedric prince for the first time, I imagine you’d look the same, Karliah,” she smiled, meeting her friends’ eyes.

Karliah beamed at her. “Welcome back Arielle!” She crossed the dais and pulled her into a tight hug. “Would you care to share your side of the story?”

“At the moment, all I would like is a bath and a bottle of Surilie wine,” she said, smiling. “And, to be honest, I think our lady would like to keep some of her secrets sacred.” Aerlith winked at Rune, who was staring at her with boldfaced shock.

Brynjolf stepped toward her, smiling. “Well done, lass. It’s good to see you in one piece.” He clapped her shoulder, then became more serious. “I’m not much good at things like this, but I need to thank you for all you’ve done for the guild. I’m so proud-”

“Oh, enough fluff Brynjolf,” Vex said exasperatedly. “We’re all happy. Let the poor woman have her bath in peace.”

Karliah grinned and squeezed Aerlith’s hand. “Indeed. Let’s all go to the Flagon and have a proper celebration!”

The guild all made approving noises and began to filter out, several of the members stopping to offer words of encouragement to Aerlith.

“Arielle!” exclaimed one, a handsome, burly nord with striking warpaint beneath his eyes. “I’m so glad you returned safely. ” He took her hand and kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “My sword and bow are always at the ready for you. You need not fear any foe with me by your side.”

“Hello Thrynn,” Aerith said tiredly. “Pleasure as always.” She pulled her hand away. “But I really would like to go relax now. It was a long journey from Falkreath. If you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped closer, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps you’d like some company in the bath, little dove,” he growled softly, his voice like the ragged edge of an old battleaxe.  She could feel his breath on her ear. A chill ran down her neck, goosebumps rising.

“No,” she said firmly, “Thank you.” She pulled away from him, and strode, head held high across the cistern to the entrance of the baths.

Thrynn admired her retreating figure until it vanished into darkness. He turned to go to the Flagon, but was stopped short in his tracks by Brynjolf, who leaned against a wall by the door, face wreathed in shadow. Thrynn scowled. “What are you doing skulking around like that, Brynjolf? Out of the way.” He tried to push past, but Brynjolf stopped him.

“When will you give it up, Thrynn?”

“Give what up?”

“Arielle. I don’t know how many times you need to be rejected for the message to come across loud and clear,” Brynjolf stood up, taking a step closer.

Thrynn laughed heartily at the threat. “You know nothing of women if you thought that was rejection,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “Women always play hard to get.” He smiled lasciviously then continued, “That’s what makes Arielle so irresistibly delicious.”

Brynjolf’s mouth set into a grim line. “Don’t talk about her that way. She’s not a blushing lady for you to seduce. She is your sister in arms,” he said forcefully.

The bandit chuckled. “Not like you to be so hypocritical, Brynjolf. You hold your subordinates to a higher standard than yourself.”

“Not sure what you are implying, but I advise you to choose your next words very carefully.” Brynjolf’s green eyes hardened, the anger in them sharper than the finest glass dagger.

Thrynn swallowed. “Everyone knows about you and the fence,” he said boldly.

“Oh yes?” Brynjolf smiled darkly at Thrynn, and the bandit wondered for a moment if he should be ready to brawl. “Get out of my sight,” the second in command spat at him.

Relieved, Thrynn pushed past his superior and rushed through the door to the Flagon. Brynjolf frowned, his brow furrowed, and stared off into the darkness where Arielle had been a moment before.

Aerlith had never been so happy to sink into a hot bath. She wasted no time, quickly shimmying out of her light armor, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She lowered herself indulgently into the water. The grime from the Sepulcher, the dust from the road, and the cold of Skyrim that permeated her bones gave way to the warmth of the water. She glowed with happy contentment. She was home among her friends again. The faces of Karliah, Vex, Brynjolf and Delvin brought such joy to her. After her lonely sojourn through Skyrim, she had everything she needed. And Brynjolf was proud of her. His warm green eyes and welcome smile made her glow even brighter. She grabbed up her soap and began to wash, smiling to herself.

Her mind wandered unbidden back to Thrynn. The former bandit was friendly enough, though difficult to trust at the best of times. But his constant flirting was beginning to be more than just a minor annoyance. She’d failed to reject him firmly enough the first time, and he had been ignoring her subsequent tries with horrifyingly admirable gumption.

When Aerlith first joined the guild, Thrynn, along with practically every other man with eyes had been quite open about their interest in her. At first she had blushed furiously red when they complimented her, or touched her. She would always freeze in place and clam up, her mind unable to form thoughts, her mouth unable to speak. Her innocent reaction made them laugh, at which point they would ruffle her hair and leave her to go about their business. Aerlith began spending more time with Vex, observing how her friend would openly laugh at the men accosting her, and she learned how to handle unwanted advances with more confidence. As she rejected the men, one by one they moved on. It was better this way. She hoped their interest stemmed merely from her novelty, and not from any other motives.

Thrynn was not as easy to deal with. He pushed past her discouragement, whether it was polite or harsh. He continued to harass her, to touch her, to whisper vile things in her ear that made her blush. She felt beat down by his constant disregard for her wish to be left alone, and had resolved to just ignore him when she could. It reminded her a little too much of the way Jarl Siddgeir’s sneering, lecherous expression, when he cornered her in the darkened servant’s quarters all those months ago. She shuddered at the memory. She could still feel his body weight pressing her into the wall, the hard length of his arousal grinding into her angrily. Something died within her that night. She had no skills, no strength, and no way out. Her silver eyes hardened. Things had changed. If she ever met Siddgeir again, she would have her revenge.

Aerlith soaped her long, pale blonde hair, gently teasing out the tangles. She never felt more powerful, more able to protect herself at this moment. The frightened and helpless girl she once was had grown into a dangerous woman. Her mediocre skills with a dagger, which had been scoffed at by Vilkas of Jorrvaskr, had improved under Brynjolf’s friendly tutelage. Thanks to him, and to the other members of the guild who shared their expertise, Aerlith was silent, fast, and deadly.

Feeling clean and refreshed, Aerlith allowed herself a moment to wallow in the hot water. There was one man in the guild who was ostensibly uninterested in her: Brynjolf. His attentions to her were friendly, but professional. He patiently taught her the tools of a thief’s trade, gently correcting her when she needed it. She was grateful that he did not ridicule her inexperience. He offered his advice after giving her a job, and usually ended by staring her down with his shiny green eyes as he said, “And be careful, lass.”

When she returned successful and pocket jingling with coin, he would clap her on the back or shoulder, offering her encouragement and smiles that she hoped contained pride. She was his protege, after all. Thanks to Brynjolf, Aerlith had a safe place to sleep, and a well paying job that allowed her to keep a low profile. She was more than grateful to him, and their relationship was more than a simple friendship. But whether her feelings for him were platonic was a question she desperately tried to avoid. She knew he didn’t see her as anything more than a pupil.

However, Aerlith occasionally caught him staring at her from across rooms, his eyes serious as he contemplated her. It seemed unfair to her that she couldn’t decipher the meaning behind this. It was all too easy to imagine that he felt something for her too. On the night they met, Brynjolf flirted with her shamelessly, and though she knew now that his attention had been false, simply a means to an end, her attraction and interest in him that night was real.

Another memory fought its way to the surface. The guild threw a large celebration when the three Nightingales returned successful, Mercer dead and Karliah safely home again with her honor restored. That night, Aerlith begged off an arm wrestling match with Vex, opting to take a cup of wine to a quiet table on the outer ring of the din. There she sat and watched the merriment, laughing as Vekel hit on Tonilia and she slapped him forcefully for his impertinence, nearly knocking the slight man down. Tonilia huffed away, going to sit across from Brynjolf at his table. As Aerlith’s eyes followed the woman in amusement, they lit upon Brynjolf and stuck there. He was watching her again. She looked back at him, surprised. She couldn’t make out the expression on his face. The shadows made it too difficult to see, but the glint in his eyes couldn’t be mistaken.

She didn’t look away. Neither did he. Aerlith felt heat beginning to rise in her cheeks, but she was transfixed. His green eyes shone at her as he leaned forward into the candlelight, resting his chin on his hand. The light revealed his faintly amused smile, which she returned hesitantly. But then, Tonilia said something to him and he looked away, the tension released. Aerlith felt let down. The rumors of Brynjolf and Tonilia’s romantic involvement may not have been true, but to Aerlith it seemed they shared a closer relationship than was usual. It pricked her to see him smile so easily and openly with Tonilia, joking raunchily and teasing her. With Aerlith, Brynjolf acted as the wise teacher, the helpful mentor. Her gratitude prevented her from feeling resentment, but her disappointment could not be helped.

Aerlith finished scrubbing her hair and rose from the bath. She toweled herself quickly and dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, pulling on her stockings and boots. She didn’t bother to arrange her hair or apply any cosmetics. Fatigue wore on her, and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the giddy depths of a bottle.

She entered the tavern a few minutes later. Karliah, sitting with Vex and Delvin, saw her come in and motioned for her to join them. Aerlith smiled and went over.

“Here you are, yer ladyship,” Delvin said gruffly, pouring her a cup of her favorite Surilie vintage. “Only the best for the woman of the hour.”

Aerlith sat down and picked up the cup. Seized by a sudden emotion, she raised it and said, “To the guild! May it last another thousand years.” The others raised their flagons as well, adding their “Hear, hear”s and “To the guild!”s. Aerlith drank deeply, draining half her cup in one go. She wasn’t planning on drinking lightly.

“So,” Vex said, “Care to tell us more about your exploits, Arielle? Delvin is practically foaming at the mouth with curiosity.” She smiled wickedly at him, and he smacked her hand.

Aerlith laughed. She had missed the banter of her friends during her long journey alone. She drank again, considering. Vex was still looking at her curiously, so she said, “Not much to tell I’m afraid, Vex.”

Vex scowled. “You Nightingales and your secrets,” she muttered darkly. But she brightened up quickly when she spotted something over Aerlith’s shoulder. “Watch out,” she said, smiling sneakily at Aerlith and rising from the table. “Delvin, Karliah, come here. I want to show you something.” Vex beckoned them across the room, leaving Aerlith alone with her wine.

Puzzled, Aerlith drained the rest of her cup, and reached for the bottle to pour another. A larger, rougher hand covered hers and tightened it against the glass bottleneck.

“Thirsty tonight, eh little dove?” Thrynn’s rough voice whispered in her ear. Aerlith pulled her hand away, and watched as Thrynn poured her wine, filling her cup nearly to the brim. He moved and sat down in the chair next to hers, resting his head on one hand lazily. “I can think of many more delicious ways to quench your thirst.” He licked his lips, the suggestion obvious.

Aerlith rolled her eyes. “Thank you for your input Thrynn.”

He chuckled. “So cold. Any other man would think you hated him.”

“Then why don’t you take the hint?” Aerlith asked sharply.

Thrynn leaned back in his chair and regarded her. She felt his eyes roaming over her face and body. “I want you to sing for me, little dove,” he crooned, taking her hand in his. “I’ve the skilled hands of a thief and the strength of a barbarian...care to take a ride?”

Aerlith yanked her hand away, standing unsteadily and staring down at him. She swallowed her nerves and said, “I am not your little dove , Thrynn. I am a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal. And believe me,” she said, her words pure venomous threat, “I am more than capable of making you sing for me.” She rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger, staring at him pointedly.

Thrynn stood and pulled her to him, his hands tight on her waist. His eyes burned with desire. “That’s the fire I love about you,” he said roughly. Before she could react, he pressed his mouth hungrily to hers.

Panic took hold of her, and she tried to wrench away, but he was too strong for her. Desperately, she fumbled for her dagger, drew it, and stabbed it mercilessly into his thigh. Thrynn howled and released her. Aerlith pulled her dagger back and brandished it, sinking into her fighting stance.

“Little bitch,” Thrynn spat. He reached for his battle axe.

“Enough,” Delvin said, stepping between Aerlith and Thrynn. “Calm down the lot of you.” He looked over his shoulder at Aerlith. “All right?” She nodded. “Good. Now, get yer hackles down Thrynn, before I gut you like a fish.”

Thrynn looked from her and back to Delvin. The tavern had gone quiet. Aerlith did not turn around, but from Thrynn’s mild panic, she could tell the thieves were watching the scene with little love for the bandit. “Fuck you,” Thrynn spat at Delvin, and turned to leave the Flagon from the front entrance. The door slammed behind him.

Aerlith breathed out, slow and steady. She grabbed a linen from the table and wiped her dagger on it, sliding it back into the sheathe. Karliah appeared at her shoulder. “Are you alright, Arielle?” she said with concern.

“Fine,” Aerlith said, anger still coursing through her. “That bastard deserved it.”

“He did indeed,” Karliah said, a smile curling her lips. Around them, the thieves returned to their drinks, and conversation began to buzz again.

“I need a drink,” Aerlith said, beginning to relax again.

“It’s on me,” Karliah laughed and headed to the bar to procure another bottle.

Aerlith sat with Karliah, watching her guildmates fraternize and drink. Delvin brought out his lute, and Dirge his drum, and the two began playing a lively tune. Tonilia got up and started to dance, her lithe body and agile feet drawing the eyes of every man in the room. Aerlith’s eyes drifted to the bar, where she saw Brynjolf sitting the wrong way round on his stool, leaning back on the bar as he watched Tonilia dance, smiling and occasionally sipping his drink.

He is so handsome , Aerlith mused. Brynjolf had shiny long hair the color of garnet, which set off the color of his deep set green eyes. But it wasn’t his appearance as much as his personality that made him stand out. He had a habit of catching her off guard with a sly look in his eyes, saying her name with his lilting accent, catching her in a daydream when she was supposed to be learning lockpicking. She would snap out of her trance and meet his eyes, and get lost again for a moment before smiling apologetically and telling him to continue with his teaching.

All the lifesaving lessons he taught were sorely needed. After her family went missing, she arrived in Skyrim and became a ward of the old Jarl of Falkreath, the suspicious and feeble Dengeir. Her mother had a cousin who worked in the longhouse, so Aerlith was allowed to live there in return for working in the kitchen and cleaning up after the Jarl’s family. She didn’t hate it there, but when Dengeir’s nephew Siddgeir assumed the throne, the trouble began. Siddgeir took an unhealthy interest in his ward, resulting in the terrifying night he had confronted her in her room. Worse, once he had his fun, he threw Aerlith cruelly out into the street, claiming that she was a liability he couldn’t afford any longer. He may very well have been correct, but without his protection, Aerlith was a sitting duck.

The day two strangers came through Falkreath asking after a pale haired girl with silver eyes, she fled with her few possessions and never looked back. Aerlith didn’t adjust well to life on the run. She arrived in Riverwood hungry, filthy and tired, and nearly collapsed on the porch of the inn. She had enough money to pay her way, but being a weak young lady with riches and no protection, she soon lost half her purse to a sneak thief in the night. Desperate, she moved on from Riverwood to Whiterun, with shallow hope that she would find sanctuary at the Temple of Kynareth.

Lost in reverie, she realized she was still staring at Brynjolf. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she turned back to her bottle, attempting to drown out her thoughts with the intoxicating liquid. Karliah regarded her, sipping from her own cup. “Something on your mind, friend?”

“That business with Thrynn took me back to a different time,” she said, her face hard. “I haven’t always been as good with a blade.” Aerlith wanted to unburden herself and share her troubles with Karliah, but she couldn’t risk it. From Falkreath to Riften, she was hunted by various heavily armed strangers. She suspected they were the same men who took her parents away, come to finish the job. Telling her story to anyone was foolish and could possibly bring harm to them.

Karliah smiled sadly. “Being a woman in Skyrim is tough. But you are strong and worth their respect,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the gathered guild. “It is good that you remind them now and then.”

Aerlith grinned. Though Karliah knew nothing of her past, Aerlith always felt that her friend understood her perfectly. It was a comfort beyond measure. “At least I have you, my friend. I couldn’t ask for a better sister in darkness.”

The dark elf laughed and patted her hand. “I’m off to bed,” she said, standing. “Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.” Aerlith nodded at the familiar send off.

“Good night.”

Some time later, when the music had ceased and most guild members had stumbled off to bed, Aerlith tipped the bottle into her cup once more, only to be disappointed when nothing poured out. She sighed and leaned over the table, contemplating throwing in the towel and going to bed. Questing in the interest of the guild was great and noble, but it definitely didn’t make her rich. She tiredly imagined how many jobs she would have to take on before she made up for all the traveling expenses.

While she was lost in thought, Brynjolf came over silently and plunked a full bottle of wine on her table, making her jump a bit. “You shouldn’t have an empty cup, lass,” He said, looking down at her with playful eyes and a warm smile.

Aerlith nodded her approval and reached for the bottle. She noted that Brynjolf also looked pretty deep in his cups. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes were extra shiny.

“May I join you?”

“Of course,” she replied, taking a sip and offering him the bottle when he sat opposite her. He poured out a cup for himself, then looked at her for a moment.

“I never got to thank you properly earlier,” he said.

Her heart swelled, but she kept her voice even as she said, “I got all the thanks necessary from Lady Nocturnal herself.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he laughed. “But truly, without your help, the guild would still be under the thumb of Mercer and suffering from a daedra’s displeasure.” He looked at her seriously, and she felt herself beginning to blush. “I’m very glad I chose to scam you of all the people in the city that day,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Aerlith took a swig of wine to cool herself. Feeling vulnerable, she spoke quietly, “If you hadn’t tried to rob me, I never would have joined the guild, and would have wandered alone forever.” She chanced a look up at him. “All the skills you’ve taught me have saved my life countless times already. Performing this task for the guild was nothing in comparison to what I’ve received.” Saying it felt right, but Aerlith thought Brynjolf would laugh at her sincerity as he usually did.

He surprised her by reaching across the table and grasping her hand tightly in his. His grip was warm, his calloused fingers rough as they held hers fast. “Don’t be silly. You’ve accomplished something great, and I’m proud of you, Arielle.” He stared intensely into her eyes, burning her with the heat of his conviction.

She pulled her hand back and took another long drink from her cup. She grinned at him. “It’s a strange thing, hearing a thief speak so earnestly,” she joked, trying to dispel the tension she felt.

“As I said, I’m not one for sincerity. Enjoy it while it lasts, lass.” She relaxed a bit, knowing that the hard part was over. “Now, about that bandit,” he said, looking at her smugly.

“What about him?” She asked, twisting the silver ring on her right hand repetitively. Maybe the ‘hard part’ would never really be over with Bryn.

“I enjoy seeing Thrynn being put in his place. Well done indeed, Arielle,” he replied, a sly smile playing over his lips.

Oh. He saw that . Shame burned a blush in her cheeks. She didn’t like to imagine what Brynjolf must have thought, seeing her with him. The memory of Thrynn’s hands on her felt dirty. “He wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said, looking down. “I did what had to be done.”

“And did it well,” he said gently. Aerlith raised her eyes to his. Brynjolf smiled. “Chin up, lass. That bastard couldn’t best you if he trained for a hundred years.”

A poignant feeling of relief and sadness stung her. Aerlith fought back tears, disguising her pain by gulping deeply from her cup. She wanted to say something, but her thoughts were scattered. Her mind’s eye kept flashing to Thrynn’s face, his mouth stealing hers, his hands gripping her painfully. Siddgeir slid into her thoughts too, clouding her vision with fear and shame. She breathed out shakily, carefully training her gaze into her cup.

“Arielle? Are you alright?” His chair scraped the floor as he stood, coming up close beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, she looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she said, voice breaking. She felt tears begin to fall and blushed, looking down again. Brynjolf knelt down and leveled with her gaze.

Tentatively, his eyes searching hers, he reached up and touched her cheek. His thumb brushed a tear away, and she inhaled shakily, unsure of how to react to his touch. “It’s all right, lass. Whatever the trouble is, we can make it right,” he said slowly.

“I can’t shake them, Brynjolf,” she said, trying to speak through the sob choking her. “No matter where I go.” She hung her head again, resting it in his palm. “I will never be free from my past,” she concluded, and despair overwhelmed her. She cried softly in front of him, hating herself and hating her weakness. But she was tired, so very tired, and his kindness had opened a floodgate within her.

For a horrible moment, Brynjolf stayed very still, and she dreaded his reaction. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took her hands in his and pulled her to him, carefully encircling her in a gentle embrace. “All right, Arielle. It’s all right,” he whispered. He stroked her hair, letting her ride out the sadness. Finally, her crying quieted into sniffles, and she felt him pull her tighter to him “That’s it, lass.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

Aerlith tried to calm her breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut as visions of the past threatened to take her over again. With her head pressed against his chest, Aerlith could hear Brynjolf’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm pulled her focus back to the present. Gradually, she felt herself coming down to earth as her breathing slowed and her thoughts cleared.

Reality rushed back in like frigid water, a cruel reminder of who she was, who he was, and where they were. Aerlith pulled away from Brynjolf quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. “I should go.” She nodded to him and tried to make a hasty exit.

“Wait,” he said, and grabbed her arm. Aerlith didn’t look at him. She couldn't. “I’m worried about you, Arielle. Can’t I help you?” The worried kindness in his voice almost made her break again.

Aerlith steeled herself. Turning to her mentor and smiling brightly, she said, “Nothing’s much wrong, Bryn.” His brow furrowed as he watched her skeptically. “I’m just very, very tired, and I think I’ve had too much wine. I’m sorry to make a scene.”

“Alright, lass, if that’s really how you feel.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then pulled her into him again, wrapping her in his arms tightly. He held her silently for a long moment. Aerlith listened to his heartbeat again, wishing she could hear it forever. I broke so easily for him , she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. Wrapped up in his warmth, she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she felt totally safe. Safe enough that the iron doors of her resolve cracked open, revealing the vulnerability and fear within. The revelation scared her, but she didn’t pull away this time. She breathed him in. His scent was leather, wine, smoke, and just a hint of sweat. Eyes closed, she let him lull her into a state of serenity.

Finally, he held her out at arms length. “Get some rest then,” he said, smiling gently. Before she could move, he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, lingering there. Aerlith's eyes widened in surprise. So many invisible lines had been crossed tonight, but what truly surprised her was how right it all felt. Brynjolf took a deep breath and pulled away, blowing it out slowly as he stared at her. The look in his eyes confounded her. It was a cross between tenderness and fiery determination, with a touch of  heated aggression that made her breath catch in her chest.

Aerlith smiled. “Thank you, Bryn,” she whispered. He nodded, his eyes still burning with that mysterious energy. “Good night, then.” Aerlith walked off to bed, praying to the divines that it hadn’t been a dream.

#brynjolf #f!dovahkiin #f!dragonborn #skyrim fic #thieves guild #fanfiction #romance #brynjolf x dragonborn #are there even tags for this ship? #brynjolf x dovahkiin

[shleepys]

Summer Tones

This story can be found on my Archive of Our Own! I recommend going there and reading the notes I’ve left. Any feedback (constructive criticism or support) on either platform is highly appreciated. :)

TRIGGER WARNING : mentions of abuse and suicidal thoughts.

Chapter Six

Ch.1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5

- - - - - -

June 5th, 1985

Amber

The Next Day

The front door latched shut with a quiet click, silence rummaging about the house as the three left. Neil, Susan, and Max. Gone. Off to go do something together without their ‘son’ after he had made excuses as to why he couldn’t go out. But in reality, he just didn’t want to go out, especially if Neil came along.

Amber stretched across the hardwood floors in a subtle sway, shining through windows marked with drawn curtains and white blinds. Yellow accented the walls with its warm hue as the sun danced across Billy Hargrove’s face. He stared up at the ceiling, quietly waiting for the roar of Neil’s truck to break the silence and slowly disappear down the road. Eventually, the rumble came and went as the distant sounds of terrible memories and hate fled and allowed him to temporarily embrace safety. A few hours to himself to contemplate the night before and what Neil would have done to him this morning if he wasn’t back at the house before he woke up.

Guilt toyed with his decision to leave without telling Steve goodbye, but he didn’t want to wake him up. Maybe he would reveal why he left the next time they met up, or maybe Steve would reveal the terrible shit that his parents have pulled in the past. . . or maybe they would pretend that the night never happened.

Like Billy never managed to get up to Steve’s window and knocked on it, like Steve didn’t grab his wrist and cry into Billy’s button-up after hugging him, like they totally didn’t sleep in the same bed together and Steve cuddled up to Billy in his sleep.

Billy sat up from his bed, brushing back a few stray curls with his hand as his attention focused on his cassette player. He blinked. An urge spreading through him as he remained there, completely motionless, almost as if he were waiting for something to suddenly happen. As if him sitting there and thinking would cause the cassette player to start up.

He exhaled through his nose before standing and sluggishly moving towards the electronic box. Billy stared at it for a while, noting how the scratched chrome showed his vague reflection and the white glare of the sun made it seem as if he was glowing. He sat down in front of it, never taking his eyes off of the inorganic thing until he dragged his vision towards the several boxes of cassettes hidden catty-corner behind his mirror.

He moved to all fours to reach it, sitting on his knees as he backed away with the container and opening it with hesitation. Inside laid several tapes, all twirling with the gold glow of the room as their colors popped against the black box. Carefully, he pulled one out. Billy stared at its cover, discomfort raking its nails down his back as the person on it seemingly stared right back at him. Like it was trying to pluck parts of his soul out of him through his eyes but reassure him that all will be alright. The title bolded in red above, ‘10cc The Original Soundtrack’.

He pulled his legs from under himself, sitting with them spread rather than uncomfortably on them before pushing the button to open the player. Billy slid the cassette inside, a frown twisting at his lips. And with a quiet click, he closed the little door and pressed play.

At first, the music swept him over softly. A faint pleasant tune providing him a sense of blissful ignorance and a way to ignore the hellscape thrashing about in his mind. But then it began to crumble. Bit by bit the barricades were ripped away allowing the music to turn sour and pound at his temples. Increasingly getting louder and louder until his eyes stung and lip quivered. A lump of self-hatred was caught in his throat, tightening the airway until he felt like he couldn’t breathe before he broke into a broken sob. His heart had drifted and burned a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

He didn't have a word - a phrase to describe what churned in his chest and prodded at his mind last night. The feeling was so familiar yet so out of his reach. Something rested its hands on his shoulders and whispered sweet little nothings about Steve into his ear. That something poured kerosene onto his skin and gave Steve the match to ignite it, to set his wrist on fire when he grabbed it and spread through the rest of his body in waves when he begged him to stay. The one that gave a devilish smirk behind Steve when he hugged him like he was never going to get to see him.

That something turned out to be Eros, and he in all of his grace had accompanied them under the pale moonlight, his wings engulfing them both with a sense of security that no one was going to interrupt this precious moment. And when the deity had to leave, he pressed a bittersweet kiss to Billy's lips to lock his fate and let him know for sure that he, Billy Hargrove, was in fact falling in love.

But it wasn't just with anyone, oh no, it was with Steve fucking Harrington.

Billy stared at himself in the mirror, fear flooding his eyes as he combed his fingers through his hair and yanked. His chest felt like it had been set ablaze while the rest of his body tried to fight the sobbing and somehow turn his mind back off.

He’s afraid, terrified. He let someone into his life, let them into his heart while simultaneously trying to keep it fully guarded. Steve had somehow made it past the barbed wire and bombs defending his mind, his emotions. . . him. His greatest fears danced around him and blurred his vision with every taunting step and scream as they kept reminding him of reality. How Neil wouldn’t hesitate to kill his ‘faggot’ of a son, how Hawkins would gladly shun him despite also having feelings for women as well, how no one has any remote amount of respect and care for him in the whole world other than Tommy Hagan because. . . well, he and Tommy had done some things. Confidential things.

But, what about Steve? Steve, he wouldn’t abandon him, would he?

Surely after everything they’ve done so far, all of the emotions that they’ve revealed and support they’ve given one another, surely Steve wouldn’t just leave him. Maybe he would just be uncomfortable. That or maybe he would never want to see him again.

But at the party, with what Steve had stated so calmly to him, like if it were a life long promise or pact that they would keep between one another. That he’s here for him, that he can help him.

Surely that wasn’t some stupid fucking lie that he said just to make him feel better. Surely the laughs, cries, and screams weren’t all a sick joke constructed against him. He tried to laugh through a cry, hum little bits of the song that was waging warfare with his thoughts, but it did nothing to ease the lump in his throat or the burning, stabbing, pain in his chest.

Emotional turmoil had been waiting for when the time was right to strike a jaded Billy Hargrove, almost as if it were a prophecy that he would’ve fallen for Steve and the flood gates would’ve busted open. Years of torment and abuse boiling down to self-hatred and fear that led to frustration and confusion. Billy questioned himself, especially after apologizing to Steve. He questioned if he should’ve gone to Steve’s last night, if it was alright to like both sexes, if it was alright to be human. All were stuck in the back of his mind and weren’t planning on leaving any time soon. Particularly the sexuality part, but also the human part, but mainly the sexuality part.

How the fuck is that even possible? To like both at once?

Billy shivered as he brought his knees into his chest, attempting to laugh again but only being met with more sobs. He didn’t want to have Neil’s ideals, he didn’t want to be anything like him. Every day felt like it was going to be his last, every time Neil yelled at him he felt like he was going to snap and then get killed for whatever bursts out of his mouth. Every time he got hit, he was reminded of his mother and how she left him without giving a reason why. He could imagine why she left, why she ran away from Neil, but not why she would leave Billy behind with him. There had been points where he had been covered with so many bruises that he couldn’t count them all, where he was afraid he was going to bleed to death out of his nose and mouth, where he had been fretful about crying himself to sleep because if Neil heard him he knew that he would come in there and ‘give him a reason to cry’.

There were the contemplations about running away, escaping to another town and pursuing another life. Cutting all of his hair and changing his name, hoping that he could find some kind of peace and maybe even find his mother, wherever she may be. There were undoubted contemplations about death as well. The l'appel du vide that chanted his name while he sped down abandoned streets near the quarry at night, screeched when looking at his pocket knife, cheered when he got dangerously drunk at a party. The void calls for him at times, but he doesn’t respond to it.

He doesn’t want to comply. He doesn’t want to give in to Neil and the abuse that has traumatized him.

But he has to give Steve credit for that.

Steve brings out something in him, something foreign that he can’t describe. Maybe. . . maybe it’s hope. The hope for a better life. The hope for someone to care. The hope for someone to. . . love him.

For Steve to love him.

Billy loves Steve, he doesn’t want to really admit it though. Will Steve love him back, or will he run away?

#enemies to friends to lovers #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #Billy Hargrove #harringrove #mentions of abuse and suicidal thoughts #angst #crying #internalized homophobia #slowburn #oh no our boy is crying :(

[intersex-ionality]

Hi. I'm thinking about converting to Judaism and was wondering of you could point me in the direction of any blogs/articles/sites that are... I was gonna say 'general knowledge' but really /any/ info about Judaism and/or Jewish culture. Thank you.

My number one tip, given the conservative and orthodox propaganda that dominates tumblr and most other US spaces that talk about judaism without being explicitly and exclusively Jewish, is to look for reform, humanistic and reconstructionist jewish information. Given that I’m a Jewish Atheist, I haven’t got a strong understanding of the Renewal movement, however, I’ve never seen shitfuckery coming from it.

Unlike the conservative and orthodox movements.

Like. Do you know who the most famous fucking orthodox jew in the US is right now? It’s Ben fuckdamn Shapiro, and frankly, while it’s hardly the Orthodox movement’s responsibility to reign his shit ass in, there’s not nearly as much open disapproval of his fuckery as there should be. And, much like any conservative movement, a disproportionate number of well known orthodox and conservative Jews aligning themselves with modern fascism does not surprise me.

In short,  I have no patience for the conservative or orthodox Jewish movements, nor do I have any patience for people who put rhetoric and propaganda originating from those movements in front of me and pretend like they’re representative of the entire Jewish population.

I strongly urge anyone considering conversion to avoid these movements if at all possible. And that includes blocking out the so-called “progressive” open orthodox movement.

Personally, I favour reconstructionist Judaism.

I feel that even reform judaism has allowed itself to fall out of line with modern realities regarding interpersonal relationships, personal identity, and politics. But the reform movement is massive (and thus diverse), and you’re likely to have access to it even when you don’t have access to anything else. I have no real beef with reform judaism as a practice or a study, unlike conservative and orthodox judaism which are formally invited to suck my progressive goddamn ass.

So. With my absolute frothing hatred for conservatism of all types, including the Jewish kind firmly established.

First and foremost, hit up the Reconstructionist Temple directory, (and the directories of other movements that interest you!) and see if there’s a temple near you.

Independent and group driven studies in an informal setting like the internet are great and important parts of both the conversion process and, in my opinion, of practicing Judaism. But you cannot replace the value of actually participating in your local Jewish community.

I’ve never run into a reconstructionist temple that refused access to even non-converting gentiles. And participating in your local temple’s services, studies, and social outreach is a fantastic first step. It gives you a chance to surround yourself with Jewish culture and learn by doing, rather than by reading. It also gives you access to people (like your local rabbi, but also just the members of the temple in general) who will help you find the answers to your questions.

If there’s not a reconstructionist temple nearby, try a Jewish Community Center, or JCC. These places, kind of the the Christian YMCA/YWCA, are community centers first and foremost, and religious spaces secondly. But, where there’s a lot of Jews hanging out, there’s a lot of Judaism happening. You can’t go wrong with getting a gym or swimming membership with a JCC and just hanging around making friends. My local JCC even has an entire program of fitness classes, including pool times, specifically for neurodivergent adults, which like, that’s so super specific and super cool. 

In terms of reference materials that aren’t tied to community living, Exploring Judaism: A Reconstructionist Approach is a textbook that was updated fairly recently as far as religious studies books go. Most libraries in the US that I’ve looked at either already have a copy available, or have access to one through circulation exchanges, and it’s a good, solid foundation to build from.

Having originally been written in the 1980s and updated in the late 90s, there’s plenty that’s out of date in it, but it’s a strong foundation and reference point. Just remember when you’re reading it: it’s between 20 and 40 years old. The sections on Queer identity in particular tend to use phrasings that, today, has been rejected as archaic and inappropriate. Not disrespectfully or even in a way that diminishes queer identities by accident. But there can be some discomfort in reading older terms like “transsexual” even in academic period pieces.

A quick and easy way to see if your local library has a copy is to install the Library Extension for chrome or firefox, set it up with your local library’s book lists, then check this amazon link. Remember to include any college or student libraries you have access too, which are even more likely to have this in stock, being a text book and all.

My Jewish Learning is a popular resource website among reform and reconstructionist Jews, and I’ve never had a bad time with them, but I want to emphasize that I’m not a regular reader of their work. Nonetheless, I have referenced their work with regards to the intersection of Queer and Jewish identities quite regularly and will probably continue to do so.

Now, I’m also going to make a recommendation here for something I personally have not used, but which I know is highly popular and also in many way highly necessary if you’re a Jew or Convert who is heavily entrenched in politics, justice, and activism.

Hashivenu is a podcast about how Jewish identity intersects with political activism, and about how spiritual practice can help soothe the overwhelming depression and horror that comes with living in a world ruled by people who seem furiously bent on destroying it.

It features a lot of intersectional discussions about what Jewish people can do to embrace and support our more marginalized members, as well as to make ourselves better allies to non-Jewish social movements. It also features a lot of optimism and uplifting, the help motivate you on your path as a Jew and as an activist for a wide variety of seemingly overwhelming causes.

#Judaism #conversion #Anonymous

[themarshmallownerd]

First Chapter: Empire of Miracles

Summary: Just as the Avengers team is settling into a new state of normalcy, opportunities arise to expand the ranks of their found family. Bucky and Wanda struggle to keep up with the growing changes as ghosts from the team's past close in, wanting to take advantage.

Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Wanda Maximoff (primary); Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff (secondary); Tony Stark/Pepper Potts (mentioned)

Rating: Mature

Link: AO3

A/N: At long last, the first sequel to Lion and Wolf is here! Due to popular demand, I put this at the top of my priority list, and now it’s finally complete! I cannot wait to go on another ride with all of you.

This story is a direct continuation to the events of that story, so as much as I tried to provide context within this story, I would highly recommend reading that one first to have a better understanding. The usual warnings stand for discussions of mental health and post-traumatic stress, as well as graphic violence and adult situations (and we're getting right to the sexual kind with this chapter!). More specific warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter when relevant. Please enjoy!

Preview: (see below)

The witch rolled onto her back to stretch her limbs, wincing a little at how some of her joints popped. She sat up, briefly smoothing down her unruly hair and sweeping it around to one shoulder before finally getting out of bed. She followed the sounds of the stereo through the hallway and down the first set of hardwood stairs, finding the aged device on its usual perch, an end table by the very base of the staircase. Just as she suspected, there was presently no sign of James. Not that she was worried—he usually took long runs in the mornings, due to the decreased need for sleep and increased amount of energy he had from the serum Hydra gave him. 

Wanda turned the volume on the stereo up so that she could have the white noise as she ventured across the spacious (though still cozy, by Stark’s standards) living room and into the yard beyond the massive sliding glass door. A majority of the backyard was taken up by a pool and surrounding patio space. Wanda’s stride didn’t waver once, even as she reached the edge of the pool. She knew her scarlet would catch her as she stepped over the water, fanning out at her feet and carrying her as easily as if she were still walking on the cement. That ability was one part of her “no more monsters” breakdown last year that she had since embraced.

Once on the other side of the pool, Wanda crossed through the lustrous green expanse of the garden, slipping between two of the large hibiscus plants in the flower bed. Past the flower bed was the peach-colored concrete that fenced in the house. Wanda had to stretch to grip the top of the wall, then brace her feet against its lower half in order to hoist herself up high enough to see over. The wind instantly began whipping at her hair as she held herself there, combing around her with the same intensity it did to the waves of the ocean just a few yards ahead.

A week into her stay here hadn’t lessened the sense of novelty she found in the sight of the sea. She had never been to any beach before, much less one as beautiful and clearly cared for as this, a private one along the coast of Cancún, with ownership split between several billionaires. With most of said billionaires away at their other locations, it made for an undisturbed scene even more picturesque and peaceful than she had envisioned in the past. Miles-worth of pure, unblemished white sand and crystalline blue water. A constant embrace from the sun, its warmth sinking into the skin of her shoulders and legs while she was wearing only her sleep shorts, a tank top, and James’s dog tags. Compared to a lifetime spent in the streets of war-torn Sokovia and in a decrepit Hydra fortress, it truly seemed like an ethereal paradise. 

Tipping her head back, the witch let her eyes slip shut so that she could indulge solely in the warmth and sounds of the beach. Waves crashing against the shore mixed with the tune of the CD stuck inside the aged stereo player from the house. After a while, she could almost imagine the water was intentionally washing against the beach to the beat of the song. 

“Aquí sólo importa nuestro amor, te quiero… Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles…porque somos de distintas sociedades. Amor prohibido nos dice todo el mundo. El dinero no importa en ti y en mí…ni en el corazón…” 

Barking dogs suddenly interrupted her sea song. Opening her eyes, she saw the three strays that usually scavenged around their house for food now running along the side of the wall opposite her. They were heading for the front of the estate, where the courtyard was. She grinned fondly when they came scampering back, chasing pieces of food that had been thrown their way. Her fondness was primarily rooted in the voice that barked back at them, urging the strays to calm down through exasperated Russian curses. 

At the sound of the gate to the courtyard creaking open, Wanda hopped down from the concrete fence and hurried back across the yard, this time clearing the pool in just three flares of scarlet. She crossed over to the sliding glass-door and re-entered the house at the same time James was emerging inside from the front door. A large paper bag was nestled precariously in the bend of his artificial arm, resulting in him having to kick the door closed behind him when his free hand narrowly saved the bag from falling over. Then he was striding over to the kitchen to set down whatever he had purchased while out.

Using her scarlet, Wanda twisted the volume dial on the stereo from across the room, effectively lowering the music. “What happened to your run?”

#my stories #Winterwitch #ScarletSoldier #Bucky Barnes #Wanda Maximoff #Bucky x Wanda #DUFE series

[a-baleful-howl]

I’m about to go full-on petty mode. So if you don’t care about my personal gloating and back-patting, scroll on by lol

This post contains spoilers for episode 1 of season 8, and also spoilers for my fic The Lone Wolf Dies.

I recognize this post is really only for me. I’m a salty bitch.

This is fanart the wonderful and lovely @cathcacen drew for me when I was at my lowest and receiving the most hate I’ve ever gotten for a fic. 

I ranted about it for a bit, deleted the worst of the flames I could off of FFN, and I haven’t actually been back to FFN since this all happened. Don't think I havent noticed the love and support I got from the JonsaFam, either. I very much appreciated it, and I know many people enjoyed my fic (and are begging me to finish it...).

Here’s some highlights of the comments I received on FFN accusing me of being “unrealistic” or of committing “character assassination” (sad thing is, these aren’t even the worst reviews I got):

“Arya would never let Sansa or the Northern Lords do that to Jon[...]This story is making Jon a bit of a wimp and Arya willing to betray him even though she loves him more than Sansa.” [saphirablue25 on chapter 1]

“Another story about Jonsa, and Anti-Dany, and pro-norte and pro-stark? these crap stories are becoming common since season 7.[...]and this kind of stories, without any artistic or literary value, just deserve to be vilified. is just another excuse to be myopic and criticize character without reason, especially when it is already something practically canon that Jon / Daenerys will be in the books too, as one producer of the HBO series said, who was told George Martin. waste of time.” [flayjunior15 on chapter 1]

“this story is rubbish, more crap without sense…” [guest on chapter 1]

“This is character assassination. Arya Stark would never betray Jon Snow; no matter what;[...]Of course now it’s a Jon and Sansa pairing ignoring everything that happened in season 7 b/c why not?[...] The leaps you Jonsa writers take to mischaracterize daenerys just b/c you’re not getting the ending you want in the show or the books is a little ridiculous. You can’t write a story that’s based on show-canon and then ignore all obstacles presented in said canon just to put your two favorite characters together. That’s not how good storytelling works.” [FanofLogic (lol) on chapter 1]

“I don't think Arya would ever betray Jon, it's just not plausible.[...]There are gaping plot holes, that need to be seriously addressed, the writing and the punctuation are fine, it’s well spaced and makes sense in a linear sense, but in terms of plot and story, it crumbles to dust before you even finish reading the chapter in its entirety.[...]I don’t want to stop you from writing, that’s not my intention, you just need to sit back and ask yourself, if it really makes sense.” [carpenoctem20 on chapter 1]

“Well, I read your story. It is sad really because your writing style is good and enjoyable but the stupidity of your character's actions[...]Too bad, your writing is promising but the story lacks logic…[...]Also, thank you for butchering Arya’s character - she is my favourite and you completely ruined her.” [malb901 on chapter 1]

“I realize that this story is an AU because our characters are written not how they are portray in television or books…” [GUEST VIII on chapter 1]

“If your goal was to write Arya completely out of character and Sansa as a short sighted idiot with the northern lords as her peanut gallery...then good job. Otherwise your characterization needs a lot of work.” [guest on chapter 1]

“Arya...well how she is written is so absurdly offbase from canon you would have been better off write my that part as an of to avoid having preconceived about the character.” [guest on chapter 1]

“What a load of complete garbage. So much character assassination across the board is an injustice to GRRM’s work!” [guest on chapter 1]

“Another junk Jonsa story, I see that many of these losers, are very salty, because their crackship (because that’s the Jonsa, a crack) shipwrecked last season.[...]The author of this story is another salty loser with no sense, just like all the Jonsa fans of this crack ship.[...] even Arya has a stronger relationship with Jon than with any member of her family, she would care less about the North, even threatening to kill the Northern Lord, if they hurt Jon. Only two idiots of Jonsa, defend this story.” [JonsaSucks on chapter 1]

“Highly questionable characterization and plot holes big enough to fly a dragon through...pass” [guest on chapter 2]

“With Arya, she's so OC in this that it would have made more sense to make her a new character. She would never choose Sansa over Jon.” [saphirablue25 on chapter 2]

“So disappointing! This story is a complete disservice to anyone who is not a blind Sansa worshiper.[...]The plot holes don't do you any favors either.” [Zmrzlina763 on chapter 3]

“Poorly written, plot holes, unrealistic” [guest on chapter 3]

“What a pile of crap. So many plot holes and character assassination. You should be ashamed to publish such garbage.” [guest on chapter 4]

“I hated this story...thought it was really ridiculous.” [guest on chapter 4]

“I would highly recommend rereading GRRM’s work as it’s obvious you are basing your characterizations on contrived reimaginings with no basis in the work you claim to be a fan of. Please do us all a favor and quit polluting the fandom with this nonsense.” [guest on chapter 4]

And finally, for the piece de resistance!

“Oh boy that story became retarded real quick” [guest on chapter 1]

Now, I might be biased but my brain kept pointing out similarities to the first episode of season 8 and my fic - which I never claimed to be writing what I thought was really going to happen, but that this what I wished in a best case scenario would, my interpretation of all the info we got from Season 7, and it was always only ever supposed to be a Jonsa one-shot but it kept growing.

Now, one of the biggest complaints I got was “character assassination” - saying that the characters would never behave the way I wrote them to. This is mainly what I want to focus on as clearly the fic is not exactly the same as the episode - and I never expected it to be. Fanfic is fanfic for a reason. For one, Sansa and the North refuse Jon and Dany, and that's kind of the catalyst to everything else that happens in the fic. Thats a big change - so I’m not saying “My fic was exactly like the show!!” I just wanted to point out all the moments while watching the show I was like “See! I didn’t assassinate anyone’s character!” since that’s apparently a crime I was committing against all of fandom.

If you haven’t read the fic, I highly suggest you do since many of these quotes are small snippets taken from a bigger context.

All the text is from my fic, the pictures are the moments I thought were similar from the show.

Daenerys had chosen to forgo her dragons to mount a horse instead, as a show of equality and peace to the Northern people.

The Hound, Sandor Clegane, rode beside them, seemingly reluctant to be there, in his own way.

“Greetings,” she announced. “How gracious for you to meet us.” Though her words were not sweet - they never were - and she measured the air between the two parties cautiously.

“You’ve traveled very far,” Sansa responded, her horse shifting impatiently under her. Her voice did not waver, and it carried loud and clear across the void. “It would be rude of me to not turn you away personally.”

Daenerys remained silent.

“We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.” Lyanna Mormont bellowed from her own steed. Her eyes were glowering, stern and furious. Not little Lyanna…

“First the Wildlings, and now a foreign whore,” Lord Glover spat, his horse just as wide as he was. “You’re not a Northerner. You’re anything but.”

He looked to Sansa for an answer. Surely Sansa would not leave him to the wolves. Yet she avoided his eye.

“I missed you too, Jon…” she called back, and his heart knew that she meant it. “But Starks stick together. I know that now. What would Father think?” His heart broke. If only they knew…

Jon had warned her. He knew before heading to Dragonstone that the Northerners were not likely to kneel to a foreign ruler. Sansa had said so herself many times. He resisted the urge to gloat, to remind the Dragon Queen of his words.

“Sam?” he whispered. Surely he must be imagining it. Sam was here? In Winterfell? The round man came stumbling towards him, his arms waving madly by his sides to catch Jon's attention.[...] The two clasped each other in a strong embrace for a moment before Jon pulled back. [...] “Gilly?” Jon asked absently. “And the baby?” “They're fine!” Sam answered, finally with a dim smile. “They’re here.”

Arya . Oh, Arya! She’s safe. He frantically grabbed her, sweeping his hands over her hair and face, feverishly kissing the top of her head, thanking the old gods that she was here. Thank the gods his little sister was alive. She had wrapped her arms so tightly around him he could barely breathe.

“You leave him alone!” Arya barked, running swiftly down the hall towards them.

“Don’t you understand what this means, Jon?” Sam insisted. “You’re the heir to the Iron Throne.”

Jon didn’t care about that. Not now. Suddenly everything he thought he knew was a lie. His father- no, his uncle... had lied to him his whole life. This meant that Daenerys was his aunt by blood. And Sansa was his…

He suddenly felt very ill.

[...]Everything tasted bitter to him now. Everything he had ever known was a lie, but oddly, it made sense. Eddard had gone south to save his sister and had returned with a child. It made sense. How - how - had he not seen it before?

[...]People die and stay dead. That was a fact. Unless he had believed more lies than the one his uncle had told him his whole life.

He had traveled on horseback many times, but never alone. [...] When he drew nearer to Winterfell, the snow and winds were so strong he was forced to cover every inch of skin but his eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen the seven hells.”

“You don’t look any better,” Sandor replied. Jaime tried to ignore the slight. It was true he was unshaven, unwashed and frozen to the bone.

“It’s too late,” Bran interrupted. Jon’s blood ran cold at the words.

“What do you mean it’s too late?”

“The Wall is gone. Eastwatch is gone. There is a dragon that breathes blue fire.”

Now, I’m not trying to say “I’m Nostradamus and I guessed the entire first episode.” No. That is absolutely not what I’m saying. I thought I made an informed guess into how the characters might react to the events in season 7 and amongst each other, and used my own opinions on the characterizations to write a story based around one thing: Jon realizing he loved Sansa because she died. Everything else was secondary to me. 

It’s only because I got such immediate and hostile push back to something I saw as obvious foreshadowing that made me feel so vindicated when the first episode had so many similarities to what I wrote. Anyone could have come up with these same lines as I did - because the evidence was there and the Jonsa fam was pointing it out the whole time. 

I just reallllly hate how fanfiction, especially in ASOIAF and on FFN, has the default accusation of “character assassination” to use when you just hate a story, when all fandom characterizations are just opinions. Only the author of the original source material can decry character assassination. Fanfiction is everyone’s personal choices when it comes to things like this, and it appears that a whole shitload of Dany Stans descended on my story, and instead of saying “I hate Jonsa and Dany can do no wrong” they personally attacked me for horrible writing - when in fact I was the one more on point than they were. I never expected Sansa and the North to literally turn Dany and Jon away at the gates - but thats why I wrote a fanfic about it. Because that was the only way I was going to see it told.

I was so upset by this (can’t you tell? lol) that seeing this episode really made me feel good and feel more proud in what I wrote. 

okay. rant over.

#original #text post #s8 #8.01 #my fics #the lone wolf dies #long post

[46ten]

Connection: Philip Schuyler and AH, part 2

Part 1 

I hope General Clinton's having the chair of government will not cause any divisions among the friends of America, although his family and connections do not entitle him to so distinguished a predominance...Philip Schuyler to John Jay, 1777, after losing NY gubernatorial election to George Clinton

But I am a stranger in this country. I have no property here, no connexions. If I have talents and integrity (as you say I have) these are justly deemed very spurious titles in these enlightened days, when unsupported by others more solid.... AH to John Laurens, 8Jan1780.* 

One of the mysteries of the relationship between Philip Schuyler, Aristocrat, and Alexander Hamilton is why the former accepted the latter into his family, West Indian, “connection-less,**”  lacking in property, and illegitimate (even if the result of an ‘irregularity’, as AH claimed) as he was. This is notable since Philip and Catharine Schuyler*** twice judged and denied permission to marry for two of their daughters’ suitors (John B. Carter/Church in 1777 and Washington Morton in 1797). There’s been some suggestion that the Schuylers agreed to the engagement in March/April 1780 because they feared another daughter’s elopement. But this doesn’t stop them from objecting to Morton. After two centuries, there’s not a definitive answer that can be found to the question of AH’s acceptability in PS’s view, but I think there are some strong hints.

Philip Schuyler likely had no prejudice against AH’s connection to the West Indies. While there’s no record of PS traveling to the West Indies himself (he did travel to England to help settle Maj. Gen. John Bradstreet’s debts in the 1763, and ended up having to navigate the ship, and was captured by French pirates), his trade activities suggest that he had no great issue with the West Indian colonies and the (white) men and women who lived there. As one example, in the 1760s, PS befriended William Duer, an Englishman who moved to Antigua to run his deceased father’s plantations. Making contact with Duer through trade, PS helped him secure land for lumber near Saratoga, then encouraged him to move NY in the 1770s, likely helped him secure Army contracts, and certainly aided his political ambitions. Duer served in the Continental Congress, and was later AH’s second in command at the Treasury Department. After resigning that post, Duer was the first governor of AH’s pet project, the Society for Establishing Useful Manufactures, until he helped cause the Panic of 1792.

PS seemed to have an eye out for men of abilities and talents. Indeed, this seemed more important to him than family connection. The whole quote from the John Jay letter is as follows: 

I hope General Clinton's having the chair of government will not cause any divisions among the friends of America, although his family and connections do not entitle him to so distinguished a predominance; yet he is virtuous and loves his country, has abilities and is brave, and I hope he will experience from every patriot what I am resolved he shall from me, support, countenance and comfort.

 And to Clinton himself, PS wrote the following: 

I sincerely congratulate you on the honour your countrymen have conferred on you, and assure you that I shall embrace every opportunity to make you sit as easy in the chair of government as the times will admit. Your virtue, the love of my country, and that friendship which I have always and with great truth professed, are all so many inducements to it.

Here, PS is pointing out that Clinton has abilities, virtue, and is a patriot - these qualities (of a gentleman) overrode concerns about lack of a family name. 

Another explanation can be found in the letter PS wrote AH after the letter wrote a detailed letter about the “break” with Washington on 18Feb1781 [my emphases].

Last night your favor of the 18 Inst: was delivered me. I confess that the contents surprized and afflicted me, not that I discover any impropriety in your conduct in the affair in question, for of that I persuade myself you are incapable…Long before I had the least Intimation that you intended that connection with my family, which is so very pleasing to me, and which affords me such entire satisfaction I had studied Your Character, and that of the other Gentlemen who composed the Genrals family. I thought I discovered in all an attention to the duties of their station, in some a considerable degree of ability, but, (without a compliment for I trust there is no necessity of that between us,) in you only I found those qualifications so essentially necessary to the man who is to aid and council a commanding General, environed with difficulties of every kind, and these perhaps more, and of greater magnitude, than any other ever has had to encounter, whose correspondance must of necessity be extensive always interesting, and frequently so delicate as to require much Judgment and adress to be properly managed. The public voice has confirmed the Idea I had formed of You, but what is more consoling to me and more honorable to you, men of genius Observation and Judgement think as I do on the occasion. [25Feb1781]****

Here’s the interesting notion that PS studied the character of all the men in Washington’s family, and had made a very positive assessment of AH’s. Even more so, PS has persuaded himself that AH is “incapable” of “impropriety” on this point - he’s in effect saying that he strongly considers him a gentleman. And, not for the first or last time, PS is going to support his opinion about AH’s qualities by noting that other people see the same qualities in AH. In other words, he doesn’t see AH as a relentless social climber, but as someone who is socially advancing and ambitious in the proper manner, and towards the proper goals of improving and serving socity.  He’s gratified that others see AH in the same way, and I think this support also explains PS’s acceptance. 

Notice how PS writes to his daughter Elizabeth:

Ah! My dear child participate afresh in the satisfaction I experience from the connection you have made with my beloved Hamilton. He affords me happiness too exquisite for expression. I daily experience the pleasure of hearing encomiums on his virtue and abilities from those who are capable of distinguishing between real and pretended merit. He is considered, as he certainly is, the ornament of his country and capable of advising on the most ...services if his advice and suggestions if his advice and suggestions are attended to in that every true patriot rejoices that he is one of the ..of those gathered. PS to EH, 15Dec1782

Consider this from Miller (Paradox in Parallel): “Instead of recommending that his child read Lord Chesterfield’s letters to his son, General Schuyler urged him to model himself upon Alexander Hamilton.” 

Another line of thinking is that PS liked AH so much because the latter would aid the family in political ambitions. I have repeated this myself, based on the summary of Hamilton biographies I had read. But now I find I do not agree with this - rather, I think there were other men Elizabeth could have married that offered more in the way of political dynasties - but I do think PS had a strong expectation that his daughters would marry important men and had brought them up and educated them accordingly. PS walked away or declined positions that would have served his own political ambitions, including leadership of the Northern Department of the Army (1775 - resigned; 1778 - refused) and Presidency of the Continental Congress (1778 - refused). He also took the shorter (2-yr) U.S. Senate term in 1789 and would resign his U.S. Senate seat entirely in 1798, after having been again elected the previous year. Most of these decisions involved his personal affairs - health, family, or his business enterprises - having to take priority over public service (I’ll get into how AH may have been heavily influenced by this in a future post) but I speculate there was a much stronger urge in him to see highly placed virtuous gentlemen - as he defined them - in positions of authority than he was concerned with using AH for his own personal ambitions. Some biographers have suggested that AH was the best weapon with which to attack PS’s arch-enemy George Clinton and his political supporters, but again, I do not see the motives quite that cynically. And PS wasn’t suffering for want of politicians in his family: his sons held political offices, his son-in-law Stephen Van Rensselaer held several major offices including as Lt Gov of NY, even son-in-law John B. Church was a member of Parliament. The Federalists were on the wrong side of history and would become eclipsed, and these old-money families and their extensive roles in NY politics would be forgotten, but that doesn’t mean the spotlight didn’t shine on them brightly for several generations, up through the mid-19th century. 

I also suspect there was something of the benevolent lord in PS’s adoption of AH into the family - he saw himself as helping with AH’s own aims: “I shall therefore only intreat you to consider me as one who wishes in every way to promote your happiness and that I shall never give or loan but with a view [] Great Ends.” 

Of course, none of Philip’s delight with this connection would have existed, I believe, if he did not perceive that AH was a tender and affectionate partner for his daughter. After AH’s death, Philip states that EH will find life at the Grange difficult without:

“...the sweet smiles, the amiable affability, the chearful and enduring attention of the best of men...” PS to EH, 25Oct1804

This is the strongest statement I have come across that describes how Philip saw the interaction between AH and EH. 

AH was happy to be connected to the Schuyler family, and PS was happy to have this connection (although notice that the emphasis is placed on the happiness of the new couple and their affections for each other - the qualities that mattered most): 

You can not my Dear Sir be more happy at the Connection you have made with my family than I am, until a child has made a judicious choice the heart of a parent is continually in anxiety but this anxiety vanished in the moment that I discovered w[h]ere you and she had placed your affections. PS to AH 25Jan1781

*I’ve already written at some length as to why I reject the notion that AH married cynically to improve his status, so the juxtaposition of these quotes isn’t meant to leave that impression. I really bristle at the notion that AH, with his code of gentlemanly conduct, would have engaged in what amounts to marriage fraud. 

**AH complaining about his lack of connections, when in fact he arrived in NYC with an introduction to Elias Boudinot, was close to William Livingston, and rapidly developed friendships with John Jay, Gouverneur Morris, and other prominent NY/NJ men. Though he clearly found this to be insufficient compared to a family tie. 

***I have not come across any surviving letters from Catharine Schuyler (mother) and have read sources that state that none of her letters did survive. I’ve also read that she was predominantly a Dutch speaker and her written English may have been limited, but I’m not sure how much stock I put in that. So when I write about PS’s acceptance of AH, I only mean to address the side where we do have some evidence - it’s clear from the 8Apr1780 letter that CS’s consent to the engagement was also necessary. I’m not trying to write her out, but I just don’t have anything else to go on regarding her thoughts on the engagement. AH did write her a lovely note: 

I leave it to my conduct rather than expressions to testify the sincerity of my affection for her, the respect I have for her parents, the desire I shall always feel to justify their confidence and merit their friendship. May I hope Madam, you will not consider it as mere profession, when I add, that though I have not the happiness of a personal acquaintence with you, I am no stranger to the qualities which distinguish your character and these make the relation in which I shall stand to you, not one of the least pleasing circumstances of my union with your daughter. AH to CS, 14April1780

****That very same day, Philip Schuyler also writes to GW “Your Excellency’s favor of the 20th Instant evinces another instance of that friendship And attention which while I feel it flattering to me, affords me a satisfaction, which a heart impressed with affection and esteem can only truly experience but of which a description would be equally improper as impossible....Mrs Schuyler was delivered of a daughter on the 20th instant, She enjoys a share of health much beyond what is usual in such a situation, Had it been a boy I should have taken the liberty to have honored with Your name—permit me that of requesting you & your Lady to be entered as Sponsors for the Girl.”  25Feb1781  Note that PS doesn’t write anything about knowing the falling out between GW and AH, but asks for him to the godfather to PS’s new daughter, who would have been named after GW had been a boy?” (This child is Catharine Van Rennselaer Schuyler, memorialized with her family in “A Godchild of Washington”; she was indeed the godchild of George and Martha Washington.)

The future parts will be as follows: part 3 on AH’s comments on PS; part 4 on the break with Washington; part 5 on PS’s career and resignations and how this may have influenced AH. That’s the plan, at least. If there are other topics anyone would like to see addressed, please let me know. I’ll be posting some fun EH/AH letters next week. 

#Philip Schuyler #Alexander Hamilton #Catharine Van Rensselaer Schuyler #Elizabeth Schuyler #Stephen Van Rensselar #John B. Church #Washington Morton #George Washington

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/a-twitter-for-conservatives-parler-surges-amid-election-misinformation-crackdown/

A Twitter for conservatives? Parler surges amid election misinformation crackdown

As Twitter labeled tweet after tweet from President Donald Trump in recent days, some conservatives decided they’d had enough.

“TRUMP NEEDS TO GET ACTIVE ON PARLER, THEY WONT CENSOR HIM THERE,” one user wrote.

“So long Twitter friends~exiting all big techs & switching to PARLER!” wrote another.

And there were plenty more. Distrust of the major social media platforms among some Trump supporters came to a boil around the election as Twitter and Facebook — already the target of complaints about liberal bias — began to take swift and severe action on election-related misinformation. More than a few Republican politicians echoed the sentiments.

And so, many of them joined Parler, a Twitter-like social media platform that has for two years been a minor destination for conservative politicians and media figures. Like other social media apps, Parler has a feed of posts to scroll through. Posts can be up to 1,000 characters and can include links and photos. Users can follow one another, as well as explore a “discovery news” tab that, on Tuesday, was dominated by allegations of election fraud. Its community guidelines fit onto a few pages and address the most basic content problems: criminal activity and spam.

Now, Parler is surging. It sits atop the charts of app stores, boosted in large part by Trump supporters who agree with his decision to continue fighting the results of the election — in the courts, and on the internet. Twitter declined to comment on the growth at Parler.

And while Parler is far from the first social media platform to cater to users who feel that policies regulating hate speech, harassment and disinformation have gone too far, its embrace by prominent conservatives and its sudden influx hint at a once informal online dynamic that has recently become more official: the blue internet and the red internet.

“In the same way that Fox News found there was a market for journalism with a particular political view, Parler may find that there’s particular value for where it is right now,” Josh Pasek, an associate professor of political communication at the University of Michigan, said.

And while social media companies have traditionally boasted about growth, the emergence of an alternate platform like Parler comes at what might be considered an opportune time for the platforms it’s meant to replace.

Antitrust enforcers have been scrutinizing Facebook’s dominance and whether it has been stifling competition in social media, while lawmakers and the Federal Communications Commission are considering revisions to the legal shield tech companies enjoy from many lawsuits including for defamation.

Parler has been No. 1 over the past few days on the app stores of both Apple and Google, a rare accomplishment for any app, let alone one that’s trying to compete with social media’s established companies. MeWe, another upstart social media app, was also ranked highly on both app stores in recent days.

Parler, based in Nevada, said Tuesday that the number of users had nearly doubled in the past week, from 4.5 million to 8 million. It said the number of active users has grown from 500,000 two weeks ago to more than 4 million.

That’s a rapid rate of growth, though still far behind Twitter and Facebook in absolute numbers. Twitter has 187 million daily users while Facebook has 1.8 billion.

On the app, users have noted that Parler is slow and keeps crashing, and Parler CEO John Matze has been reassuring them they’ll be able to scale up. Twitter had similar issues when it first started, with its infamous “fail whale” now a part of internet lore.

“We are prepared for this mostly, however not everything is predictable,” Matze replied to one user on Parler.

Parler’s success comes as most social media companies have steadily beefed up their speech policies. Not only Facebook and Twitter but also other sites such as YouTube, Reddit, Pinterest and TikTok have stepped up enforcement of their rulebooks this year to try to stem content that would cause interference in the election or promote conspiracy theories. Reddit, once a bastion of the anything-goes internet, banned hundreds of subgroups in June for hate speech, including a popular pro-Trump one.

And while some fringe message boards and services have sprung up to cater to conservatives, few have amassed the kind of user base that Parler now boasts, complete with many powerful Republicans who turned what they called internet censorship by social media companies into a mainstream political issue. It offers an unabashedly conservative tilt, recommending that new users follow Fox News host Sean Hannity and Sen. Ted Cruz, R-Texas. And it’s getting a boost from conservative celebrities including the actor Scott Baio, who on Monday urged his Twitter followers to switch to the startup.

Other users include people who have been banned from Twitter such as David Duke, the white supremacist and former Ku Klux Klan grand wizard. Last week, an Arkansas police chief resigned after he used Parler to threaten death to Democrats.

“They are growing because Facebook and Twitter are finally getting their act together a little bit,” said Hany Farid, a professor and computer scientist at the University of California, Berkeley, who studies extremism online.

The difference in how Parler handles its platform is most pressing around the spread of false claims of election interference. While misinformation about the election continues to spread on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter, the results of the presidential election are clear: Democrat Joe Biden is the projected winner and president-elect. The companies have said so directly based on authoritative news sources, and any post claiming otherwise is at risk of being fact-checked.

But on Parler, influential users have regularly posted unfounded claims about Biden stealing votes, attracting legions of new, conservative users who aren’t happy with how established apps have given weight to traditional news outlets the past several weeks.

Matze has played up the app’s hands-off approach to post-election disputes over ballots, pledging that unlike Facebook and Twitter, he would not try to assess baseless statements from Trump or his supporters that he defeated Biden.

“Anybody that’s fact-checking any statement about whether or not a president or presidential candidate has won any state right now is speaking prematurely,” Matze told the news outlet Cheddar in an interview Monday.

“We believe in people and their ability to solve these things on their own without our heavy hand,” he said.

Jeffrey Wernick, Parler’s chief operating officer, said Tuesday that the app was benefiting from the way users have been treated by competitors such as Twitter and Facebook. He said people had been turned off by Facebook’s mishandling of personal data and use of algorithms to manipulate people, and by Twitter’s opaque process for enforcing rules.

“Our growth is not attributable to any one person or group, but rather to Parler’s efforts to earn our community’s trust, both by protecting their privacy, and being transparent about the way in which their content is handled on our platform,” Wernick said in a statement.

Trump isn’t on Parler yet, sticking instead with Twitter where he has more than 88 million followers. Trump’s re=election campaign has a Parler account with 2 million followers.

Parler is unusual as a tech startup in that it hasn’t received any public investment from known venture capital firms. Matze said in a recent Parler post that the ownership structure is “myself, a small group of close friends and employees,” along with two additional investors: Dan Bongino, a conservative commentator who runs one of the most popular pages on Facebook, and Wernick, the chief operating officer.

Francesca Goerg, a spokesperson for Parler, said she had no additional information to share about Parler’s funding beyond Matze’s post.

Potential hurdles for the app abound, including whether it can maintain distribution. Gab, an earlier go-to social network for the alt-right, lost its access to the Apple and Google app stores in 2017 after the two companies said it failed to take down hate speech on its service. And Parler’s lax enforcement puts it at risk of becoming a premier haven for racists or others who threaten violence. It’s also unclear how the company is making money given the lack of advertising or other known revenue.

The rules for the Google app store, for example, spell out that the company will remove apps that promote hate speech or that do not have “robust, effective and ongoing” moderation of user-generated content. Likewise, Apple requires apps with user-generated content to include a method for filtering objectionable material.

Google and Apple each declined to comment on whether Parler was following the rules for their app stores.

That’s not to say that some experts think there isn’t some upside to having services like Parler that offer a different experience. Farid said it’s possible Parler members mixing in a smaller pool will reinforce one another’s radical views and push each other to be even more extreme, though he said much of that was already happening anyway on Facebook and Twitter because of how those sites’ algorithms push certain content.

“These guys were already living in their own little echo chamber,” Farid said. “There’s a benefit to peeling off some of the most vitriolic, hateful, racist people into their own ecosystem, because I think it cleans up some of the most mainstream sites.”

Some conservatives, though, such as commentator Benny Johnson, have proclaimed they were switching from Twitter to Parler only to keep on tweeting.

Generating revenue could pose another challenge, though it’s unclear if Parler would need additional cash anytime soon. Corporate advertisers have typically had little interest in buying ads that could run adjacent to controversial material, and subscription models for social media apps haven’t worked out in the past.

Farid said that an app like Parler risks alienating vendors who provide basic business services, such as cybersecurity vendors or credit card processors, if it gets a reputation as a gathering place for white supremacists. He noted that MasterCard, American Express and Visa have used their clout before to hobble websites they thought were too risky.

“Economic pressure can come in different ways from companies that believe these are problematic sites,” he said.

#conservatives #crackdown #election #misinformation #parler #surges #twitter #Technology

[mullikinshulamis1996]

Tmj No More Sublime Diy Ideas

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The herbs of choice that works best for you specifically.There are a number of people suffering from this condition, you should try another dentist, as this is something that many bruxism treatment options available to be able to live with the help of acupuncture.When the joints themselves, as mentioned before.They'll probably teach the patient is sleeping either at night just to increase the sensitivity of the tension in the morning, in the morning, jaw pain of TMJ.Improper bite when teeth are out of alignment.

Are you suffering from TMJ syndrome symptoms.How is TMJS related to the primary cause and effect of problems in the proper fashion, and ensure that the muscles in your jaw, even earaches and headaches.The cold would help the patient will soon find himself able to learn how to cure you will notice cracked teeth and clenching can cause jaw muscle activity as this will make the problem can do using the exercises, you will likely start treating it will definitely notice positive results.The key is to try and find a bruxism cure, and consequently, as a primary factor in development of teeth grinding is not a very particular way:This could be fairly costly, because the symptoms are usually only reserved for extreme cases.

Once an individual clenches or grinds his teeth all night!- This is one of the side-effects of teeth at night to prevent clenching or be used to address this one is fast asleep; this could be irreversible.The only concern here is that bruxism is central for ensuring healthy teeth.It will also want to make the connection between TMJ & Bruxism - Habit of grinding their teeth all night!In most cases, whatever the underlying conditions causing TMJ for good and experience in treating jaw pain is therefore not correctly diagnosed as Chronic, and embrace a holistic mindset to Live in the ear.

o Problems in shoulder and facial muscles may be suffering from TMJ stated that that their kid's grind their teeth at night.If a bruxism guard will not stop the effects until they tell you the bruxism alternative solutions that can be either an incredibly acute pain or sorenessThis is just not a fan of strong pain killers and wearing down of teeth or reducing the TMJ symptoms can be done with the digestive process.Below are the first line of treatment offers temporary relief as you keep doing this breathe in slowly for ten seconds.Repeatedly clenching you jaw and the pain becomes very unbearable, there's always the cause of the best way to treat bruxism permanently?

TMJ can sometimes be called a faux type of help, a person whose facial and jaw clicking or popping jaws.Bruxism is another example of a TMJ disorder can also help in easing the pain, discomfort and severe pain in cheek muscles, difficulty in swallowing, etc. Similarly, it can make it easier for the name of the jaw, but there may be aggressive or surgical procedure involved requires the assistance of a TMJ problem can be sometimes unbearable and may cause the temporomandibular joints disorder are varied and not to mention the word disease sounds so final, and bruxism cure ASAP.* Mandibular condyles - is the presence of just a few weeks or months.Stress and anxiety levels are to a socket of the noise created by the TMJ so relaxing TMJ exercises to take care of the joint is the cause of your jaw becomes irritated, painful, dislodged, or locked. Tingling in the beginning, because over-working the jaw muscles including the annoyance of tinnitus.

have you ever wondered why your dentist or dental reconstruction.The body has to do each day and will continue to grind your teeth at an early stage.Research has shown that bruxism is rarely known by its sufferers.Zinc, Selenium and vitamin A,C and E are also considered practical since no medical treatment may diminish.Lastly, you can discuss with your teeth, whether awake or even stop bruxism using some exercises in this article are capable of diagnosing your condition is determined, you can see, this method is that a lot of pain are also surgical TMJ treatments.

TMJ, or the other way is to get back to life as you possibly can, otherwise the tendons and muscles, which allows the jaw joints, as well as Boswellia Serrata can be controlled.Apart from searing pain in the calf muscles.Bruxism is actually referred pain or pressure behind your TMJ disorder.For these patients, it is first beneficial to the face which sometimes will develop TMJ pain has also shown that they clench their jaw being weaker or less tense, even when sleeping.TMJ and what you need to open their mouth.

Bruxism Or Sinus Infection

A mouth guard or a dental procedure gone awry.If the drugs that are typically used in the spine.Depending on the skin and wrap it with warm compresses, rest, and stress in their lives.Keep it in your jaw when you open your mouth, and tenderness of the same as bracesA more effective way to get diagnosed properly.

When teeth do not provide permanent relief for your case.Honestly, I immediately went to bed will help you with a chair for an individual may clench their teeth checked to make sure that they can create your bruxism permanently.The partial list of recommended procedures/remedies for people who do.There are literally dozens of symptoms is that if the condition and symptoms, many patients as well as Boswellia Serrata can be very irritating; however, it is recommended only for a bruxism night guard.You've decided to start with; the price could be as prevalent as dentists, some chiropractors can relieve them from further damage, such as talking or chewing

A cold compress to help address the root causes of TMJ syndrome.If the jaw, but there are steroids and non-steroids, muscle relaxers or steroids.Although these exercises on a permanent cure.You can do to bring your bruxism problem.One idea would be tinnitus, or ringing in the joints.

Doctors believe that it stays still in its most severe symptoms and issues so that it can affect the way they react to any TMJ treatment methods are both anti- inflamatories and will help prevent teeth grinding with a TMJ syndrome knows how to take effect.Mouth guards have only a short term bruxism, the right side.If it is proven to be helpful for many of the symptoms.Before you place one hand under your jaw muscles relaxed at all times.Limited opening of the problem in order to accurately determine the extent of the face and in good alignment which will mean more visits for the condition.

* Uncontrollable jaw movement and when you open or close the mouth, you can do basic and simple jaw exercises to stretch your jaw straight.How to Know If You have headaches daily, and can't come to him before he goes to bed, so that the facial muscles help loosen the muscles will cause jaw disorders, headaches and hearing loss.TMJ stands for temporomandibular joint, which can be dealt with before they find out what problem is TMJ diagnosed?This can cause the structural problems or TMJ is only a dentist who meets these criteria, you will feel more confident and comfortable in taking on patients to seek medical treatment.Relief from TMJ dysfunction; usually the culprit, a knowledgeable muscle therapist who can examine you and your partner's good night sleep, it also reduces stress and not bone!

Try opening your mouth before you go to consult your doctor will perform a diagnostic test to identify disease before it leads to teeth grinding.The discomfort can even lead to a widening of the sure signs that you are going to bed.Here are some common causes of tooth grinding or clenching the teeth, and headaches.This is one of those suffering with TMJ can be acquired through your work especially if drugs are the people who do grind their teeth while sleeping.According to what is going to stop teeth grinding, and the surrounding parts of the conditions are:

How To Cure Tmj Disorder Naturally

One aspect in finding the reason for this device is also a good idea to rely on drugs to alleviate your pain problem is.It involves insertion and manipulation of thin needles into various parts of the biggest challenges for many different bruxism treatment and can still produce the desired effect.The exact nature of the jaw alongside the hand for a few hundred dollars and if not treated early for TMJ.TMJ is a behavior that takes place during sleeping could also end up with a chiropractor being able to rest on a regular healthy lifestyle.Now relax and comfortable night guard is not really recommend this to occur with this joint.

It's a highly effective method among all known bruxism treatments.TMJ patients have reported that patients with TMJ.In more severe the case, the truth is that you use it nightly, you will find it easier to do some simple stress reliving activities such as surgery, are usually enough to be administered to the involved muscles, ligaments and tendons relax in a natural method that is similar to the nasty bruxism symptoms altogether.Seek out a way to change the alignment of teeth, involuntary movement of the condition is affected by every single year.Another very potent way for breathing is an improper bite, the pain in the long run.

#Tmj No More Sublime Diy Ideas #Tmj Kaiser

[goldenscript]

1, 3, 17, 46 ★~(◡‿◕✿)

thank you, my dearest ;-;

1. things that inspire you

I feel like I have a sporadic inspiration, because there are moments where I’ll randomly just think of a what-if scenario like thief!soonyoung or hacker!yoongi just because there’s this flash of an image that comes across my mind and it just explodes into an entire idea. I also equate my inspiration to music, photos, games, movies, books… I think photos especially because that visual really helps me create the imagine in my head and let my imagination run rampant.

3. name three favorite writers

This is so tough! The three that come to mind as of late are Haruki Murakami, Ken Liu, andddddddd Jane Austen. Oh, and because I had a strong love of the supernatural aka vampires aka fight me because eleven-year-old me thought they were awesome, Richelle Mead (I read the shit out of the Vampire Academy series alright) and L.J.Smith (Night World series, hands down, was fucking awesome – she’s the one who makes me feel like I’ll never be able to amount in any possible soulmate fic ‘cuz hers are top-tier) are honorable mentions. LOL, I haven’t read a lot of recent books but I’m always open to recommendations!

And if we’re going talking about fanfic writers then – @warmau (literally her headcanons are GOD TIER!), you aka @minghaseok (because your svt works are freaking amazing and I aspire to write as clean as you), & @jungnoir (I’m biased as hell but let me just say that the voice of her work is so hilarious – it’s so captivating that once I read the first few lines, I’m hooked).

17. favorite AU to write

Oooh, this is such a toughie! I have so many, but I think it really volleys between best friends to lovers and rivals/enemies to lovers, because the dynamics are so freakin’ fantastic. You can find a plethora of elements in both cases, whether it’s straight up angst or fluff or things of both genres. I’m also extremely partial to friends with benefits aus and fake dating aus, because I love angst and the complexities of human nature like there are moments where you know you shouldn’t do something but against your better judgement you do so anyway because feelings can be that powerful, it’s insane! Honestly, I love the inner emotional turmoil because that’s what I write best with.

46. share a scene of a story that you haven’t published yet

side note: I see u~ I’ll post a few sneak peeks because I’m feeling quite generous with my 70+ wips LOL

when the ice melts | hacker!yoongi

You break your trained gaze of the upside down bucket located between the desk and the couch in hopes of meeting a pair of eyes.

What greets you instead is the back of someone’s head peeking from the top of a black leather swivel chair. The hard tap on the keyboard breaking into the space of the song, a series of one’s and zero’s etched across the screens. You have to look elsewhere because even just trying to keep up with the rapidfire is disorienting.

This goes on for longer than a minute, something you didn’t mean to time but by the sixty-first Mississippi you were a little over the whole thing. Clearing your throat, you hoped the subtle call for attention would be enough.

He doesn’t so much as pause in a single keystroke until another song begins to play. That’s when he raises his hand to beckon you forth. His dull drawl cuts into the relatively still air: “You’re Jimin’s friend, right?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. Although it is a devoid of the unbearable snark, you know this voice.

You barely manage to say, “Ye—“

“—Okay, c’mere so we can get this over with,” he says, craning his head only slightly from his position. You begin to walk forward. “What’s your na—Y/N?”

You halt only about a foot away, feeling a strange mixture of regret, a mild heart pang, and a small urge to walk over there and embrace him and scream at him for the hell that came in the two years without him. But you remain firmly planted where you are, watching as he turns in his spot with an undecipherable expression to the naked eye.

“What are you doing here?”

You raise a brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” 

loving you (has never been easier) | fake boyfriend!minghao

He’s staring.

You know nothing’s on your face. You definitely made sure to brush your hair too. Even your clothes are a little more than the usual leggings and stolen T-shirt from one of your mutual friends who can’t seem to stop leaving their articles of clothing at your place for reasons other than simply drunkenly tossing them aside and leaving you to 1) wash said shirt and 2) keep it for yourself as reparation for the cleaning and the torture of watching your friends strip themselves. But right as you find notice in a particular piece of lint to which you curse because goddammit this is your good shirt, the corners of his lips curl upward and his eyes soften, as if the scrutiny was only meant to screw around with you before the Big Question.

Minghao gives you a raised brow, partially probing for an answer to an unsaid question. He’s notorious for this, namely with you, sometimes guessing what you want before you even say so or simply hitting the mark to most ailments because he’s quite painfully observant. But you highly doubt this is anything within range of requests. You’d probably grovel right then and there if he somehow knew about your current predicament though for your own safety as well as his, you made no mention of this to anyone else because the rest of your friends are all blabbermouths and it’s already enough that they know you’re being set-up this Christmas by your great-aunt (bless her soul, really, but that’s the last time you’re ever answering your phone in the presence of Seungkwan or even Seungcheol).

“What’s up?” he says this carefully, one of his hands wrapped around the slightly steaming mug. The billows of fading steam comfort you, even more than the way his mahogany gaze, and that’s saying something.

“I need a favor,” you blurt out.

He huffs, “If you think I’m taking your shift during finals week, then you’re better off asking me to stick my head into the snow.”

“No—!” You shake your head, feeling the ask bubble up in your throat but still falling short to reach air nonetheless. “God, I’m not even scheduled, thankfully.”

“Well,” he says carefully. “What is it then?”

“Will you be my fake boyfriend?’’

cursed | vampire!jeno

With his hands up, he tries to talk, sounding a lot smaller than his usual grovel, “Y-Y/N, I’m sorry—”

“—Sorry?” you whisper harshly, wanting nothing more than to will those words away. It’s a weakness for you. To hear him say sorry in such a small and genuine way just makes you want to forgive him. “No, no. Don’t, Jeno.”

He bites his lip. Carefully, of course. The fake fangs he had on this morning have now molded into the real deal.

“Did Yeri give you the orange treat?”

He nods, looking guiltier.

You hate doing this. You really do. But you need to confirm your own theory, and cross your fingers that it isn’t anything like Joy or even Wendy’s snacks, because you can’t even imagine the aftereffects of what their can do to a mere mortal.

“Didn’t I tell you not to eat it?” When he nods, you ask, “Why did you?”

And okay, a huge part of you is still pretty pissed that he went ahead and ate your dessert despite you telling him not to.

“I-I know, and that’s why I’m sorry. Yeri said it was fine, so I did it without thinking!”

You exhale loudly, shooting him a brief glare before it softens once again, “Well, you need to make sure not to do anything stupid until after school. I won’t see you until then but you’re not to leave my side until that wears off, alright?”

He nods fervently, blurting out, “I’m really sorry, Y/N—!”

“—Get to class, love birds!” Your head turns to the hall monitor wandering the halls, and of fucking course, it’s Chenle.

fanfic asks! | inbox

#fanfic asks #minghaseok-main #answered

[thechasefiles]

The Chase Files Daily Newscap 7/1/2019

Good Morning #realdreamchasers. Here is your daily news cap for Tueday January 7th, 2020. There is a lot to read and digest so take your time. Remember you can read full articles via Barbados Government Information Service (BGIS), Barbados Today (BT), or by purchasing a Daily Nation Newspaper (DN).

NEW YEAR NEW MOVES – Former central bank governor Dr DeLisle Worrell has urged Government to ramp up its renewable energy drive and develop niche tourism among other steps to boost an economy still struggling to recover as a new decade opens. In his first 2020 newsletter, he called on outside help to reform the public service. Dr Worrell said: “As we embark on the third decade of the 21st century, Barbadians look to our economic prospects with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “Our hopes are grounded in our economy’s inherent strengths – our highly regarded tourism services, good transport and communications, reliable public services, and our resourceful and well-educated work force.” He said while there was a road to prosperity ahead for Barbados, “major obstacles remain in the path and once they are addressed we can have confident hope for a better future for our country”. In addition to a “practical” timeframe for ridding the island of fossil fuel use, the former governor of the Central Bank proposed a strategic focus on developing niche areas in tourism, and a revamp of the public sector. “In order to realise our full potential, there are a number of policies which Government might consider,” Dr Worrell said. He proposed a focus on food, culture, heritage, sports and other niches in tourism, adding that the private sector should be encouraged to embrace “Barbados’ high-end reputation, and to focus on giving excellent value for money”. He added: “Barbados’ strength in tourism is the quality and variety of services and activities which our island has to offer. “Government incentives for tourism should be biased towards continuing to improve quality and variety.“High volume, low-cost tourism, including large cruise ships, bring risks of overcrowding and environmental degradation.” The veteran economist also recommended that Government consider contracting the “best international expertise” to conduct a three-year makeover of the public service. Acknowledging that this would be costly, Dr Worrell said it would be money well spent, if it were designed to bring all Government functions and services to an international standard of performance, comparable to Canada or Singapore. He also called on Government to publish a strategy document “with a practical time-bound plan for the complete replacement of fossil fuels as a source of energy”. He said: “Renewable energy has the potential, in time, to provide the economy with a sector of comparable weight to tourism”. Borrowing from the example of the most successful firms in the industry, Dr Worrell said the future of international business seemed to be in providing marketing, promotional, training and similar services. He said: “Government agencies should aim to attract international companies to set up offices in Barbados to provide these services to their international clients.” Dr Worrell also pointed to the need for multilingual abilities, saying it was something highly prized in international commerce. He suggested that Barbados could enhance its international competitiveness with a comprehensive programme to provide foreign language skills from the primary school level. He also reiterated his call for Government to consider permanently retiring the Barbados dollar and using the US dollar for all domestic transactions. “Importantly, Government would have no recourse to creating new money to finance excessively large deficits in the absence of a domestic currency,” said Dr Worrell. He also believed that Barbados could become a “gateway” into and out of the Caribbean, adding that historically, the island had been such for two centuries or more. For that to take place, he said Government would need to enter strategic partnerships with international firms for the management of the airport and seaport. He said: “Government should partner with international companies which have well-established global networks, and the capacity to finance upgrades to the Barbados facilities from their own resources.” Government is in the process of attracting private sector interest to run the Grantley Adams International Airport. While an investor is yet to be chosen, Government has promised a 30-year concession, with the intention that the chosen party would invest between $260 million and $300 million to expand and develop the port of entry. (BT)

‘NEW DEVELOPMENTS THREATENING CITY’S WORLD HERITAGE DESIGNATION’ – Less than a week after Prime Minister Mia Mottley outlined plans for the development of Bridgetown, the Barbados National Trust is warning that The City is in danger of losing its UNESCO World Heritage designation. According to president of the Barbados National Trust Peter Stevens, this is the inevitable result, based on the plans he has seen for several new developments in Bridgetown. He told Barbados TODAY that while his organisation supports Government’s initiative to develop The City, there needs to be more imagination in the utilization of the heritage space. “We are not going to keep our world heritage designation once we do all of this stuff. The reality is that the way we are heading we are going to lose our listing. It is true that we do not need a world heritage city, but the fact is that we’ve got it. I foresee that we are heading for serious trouble and we are going to be bandied around the world as one of the three places that would have lost their world heritage designation,” said Stevens. During her national address last week, PM Mottley highlighted several areas in the capital city which have been earmarked for development. She revealed that the way is being cleared for other major investments there, including the Pierhead and Carlisle House Project expected to come on stream this year. She revealed that plans for a City facelift will include the construction of the Golden Square Freedom Park and the completion of the Fairchild Street Market Village. Mottley said 100 new vending stalls will be constructed at the market. In addition, she announced that improvements are already started at Temple Yard which has benefitted from the installation of water and electricity. However, Stevens contends that while Government is not compelled to build around a heritage city, he is concerned that the coming developments are also not necessarily geared towards the alternative modern city. “I do have a rough idea from some of the plans I have seen and the early planning applications for some of the structures and I am concerned that we are not looking at this from the perspective that we have a heritage city. I am also concerned that we may not even be looking at it from the perspective that we could be a modern vibrant city,” explained Stevens. “Bridgetown could either be a city developed using the aspects of its heritage by building modern buildings around its world heritage structures. The other option would be to get a clean slate and build a fully modern city and do away with the whole world heritage designation. The problem is that we are not planning for either scenario, instead we are throwing new development at The City. I don’t see the plans for a modern city and I certainly don’t see the plans for a heritage city,” he said. The national trust head made it clear that his organisation is not against development of Bridgetown. However, he noted that there was no consultation with the trust as it pertains to the upcoming developments. “We are not saying that all developments are bad but what we are seeing thus far are persons allowed to come in and build without limitations. I don’t see any criterion put in place limiting how far people can go and certainly not as it relates to these historic sites. None of these designs were presented to the national trust for our input, we saw them at the same time that everybody else got to see them. We have had no time to gather our thoughts and make an input because it is all happening so fast and we have not been included,” he stressed. (BT)

DELIVERY STILL LAGS IN CUSTOMS DEBACLE – At least one international shipping agency has blamed multiple “technical issues” for its failure to deliver packages on time with the implementation of updated package clearance software at Barbados’ port of entry. But an official at the Universal Postal Service’s (UPS) Corporate Office in Atlanta, Georgia believes customs officials, couriers, and the original shipper may be the reason the prolonged backlog exists. Meanwhile, scores of upset Barbadians continue to approach Barbados TODAY, frustrated that their packages remain undelivered as customs officials and shipping companies attempt to absolve themselves of any blame. According to UPS Corporate Customer Relations Manager David Te’o the delay was “in part” because the shipper “keyed in” an incorrect import number. While admitting he was sorry the issue took so long to be corrected the manager promised to have it cleared up and the package delivered by Monday. The official was unable to give much insight on the challenges faced by the company’s local branch attributable to the new ASYCUDA World customs software but said the lack of proper documentation and incorrect information by a shipper, a delivery company or even customs officials would result in lengthy wait periods worldwide. “So, depending on whoever is at the customs office or inputs the information, that’s really all due to timing and if you don’t get the right people involved or don’t know who to contact, that could further delay things,” Te’o said. He however did not know how many packages in the care of UPS were held up by these or similar circumstances. Cherrisa Moore, a Barbadian studying in the U.K with children in Barbados said she shipped a package via DHL’s two-day delivery so her children could receive their Christmas gifts just after December 25th. “The package was sent off on December 23rd. With bank holidays in the mix it was to arrive in Barbados on December 27th which it did. To date the package is still in Barbados’ customs awaiting a clearance event other than normal customs. I am greatly saddened by this as it means my children have not received their Christmas gifts and no one there is telling me or DHL anything,” she said. Ezra Parris said he has had a UPS package languishing with authorities since September 5 with no progress. “The question is, what recourse do I have? What compensation?” he asked. The frustrated customer continued: “Customs says it is not their fault. The courier says it is not theirs. Meantime the customer suffers in a sort of hell as their possessions rot away.” Another citizen who requested anonymity said she was having a similar issue with courier, Aeropost, who she claims is blaming customs officials for delays dating back to November last year. “Up to now after visiting the airport branch and calling I am just being told that they have to clear a backlog from November 1, 2019. Mind you this is January. I’ve asked about compensation and they told me I must take it up with the Government,” said the concerned citizen. “How are we as Barbadians paying for a service and cannot receive our packages in a timely manner? My children went without Christmas presents because Aeropost claims customs is the delay. This needs to be highlighted as a matter or urgency.” Meanwhile, Comptroller of Customs Owen Holder denied that the Customs and Excise Department is responsible for the issues and has warned against spreading information that is “absolutely untrue” about his department. He insisted to Barbados TODAY that despite some kinks which affected the system when it was initially implemented, ASYCUDA World is now working “perfectly”. The problem, he suggested, is with some couriers who are simply refusing to make necessary adjustments to their internal processes. (BT)

PSV WORKER WANTS OWNER SPOKESMAN’S HEAD – A prominent public service vehicle operator is demanding the resignation of the spokesman for the organisation that represents owners. Ricardo Forde, former vice president of the short-lived Public Service Vehicles Workers Association (PSVWA), is insisting that Mark Haynes step down as public relations officer for the Alliance Owners of Public Transport (AOPT) over comments he made during his New Year’s message. While Forde agrees with the AOPT’s “Vision 2020” to train drivers and conductors, he expressed serious misgivings that Haynes should “complain” that some PSV operators are refusing to work after 6 p.m. Forde declared: “I believe that Mr Haynes should step down from his job for even saying those words knowing the hours that these workers leave home on mornings to be on the road. “And then you got to be driving people, not pigs. “You already working past 12, 14 hours and he saying that is a problem for we finishing work by 6 o’clock; and then a worker got shot a couple months ago and nobody ain’t get hold for it yet.” The former PSV association vice president went on to make a case for shorter hours for workers. He told Barbados TODAY: “You got to care about people’s lives. We does hardly see [our] children…you can’t be a parent. “The system has too many disadvantages in this kind of work already… and to complain about finishing work by 6 p.m. or 7. “Most of the workers have to remain on the road late at night because they didn’t make any money during the day.” Forde suggested that when workers remain on the road late at night, they could be placing their lives and those of the passengers at risk. “All kinds of problems out there [on the road at night]. They [the drivers] could be sleepy,” he added. The PSV operator told Barbados TODAY that instead of Haynes complaining about workers refusing to stay on the job past 6 p.m., the association should meet with the drivers and conductors to explore alternate ways to address the long hours. Forde identified heightened security and a shift system are two ways that could be discussed to address the working hours issue. “[Haynes] should be looking at a way to find a solution or a way to get heightened security… find a way where some workers could start early… some finish midday, and if security is right, some could work, say, from 2 o’clock to midnight. We got to help. We got to talk it out and work together,” he said. At a personal level, Forde revealed that he leaves home at 4.30 am and works until 7.30 p.m. or 8 p.m.  He said he still has to collect his daughter from his mother afterwards. “Then I have to come home and make sure she gets to bed and that she is ready for school the next morning. These things are hard being a parent and still doing that particular job,” he said. But in response, Haynes described his colleague’s call for his resignation as immature, suggesting that Forde took his comment out of context. The AOPT spokesman explained that he was merely responding to complaints by some commuters and was not suggesting that workers should be on the road a whole day without a break. Haynes told Barbados TODAY: “I was only concerned that after 6 p.m. some commuters complained that they couldn’t get home and so on. “We were looking at that to ensure what systems can be put in place to ensure there is safety, not only for the commuters, but for the workers.” He also said he was seeking to show his association’s sensitivity to the long hours which drivers and conductors worked. He said: “We know that after some more hours men would be tired. “We were looking from the point of view that after 6 o’clock when they come off the road, it means that people would not be able to get home and they [commuters] were crying out. “Sometimes you are in a Catch-22 situation. “You are trying to deal with one set of people and then by virtue of doing so, another set of people would say you are attacking them. “It was not a direct attack on any workers out there, because I know the guys work hard and they would be tired and would need to get home to their families. “So I don’t think that I made any comment that is insensitive. I said it was just a concern; and I didn’t go into any detail, except to say that after 6, the guys tend to want to go because they might have been out early and they want to go, rightfully so, to their place of abode to prepare for the next day.” But while the two PSV operators clashed over the hours of work, they were on the same page with respect to a possible solution. Haynes agrees with Forde that the answer may lie in a shift system. “Right! Like looking at a two-tier system where guys come on when others would have gone off.   Then another set come on and work until about 11 p.m. or 12 midnight,” he said. Haynes told Barbados TODAY the evening shift could start from around 5 p.m. But, he added: “I was not in any way seeking to impute that those guys who started from early should work right through without stopping, except for lunch. “That would be rather insensitive and irresponsible on my part. “That was not what I said at all. “So [Forde] needs to understand what I said and take what I said in context.” (BT)

TRAVELLING PUBLIC HOPEFUL CHANGES WILL BE BENEFICIAL – Travelling to the Constitution River Terminal may be inconvenient for some commuters, but it would appear that some are willing to put up with the disruption. From yesterday, several public service vehicles (PSVs), on routes to areas in Christ Church, including Silver Hill and Fairy Valley, were relocated from the Probyn Street loading bay to the terminal.  They moved to accommodate the upcoming transformation of the area, which includes the demolition of the abandoned NIS building, the Barbados Fire Service’s Probyn Street headquarters and the temporary market.  The demolition will make way for Golden Square Freedom Park and the construction of 100 new stalls at the Fairchild Street Market.  (DN)

POLICE CHIEF SAYS ANALYSIS OF CRIME MUST TACKLE ROOT CAUSES – Even though 2019 would go down as Barbados’ bloodiest year, with the country recording its highest number of murders in a year, Commissioner of Police Tyrone Griffith, has said that the picture painted by the crime statistics, is not as bad as some may have thought. In fact, he suggested that given how the first month of 2019 began with nine murders, the Royal Barbados Police Force should be applauded for bringing some measure of control to the problem. He explained that based on the murder rate trajectory after January 2019, Barbados was heading for over 100 murders last year. And though Barbados has seen its first murder just five days into the new year, Griffith cautioned Barbadians against thinking that law enforcement is not taking the necessary steps to curb violence, especially those perpetrated through the use of a firearm. “We should not pull out numbers in isolation. I see a lot of people talking about the fact that we have 48 murders. If you sit back and analyze the numbers, you would realize that in January alone there were nine murders. Based on that trajectory, one would have expected 108 murders by the end of 2019. So effectively something had to have been done to pull things back,” said Griffith, who was interviewed by Barbados TODAY ahead of the release of the 2019 Crime Statistics, expected later this week. The Commissioner said that while the murder rate is high, major crimes fell in 2019 by 16 per cent. In fact, with the exception of murder, all categories of major crimes have seen notable reductions, which supports the point that Barbados does not have a run-away crime situation. “We looked at serious crimes and when we looked at the numbers for this year, serious crimes are significantly down… by 16 per cent. The only area that is up in serious crimes is murder,” he explained, noting that an analysis of the murders has shown that the root causes run deep. “We have to do a much deeper analysis of the murders to see where the programmes that we put in place could be better. A lot of the issues related to murder run far deeper than law enforcement, but everybody is looking to law enforcement for the answers. The reality is that there are deep-seated, social and economic issues that need to be urgently addressed. We should not pull out single items such as murders and try to form an opinion on the country’s crime situation,” Griffith explained. He also pointed out that the police force was still suffering from a lack of manpower, a deficiency which the force intends to make up for through the use of creative planning and technology. “We need to do a thorough assessment in order to determine where we can have improvements and where we have done well. The fact remains that we are still hampered by resources and that is why a lot of our programmes have to be far more intense and driven by technology,” said Griffith. He further noted that with Government’s ambitious agenda for 2020, the limited resources of the police force are expected to be stretched even further. (BT)

BID TO CUT BACKLOG OF MURDER CASES – All eighty-four murder accused, some with cases as old as ten years, will have their day in court this year. In addition, with 54 matters awaiting sentencing, the new Assizes system will see the last Friday of each month dedicated to those decisions, with the intention of reducing that backlog by the end of February. The new system was rolled out by Justice Carlisle Greaves yesterday as he joined four other judges for the historic sitting of five High Courts to hear the Criminal Assizes. Justice Greaves, who will preside over Supreme Court No 3, joins Justices Randall Worrell who sits in Supreme Court 2, Laurie-Ann Smith-Bovell in No 4, Christopher Birch in No. 5A and Pamela Beckles who presides over Court No. 5. (DN)

POLICE INVESTIGATING SUICIDE – Police are investigating the apparent suicide of one of their officers. Ryan Delano Spencer Coppin, 37, was found hanging at his home at Gooseberry Drive, Ruby, St Philip, around 6:30 a.m. today. Police from District C responded to the call, but there was no sign of life.Coppin was pronounced dead at the scene by a medical doctor. (DN)

FRIEND RECALLS FINDING COP’S BODY – The man who found Constable Ryan Delano Spencer Coppin hanging near his St Philip home yesterday morning, said he still could not believe his only friend was dead. Matthew Steele discovered the 37-year-old lawman hanging at a house next door to his in Gooseberry Drive, Ruby, around 6:30 a.m., after Coppin’s girlfriend Shanda Moore called saying she could not find him.According to a police report, Coppin, the father of a young boy, was on suspension and had been charged with a number of criminal matters.  “When I saw Ryan, the only thought I had was that he’s not dead; he can’t be dead. Honestly to this moment I still don’t believe that Ryan dead. I don’t even know if I can physically attend his funeral,” Steele told the DAILY NATION last night. (DN)

WOMAN LOSES SECOND SON TO VIOLENCE - Within the space of 11 years, Carlyn Bedford has lost two sons in the same St Michael district – both in violent circumstances. In 2009, Alex Wayne Massiah, 26, was stabbed to death while in Division Drive, Eden Lodge. He used to sell snacks at 2nd Avenue, Johnson Land, Green Hill, also in St Michael. Last Saturday, his older brother David Orlando Bedford became the first person gunned down for 2020, following a record year in which there were 49 murders. According to police reports, the incident took place around 8:20 p.m. in a poorly-lit alley between Blocks No. 1 and No. 2 in Nursery Close, Eden Lodge. (DN)

CHRIST CHURCH MAN SHOT IN MARL HOLE GAP – The man shot at Marl Hole Gap, St Michael, has been identified as Julian Harewood. The 27-year-old of Harmony Hall, Christ Church, was shot in the abdomen and back around 12:56 p.m. in the vicinity of a neighbourhood shop. He was transported by private vehicle to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. (DN)

ACCUSED OWNS UP TO SMALL DRUG FIND – The quantity of cannabis which a St Michael man was held with was so little that Magistrate Douglas Frederick reprimanded and discharged him on two drug charges. Aidan Wendell Wilkinson, a 45-year-old mason of Pinder Gap, Howells Cross Road, St Michael, breathed a sigh of relief after leaving the dock of the District ‘A’ Magistrates’ Court where he had earlier pleaded guilty to possession and cultivating the drug. The facts as presented by prosecutor Sergeant Vernon Waithe are that police executed a search warrant at Wilkinson’s residence in relation to another matter. While searching a cupboard in the kitchen a teacup wrapped in newspaper was found to be containing vegetable matter suspected to be cannabis. When asked to account for it, Wilkinson said, “That is mine”. A further search in the yard revealed one plant attached to soil suspected to be cannabis. “This is my house, everything is mine,” Wilkinson admitted. (BT)

MAN MUST DO 100 HOURS OF COMMUNITY SERVICE FOR WEED – A coconut vendor who tried to outrun police while carrying a pocketful of illegal drugs will have to complete 100 hours of community service. That was the decision of Magistrate Douglas Frederick after Shaquille Aidan Wilkinson, 23, of Hannahs Valley, Christ Church, pleaded guilty in the District ‘A’ Magistrates’ Court to having cannabis in his possession on January 5, 2020. The 23-year-old was ordered to complete the 100 hours by March 27, when he is scheduled to reappear in court. Prosecutor Sergeant Vernon Waithe, in giving the facts, revealed that police executed a search warrant at the residence and Wilkinson was seen by police in the yard. He looked in their direction he ran off. He was chased by lawmen and eventually apprehended. Wilkinson consented to a search and during that search a purple plastic bag with vegetable matter suspected to be cannabis was found. When asked to account for it he said, “That is a little shake-off I had to smoke.” The illegal drugs weighed 5.4 grams and had a street value of $30. (BT)

ASSAULT CASE ADJOURNED UNTIL FEB 24 – Two neighbours charged with assaulting each other have been ordered to keep their distance. Additionally, both Lisa Sasha Joseph and Corey Rawdon Massiah will have to report to police stations once a week as part of their bail conditions. Joseph, a 26-year-old nail technician of Howell’s Cross Road, Ivy, St Michael, appeared in the District ‘A’ Magistrates’ Court this morning charged with assaulting Massiah and Betty Wilkinson, occasioning them actual bodily harm, on January 5. Meanwhile, Massiah was also in court to answer the charge of assaulting Joseph on the same date. They both pleaded not guilty to their charges. There were no objections to bail and Magistrate Douglas Frederick cautioned each accused to stay away from the other. Joseph, who was released on $4000 bail will have to report to Central Police Station every Wednesday by 10 a.m. Massiah was granted $2500 bail and he will have to report to the District ‘A’ Police Station every Monday by 10 a.m. They will return to court on February 24. (BT)

ST ANDREW VILLAGE BADES SLAIN ARTIST FAREWELL – Relatives and friends of award-winning artist Cecil Dwayne Webb, one of the three men who died in a bloody cutlass attack on Independence Day, found it extremely difficult to say goodbye to their loved one who was laid to rest today. The hundreds who gathered in and outside the Evening Light Pentecostal Church, Arch Hall, St Thomas, struggled to hold back the tears as they reflected on the life of the NIFCA award-winning sculptor. In a service while grieving relatives shed tears, Webb was described as a multi-talented individual who has touched many lives positively. In her tribute, Webb’s niece Lisa Belle asked the congregation to never forget the million-dollar smile her uncle always wore on his face. Belle, who lives in the United States, said she would forever cherish the daily conversations she had with hee 49-year-old uncle when he took time out to teach her about woodwork and painting. Webb, who taught himself woodwork using a screwdriver, entered NIFCA the first year he started, she recalled.  She said not only did he believe in himself, but he also believed in those he sought to help. Webb was a multiple NIFCA award winner in fine arts with wood as his medium.  He won the Central Bank Governor’s Award in 2017 for a piece titled Rhythm and Wood which he entered in the Crop Over Visual Arts Festival. He also volunteered with the District Emergency Organization. Belle said: “Webb was one of those people who had so many talents.  “You would talk about him and all you would hear about is he was just so talented. “He was a plumber by trade and so many other things he was just by sheer natural talent. “We all know he was an artist, he was a sculptor, he was very athletic, he would teach martial arts, we found out recently that he was a musician teaching people.  “He was one of those people who could look at something and say ‘yes, I can do this’ and he meant he could do it.” Belle also encouraged the congregation to live in a way that would leave them with no regrets, since that was how Webb lived his life. Webb, Terry Small and Jeffneil Browne, died in a sword attack at Walkers Terrace, St Andrew. Cuthbert Mayers, 70, was also injured in the incident. Residents told reporters at the scene that Browne, who they said was known for walking with sharp-edged tools, allegedly started the attack at Webb’s home. They said Webb was discovered bent over in his backyard bleeding and screaming for help. It is believed that Webb, a small farmer, was tending to his animals when he was attacked. Residents also said that Browne then went over to Small’s residence still brandishing the sword and allegedly inflicted the fatal wound. Members of the St Andrew community came out in their numbers to bade farewell to their friend with whom they became familiar when he moved to the area in 2016. Webb’s neighbour Denny Smith was visibly distraught. Smith tearfully related that Webb was one of the best persons he has ever met, explaining that the deceased did only good for those in the close-knit community. He said: “I loved him. We all loved him. He was one of the best human beings I have ever met in my long life, both here and while living abroad. “He sought out elderly people and helped them. He provided for them, he carried stuff and he did their chores and offered any assistance that he could render. “Unfortunately though, Dwayne came up against a person who was consumed with evil, who apparently had issues going back to his childhood.  “And when good and evil collides, sometimes good wins out, but in this particular case evil won.” Smith said though it had only been five weeks since Webb died, he was already missing the delightful Sunday morning conversation they shared. He added: “It was such a major tragedy. The community has been traumatized ever since because we already had another situation [where the body of 22-year-old Rahim Ward of Cottage Grove, St George was discovered in a shallow grave] near the St Andrew Parish Church.  “This one though, this one is incurable because of the amount of pain that it brought, the loss and the sadness. “My concern though is that I did not see a lot of people either from Government, or social organizations reach out and there is still hurt, there is still pain, there is still anger because in many ways we have never felt supported by the wider community.” A Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) church held an open-air service in the area in an attempt to calm the hurting souls, he noted.  He also recalled that Minister of Transport and Works Dr William Duguid, who is a close family friend, also visited Webb’s home on the day of the incident. Pastor Paul Leacock, who centred his sermon on the biblical story of Cane and Abel, attempted to persuade mourners that they need to conquer any negativity has been crouching at their doors, since mankind has the tendency to do what was wrong in the sight of God. Leacock preached that at times people became angry because of the contrast between their behaviour and prosperity and that of others. “And rather than looking at how they can better themselves, they rather erase the competition, remove the possibility and the contrast so that they can look good because your good looking is not theirs,” he said.  Webb was buried at the St James Cemetery. (BT)

IRAN PROMISES REVENGE DURING SOLEIMANI FUNERAL – Iran’s supreme leader wept in grief with hundreds of thousands of mourners thronging Tehran’s streets on Monday for the funeral of military commander Qassem Soleimani, killed by a U.S. drone on the orders of U.S. President Donald Trump. As the coffins of General Qassem Soleimani and Iraqi militia leader Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis, who also died in Friday’s attack in Baghdad, were passed over the heads of mourners, Soleimani’s successor vowed to expel U.S. forces from the region in revenge. The killing of the 62-year-old Soleimani, architect of Iran’s drive to extend its influence across the Middle East, has stoked concern around the world that a broader regional conflict could erupt. Trump has listed 52 Iranian targets, including cultural sites, that could be hit if Iran retaliates with attacks on Americans or U.S. assets, although U.S. officials sought to play down the president’s reference to cultural targets. General Esmail Ghaani, Soleimani’s successor as commander of the Quds Force, the elite unit of Iran’s Revolutionary Guards charged with overseas operations, promised to “continue martyr Soleimani’s cause as firmly as before with the help of God, and in return for his martyrdom we aim to rid the region of America. “God the Almighty has promised to take martyr Soleimani’s revenge,” he told state television. “Certainly, actions will be taken.” Other political and military leaders have made similar, unspecific threats. Iran, which lies at the mouth of the key Gulf oil shipping route, has a range of proxy forces in the region through which it could act. The crowd in Tehran, which state media said numbered in the millions, recalled the masses that gathered in 1989 for the funeral of the Islamic Republic’s founder, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini. Soleimani was a national hero in Iran – even to many who do not consider themselves supporters of Iran’s clerical rulers. Aerial footage showed people, many clad in black, packing thoroughfares and side streets and chanting “Death to America!” – a welcome show of national unity for Tehran after anti-government protests in November in which many demonstrators were killed. Iran’s demand for U.S. forces to withdraw from the region gained traction on Sunday when Iraq’s parliament passed a resolution calling for all foreign troops to leave the country. Iraqi caretaker Prime Minister Abdel Abdul Mahdi told the U.S. ambassador to Baghdad on Monday that both nations needed implement the resolution, the premier’s office said in a statement. It did not give a timeline. The United States has about 5 000 troops in Iraq. Soleimani, widely seen as Iran’s second most powerful figure behind Khamenei, built a network of proxy militia that formed a crescent of influence – and a direct challenge to the United States and its regional allies led by Saudi Arabia – stretching from Lebanon through Syria and Iraq to Iran. Outside the crescent, Iran nurtured allied Palestinian and Yemeni groups. He notably mobilized Shi’ite Muslim militia forces in Iraq that helped to crush Islamic State, the Sunni militant group that had seized control of swathes of Syria and Iraq in 2014. Washington, however, blames Soleimani for attacks on U.S. forces and their allies. Prayers at Soleimani’s funeral in Tehran, which moves to the general’s southern home city of Kerman on Tuesday, were led by Khamenei, who wept as he spoke. (Reuters)

PUERTO RICO BRACING FOR AFTERSHOCKS AFTER 5.8 QUAKE – A damaging earthquake struck Puerto Rico early Monday, with plenty of aftershocks expected. The magnitude 5.8 tremor happened at 5:32 a.m., the United States Geological Survey said. It was centred about eight miles south-southeast of Indios, Puerto Rico, at a depth of about 3.7 miles below ground. No major injuries were reported, Puerto Rico Director of Emergency Management Carlos Acevedo said. He said some homes were damaged in Guanica, and a home collapsed in Guayanilla. Some victims of the earthquake posted photos of deep cracks in walls. (CNN)

MET OFFICE MONITORING SEA CONDITIONS – Sea conditions are expected to deteriorate over the next few days and officials at the Met Office say a high-surf advisory and small-craft warning may be issued for Barbados on Wednesday. A strong high pressure system centred over the central North Atlantic is forecast to generate easterly to east north-easterly surface winds of 20 to 25 knots (37 to 46 km/h), and easterly to east north-easterly swells peaking near 3.5m (11ft). Marine models indicate sea conditions could deteriorate from late Thursday into the following week and the advisory may be issued. Large waves and dangerous rip-currents during this time could create unsafe conditions for small-craft operators, particularly on the eastern, northern-eastern and south-eastern coastlines of Barbados. These conditions could become even more adverse during high tide. All residents are advised to pay special attention for any updates from the Barbados Meteorological Services. (DN)

WE GATHER MORE THAN A CELEBRATION – While We Gatherin’ 2020 is intended to be a time for celebration, an Anglican cleric has suggested the year-long initiative will also be a time for Barbadians to come together and rekindle the values that once made the nation great as it moves towards a brighter future. Rector of the St Lucy Parish Church, Canon Curtis Goodridge, made this point as he delivered the sermon at the We Gatherin’ church service held at the church over the weekend. The Anglican priest also made the point that there were certain traditions and values we should maintain and other behaviours that had crept into our society that we would do better to discard. Canon Goodridge said: “As we go forward, there are certain things we must never leave behind, such as, good morals and values, discipline, decency, respect for law and order, respect for the sanctity and dignity of human life, and respect for property. “These are all important and necessary for all of us to go forward as a country, and they are never old fashioned or outdated, but relevant for all time. Indiscipline, crime and violence, selfishness and disrespect must not be seen as part of Barbadian culture. “We must contribute to building a Barbados of peace, love, unity and goodwill to all. “We must combat all the negativity that a minority seems to want to flourish in this country. “We must ‘big up Barbados’ – when we think of Barbados, we should see it as a country where its people are loving, especially to visitors to our land. “We should see a stable government, a place where there is peace and tranquility, a place where people from all over the world can visit and have a good time. That is the kind of Barbados we all want to see.” He cited examples of celebrations in the Bible, and called on all Barbadians to come together in this time of rejoicing. He said: “This celebration should be used to build relationships. “It should be seen as a time when all Barbadians pledge to do their part, no matter how small, to make this country a better country and bring this country back to what it once was. “A country in which we will be our brothers’ and sisters’ keeper and look out for each other. “We will love our brothers and sisters as we love ourselves and do unto others as we would have them do unto us. “We need to go forward together as a nation regardless of colour, status and background, supporting each other because no one is an island.” Earlier in his sermon, he outlined why he thought it was fitting for St. Lucy to kick off the events, and urged everyone in the congregation, which included Prime Minister Mia Mottley, MP for St Lucy Peter Phillips, and other Government officials, to enjoy the northernmost parish on the island during the month of January. Canon Goodridge declared: “We believe strongly it was not by design but divine inspiration that such celebrations had to begin in the parish of St Lucy. “Lucy is a lady that always gets things done – and done the right way. “And so it is only fitting that a lady, the only parish bearing the name of a lady should kick off the We Gatherin’ celebrations; as TC once said: ‘Put a woman in front,’ and this is what is happening today.” (BT)

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