#so I suppose my body will have done most of its marathon healing by the time I’m in the spring

[ruegracieuse]

March is the month I will (hopefully) run my first half marathon and go to a hot spring for the first time! something something taking challenges while also making space for rest and healing

#unfortunately these two events are three weeks apart #so I suppose my body will have done most of its marathon healing by the time I’m in the spring #oh well I still get to enjoy the spring #🌼 #we say ‘hopefully’ because nothing is guaranteed in this life or the next

[hale-13]

Conditioned

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 16 - Touch Starved

“Can I take a shower?” Peter blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line felt the intense need to get cleaned - broken arm be damned.

Words: 2084, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Literally None - Just Fluff

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Well Peter, I see no reason why you should have to stay here any longer as long as you promise to actually rest and allow yourself to heal,” Helen said firmly but with a smile toward him and Peter nearly sagged with obvious relief.

“Oh thank god,” he said he’d, already struggling in his attempts to climb out of the MedBay bed he had been sentenced to since the day before with some help from Tony. He flinched a little as he tweaked his sore arms, moving the wrong way, but trying to keep his muscles as relaxed as possible to prevent any further damage. His recovery is going to be annoying enough as it is without making it worse.

In his most recent fight against the Shocker the night before, he had caught a direct hit on his right arm which had successfully and cleaning broken his radius and ulna in two. In his haste to get away and then catch himself on a poorly shot strand of webbing he had dislocated his left shoulder. The pain had been so stunning he had barely been able to finish webbing up Shocker and get away before the police showed up.

It probably didn’t do much to help the injuries when he had swung back to the Tower but he had been numb and delirious by that point so he probably wasn’t really thinking straight. He does remember Tony not being super impressed with him when he nearly passed out as soon as he landed.

“I’m serious about resting,” Dr. Cho warned him as she helped him settle his, still sore and recently reduced, arm into a sling. “You need to take it easy for at least another few days or you’ll risk re-injury and possibly surgery.”

“Oh that shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony said breezily. “I have no problem cuffing him to a bed if I have to.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, trying to stand and balance without using either of his arms – it was much harder than he thought it would be – and already trying to edge toward the door. Tony just quirked up an eyebrow at him.

“Your aunt, definitely against her better judgement and with an amazing amount of misplaced trust, is letting you stay here with me so you don’t get into any more trouble during your convalescence so if you could just work with me for a couple of days here that would be much appreciated,” he told Peter very pointedly with a final wave at Helen as he herded Peter toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

Peter just rolled his eyes at his mentors dramatics but allowed himself to be directed – to tell the absolute truth, his arms still hurt pretty badly and he wasn’t really looking forward to his oral painkillers (that made him sleepy and emotional) and his anti-inflammatories (that made him into a right bastard if he was being honest) and trying to convince Tony that he didn’t need either. He wasn’t super confident about his success rate with that. “Can I take a shower?” He blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line.

“You know that you can’t get your cast wet,” Tony reminded him holding up a hand when Peter opened his mouth to interrupt. “I mean, I suppose I can wrap it in a bag or something if you really want to shower that bad.”

“Yes please,” Peter eagerly agreed. Ever since the Bite all of his senses had been more sensitive but none more so than his sense of smell and he wasn’t a particularly big fan of the fact that he could currently smell himself. It made his skin crawl and was completely disgusting.

“Alright then,” Tony nodded. “Shower first and then a movie marathon slash prescribed nap directly after. Do we have a deal then Mr. Parker?”

“Only if we can get pizza for dinner later,” Peter bartered as the elevator opened up on Tony’s floor of the compound. “With pineapple this time,” he continued with a wrinkled nose, “the olives you got last time were disgusting!”

“You have astonishingly terrible taste but yes fine. Pizza later.” Tony nodded, herding both of them into the kitchen with a single-minded determination. The Wal-Mart and cling wrap cast protection apparatus Mr. Stark rigged together left a fair amount to be desired in the looks department but was completely functional when it came to water-proofing which was good enough for Peter.

It took some skill to slip away from his mentor but Peter was soon slipping into his room, struggling to get out of the sling on his own and finally succeeding. It made him wince from the extra pain it caused but it didn’t overshadow the relief of doing it on his own. He knew his limits from previous dislocations and knew that it was crucial to not overdue it while the joint was healing or he risked the chance of re-injury and, as Dr. Cho had reminded him earlier, surgery.

With a grimace, Peter rested that arm across his stomach and used his bagged up right arm to pull his shirt over his head. He was barely able to manage it when it pulled at his sore muscles and broken bones. Maybe he should use a button down or zippered hoodie instead.

Thanks to FRIDAY (bless her seriously), the water of his shower was already running and warmed up to his preferred setting of skin melting and he was quick to turn his back into the spray and luxuriate under it for an extended time. The high pressured water felt amazing on his back and shoulders, loosening up the knots and clenched muscles and providing relief.

“You doing okay in there kid? You drown yet?” Tony asked, knocking on the door and indiscernible amount of time later and knocking Peter out of his stupor.

“I’m good!” Peter called back, hurriedly reaching out for his body wash and cloth painfully and cleaning himself up to the best of his – limited – ability. By the time he was ready to wash his hair and hairline he felt exhausted and achy despite the excellent water pressure and all the good work it and the heat had done to relieve the pain in his shoulder and back. “Fuck,” he cursed, trying to lift his arm above chest level and spectacularly failing, finding himself unable to without making his muscles seize.

Peter was pretty bendy due to his powers so he attempted a couple different contortions to reach his head before just flat out giving up, turning off the water and taking his towel off the heated towel rack installed in the bathroom (rich people – seriously). It took longer than Peter cared to admit, but he was able to dry and dress himself in sweats and a zippered hoodie. He was even able to shuck the bag off his cast with little struggle so he was feeling pretty decent when he ventured into the living room with his hair sopping wet and dripping onto his shoulders since he wasn’t able to adequately dry it. Whatever. It would dry on its own eventually.

“And what’s all this supposed to be?” Tony asked, glancing up from his phone and wrinkling his nose but not moving from where he was leaned against the counter in the kitchen. “Why are you dripping all over my floor?”

Peter fought off a blush and tried to hunch his shoulders, stopping when it hurt. “I couldn’t reach up to get my hair,” he grumbled, failing to completely push down his blush.

“I guess that explains all the blood still caked in there,” Tony hummed, leaning over to move the dampened curls around to look at the blood still matting some of his hair together and crusting up around his scalp. “Well that’s pretty easily remedied. Welcome to the salon Underoos,” Tony said, pulling over one of the barstools and setting it in front of the kitchen sink, gesturing for Peter to sit.

“Uh… what?” Peter questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” Tony clarified, looking pointedly between Peter and the stool again. “Just sit down while I go and grab some things!” And, with that, he took off in the direction of the bedrooms and associated en suites.

Peter, still pretty confused but (mostly) trusting his mentor, sat down unsteadily on the stool just as Tony came back around the corner with an armful of towels, shampoo and conditioner bottles along with a wide-toothed comb and an expensive looking hair dryer. He triumphantly arranged everything on the counter next to the deep sink and wrapped one of the towels around Peter’s neck. “Lean back buddy,” Tony said, using a finger to push on the center of Peter’s forehead until he gave in and let himself be pushed back to lean back with his head in the sink.

Doing his best to ignore the weirdness of it all (weirdness was pretty common around Tony Stark after all), Peter closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his stomach as the water turned on. He tensed up a little when he felt fingers start dragging through his hair but was quick to relax and release the tension in his body under the careful massage of his mentor’s hands through his hair and the warm water cascading across his scalp. He let out a little hum of contentment.

Tony let out a soft chuckle, squirting a healthy dollop of the shampoo into his hands and lathering it up before applying it to Peter’s hair, working through the snarls and tangles with care and scrubbing the leftover blood out of the curls. Peter went nearly boneless under his ministrations and Tony would definitely be lying if he said he didn’t milk the washing and conditioning portion at least a little bit. He knew that Peter had to be feeling pretty miserable and it settled something buried deep inside him to provide just a little extra comfort.

All too soon, though, he had rinsed out the last of the conditioner leaving Peter’s hair clean and dripping as he turned off the water. Peter made no move to get up or to open his eyes, breathing deeply and seemingly on the very verge of sleep, so Tony grabbed one of the towels and started to wring the extra water out of the kid’s hair, running the towel through it cautiously. “Just need you to sit up for a second here kiddo okay? Then you can nap, scout’s honor.”

Peter grunted and grumbled but did slit his eyes open and let Tony help him sit up, swaying back and forth and little on the stool and Tony ran the towel through his hair a couple more times to really get rid of the water as much as possible. He dropped the towel on the counter in exchange for the comb and the hair dryer. He ran the comb through the mess a few times before starting the hair dryer up. Peter practically melted as the warmed air fluffed up his curls. It didn’t take long to dry at all and, by the time he was done, Peter was listing forward nearly into Tony’s chest.

“Couch or bed buddy?” Tony asked with a fond smile, running his hands through Peter’s warmed and clean hair.

“Couch,” Peter muttered, leaning into his petting and making Tony’s chest warm up. This kid… god. He ended up supporting most of Peter’s weight but was able to quickly get him lying face down on the supple cushions with his head pillowed on one of the throw pillows resting on Tony’s lap, the ratty fleece blanket Tony kept draped over they back of the couch draped over him and a heating pad resting across his healing shoulder.

“Let’s start a Star Wars marathon FRI. Volume at thirty percent,” FRIDAY was quiet as she dimmed the lights and started the movie, the familiar logo and music making Peter relax even further into the couch, completely gone. As the opening theme ended and the camera panned to the shots of Leia’s ship, he felt Mr. Stark’s hand rest on his back, digging into the knotted muscles of his back.

It maybe wasn’t ideal to mess up his arms so much but, Peter thought, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his recovery.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump16 #Prompt: Touch Starved #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

[cakelanguage]

This took much longer than I thought it would, but work has been absolutely exhausting lately. I'm honestly just excited that I get to share this with you all because I really wanted to participate in Hurt!Noct Week. This is a combination of day 1 prompts: buried alive and captured by Nifleheim (at least sort of?). This is just the 1st chapter, but I figured I’d share at least this bit for now. I hope you enjoy this!

You can also read this on AO3

-

He should’ve called Ignis. Or texted Gladio that he was going to be ten minutes late to their training session. Or Astrals, accepted Prompto’s offer to walk home with him even though his house was in the opposite direction.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d strolled down the bustling streets, thinking about the planned King’s Knight session later that night. He scrolled idly through the mission details, trying to formulate a plan of attack. The last time Noctis had attempted this mission he’d been severely outclassed and had to abandon the mission lest he lose what little loot he’d been able to pilfer from the dungeon. With Gladio’s character acting as their tank, he could have Ignis on range attacks and healing. Prompto had the best stealth stats so they could have Prompto looting the place while the rest of them took care of the bigger monsters. Noctis fancied himself an all-around player so he could assist wherever needed the most help.  

Caught up in his mini strategy session, he didn’t realize he was on a collision course with someone until he ran right into them. He stumbled, juggling his phone between his hands in an attempt to save it from meeting its demise on the pavement below.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man he ran into grumbled, brushing imaginary dirt off his jacket.

The man was dressed lavishly in a wide variety of patterns and textures. His coat looked sturdy and thick like it would keep out even the harshest of cold winds. The scarf around his neck was the brightest piece of clothing he wore—the reddish-orange silk oddly complementing the man's red-violet hair. Not a sliver of the man’s skin was visible besides the tip of the man’s fingers and his face under the shade of his fedora.

He had a right to be upset even if half of him wanted to insist that the man could have moved too. He shoved that thought down and instead nodded his head, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” Noctis apologized. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“Yes, I figured as much.” The man squinted at him, his head cocking to the side. “Hold on a moment, don’t I know you?”

Not for the first time, he was thankful for his privacy. His father had done a remarkable job at keeping him much out of the public eye. People knew who he was, but because he wasn’t in any of the newspapers or rag magazines that most celebrities appeared in he could go through life like normal. He didn’t have to think about paparazzi waiting outside his school or people approaching him asking for something or other.

“Probably not,” Noctis said, “maybe you’ve seen me walking home before? I go to the high school three blocks away.”

Shaking his head, the man inspected his face more thoroughly. “No that’s not it. I’ve definitely seen you before.” He felt as if the man could count his pores, and Noctis shuffled backward away from the man’s heavy stare. “Have you got an uncle that works at the palace? I used to work there.”

The man gave Noctis a private quirk of his lips like he was privy to some hidden joke that only he knew.

“Oh that’s… nice?”

The man nodded absentmindedly gaze still heavy on Noctis. “Hm, you really do look familiar,” he commented. “Quite handsome too.”

“Thanks?” Noctis looked down at his uniform and his loosened tie and wondered if there was a polite way to excuse himself from the conversation. He didn’t want to be rude by walking away from the man but he really did need to get going or he was going to be later than he thought to Gladio’s training session. “Well, I’m sorry for walking into you like that, but I gotta get going.”

“Right, right, of course.” The man swept a hand through his hair sheepishly. “It’s not like I can keep the prince from his important tasks just to talk with me.”

Ice filled Noctis’ veins as his title was casually thrown out by the man who claimed he couldn’t place his face. He stared at the man, uncomprehendingly. This was starting to look like the beginning of one of Ignis’ crime drama shows. Why did the man lie? What was his angle? What was going on?

“Who are you?” Noctis asked, channeling his calm façade to the max.

“A man of no consequence, I assure you.” The man waved him off with a few shooing gestures. “Off you go, your highness.”

Noctis gave him a wary look and an awkward bob of his head. He needed to get out of here. Ready to put this whole interaction behind him, he stepped to the side of the man to continue his route. Except he didn’t get very far before a hand latched onto his wrist with surprising force.

A violent tug had him wrenching himself back around, his shoulder twinging at the sudden jerk. Face-to-face with the man once more, Noctis saw how the man’s expression was colder, harsh in the afternoon sun. His teeth were bared in a sneer—looking for all the world like a coeurl.

“Let go,” Noctis ordered, now glaring at the man who wouldn’t leave him alone. “Didn’t you just tell me to go?”

A taunting smile peaked through the man’s sneer. “Now why would I do that?” He asked.

Noctis clenched his fists and bit out another order. “Let go of me, now.” He grabbed his phone with his free hand and quickly dialed the palace’s emergency numbers. It would be mildly embarrassing if Gladio found out he’d called the Crownsguard on a regular citizen, but his SAS kidnap training was blaring in his ears. “I’m warning you, I can have you arrested.”

A soft tsk came from the man who shook his head at Noctis’ threat. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

He opened his mouth to demand his release again, but all that came out was a choked-off yelp as something heavy struck his head. His knees refused to hold up his body and he collapsed to the concrete. The skin of his palms was torn in his attempt to catch himself, but he couldn’t feel it; the sharp pain by his temple shadowed the pain in his palms.

He turned his gaze back to the blurry figure of the man, who had been joined by another figure. His brain felt sluggish, his thoughts thick in his mouth as he tried to string a sentence together. “W-what—“

“Shh,” The man shushed, ignoring Noctis’ flinch as he tenderly ran a hand through Noctis’ hair. “Good night, sweet prince.”

The last thing he saw was a fist coming at his face.

Then nothing.

He regained consciousness with a choked-off groan. He felt like he’d gone through one of Gladio’s marathon training sessions and lost miserably.

Laying still, he took stock of his body. His lip was swollen and tender as he wet his dry, split lips. The right side of his face throbbed in-tune with his heartbeat and Noctis could barely get that eye to open more than a crack. What was he supposed to do? He’d been trained on how to handle a kidnapping situation; Cor had made it abundantly clear the variations in which people would try to snatch him up. But this wasn’t just a ‘what if.’ He’d been kidnapped not even four blocks away from his school.

It was a matter of figuring out what he could do to get out of here. He still had his magic though admittedly his connection to the Crystal felt like he was trying to pull at the energy through a strainer. Like sifting through a pile of hay for the needle—all of his abilities being the needle and the presence of his magic being the hay.

But that didn’t mean he was helpless. He just needed to approach the situation the right way and he could escape. He tried to remain calm, limiting his breathing to shallow breaths to keep up his ruse. This became a fruitless act when he heard someone or something step up behind him.

A familiar voice came from behind him. “It appears our guest of honor is awake,” the man cooed. Some of the man’s nonchalance had vanished, replaced by cruel giddiness. “And how are you, your majesty?”

Like hell he was going to go along with this guy’s fake care. His pride wouldn’t let him bite out a pleasantry, instead choosing to press his steely gaze on the eccentric man. His stare didn’t deter the man’s delight in his situation which only served to make his blood simmer in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to punch the smug look off that face.

“I think you’ll find, Noctis,” the man loomed over him, nudging him lightly in the ribs with his boots, “that I have the upper hand.”

He didn’t. Noctis refused to believe it. He may not have had any weapons on him, but Noctis had dialed the emergency response number for the palace. By dialing the number he had ensured back-up would be on their way to his location in less than five minutes. Well, the location of where the call took place. He couldn’t feel the shape of his phone in his pockets, but the Crownsguard would be able to pick up on any trail his kidnapper had left behind.

All he needed to do was wait.

“What do you want?” Noctis asked, shifting his position on the floor to try and alleviate the pressure on his lower back. He could already feel the scar tissue there begin to burn and ache.

“Already wanting me to reveal my dastardly plan?” The man questioned. “How cliché.” Noctis’ face must’ve given away his annoyance because the guy clucked his tongue at his expression.

“I realize this isn’t one of your silver-spoon soirees, but it’ll serve as a good setting for the video.” He straightened and made his way over to the small set-up of… camera equipment? “We need you to put on your best performance, your highness.” He looked up with a cold smile that sent a shiver running down Noctis’ spine. “Though do save some for the main event.”

“So you’re gonna, what? Ransom me or something?” Noctis squirmed in his binds. “Is that your plan?”

Humming noncommittally, the man continued setting up his equipment. “Or something.”

“Not much of a talker huh?” He was banking on being able to get some info out of the guy so he could shout it over what was sure to be his ransom video.

The waiting was bizarre. Despite the discomfort, he didn’t feel like he was all there—though the main contributor to this was the head injury—the quiet sounds of rustling cables and footsteps gave him peace of mind amongst the simmering unrest and anxiety as the experience faded into less immediate danger. If only he could concentrate on his armiger and summon the knife he stored there—then he’d be able to warp out of his binds and escape.

A quiet huff of laughter broke through the silence; it took him a few moments to realize the laugh came from him . It wasn’t funny, not by a long-shot. He was being stupidly optimistic, especially since his vision still wavered between doubled and covered in black splotches. He probably had one hell of a shiner too.

He wished he’d called someone to get him.  

The derelict state of his mind was brushed away as a triumphant cry echoed slightly around him. He squinted at the man who looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Noctis asked, tiredly. He had no desire to give the man the reactions he was hoping for. Actually, the other being put off by his apathy made him feel better. “Did you finally get your whole… set-up ready?”

The man had the audacity to pout at him. “Now you’re just no fun,” he complained. “Aren’t you curious as to why I’ve brought you here?”

Noctis shrugged. “Not really?” The motion caused his chains to rattle in the tight space. “Most of the guys I’ve been kidnapped by all want the same thing: revenge or money.”

“I can assure you that my reason is definitely not for any monetary reason.” The man took a step towards him. “I suppose you could call it revenge, though I admit you are simply unlucky—to be chosen by the gods.” He cupped Noctis’ cheek with surprising tenderness, brushing his thumb along his cheekbones. “You do bear a striking resemblance to him.”

A nail dug it the flesh underneath his eye and Noctis hissed, attempting to turn his face out of the man’s grip. “What a pity,” the man said, releasing his hold on Noctis. “Before we begin, I think it’s only fair that you finally be able to put a name to your captor.”

“Oh now you want to introduce yourself?” Noctis grumbled—because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life apparently.

Fortunately, the man seemed amused by his comment. “Do forgive me for my rudeness, your highness .” The mocking emphasis he placed on the title was not lost to Noctis, but he didn’t dignify him with an answer. “I’ve been reduced to the moniker ‘Adagium,’ by the royal line of Lucis.”

It sounded familiar, but Noctis couldn’t place where he’d heard it. Had the name come up in his studies? Was it a political thing?

Adagium sighed and shook his head. “I’m not surprised you don’t know of me. Your dear father is desperately trying to keep you in the dark.”

Noctis furrowed his brow. “What do you mean he’s keeping me in the dark?”

With a shake of his head, Adagium stepped back over to his equipment. “I’ve talked enough for now, it’s time we get the show started lest the party be stopped before it’s even begun.” Adagium grinned at him. “The stage is yours, prince Noctis.”

A red light blinked to life on the camera as Noctis stared into the lens. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Did Adagium want him to beg? To show whoever was watching the video that he was scared? He wasn’t. Scared that it is. Unnerved? Yes, how could he not be when he was kidnapped and tied up in some unknown location.

His captor sighed tilting his hat to cover his face and—

Adagium changed. No longer was he wearing the extravagant, pattern-clashing, textile collage of an outfit. He was in a set of armor, his face masked and hair tucked away under the rigid helmet. Noctis had only seen the armor in person once before on that fateful escape from Tenebrae as he reached desperately for Luna’s hand.

Magitek armor.

To see the man stripped of his individualism did more to bother Noctis than he expected. Something about the metal, placid expression staring at him had his stomach clenching nervously. How had Adagium done it? An illusion? But how? To his knowledge, illusion magic was typically only used by the messengers of the gods; he figured he’d already met all of them at this point with his connection to Luna.

With four jerky steps, Adagium stood beside him, a hand painfully clasping his shoulder. Noctis side-eyed the man as if he could glean some sort of direction for what he wanted Noctis to do.

Once again, Adadgium broke the silence. “Salutations, Your Majesty, Regis Lucis Caelum,” Adagium said, “113th monarch in the long line of Lucis.”

He’d somehow managed to project his voice to see like he was behind the camera again. Another impossibility Noctis didn’t know how to find an answer to.

“As you can see, I have an auspicious guest with me, one I know you’re well-acquainted with. Won’t you say hello to your dear father, Noct?” Adagium asked.

Gritting his teeth, Noctis glared at a spot on the wall. He wasn’t going to give the other what he wanted, not when he could still deny him of his game. If he could weaponize his silence, he would.

With an angry tut from Adagium, Noctis’ hair was yanked with a merciless tug, pulling his head backward and exposing his throat. He could feel the handful of hair desperately trying to cling to his scalp as he let out a small whimper at the rough treatment.

“What a difficult boy,” Adagium commented, “he must’ve been quite the child to raise. To think he’d forget his manners at a time like this.”

“Shut up,” Noctis growled.

“Oh he speaks! Splendid! Now while I’ve broken through that stony exterior, we can commence the show.”

Suddenly, a knife was pressed against Noctis’ neck. He flinched back into Adagium’s hold on his hair, but the knife followed, the edge of the blade making a small, shallow cut on the delicate skin of his neck. He was helpless, tied up, and at the mercy of his captor. And it didn’t seem like Adagium had any qualms against hurting him.

The blood that lazily oozed from the wound dripped down his neck and settled into his jugular notch like a morbid jewel. Noctis heard Adagium’s hum of approval and could feel the pressure of the knife increase slightly as if Adagium had lapsed in his awareness that he was the one holding the knife and thus in control of how far the blade entered Noctis’ flesh.

“Now, I understand why Lucis values black as a special color—it goes amazingly with blood red, wouldn’t you agree?”

He said it so off-handedly that Noctis wasn’t sure who he was talking to: Noctis, Regis, or himself. What was clear, was that Adagium had a deep-seated grudge against Lucis—the royal line in particular. But why? Was he from one of the outer nations that had been left behind when his father had to pull back the wall to just the city of Lucis?  

Adagium broke out of his musings, finally pulling the knife back enough that it was just resting against the cut. “Never mind that,” he said. “I expect you’re waiting for some kind of demand from me. Money? Some impossible wish for power? Recognition?” Noctis could hear the smirk in his voice, that deceptively playful quirk of his lips. “No, I don’t want any of those, not explicitly at least.”

What do you want? Noctis didn’t voice no matter how much he wanted to. This little video of Adagium’s seemed to be going nowhere which could be good if this was a live broadcast, build the tension maybe.

“My reason for kidnapping Noct is very simple: because I could.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Noctis’ brain stumbled to a halt. That’s it? Because he could? That didn’t make any sense, not when Adagium had brought up some kind of revenge. “What happened to your revenge?” Noctis asked. “You mentioned your reasons could be considered revenge and the gods.” He remembered the forlorn look in Adagium’s eyes before the rage had trickled back in. “You said I resembled someone, Adagium.”

He knew he was being bold, foolhardy more accurately, but his captor hadn’t revealed his name and Noctis was hoping if he brought up his aforementioned desire for revenge on film he’d reveal more of his reasoning. If the heroes in movies could get a villain to reveal their schemes, Noctis should be able to do it to Adagium.

Adagium’s grip on his hair tightened, Noctis crying out as several strands were tugged out of his scalp. “Oh Noct,” he purred, “I see you’ve decided to join the conversation.”

Noctis felt his skin crawl at the contemptuous pride in Adagium’s voice. He’d overstepped with his nosy questions.

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Adagium said. “You remember Adagium, do you not Your Majesty? The mythical monster locked away in the dark depths of Angelgard for ages, lost to time amongst the words of false kings and fraudulent nations.”

Who was Adagium? Noctis wondered, a stray tear slipping down the side of his face towards his hairline. “Why?” Noctis whispered, afraid of the answer he’d receive but unwilling to let his question lie.

The magitek disguise rippled ominously, a black miasma seeping through the gaps of armor. Quickly, the figure of Adagium was being overshadowed by the mist. The tiny glints of gold light within the consuming shadows was what gave away the nature of the mist: Starscourge.

Eyes wide, Noctis struggled in the man’s grip. He remembered when the Starscourge had infected him as a child when the Marilith had sliced his back open and nearly severed his spinal cord. The burning agony of the scourge ravaging his body, when not even his coma brought him relief from its infection. The hushed cries of similarly infected at the edges of his mind like a web of anguish, ever-growing with each infected. Get away getawaygetaway.

His struggling was for naught as the black mirage leaned closer to him. “Why?” Adagium asked the hand that held the knife lazily dragged to the center of his chest. “Because I was saving people. Because that first false king was jealous and power-hungry, over-eager to be the one to wear the crown. And the rest,” he spat the word, “never bothered to question any of their forebears, convinced that they had always done what was best for the kingdom of Lucis.”

Noctis shook his head as best he could. “But why would they—“

“Because the gods didn’t stop them.” The knife in his hand pressed harder against Noctis’ chest and hissed at the sting of the blade. “But the time of reckoning is steadily approaching!”

With a flourish of his hand, the knife was sent away. Noctis thought it was eerily similar to accessing the armiger. “While all the pieces aren’t in their proper place just yet, a bit of ‘divine retribution’ soothes the soul.”

“What do you mean by divine retribution?” Noctis asked, his voice far quieter than he expected.

The miasma cloud seemed to grin impossibly wide, though he couldn’t discern an actual face. “I thought it would be perfect for you to atone on behalf of your forebears, Noct. And to have your father helplessly watch as he struggles to find you.”

Adagium stood behind him once more and wrapped his arms loosely around Noctis’ shoulders. “Let’s have the chosen, King of Light spend some time in the dark,” he purred, black ichor dripping onto his shirt. Onto his head. Onto his face. It was everywhere and Noctis couldn’t focus on anything else.

And then there was nothing.

#HurtNoctWeek2021 #hurt/comfort #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ardyn izunia #ffxv #ffxv fic #fanfic #final fantasy xv #noctis I'm sorry baby but I like seeing my fav characters getting hurt? #ardyn being well himself #we can all just blame somnus tbh #that's what i like doing

[poisonedapples]

The Dark Side of Christmas

Summary: Christmas is known as the happiest, most welcoming time of year. But when you’re Roman, that’s not always the case.

TRIGGERS: Roman has PTSD but it’s not stated by name in the fic, fighting, swearing, mentions of past shootings, mention of a car accident/explosion, blood. panic, past death and grieving, mental health problems, anxiety, dissociation and flashbacks, Christmas, tell me if you notice any more, cause this one has a lot

Note: HAPPY LATE HOLIDAY! This was supposed to be done by Christmas, but this month has Sucked so I’m using that as my excuse. My friend @theultimatemomfriend was my secret santa for something I did in the Powerless server, so here is your gift mixed with my own self indulgence! Hope you like it <3

But also , thank you to @romansleftshoulderpad and @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 for saving me some time and editing it for me. I appreciate you two

He was driving in a car.

She was screaming at him at the top of her lungs, all about how he was a failure, couldn’t do simple things, is only a disappointment to everyone that’s ever known him. The screaming was like a concert speaker right next to his ear; loud, loud, loud.

He couldn’t steer in these conditions. Not with a rocky road that bent in so many directions, a skinny single lane on a cliff with traffic cones instead of a protective railing. His foot was all the way on the brake, yet the car was speeding down the road faster than he’s ever driven before. The tires were screeching. She was still yelling.

It’s so loud.

She jumped on top of him suddenly, grabbing a hold of his neck with her long nails digging into his throat. Everything burned, he couldn’t breathe, and no one was steering the car anymore.

It’s so loud.

High pitched screeching echoed from nowhere. She was still screaming in his ear while his neck fell asleep, desperately trying to pull away her hand in order to breathe.

You’re going to die.

The car fell down the cliff. Completely on its side, such a smooth yet loud fall, the car came crashing into the woods under it, fire consuming his sight and all of his brain, the loud crash coming to a complete, deafening silence after an overwhelming boom.

Roman’s body jerked awake.

He scrunched up his shoulders to immediately cover the tingling part of his neck where he was being strangled in his dream. His mind was foggy while his body felt ready to run a marathon, heart beating fast and every inch of his skin shaking violently. Roman curled into a ball trying to calm down in the pitch black room, to no avail.

Phone. Phone. Phone has light, where’s my phone-

Roman’s Rapunzel figure on his bedside table crashed to the floor from his lack of coordination, pretty stones meant for healing and love moving out of their places and into undusted territory. Roman dropped his phone on his chest once he grabbed it but was only grateful it didn’t hit the floor this time, turning on the bright screen and blinding his eyes.

It was better than the darkness.

5:48 AM, his clock said, the lock screen blurry-looking because of Roman’s unfocused eyes and the tears pricking out certainly not helping. But he could tell there were no notifications over the night.

It’s always weird when he has to delete the Instagram app. His phone doesn’t buzz nearly as much without it.

He unlocked his phone and opened up one of his word puzzle game apps. Although it pained him to admit that Logan was right, lighthearted thinking games helped him on nights like these. Where all he needed was to calm down, but no people were around to help him with that.

As the game loaded and he was wondering what words to make with the letters F, I, G, U, E, and R, Roman clung tightly to his giant stuffed animal Magic Bitch the Queen, a rainbow pegacorn that was perfect for squishing. The name only made it better. Weirdly more calming.

Things were calming down. He definitely won’t be able to go back to sleep tonight, but given the date it was a miracle he felt as calm as he did—

“Virgil, quiet down-”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”

“Virgil!”

...Nevermind. 

Roman curled in on himself at the sound of the yelling. He hated fighting. He hated it with a burning passion, loud noises made him jump out of his skin and it was only worse when it was them yelling. They’re usually a lot more calm when Roman is around, but sometimes things just...got out of hand.

This was one of those times.

“This bitch thinks he can just walk in here and act like he owns the damn place! Well newsflash fucker, you’re not the only person who cares about Roman! Stop acting like you can fucking control him!”

“I’m not controlling him! Is it a crime for me to want to care about my own brother!? Last time I checked, you’re not family!”

“Remus-“

“Oh cram it, calculator watch!”

“Go fuck yourself, you walking STD!”

“Virgil Foster! If you end up waking Roman, I swear-”

Patton paused mid sentence when he saw the figure standing in the middle of the steps. Everyone looked over at Roman, his hand fiddling with the end of his sleeve and way too tired eyes. His posture a little too straight, smile so dead it was hardly a smile at all. “It’s alright, Pat. I was awake anyway.”

“I assume another nightmare?” Logan asked.

Roman went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Filling it with milk until it was overflowing, Roman smiled. “You know me so well.”

Patton’s face grew concerned while he chugged some of the milk, Remus crossing his arms and glaring at Virgil. “You wouldn’t be having these problems if you’d stayed at my place instead of this dump.”

“This dump is our home, trash panda. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Ironic.” Remus towered over Virgil with his hands on his hips when he stepped closer, Virgil hissing when he got too close. “All I’m saying is that isn’t it better for Roman to be with family who can help, instead of stuck in the same place that caused all this in the first place? With people who don’t even understand?”

“You know that I’m here, right? That I can hear you talking about me? Cause I can hear you talking about me.”

“Or maybe he needs to be around family that actually cares instead of being around the same deadbeat bastard who only comes visit to be the same pile of dog shit he makes everyone step in!”

Patton sighed. “Virgil, please stop. Can we please just go back to bed? Without all the fighting?”

The looks on Remus’ face was too taunting. Blood boiled in Virgil’s veins from three weeks of dirty glares at each other while he watched his best friend curl around him for comfort instead of anyone else. The cockiness of him trying to take Roman off to Florida for the holiday, like he was the only one who cared. He hated his stupid gross smile and how Roman snickered at his dirty jokes, he hated how he was genuinely helping and how useless their help was.

How threatening this bitch actually made him feel. But Virgil refused to lose.

“I’ll go to bed when this bitch stops acting like he can walk into my fucking house and act like he owns the fucking place! Eat my food, use my water, and steal my fucking friend because apparently this human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you fucking projectile vomit is the reincarnation of Christ!”

“Virgil!”

“And I’ll go to bed when this ‘Roman’s my best friend’ wannabe stops getting in between my family because his self esteem’s so low in the ground that sharks can have sex on it!”

“Fuck you!”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

Everyone paused when Roman screamed, his hand too weak to hold onto his glass and his hands shaking too hard to fiddle with the end of his sleeve anymore. His eyes were glassy and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself, with evil butterflies chewing apart his ribs and leaving hollow discomfort. Patton’s eyes went soft as he slowly approached Roman, keeping a loose grip on his hand and saying something to him that Roman wasn’t listening to in order to calm him down. But he was just tired. So tired. Tired of the yelling and the fear and the everything that he just wanted to get away.

So he did.

“Roman?” It was all he’d heard from Pat even after all his talking, but Roman still decided to ignore it. He quickly slipped on some shoes and grabbed his coat from the closet, opening the front door without another word.

Patton’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. “Roman, wait-“

But just like that, the door had slammed behind him and he was making his way down the street.

He could already see his therapist’s “I don’t get paid enough for the shit you put me through” face when he eventually talks about this, but that was future Roman’s problem.

...He still had no clue where he was going.

That was always the worst part about Roman’s “run away from your problems” habit. He never had any plan. He could end up three towns over, he could end up across the street. In one of the first incidents, he ended up at a McDonald’s right on the outskirts of the state and fell asleep in the bathroom stall. When he called Logan and told him where he was, it was an hour drive to come get him since they didn’t trust him to drive back in his state. That’s why they first started looking for a therapist for him.

He wished he had his car this time. Walking around in freezing weather with pajama pants is cold.

Roman made his way down the hill where the house was to head downtown, where a good handful of stores were open at every time of day. He needed the heat.

“Eileen, you will pay for making me lose my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll be okay. It wasn’t working for you anyway.”

“...Hey!”

...And the distraction.

It was at 11:30 when Ellie woke him up. Dragging him out of bed and making him help her “sneak” out—if you could call going through the front door sneaking—, they ended up in a supermarket at around midnight on Christmas Eve. 

“I got Remus this giant ass octopus stuffed animal that was literally like ninety dollars, but I need a gag gift for him. Something completely and utterly stupid, and I need you to help me look for it. So I can go home sooner.”

“A giant octopus isn’t a gag gift to you?”

“He’ll love it and you know it.”

“...Touche. Maybe just get him toilet paper?”

“Too enjoyable. Too useful. He’ll set the rolls on fire in the backyard or something.”

“...Nevermind then!”

The first store Roman found with its lights still on was a small convenience store next to a gas station. His legs were starting to get slow from the cold, teeth chattering slightly with his arms tucked close to his body like a penguin.

Roman went inside.

“Oh my God, Roman, it’s perfect.”

“What is it?”

“‘Maybe you touched your balls’ hand sanitizer. I’m getting five.”

Roman tried not to laugh too hard, especially when the store was so quiet at this hour, but he couldn’t help it. With slight sleep deprivation and the look on his sister’s face, Roman burst out a laugh and gave Ellie a lazy push. Ellie took five of the hand sanitizers and piled them in her hands, making their way toward the checkout.

Alone in a store on the night of Christmas Eve.

Roman didn’t want to think about it, but then again, he never did. And every time he focused on one thing, half of his brain was still on his sister.

His throat felt weird.

“I’m dreaming of a white...christmas…”

Ellie was basically skipping on her way to the checkout. She loved old Christmas songs, and not being able to resist the temptation to perform must be another “Sanders Siblings” thing.

Roman was staring at the chip aisle when his chest started to expand, his hands growing weak and absolute fear taking over. Why was breathing so hard? What is it now?

His eyes became glassy again, his vision becoming more distant and distorted until he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. But his ears seemed to focus on something else. Something so distant but close at the same time, ringing in his ears while he felt like he was looking through a TV screen.

“And since we’ve no place to go...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”

Fuck. Shit. Roman started fumbling in his pockets for earbuds, but in his haste to leave the house, they were forgotten in his room. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He could hear the silence of the store, but in the back of his brain he could feel the sound of gunshots.

“He’s alive, but he’s been hit around five times. Get him in the ambulance.”

He knew there wasn’t hands on him. He knew there wasn’t any blood, his or otherwise, on the floor. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“Duck!”

There was no figure that caught Roman’s eye as they made their way to checkout. There was no moment of adrenaline as he tried to cover his sister, ducking for cover while people walking down the street also screamed. There was no glass breaking. There was no shots of pain as he realized the blood on the floor was his. There was no noise. No screaming. No sirens or commands being shouted or deafening silence that made Roman want to scream. It didn’t exist.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t know how to work his limbs, his body felt fake and his vision was just a TV screen looking at a world that felt anything but real. His ribs felt like they should be in pain for more than just his shaky breaths and his back should be cold from the hard floor instead of being supported by a cooler door.

What was the pattern again? Three things you can hear—wait, no, fuck, what was it? What was it?

There was blood going through his jacket and blood on his fingers. His thumb was cut from a piece of glass and he couldn’t move off the floor. As tight as he could, he kept a grip on his older sister. The hand sanitizers had sprawled out across the floor, the hands that were holding them now lied lifeless in Roman’s grip.

Roman heard something. More than the music, that stupid fucking music, but he could focus. He wanted to cough until he could breathe again, he wanted to be here, without a single doubt that history can't repeat itself. But trauma doesn’t work that way.

Shooting down on Taft Avenue. Four injured, one dead. 

“Roman, hey, it’s just me, it’s just Virgil—shit, hey, it’s alright, focus on me. Let me get you out of here, okay? God you’re heavy, okay-”

It’s Virgil. It’s just Virgil. No Ellie, Ellie’s dead, Ellie’s been dead, it’s just Virgil, he’s here. 

Thank God.

“Here, just listen to this for a bit. You’re the reason I have a Disney playlist, I hope you know that.”

They were in a car now. Roman could feel the pressure of Virgil’s bulky headphones on his ears, as well as the start up to Tiana’s “Almost There”, even if his hands he was staring at still didn’t feel like his own. The explosion in his chest lessened some, even if his breaths were still short and it was a miracle he wasn’t sobbing yet.

Virgil moved one of the ends of the headphones to the side. “Feeling a little better?”

Talking took so much energy, way too much energy, but he’d worried Virgil enough for one day. “...Yeah…”

“Do you need the volume turned down?”

“...Maybe.”

The music got a little quieter, and Roman felt his body relax a little more. He didn’t even realize it was overwhelming him.

“Alright...now, five things you can see?”

“Virge-“

“Five things you can see, fucker, let me help you.”

Roman let out a huff of a laugh, but looked around anyway. “Uh...you, carseat, wheel...um...the thing…”

“Thing?” Virgil looked around. “...You mean glove compartment?”

“...Yeah, that.”

“Okay, one more.”

“...Coat?”

“Alright, four things you can hear?”

“Music, heater, uh...I don’t know…”

“Can you hear me?”

“...Now I can.”

Virgil laughed. “That’s good enough, I’ll take three. Three things you can touch?”

“...Headphones, coat, seat.”

“Alright, good...two things to smell?”

Blood. “Pat’s air freshener, and the fact that you haven’t showered.”

Virgil lightly punched him in the arm, Roman letting out a small laugh through a shaky smile. “And I bet what you’re tasting is the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“...I did not come here to get roasted.”

Virgil shook his head in amused disappointment at him, but started the car and put it in reverse. Roman sighed, looking out the window at the soft snowflakes and lights on houses that made his stomach curl. He hated this holiday. All it did was bring back bad memories, every corner surrounded in his triggers and nightmares increasing tenfold with the stress. He wanted to go home. He didn’t know where home was.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Roman looked over at Virgil, with his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as he tapped nervously. Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to? I heard you and Remus.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s fine.”

“You’re my best friend and he’s my brother. It involves me too.”

Virgil didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the road intently, and Roman wondered if he should just put the headphones back on his ear and let that be that. But he really didn’t want them to keep fighting, so it’s better to at least make an attempt, right?

Roman put the headphones around his neck. “We were buying his gift.”

“What?”

“The night Ellie died. Her and Remus had a little tradition of getting each other a gift and a gag gift. The older we got, the more inappropriate they became, which was very ‘them’, in all honesty. She had forgotten to get it earlier though, so she took me to the store at midnight on Christmas Eve so we could pick something out. And that’s when the shooting happened.

Virgil didn’t react, but Roman gave him a tired smile. “I’m fairly certain that’s why he gets so protective. He feels like he caused it somehow, so he tries to solve all my problems on his own. It’s sweet in its own way.”

Virgil hit the break roughly at a stop sign. “Well now I feel like an asshole.”

“...You were a little bit of a bitch. But I don’t blame you, since so was he.”

“I just wanna help you too, you know? I get it, he’s your brother and all that shit, but he’s not the only person who cares about you, so he can back the fuck off. Especially when he’s spending time in my fucking house.”

“You say that like three other people don’t pay rent.”

“It’s my house when it’s convienent to my argument, fuck off.”

Roman laughed, Virgil taking a turn to a stoplight and waiting. “I just want you two to work things out. We can talk once I go home, take my meds, and at least sleep for two hours.”

“Only two hours? You’re starting to become me, Princey.”

“It’s an anxiety disorder buddies thing.”

“Fuck yeah, anxiety disorder buddies. Who can’t wait for therapy to start up again.”

Roman pumped a fist up lazily. “Next thursday!”

“Next thursday mother fucker!”

They both started to laugh, the soft glow of the read light and the headlights of passing cars being strangely calming. Roman’s eyes felt so heavy, the glassy tears he still had sealing his eyelids together like glue. “Wake me up when we get there.” He mumbled.

“And if you have another nightmare?”

“We get there when we get there.”

Roman heard one last soft laugh before his body went still. He wasn’t completely peaceful, but at least he was sleeping. It would be enough for now.

Virgil didn’t wake him up when they got home. It took both him and Remus to be able to carry him inside, but they managed to do it without waking him up permanently. He moved, but at least he managed to sleep some.

When he wakes up, they’ll fuss at him for running away and Patton will hug him close for Roman’s comfort and his own. He’ll make Remus and Virgil talk peacefully about each other without too much complaining until they can at least stand to be in the same room as each other. Then when things are calm, the brothers will cry when they remember the date, and Patton will give them blankets and hugs while the other two stand around a little awkwardly until it’s lunch time. Neither of them will eat much, but leftovers exist for a reason. They’ll be taken care of.

But for now, Roman will sleep.

#Roman Sanders #ts roman #creativitwins #Prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #Virgil Sanders #ts virgil #patton sanders #logan sanders #ts patton #ts logan #sanders sides #thomas sanders #platonic lamp #remus sanders #ts remus #Blood #flashbacks #panic #dissociation #nightmares #fighting #swearing #secret santa #grief #past death #grieving #Yall are cowards so I made my own ptsd roman content #crying #I think that's all holy shit

[purplesurveys]

797

What is your favorite thing to do on your phone? Fucking around on social media like a true Gen Z-er would, lmao. I have several games that I’d play occasionally, but most of the time I just check the same three apps – Messenger, Facebook, and Twitter. Do you know what you are going to be for Halloween this year? If so, what? I don’t even know if I have plans for the rest of the year. Do you still go trick-or-treating, and if so, how old are you? The last time we did was 2015, when we were 17. Nowadays we just have costume parties. Which Disney princess resembles you the most? At the moment it’s probably Moana, but I heard they’re making a Southeast Asian Disney princess so I’m waiting for her :) What color was your first phone? I’m not sure what the model’s actual color was because it was already in a Winnie the Pooh case when I got it as a present, but the case itself was red.

Was your first phone a flip phone? No, it was one of the Nokia ones with a slightly green screen and the Snake game on it. Have you ever butt dialed someone? I don’t think so. It’s normally the other way around. What is your favorite pizza parlor? We don’t have many of that around here; most places serve a little bit of everything with pizzas usually having its own section on the menu. That said, my favorite place to get pizza is Mama Lou’s if I have some cash on me and want to be fancy, and Yellow Cab if I want fast food pizza but still quality pizza. What is an old website that closed down that you miss? I’m pretty sure Tumblr shut down my old survey blog, the one I’ve had since 2012 or 2013, and I’m very bummed out by it. It’s also weird to me because I have a blog that’s been inactive for much longer and that one is still up... so I don’t know why they would shut down the blog that served as my journal during my teen years. I occasionally look back on it to see how I was doing then and compare it to who I am now, so it sucks that I can’t do that anymore. If you're a girl, have you ever had an embarrassing period story? I guess, but I’ve also reached a point where I’ve stopped seeing period mishaps as embarrassing. Stuff like that just happens sometimes, and I can’t be around people who are going to be babies about it. ...If so, what happened? The worst instance was leaking during a PE workout and my classmate pointing it out for me, and then having to change into denim jeans for the rest of the workout since that was the only other pair of bottoms I had.  What was your worst experience in high school? I can remember one but I don’t wanna relive my anxieties here by writing it in full detail so no thanks. What was your high school's mascot? We don’t have a mascot; we only had colors. Do you listen to Grace VanderWaal? Only if she’s on the radio. I don’t dislike her but I also don’t think I’ve ever looked up her music voluntarily. ...if yes, what's your favorite song of hers? I’m not familiar with her song titles. I’ve caught some songs that I liked but I wouldn’t be able to tell you which ones they were. Do you watch America's Got Talent? Only the compilation videos they’ve got on YouTube. Which country has the best accent? I don’t really rank accents lol Did you cry at your high school graduation? I cried the night before. I find that I don’t usually cry when an event that’s supposed to be emotional is happening, but I do cry before or after it. Did you cry at your college graduation (if applicable)? LOL if applicable, fucking same. I think I’ll mostly be relieved when it finally happens because I’m expecting it to keep getting postponed for now. Do your parents try to stop you from chasing your dreams? No, but they’re also realistic. I tried to court my dad about having an internship with WWE at Connecticut, and he was less than enthusiastic about it which I completely understood. What dreams have stuck with you since childhood? My dream house, to go to Wrestlemania, and to have a lot of money hahaha. Who is a former friend that you wish would come back into your life? Egh, I feel like the way life has turned out has been for the best and I’m currently not wishing any of my former friends back. I suppose it would be nice to have my relationship with Macy back, though. Have you ever been in a serious romantic relationship? Yes, like the one I’m in now. Who was your favorite Spice Girl? I didn’t have one but I did have a soft spot for Victoria Beckham since she’s always in fashion magazines and also because her family has always looked so happy. But I never really liked her as part of the group? because I knew about Victoria before I knew about the Spice Girls. Sorryyy please put your pitchforks down I was born in 1998 :(( <333 Did you ever want to be in a band or music group? No. What instrument did you play in the marching band? We don’t have a club like that here. If you could take any one type of dance class right now, what kind you take? Ballet. Who got kicked off of your favorite talent show that you were mad about? There were a gazillion unfair eliminations on American Idol but I remember being most pissed off over Scotty McCreery’s win and Pia Toscano’s elimination. Do you own the entire series on DVD of any TV show? If so, what? I have a bootleg box set of the 80s sitcom Perfect Strangers, but other than that I’ve been able to watch TV shows via torrent or Netflix, soooo. What show did you always want to be on when you were a kid? I wanted to be a part of the dancing audience on Hi-5, and to be dumped with slime at the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards lol. Can you tell the difference between Mary-Kate and Ashley? No. Who is your favorite set of twins? Seoeon and Seojun from The Return of Superman. What is the stupidest baby name you have heard recently? Welp, nothing has beaten Covid Bryant yet... What is the grossest thing you have ever vomited up? Nothing too gross. Just alcohol. Have you ever thrown up in public, in front of someone else? Yes. The sensation of puking terrifies me so there’ve been a few times I asked Gabie to go to the Pop-Up washroom with me, enter a stall also with me, and to calm me down while I throw up D: ...If yes, was it embarrassing? I don’t find it embarrassing because she’s my girlfriend. I’d never ask anyone else to do the same thing for me though. Did you ever take your dog to school? Just once, for my graduation shoot. Name one person you know who had a baby in high school. No one in my batch had a baby while in high school, just shortly after. I’m not naming them but one of them already has three kids, one has a boy, and another one also has a boy. Do you keep a list of your favorite quotes? No. Describe your dream wedding in three words. Lots of food. What is your favorite Chinese restaurant? Tim Ho Wan or King Bee. Does Chinese food make you feel sick? No. Well Filipinos are kinda used to Chinese food, so it would be odd for us to get sick from it. Have you ever seen someone throw up on a plane? Fortunately no. But on a boat and a ship, yes. Do you get motion sickness? Yes, easily.

I’m just going to ignore the next seven questions because I’m tired of entertaining questions like these. Has God ever healed you of anything? If so, what? Do you believe in God? Do you pray, and if so, to whom? What is the most boring church you have ever attended? What is the most lively church you have ever attended? Do you find church fun or boring? When was the last time you went to a church service? When did you learn to ride a bike? I haven’t learned yet. I’ve had a few lucky rounds but they never lasted for more than five seconds. What do you hate the most about summer? The weather. Certainly not as fun when there’s no breeze from the beach complementing the heat. What is your favorite thing to do in a swimming pool? Stay away wherever most of the people are because it’s a little gross. Which part of your body is the most muscular? I don’t know. Do you like sugar skulls? No. Have you ever painted a sugar skull on your face? I probably had it done as a kid. Are you an artist? No. Did you ever take Latin in school? No but we were taught French very briefly because the foundress of my old school is from France. The lessons didn’t really catch on. What was the last race you ran called? I’ve never been in a race/marathon/walkathon before. Do you prefer to run in the street or on the sidewalk? Side of the street. Sidewalks are pretty inconsistent so I’m more likely to trip running on it. Which major holiday is closest to your birthday? Easter is always very near or exactly on my birthday.

#survey #surveys

[i-just-like-commenting]

The Witcher review

When I first read critics’ reviews of this show, they seemed to fall into two camps: non-fantasy fans who dismissed it as nonsense, and fantasy fans who said it got good but took a while to get there. Knowing I was a fantasy fan, I figured I might be in the latter camp, and started watching it. Casually at first, one episode a day, taking a break for Christmas…and then about halfway through I was hooked and marathoned the rest of the series. I genuinely liked this series…but it has problems, and I can see why it lost a lot of non-fantasy fans from the outset. Let’s get the bad out of the way first so I can gush about the good.

Barriers of Entry

Most TV viewers are not fantasy readers. Those of us who are may regret that, but it’s not a genre that everyone gets into, and it has its own storytelling quirks that can be off-putting to newcomers. This is why, for all that it failed in later seasons, Game of Thrones did well for general viewers in its early seasons. The small bit of fantasy hinted at isn’t all that different from the zombie films people are used to, and the rest feels mostly like period piece drama. Magic only gets introduced gradually, with an explanation of what it is and how it works as it’s introduced. Also, there’s a map.

The Witcher doesn’t have any of that scaffolding. It is full high fantasy, magic-heavy, thick in world-building from the very instant it opens. It explains very little about anything; by the end of season 1 I don’t know what Cirilla’s powers are, how Witchers are made, or what the Conjunction of the Spheres is that gets repeatedly mentioned. Now, as a fantasy reader I’m used to this; ideas and supernatural mysteries get introduced and not explained until later because the characters in-universe understand the and don’t need an explanation. All I need to know is that Cirilla has some dangerous power that Nilfgaard wants, that Witchers are made and not born, and that the Conjunction is an important thing that happened in the past that may be relevant in the future. Presumably all will be made clear in time.

But I really would’ve liked a map. Up until the penultimate episode we’ve no idea of what this place looks like, how everything is connected to each other. It makes the stakes of Nilfgaard’s invasion harder to fathom. How big are they as a kingdom? How at risk are the Northern Kingdoms? How many Northern Kingdoms are there? A few map shots in the first episode as Calanthe prepares for war, a few more as the series progresses, all of that would have helped situate the story and have it feel more grounded spatially.

As for temporally…

Timeline Shenanigans

I have no problem with this series choosing to have three different timelines for its three different characters that don’t meet up in the “present” until the final episode. Certainly there have been excellent series that have done this in the past (N.K. Jemisin’s Fifth Season comes to mind). But time stamps would’ve been really nice. Let the first episode play out as it does, but when we jump back to Ciri for the last time, have a heading that says “30 years later,” confirming to the audience what they suspect from some throwaway lines about Calanthe, that this is taking place much earlier than Ciri’s scenes. Do the same when Yennefer is introduced, keep updating how far along we are with Geralt’s story, not just to clarify the timeline but to also build suspense as the viewers realize that the plotlines are catching up to each other.

However that wouldn’t fix all the problems inherent to the time-jumping. Between episodes 5 and 6 we find out, for example, that Yennefer and Geralt have met several times already and are pretty heavily involved with each other. It works well enough because the actors are very good, but it’s a bit “oh, really?” when you find that out.

Likewise, I have no idea how long Jaskier has been around having an obvious crush on annoying Geralt; is it months? Years? I think it’s years, because that’s the same time frame for Geralt and Yennefer’s hookups, but maybe it wasn’t that long? And how long did Yennefer’s education take? When did her immortality kick in? How much time passed between Geralt and Yennefer breaking up and Geralt deciding to seek out Ciri? Was it right before? Years later? How old is Jaskier supposed to be at this point? Was Yennefer’s joke about crow lines an indication he’s approaching middle age? Time stamps!

This show is really lucky it had as good a cast as it did to carry it through these narrative issues.

Special Effects

The elves, hedgehog people, and fauns all look…bad. Like, almost Halloween costume bad. Don’t know what else to say. The other effects were really good, so they stuck out.

But now let’s talk about how this series rocked:

Have I mentioned this cast is fantastic?

So my interest in Henry Cavill may have been less than high-minded, but he is in fact absolutely fantastic in this. The show also walks that fine line with “jerk with a heart of gold” characters where it explains their dickishness without excusing it. We understand that with the life he’s led and the discrimination he’s faced why Geralt is cold and aloof, but we also see how being that way destroys his relationships with people he cares for, especially in episode 6. And Cavill manages to convey perfectly how, at the moment he sees Ciri, Geralt realizes that his whole life has been leading up to him taking on this role as protector and guardian. He needs someone to need him, even if that terrifies him.

And then there’s Anya Chalotra as Yennefer who you might call a deuteragonist since she doesn’t show up until the second episode and isn’t the title character, but honestly the show is as much about her as it is about Geralt. You start with her as an abused child with a spinal deformity who thinks she’s unimportant and worthless. You have her trying to conform herself to the purposes others give her, literally changing her body to meet their expectations, failing, flailing about trying to find a purpose, and then in the final episode landing on the grim realization that she is the only one who can protect all the Northern Kingdoms. It’s an excellent arc, even with the timeskips sometimes making it not as smooth a one as it might have been. Again we have Anya Chalotra to thank for making it work in spite of the narrative missteps.

Even Freya Allen, though she doesn’t get much to do plotwise, does a great job portraying the internality of Ciri’s journey this season, as she slowly realizes her beloved grandmother may have, in fact, been terrible – but that this doesn’t justify what was done to them.

Relationships you can root for

Two broken and emotionally distant people learning to break down their barriers and be vulnerable to each other? Sign me up, nothing is hotter. I really like Geralt and Yennefer, and I honestly hope they find common purpose together next season and realize that, wish or no wish, they’re good for each other and should try to work it out.

But Jaskier and Geralt’s relationship is honestly great, too. While I don’t think they’re sexually interested in each other and therefore this counts more as a “bromance,” I also hate the term “bromance” and prefer to just say that their unacknowledged but obvious affection for each other is charming. I’m guessing Jaskier will come back later? Maybe he was just in the short stories they use here, but that would be a shame.

The soundtrack “slaps” – that’s the term young people are using, right?

While “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” is attaining meme status and so many Youtube listens that it threatens to break into Billboard’s charts, let’s not forget how all the music in this series is so good. Like, literally, even if you can’t get into the show at all because of its other problems, check out this score, it’s amazing. It is incredibly frustrating that it’s not up on Spotify yet, though a few tracks are available on Youtube.

Its total embrace of being a fantasy series

And here we come back round to the beginning of my review. While Game of Thrones did well in its early seasons by easing its audience into its fantasy setting, as seasons went on it seemed progressively more and more embarrassed that it had to be a fantasy story. The Stark children’s warg powers are forgotten, prophecies are removed, the House of the Undying is reduced to like one room, bye-bye krakens and any kind of water magic, Euron’s just a pirate now, and who is this Lady Stoneheart you speak of? They even dispensed with the big final threat of the White Walkers as quickly and unceremoniously as possible, just so they could get back to the politics.

The Witcher, on the other hand, is a fantasy series from its first frame to its last and loves it. There’s monsters and magic everywhere, Destiny sets everything up to follow fairy tale rules, and humans share the world with multiple other sentient species. It does not apologize for this, and it has a very lived-in feel to it that many magic-heavy universes fail to achieve. You believe that this is a world where the supernatural is natural, where people have seen and lived alongside magic their whole lives. We see how magic is integrated into combat, healing, and politics, and it’s all believable in spite of how unbelievable it is. It makes it refreshingly fun and escapist without feeling completely divorced from reality.

So overall, I recommend the series while really wishing they’d structured it more clearly and accessibly. And had better makeup effects because ugh.

#the witcher #review

[dotshiiki]

CoL, Chpt 10

X: ANNABETH

Annabeth opened her eyes to find herself in Percy's arms.

For one second, her heart went spinning in giddy cartwheels. Then she remembered that they were deep in Tartarus, facing a horde of demon curse spirits.

Except the arai were gone. And although Annabeth's body ached as if she'd just run a marathon, scaled ten of Camp Half-Blood's lava walls, and wrestled a giant to boot, she was alive. Her shirt reeked of her own blood, reminding her of the curses she'd invoked. A knife in the back from the empousa. A spear through the gut from the giant Enceladus. Bruises blossomed where a sticky filament had wrapped itself around her neck—a gift from Arachne, no doubt.

It was a miracle she'd survived.

The others didn't look much better. Thalia's clothes were drenched in blood, the fabric pierced a thousand times over. Nico looked like he'd taken a tumble into a sooty fireplace. Will lay unconscious by his side, though his body bore no visible injury.

Percy was the only one who seemed unharmed. His jaw was set in a hard line. In his hand, he gripped Riptide so tightly, his knuckles were white.

Nico shook Will. 'What happened?' he demanded. 'Did he get cursed, too? What was it?'

Percy let go of Annabeth and took a step back. 'The demons couldn't hurt either of us. We got rid of them. And then he healed all of you.'

Nico swore and dug into Will's pack. 'Over-exertion, then. Exactly what he's always nagging me about.'

He dribbled bottled Phlegethon into Will's mouth. Will came to with a violent cough.

'You idiot!' Nico scolded. 'After all that crap you gave me about taking on too much, I swear—'

Will groaned and raised a hand to his head. 'What was I supposed to do, let you guys die?'

'How did you avoid getting cursed?' Thalia asked.

'They couldn't find curses for either of us,' Percy said. 'I guess Will never killed anybody.' His eyes narrowed. 'And they said I was already cursed. That you cursed me.'

Although he looked around all four of them as he said this, the you stabbed Annabeth like a dagger hurled unerringly into her chest. In a controlled, even tone that didn't quite mask an undercurrent of anger, Percy repeated the words that the arai had spoken to him.

Annabeth remembered then the last curse the arai had bestowed upon her: an invisible force that had flung her away from the group—away from Percy. Retribution from Hipponoe: may you never be loved again!

The arai had cackled most gleefully at that, probably because they'd realised there wasn't much they could add to that curse.

'You guys are gonna explain what they meant.' Percy pointed to Will with Riptide. 'And why you didn't deny it. You promised.'

'I did,' Will said weakly. He looked at Annabeth. 'You should tell him. All of it.'

Annabeth swallowed hard. Percy's eyes bore into her, harsh as a tempestuous ocean storm. Where did she begin? All of it, Will said, but what did that mean? Their entire history—the one Percy hadn't wanted to hear?

Or the part that was all her fault? Her hubris, her decision, her mistakes.

The part that might make Percy hate her.

You will never be loved again! No, she certainly didn't need the arai to deliver that curse.

'Well?' Percy said. 'Are you gonna to tell me who wiped my memory and why?'

Annabeth opened her mouth to begin. But before she could speak, a sly, sibilant voice emerged from the gloom.

'Oh, but why would she do that? Misunderstanding is so perfect for sowing discord!'

The speaker appeared from the edge of the forest. Her body, draped with a black toga, was so thin that Annabeth almost mistook her for one of the slender trees, spouting branches of hissing vipers from her head. Entwined in her snaky locks were scarlet ribbons, flowing from a blood-soaked headband that held her dishevelled bangs clear of her malicious crimson eyes.

'Lovely,' she said, surveying them with the cold, callous smile of a psychopath. 'You're already halfway there.'

Percy levelled Riptide at her. 'Get lost. This is between me and them.'

'Ah, but it has everything to do with me, too. Surely you don't mean to have a dispute without the goddess of strife?'

'You're Eris,' Annabeth breathed.

The goddess turned her malevolent gaze on Annabeth. In her gleaming eyes, Annabeth saw visions of brothers running each other through with swords, husbands throttling their wives…her own mother, Athena, reduced to petty arguments with her fellow Olympian goddesses.

'Yes, indeed. I have sparked the bloodiest wars in history! My children spread discord throughout the world. I am the mother of hardship, pain, lies…' She grew taller as she spoke, shooting up towards the canopy until she towered over them. 'Quarrels and disputes! Murders and anarchy! These are all my children! And so, my dear demigods, what bitterness can I sow among you today?'

'Forget it,' snapped Thalia. 'We're not interested in fighting. Unless it's fighting you.'

Eris touched her index finger to the tip of a poniard—a small, slim dagger—in her hand. 'Such complacence. Do not forget—it was I who created the golden apple that precipitated the Trojan War. I have broken up couples who boasted of loving each other more than Zeus and Hera!'

Thalia snorted. 'That's not saying much.'

'Will you put me to the test, then, daughter of Zeus?' Eris brought her poniard down as if to stab Thalia. Percy stepped forward and met the dagger with Riptide.

'Will you defend them, then, Perseus Jackson?' Eris hissed. 'The ones who lied to you, who are responsible for your current affliction—oh yes, I see clearly that you bear the curse of one of my daughters.'

She breathed out her words in a mist of red fog that wrapped itself around Percy. He lowered Riptide.

'Don't listen to her, Percy!' Nico drew his own sword. But instead of attacking, Eris stabbed her poniard into the ground. Fissures spread from its point, carving lines in the earth that ran between the five of them.

The red mist descended over Annabeth's head. Shadowy images swirled in it, resolving into a movie reel of every annoying thing her friends had ever done. Thalia smirked at her in front of a row of archery targets—'Get used to playing for second from now on!' Nico scowled and flung a pack of Mythomagic cards at her head, snapping, 'If you're so smart, why didn't you figure out how to save Bianca?' Will appeared in the doorway of cabin six, which she'd turned upside down in a frantic search, holding up her laptop with a sheepish grin. 'Connor made me take it…I lost a bet with him.'

Every urge she'd ever had to throttle them surged into her head, staining her vision a deeper, bloodier red. A snarl escaped her mouth, directed at Will, whose eyes reflected a slow burn back at her.

'This is almost too easy,' Eris said, her voice brimming with amusement. Thalia and Nico were already duelling sword to bow across the rift between them. Percy's murderous gaze vacillated between Will and Annabeth, as though he was undecided as to which of them he should attack first.

Eris didn't intend to kill them herself. No, she was much more enamoured of making them kill each other.

'Not much sport in provoking natural enemies, is there?' Eris mused. 'The daughter of Zeus and the son of Hades—bah, too easy.' She fixed her sadistic, glittering eyes on Annabeth and Percy. 'Ah yes, the biggest challenge. Coming between even the most dedicated of lovers.'

A cold chill trickled down Annabeth's spine. She wanted to draw her sword and run it through Eris, but she was afraid if she tried, she might end up attacking her friends instead. Or worse, Percy.

Eris's fog thickened around her with a vengeance. Its tendrils squeezed her chest like it was trying to wring hatred and anger from her heart. Eris's voice dripped poisonous honey in her ears: He decided you were worth forgetting. He chose an empousa over you. Doesn't that make you just livid?

The image of Percy wrapped around Bella in the alley in Phoenix flashed tauntingly at her. It blended into other wounds, old hurts that she thought she'd gotten over long ago: Percy laughing with Rachel as they drove down a winding beach road; Percy holding hands with the gorgeous Calypso on a paradise island.

Darker memories emerged and floated to the surface. She saw Percy facing Luke on the Williamsburg Bridge, cold green meeting malevolent gold. 'Can't you see he's evil, Annabeth? He's Kronos, through and through.' She saw a sinister shadow in Percy's face as he brought Riptide down in a murderous arc. Wild mania burned in his eyes as he raised a whirlwind of poison.

How dare he frighten you? How dare he turn into what he set out to fight?

There were many things that had made her so mad with him. Her blood boiled with every image Eris showed her, rage roaring through her veins and pounding in her ears. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Another memory surfaced—a time when she'd been royally pissed off at him, although she couldn't even recall why.

'I'm so mad at you!' she'd yelled.

'Okay,' he'd said, very seriously. 'I'm sorry.'

'Do you even know what you're apologising for?'

'Not really. But I love you. So I'm sorry I made you mad.'

The mist blew apart. Annabeth looked straight into Eris's amazed face.

Eris wanted her to focus on the anger, on the parts of Percy that had ignited her wrath, but a person wasn't just made of one part. You loved them whole—the good and the bad.

And with Percy, the things that infuriated her about him were often the same things she loved about him. It had been that way right from the beginning, when he had returned to her despite her explicit instructions to leave, in order to fight off three Furies closing in on her.

She saw Percy making her stop in the forum even though they were already late for class, because he just had to offer a denari to the fauns by the fountain.

Percy halting their run for a disoriented tourist on the street—'What's the harm, Annabeth, they just need directions,'—right before the werecat threw off its disguise and tried to sink fangs into his neck.

Percy charging headlong into a fight after she'd explicitly told him to stay back. 'This wasn't the plan, Percy!'

'Screw the plan, it's not like our plans ever work!'

Percy trying to send her to safety, even if that meant he had to stay behind in Tartarus.

How she hated the way he trusted people when he shouldn't, the way he never listened and always screwed up her plans, the way he was so infuriatingly loyal; but how she loved him for it. And what she would give to have that Percy back!

The cry that escaped her mouth was half-exasperation, half-laughter. The choking anger subsided. The mist was receding, being pushed further away from her. It was like a dam had burst, releasing a flood of memories—good ones, to overwhelm the bitterness and resentment with waves of love.

Strolling hand in hand down the Via Praetoria in perfect, contented silence. A kiss under the Eiffel Tower. Lazy Sunday mornings curled up in bed.

She drew deeper within herself, concentrating on every precious memory she had of love—not just for Percy, but her friends, too. Years ago, in the Temple of Fear, Piper had taught her to focus her thoughts around a single emotion. Annabeth did so now, calling upon her love for her friends—everything about them, good and bad. She pictured Thalia laughing and spinning her around at an old school dance in Brooklyn ('Who needs guys for a good dance?') Will holding her hand in the Plaza Hotel as he bandaged her shoulder ('You're gonna be fine, Annabeth. Percy's coming now.') Nico standing by Hestia's hearth, meeting her hand in a high five ('I'm happy for you guys.')

Like a golden ray of sunlight, her thoughts wound through Eris's discordant fog, beaming a path to her friends. When it touched them, the ugly expressions on their faces turned to surprise. Thalia and Nico dropped their battle and stared at each other, bewildered. Will fell to his knees, gasping as the red fog lifted from him. A silvery light reached out and twined with her golden one. Annabeth saw herself with Will, racing through the woods at Camp Half-Blood with a blue flag held aloft between them. They splashed across the creek and shared a grin as the flag turned grey and gold—a team victory.

And then Thalia and Nico joined the battle, too, adding more visions of their friendship. Annabeth watched herself drape a blanket over a younger Nico. She saw Thalia pull her into a tight hug and whisper in her ear, 'You'll always be family to me, Annabeth.'

Triumph surged through Annabeth's heart. They could fight this. Eris wasn't going to win.

Then she looked at the goddess of strife and her heart plummeted.

Eris had relinquished the four of them, but her attention was fully focused on Percy. Her long, clawed nails rested on Percy's shoulder as she whispered into his ear. The mist that they had forced away from themselves swirled exclusively around Percy—the only one of them who hadn't added to the collection of good memories.

Because he didn't have any.

Without his memories, what strength did Percy have to fight Eris's powers? What could he draw on to resist the strife she induced?

Percy let out a cry of inchoate rage. He raised Riptide high above his head and stabbed the sword down, plunging it straight into the rift Eris's poniard had already made in the ground. The cracks deepened, cutting a jagged line through the earth. It created a fissure that separated Thalia and Nico, who were nearest the cliff edge, from the rest.

And then the ground beneath them collapsed. For a brief moment, their feet scrambled for purchase, finding none. Will lunged forward to grab Nico's hand. Annabeth stumbled towards them, tripped, and landed flat on her stomach. Her arms reached uselessly into the empty air where her friends had been a second ago.

Her mind refused initially to register what had happened. Thalia, Nico, and Will couldn’t have disappeared into that black chasm.

Except they had. Just like that, they were gone, leaving her with Eris and Percy.

Percy.

Annabeth rolled over onto her back. Percy stood over her, sword raised, his eyes glowing red and Eris's mist settling over him like a vengeful cloak. Annabeth stared up at him, frozen with horror. How could she fight? Even if she could bring herself to battle Percy, he was an incredibly powerful demigod. When he took full control of that power, it was as terrifying as it was wonderful. Annabeth remembered the times she had seen him like this: standing over her on the Williamsburg Bridge to face Kronos's army single-handedly, commanding a hurricane in the middle of Central Park against the onslaught of Hyperion, glowing as brightly as his father as they charged down Otis and Ephialtes in the Parthenon.

And the last time they had been in Tartarus—slaying Arachne, choking the goddess Akhlys with her own poison.

Only now, his wrath was directed at Annabeth.

'Percy, please—'

Behind him, Eris cackled with glee. 'Everything that befell you, it was her fault! She stole your memories and lied to you! Doesn't that make you so angry?'

'I'm so mad at you,' Percy intoned.

Annabeth swallowed. 'I'm sorry.'

'She doesn't mean it. She—'

'Sorry,' Percy repeated. 'Because you did lie to me? You did steal my memories?'

'Because I failed to protect you.' His image blurred through her tears. 'I'm sorry I failed you. I love you.'

For a moment, the red in his eyes seemed to flicker with its original green. But Percy kept his stance, Riptide hanging like a guillotine over her head.

'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'I never meant to hurt you.' And while she waited for the blade to fall, she told him, 'I love you, no matter what.'

She wanted that to be the last thing she ever said.

Annabeth closed her eyes. She felt the whoosh of Riptide swinging through the air.

The blow didn't come. Instead, Eris gave a blood-curdling screech.

Annabeth blinked.

Percy had run Eris through with his sword. His eyes were no longer red, but the bloody mist still clung to him. His face was set in the same fierce, hard expression. He stared at the ashy fragments of the goddess, breathing heavily.

'I don't know what's the truth,' he said to her remains, 'but I do know it's not what you're telling me.'

The pieces of Eris didn't reply. A faint breeze curled around them and swept what was left of her over the cliff. Her angry fog faded into the chasm. Annabeth crawled to the drop-off, where the darkness that had swallowed her friends reproached her.

They're gone. They're gone and you failed to save them. Just like you failed Percy.

'Thalia!' she screamed.

There was no answer, no indication that her voice even managed to travel into the chasm below. The darkness seemed to absorb all sound. Percy joined her in yelling their friends' names, but their voices sounded tinny and weak.

Percy swore. 'It's my fault. I—I killed them.'

Annabeth turned to him. His face was pale and gaunt, his eyes hollow with self-loathing. The sight of him taking the soul-crushing guilt upon himself ripped into her heart like an arai's curse.

'No,' she told him firmly. 'That was Eris. She twisted your mind—she played with all of our minds.'

He shook his head. 'I shouldn't have been persuaded. I should've known she was lying, just playing with me. You're all here because of me! And I…oh gods…'

She couldn't let Percy take this on himself. Especially when the real finger of blame should be pointing at her.

'Eris got to you because she was telling the truth, sort of. Your memories—the empousa getting her hands on you—it was our fault. My fault,' she admittted. 'So it's me you should be blaming. I'm the one that got you into this whole mess.'

Percy's eyes widened. 'What are you saying?'

Annabeth pushed herself to her feet. Her entire body was trembling so hard, even her teeth chattered. But she made herself speak.

She told him everything. From the attack by Hipponoe, who wanted revenge on her for killing Joe Bob, to her decision to use the Lethe, to the mistake she'd made with the nepenthe and his subsequent disappearance after they'd fed him the potion.

When she finished, Percy was silent for a long time, his mouth drawn in a hard line.

'You should've told me,' he said finally.

Annabeth looked down. 'We—I wanted to, but at first…you already hated me. You thought we were all lying to you. If you knew I was responsible for your memory loss, too…And then when everything started to get better, I wasn't sure if bringing it up would just hurt you more. I didn't want to make you stop trusting everyone again.'

'Maybe I would've appreciated the honesty.'

'I'm sorry.'

Percy nodded. His eyes softened. 'So am I. I guess I didn't really make it easy for you either. And for what it's worth, it kinda sounds like I might've gotten myself into all of this.'

'Percy, you took a curse meant for me.'

'That wasn't your fault.'

'It was my stupid pride—' She choked on a rising sob.

'It sounds like I chose to do it,' Percy said mildly. 'I guess I was—we were—well.' His mouth twisted wryly. She remembered the question he'd finally asked her the night before they left for Tartarus, the one she'd found herself unable to answer because he'd used the past tense, as if it were a piece of history that would never again be true. Were you my girlfriend?

Then he said, in a tone that filled her with hope, 'You must've been hurting so much all this time. I'm sorry. I wish I could remember. I—I don't like hurting you.'

Annabeth swallowed hard. 'It's okay. Maybe you'll still get your memories back down here. Even if we have to go to the edge of Chaos.'

'Even if we don't…' Percy looked at her hesitantly. 'Well, maybe we could start over. I wouldn't mind giving it a try. You and me.'

You and me. The glimmer of hope swelled in her chest.

'We have to save you first,' she reminded him. 'And the others. They have to be alive.' She refused to accept the alternative.

Percy looked dubiously over the cliff. 'I can sense water,' he said. 'Right at the bottom. Maybe Nico did that thing he did when we fell in here.'

'Shadow travel.'

'Can we climb down?'

Annabeth considered it. They'd made it down a cliff face in Tartarus before. It had been treacherous enough when they could see the handholds. Here in the Dark Lands, they would be feeling blindly for every crevice.

Before they could make a decision, something in Percy's pocket jerked. He pulled out the bronze compass. Its triangle pattern winked like a firefly in twilight, pointing north along the cliff's edge. It seemed to have acquired a life of its own, tugging Percy's hand in that direction.

Annabeth and Percy exchanged a look.

'I guess we follow,' Annabeth said.

Under the compass's insistent direction, they skirted the edge of the cliff. The terrain sloped gently downwards. After a while, Annabeth heard a gurgling below their feet, like a rush of water flowing through rock. She imagined a river cutting its way through an underground gorge, pouring out of a cavern beneath them. Maybe this path would eventually wind down to the bottom.

Please let the others be there.

The cliff face curved to the left. As soon as they followed it round, they seemed to pass out of the inky night into a foggy dawn. The sky was lighter and the air weighed less, no longer settling heavily on her shoulders as it had a moment ago.

Then Annabeth realised with a chill that this was because their bodies no longer had as much substance for the air to press down on. Percy looked like he had after drinking the nepenthe, smoky and insubstantial, like he was formed entirely of thick fog. Judging from the translucent quality of her own fingers, she probably didn't look much better.

Sprouting along their ghostly feet were patches of brightly-coloured flowers that were utterly incongruent with the dismal landscape. Something about this path was eerily familiar.

Ahead, the cliff jutted out like a peninsula over a churning black void. A lone figure stood on it, veiled in shadow. The one thing that stood out was a pinprick of golden-bronze light. Their bronze compass strained towards its round, bright point.

'It's her,' Annabeth said. 'The empousa.'

'What's that black stuff?' Percy asked, sounding simultaneously fascinated and repulsed. 'Where are we?'

Annabeth looked again at his smoky appearance, the way the contours of his body blended into the air like a shroud of nothingness had been flung over him.

The verge of final death, hissed the echo of a voice that haunted her nightmares. Here, you are closer to nothingness than any mortal has ever been.

She should have guessed that the compass would lead them here. If the empousa was after Percy's soul, she would come here, to the place where his memories had washed out.

'The edge of Chaos,' she whispered.

Percy's eyes widened until he looked more ghostly than ever, a pair of green eyes staring out of the gloom.

'Come on,' Annabeth said.

She felt the pull of Chaos before they got there. The air was impossibly thin, as if its molecules had been sucked away into a hungry vacuum. Annabeth's lungs felt like they had been ironed out onto a two-dimensional board. Weightless as her limbs were, moving was a challenge. She had to glide rather than step forward on her legs.

At least the wishbone charm on her bracelet still felt solid. She hoped it meant she'd still be able to wield her sword. They'd be disadvantaged enough facing the empousa here without losing the use of their weapons.

The empousa didn't seem to notice their approach. She was focused on the black hole before her. In her hands was a compass like Percy's. The light they had seen was shining from it, a weak beam travelling into Chaos.

Or so Annabeth thought, until she realised that the light was actually travelling in the opposite direction. The empousa was drawing a misty substance out of the void.

Next to her, Percy stumbled. He clapped one hand to his back—the same spot that had pained him before Annabeth had given him the bronze compass.

'Percy!' She grabbed his shoulder, thankful to find his physical form still holding despite his ghostly appearance.

'I'm—fine—' he gritted out. 'It's her—'

The empousa turned. Unlike Annabeth and Percy, she looked perfectly solid, untouched by the veil of nothingness that clung to them. The glow of her compass set off her hair such that it burned like a flaming torch in the night.

Her red eyes gleamed when they landed on Percy. She started to laugh.

'This couldn't have worked out better if I'd planned it myself!' She crooked one manicured claw at Percy. 'Hello, gorgeous,' she said to him. 'You're right on time. And now, you are going to make me immortal.'

A/N: The goddess Eris has a cameo in HoH, but I decided to flesh her out more. She was loads of fun to write!

@preciouschildrenofolympus has drawn an absolutely incredible illustration of this chapter--it’s a whole comic strip featuring Eris’s appearance, and you should go and check it out if you liked this chapter because it brings it to life so perfectly!

Continue to chapter 11 | Back to content page

#pjohoobigbang2017 #pjohoobigbang #curse of lethe #percy jackson #annabeth chase #thalia grace #nico di angelo #will solace #eris #percabeth #solangelo #percy jackson fanfic #pjo fanfiction #hoo fanfiction

[endeavorsreward]

Excerpt (Bk.I, Ch.3)

The other eight members of his company were assembled in an informal cluster, just on the edge of the parade grounds. Ramza wanted at first to say something about military discipline, but a second look squelched the thought before it had fully unfurled.

That the healing arts accelerated the body’s natural capacity to rebuild meant that it relied upon adrenaline to function. And if it was true that the average person might “crash” upon the cessation of frantic energy that came with battle, a soldier who’d been administered al-chemickal potions or healing magicks experienced that tenfold. Most of the cadets had gone from battle to drinking with the briefest of respites in-betwixt; what Ramza now beheld was a horde of undead. Cuthbert was seated ‘pon a marker stone, hat crushed in his fist, trying to keep his eyes open. A bleary-eyed archer he didn’t yet know was looking at him with near-open contempt. And Osric... Osric looked more ill than he’d ever seen a man out of bed.

Ramza cast an eye back at Delita, who stood tall. But of course, Delita would not show weakness in front of anyone.

“I’ll not patronize anyone with a ‘good morning,’ then,” he offered, and received only a few weak smiles: one from Dorothea, and one from a girl whom he couldn’t help but recognize, as Gariland had precious few Galgastani students: it was Latisha Isolde, whose father was a business-owner of some renown in the Merchant City of Dorter. “Wealthy enough not to be ignored,” as Dycedarg might say, but certainly not noble. He’d bought her way into the Akademy. He needn’t Delita to know the rumors surrounding her, that her father was hoping to find some landed cadet of low enough reputation to wed her. She was in matching kit with Dorothea, and standing at some remove. Osric was pointedly ignoring her, but the archer kept casting her dirty looks. Troublesome.

He sighed. “Let’s form up.” Delita jointed the crowd, and so five men and four women stood, if not at attention, at least in something resembling ordered rows. “Everyone is already aware of our orders, that we go to bolster defenses at Eagrose, but we have been given a spare few days leave to make the journey slowly, and get to know each other a degree. Some of you, I fought proudly beside only yesterday, but everyone here served with distinction.” There was a snort from a man in the back. He looked to have five or six years on everyone else assembled and was missing a piece of his ear, but he was also the only one bar Delita standing appropriately rigid. Latisha was frowning, as though she had a similar thought but more self-control. He continued. “I am Squire-Command Ramza Beoulve. I would be remiss in not acknowledging that but a day ago I stood beside you as a fellow cadet, and so it is my hope that respect and discipline as representatives of the Northern Sky need be the only cause for obedience of the chain of command. Neither my family name nor my pride need motivate anyone, and I’d rather serve beside you than above you in matters where such latitude can do us no harm. But I am honored also to command you, and you’ll find me no yielding tower to be toppled. I shall do my best to earn my position, and you shall each do the same.”

“Well and good,” sneered the archer, “But I work best alone.” He was tall, lithe but with strong shoulders, with close-cropped hair that revealed too-thick eyebrows. Cuthbert, standing next to him, was looking at him curiously, as though puzzling something out.

“Strange words from a Gariland cadet,” Ramza offered, taking a step forward and not losing eye contact. “The levies are past us, you stand here by choice.”

The archer crossed his arms. “Oh, I’ll follow your orders, you needn’t fear, but I’ll not suffer this pretense of camaraderie. I’m proud enough to serve Gallionne, I needn’t do so with bowed head.”

“Wait... I do recognize you.” Cuthbert waved a pointed finger. “Myles Kinnison, yes? You placed second in the Frontier Marathon last year!”

He gave a sarcastic half-bow. “Third-best archer in Ivalice, by my reckoning.” He looked back at Ramza. “Skill is the only true metric by which one shall be judged, and I have long-proven myself. Have you?”

“He led us capably only yesterday!” Snapped Dorothea, but Osric shrugged.

“Spent half of it wounded, did he not?”

“Enough.” If Ramza Beoulve had a single gift that was his and his alone, it was his voice. He so rarely used it to its fullest, but since childhood he could be counted on for one thing: pure volume. So it was now, that his enough brought the bickering to a halt instantly. It prompted others walking the grounds to turn in their direction, likely paused Ser Ronald in the middle of his paperwork halfway across the Akademy property. The assembled cadets slowly returned to something closer to form, and Osric clutched at his head in agony. “I shall repeat myself once, for all of us are less than a day’s time from our first true engagement, but I shall not do so again. I shall do my best to earn my position, and you shall each do the same. If this is unsuitable to you, report to Ser Ronald now. I’ll think no less of you, but I cannot imagine he will. We serve the Northern Sky and shall do so proudly. My desire for... camaraderie... is subservient to that calling.” He looked to Delita. “Roster.” His friend wordlessly handed over the sheet of names. “I shall call each of you in turn, acknowledge your presence that we might know you by name.”

He cleared his throat. “Nicholina Bouchard.”

“Yes.” Calmly, and with a level of bemusement at the whole congregation.

“Cuthbert Fawkes.”

“Present.” Cuthbert was looking over at Nicholina, trying to hide a dry smile. Hmm.

“Bran Goddard.”

“Present.” The older man with the chipped ear, who looked implacable; his voice steady and quick, a man who already knew how to follow orders.

“Delita Heiral.”

“Here,” said Delita, but with just enough of a sarcastic edge to acknowledge that Ramza knew damned well they’d arrived together. He tried not to roll his eyes and failed.

“Dorothea Ingram.”

“Aye!” She was darkly glaring at Osric, who was making a point of ignoring her as he had Latisha. Hmm again. Indeed, speaking of which...

“Latisha Isolde.”

“Here, sir.” Deference with sincerity, their second chemist offered a salute, with which even Bran hadn’t bothered.

“Myles Kinnison.”

“Present.” Desultory, arms crossed.

“Avelyn Somerhild.”

“...”

Ramza frowned. Some of the cadets looked at each other quizzically. Delita shrugged at him.

“Avelyn Somerhild?”

“Oh!” Called out a voice from behind the others. “Here, I suppose.” The group parted to reveal a girl who, rather than dressed for marching, was instead in a dress, a simple gown in blues and greens. Osric tilted his head in the manner of a hound that didn’t recognize his meal; Myles looked disgusted. Dorothea and Latisha were asking each other questions to which nobody had an answer.

Ramza strode forward, hands at his sides, attempting to remain calm. “You are Avelyn?”

“Yes?” The girl had looked much younger from a distance, but now Ramza could see that she was indeed a cadet of their age. Her chestnut hair was tied up in some sort of snarl that Alma could likely identify, and she looked for all the world like she was off to market, rather than assembled with the rest of her company... save for the frog around her waist, which bore a short sword. “I am sorry, my mind had wandered.”

“Avelyn.” Ramza wiped at his eyes. “You are not dressed for battle.”

She frowned. “Were we to battle? I had thought we were gathered to meet one another before setting out.” She put one finger to her cheek in contemplation. “I’d assumed the others more comfortable in their togs and such.”

“I... But if you’d not thought to be in uniform...” He could feel Osric and Myles judging him to one side, like a heavy blanket tossed over one shoulder. “You are still armed.”

“Oh! Yes, I’d not go without it.” Avelyn smiled. “There were brigands about only yesterday.”

“...Indeed.” He turned towards Nicholina, whose face he still could not see. Was madness to be a common cause for his unit? He stood up straight and addressed the crowd. “No harm need be done. We shall only be marching as far as the Beast’s Maw today. I’d have everyone meet at Tannhaüser Gate  in three hours—in uniform and prepared to move.” He took the gil pouch, the gift from Lord Brother Dycedarg, and tossed it to Latisha. “Latisha, Cuthbert. I’d have you in charge of procurement. Assume the full week of travel. Everyone will have with them their belongings, as we do not plan to return to Gariland—bring your practice equipment as well—and any requests should be brought to those two. The rest of you have leave to say any necessary farewells.” As they began to disperse, save Delita who stood by his side, he held up a hand. “Osric, Bran, if I might have a word.”

The two men approached, Osric with a frown, Bran more stoic. The older man crossed his arms. “I’d not pay Kinnison much mind, milord. I’ve seen his kind before. He wishes to affirm his place and you all are too recently peers, but his is all bark. He fashions himself an alpha wolf, I’d wager, but bringing him to heel will be easier if you don’t give him cause to resent.”

“Naturalists disproved that ‘alpha’ business,” Delita said, and the man chuckled.

“Aye, so I heard once. But those men studied common wolves of the forests. The desert wolves are another matter.” He tapped his forehead. “That bone across their bridge, their minds are smaller. Operate more on instinct. I was once caught out in the sands, our group was hemmed in by those furry dastards, I had more cause to observe their behavior than an academick.”

Ramza frowned. “No more ‘milords,’ I pray you. Bran, why are you enrolled in this Akademy? It takes not an academick to see that you’ve already served Ivalice’s military in some capacity.”

Bran rubbed his chin. “It will surprise none assembled to learn I’m not of noble breeding. And I’ve no coin with which to play at a title, either. But my tale isn’t so interesting. I answered the call for men as soon as I was of age, and saw only small exchanges. But I took a blow meant for Ser Voltaire, and when he offered a reward, I requested patronage.”

Delita raised an eyebrow, but frowned when Ramza continued. “But why? If you served with distinction, to be a cadet...”

“To say ‘distinction’ may be to overstate.” He shrugged. “I am no knight, either, though I’ve seen more combat.” He rapped one gloved fist against his escutcheon. “If I’m to find ‘distinction’ it shall be in acquiring that knighthood, by my wager. And through training am I considered in active service. My pay never ceased.”

Delita nodded, satisfied. Osric clapped his hands together.

“Well! Our unit is quite... colorful, is it not?” The look he was giving Ramza was difficult to describe, but he didn’t like it. “We are quite the collection of strays.”

“I’m not certain I like the pointedness of the world ‘color,’ Osric.” Ramza glared. “You give me cause to reconsider why I asked you both to remain.” He sighed. “I keep Delita’s counsel because I long know his wisdom—and when also to disagree—but I’d be a poor commander to only listen to one voice. We hold no firm hierarchy as squires, and so it falls upon me to assign titles as I did for Latisha and Cuthbert. I’d have you both, Osric and Bran, serve as my officers of a fashion.”

“Ser,” Bran said, and saluted, but with less formality. Osric was looking at Ramza suspiciously.

“Why choose me?”

Ramza threw up his hands. “Need you a reason, Osric? For there are many to choose from. I’d not promote many men over the king’s bastard. I find value in hearing the words of a man with whom I oft disagree, even if I choose to dismiss them. Because in proving to you I value your input I hope to stave off your complaints at failing to lead. Because Delita and Bran are common men, and some will take issue. Because there are only ten of us, and so options are only so plentiful. Because you outperformed me yesterday. Which reason would suit?”

Osric opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I...”

Ramza stuck his finger out. “I’ll not abide you deriding your fellow cadets any longer, or this title, informal as it may be, shall be summarily stripped.”

“...Understood.” Osric was bright red.

“We can discuss training and other plans en route.” Ramza waved them off. “Say your farewells, or ready yourselves for travel.”

And they departed, leaving only Delita, as it was to start. Delita put his arms behind his back as the two of them walked back to the Boardhouse to gather their things. Neither of them had people enough to say good-bye.

“Shall you pick a name?” Delita’s tone was light. “It’s customary, is it not?”

“I was thinking ‘Company Zero’ might suit.” Ramza grimaced. “Osric’s preoccupation with class—and I fear with race—notwithstanding, he is to a degree correct. We’re all bastards and exceptions...”

“...And whatever Avelyn is,” Delita allowed.

“I’d thought this assignment important enough—for a cadet, yes, but under that purview.” He threw up his arms. “What was he thinking?”

“Our commander has either a sense of humor, or he saw an opportunity.”

Ramza side-eyed him. “You believe he gathered his embarrassments together.”

“I’d not describe it thus. To treat you thus would embarrass your Lord Brothers.”

“At times I wonder. But ‘tis a fair enough point.”

“Consider it thus.” Delita ticked off on his fingers. “Were this group disseminated amongst the units hunting the Corpse Brigade, or whatever they’re assigned to the north and east, each would have to deal with the... friction. But leading us together in service of Eagrose will be meritorious for you. While some of us may exist by the good grace of others, Ser Ronald would be well within rights to dismiss Myles or Avelyn, to name two, if he thought it just.”

“You are of course correct.” He sighed. “You found Bran’s tale more interesting than he did.”

“Mm.” Delita averred. “He strikes me as wholly pragmatic. I can admire that.”

“I’m sure you can,” Ramza said dryly, and they entered their dormitory for the final time.

#Excerpts #Ramza #Delita #Osric #Cuthbert #Nicholina #Dorothea #Bran #Letitia #Avelyn #Myles #Tactics #FFT #FF Tactics

[shkspr]

all the face masks i own, ranked by their ability to make me forget every bad thing in the world

1. dermal sheet masks: i bought sixteen of these on amazon dot com for $8.99 and i’ve used four of them this week and they are saving my life. they’re all different flavors but they’re hydrating collagen masks with like vitamins and shit. and they are so good. putting one of these boys on my face makes me believe for 15-20 minutes that mankind is inherently good, the world is not in a constant downward spiral, and maybe i’m leatherface? overall 9/10, because leatherface.

2.  freeman feeling beautiful avocado and oatmeal clay mask: i got this guy from cvs pharmacy, approximately 100 years ago. it claims to deep clean and purify pores, and boy do i love it. it has a fresh clean scent and its green hue makes me feel like a sitcom housewife. when this mask is on my face, i feel like it’s possible for me to explore my deep-seated issues and maybe one day find love. i give it a 7.5/10.

3. freeman feeling beautiful dead sea minerals anti-stress mask: this is also from cvs pharmacy, likely purchased at the same time. it’s very good but it doesn’t anti-stress me any more or less than the avocado one, which does not claim to be anti-stress. it also smells like a clean diaper. it’s not an awful smell, but it is not a smell i particularly crave near my nostrils. i don’t know why it smells like that, but i do know that this blue mud feels great on my sad, sad face, and it is easy to forget the world’s troubles when all you can think about is how your face smells like a diaper. 6.5/10.

4. artnaturals dead sea mud mask: the dead sea is apparently the only place where face mud is created. this mask claims to restore my skin’s youthful vibrancy and absorb oils and toxins. i do not know if it does this, because how am i supposed to measure that? what i do know is that this mask feels strange on my face. it feels like there’s a thin film of oil between this mud and my skin, preventing it from touching me. it is uncomfortable and distracting. i often find myself forgetting that climate change is real when this mask is on my face, but i never forget the evil of how weird the mask feels, so it gets a 6/10.

5. the body shop tea tree clay mask: this mask is highly effective, but very not soothing. tea tree is a very strong smell and i do not enjoy slathering it on my face. it also dries out my skin, which is to be expected, as tea tree oil is a popular and effective treatment for oily skin. however, my skin is apparently not oily enough, because my face is a desert when this mask is done. there is little i can think about when this mask is on me besides deforestation and how badly i need to moisturize. 4/10.

6. aztec secret indian healing clay: if regular face masks are a nice walk through a museum, this face mask is sprinting an entire marathon. this face mask wants to literally eat my flesh, starting with my beautiful face. it literally says “FEEL YOUR FACE PULSATE!” in large text on the container. it also advertises itself as the “WORLD’S MOST POWERFUL FACIAL.” it also, for some reason, says “Men love it, too.” all of these statements hold true, but do not make for a soothing or uplifting experience. this face mask aims to eliminate my acne by just straight up punching it. i do not hate it as a face mask that i can only use once a year, but i have to admit it does very little for making me forget the world is bad. when this is on my face, i find myself thinking that maybe we need another flood event, because people who want my face to feel like this definitely don’t deserve to live. also, it’s completely unrelated to aztec culture or any native american society, and it’s not a secret. why do they call it that. 2/10.

#healthbeauty

[celiawickedrunnah]

“I want to be in the arena. I want to be brave with my life. And when we make the choice to dare greatly, we sign up to get our asses kicked. We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can’t have both. Not at the same time.”

Brene Brown

I’ve postponed writing this piece of the blog for six longass months now. I was trying to figure out a nicely way to put it; I wasn’t ready to write about my injury; I didn’t want to write about my injury and the missed opportunity to toe-line at Baystate marathon; I was busy with work and personal life; it was the holidays that came and went in a blink of an eye, and so many other things. But I’ve finally set my mind to it, sat down and started typing… typing whatever it came to mind without thinking and stressing whether it sounds pretty, fancy, appropriate or correct.

Without further ado…here it goes. The last five months of 2018 In a Nutshell and bullet points.

July – closed out the month with a bang of 140 freakin hot-humid miles. Summer in Florida was on the verge of peaking; thus, about to, or probably had it already, broke my body with its relentless heat and humidity. Yay! Happy Birthday, Celia! 40 never looked so good and strong, too!

  August – heading to my second run of the month which was supposed to be a 10-miler with fast finish. It’s August 3, hot and humid as hell, stated well but my calves felt tight within the first .25 mile, especially my left. It had happened before, and it usually takes a good 2-3 miles to warm up and let the legs adapt to the high humidity and heat. Stop / Stretch / Run / Repeat was the theme of this run. There was no flow, I was tired and part of me still believed that I just needed to give it time and a few more miles of warm up. My kind hubby was on the bike to get his exercise and to support me along the way with company, fuel and hydration. I was getting concerned because I could see his frustration due to lack of flow and consistence with my running. Close to mile 4, I felt my left leg losing strength and did a awkward bend. Before then and thereafter, the pain was intolerable. I was in denial. I stopped. I ran. I stopped and ran some more until I called it quit at mile 4. When you know that you have to walk to your car because of the pain, you know something isn’t right. And you know it’s horrible as tears dropped down your eyes mixed with sweat.

  Mid-August – A week rest didn’t help. Physical therapy didn’t help. Massage didn’t help. A test run was a failure. Off to the doctor I went, got some medicine and an order for an MRI. Treated for tendinitis for which the medicine should had worked within the next 3-4 days, it turns out that it wasn’t working. I knew then it was something worst as I wore the exam gown to get my MRI done in tears of sadness and despair. The results are out, went to my doctor to find out what I already knew – a left tibial stress fracture adjacent to the knee. “Yep, you have a stress fracture. I am sorry. It’s a common injury for runners and athletes. Even the elites get it”, said Dr. Mason, attempting to make me feel better. What’s next? Rest and recover, and some light cross training for the next 8-10 weeks. And no, you can not run, much less, race Baystate. That will have to be for next year.

  September – after going through all the raw emotions of an injured athlete – DENIAL, ANGER, BARGAINING, DEPRESSION and ACCEPTANCE, I finally started moving on to the mental healing process. I started to plan my Saturdays mornings as if I were to have my long run on the schedule. First Saturday of the month, I did a 75-minute hot yoga class, which was as draining as running in the FL head and humidity. The rest of the month was filled with bike rides and adventuring into a new sport – road cycling. I love everything about road cycling. My favorite is climbing. My husband and I had a great time exploring our hilliest area nearby. I finally filled out the void of running with the hope that cycling was going to help me stay sane and in shape for running. Strength training and physical therapy was my new norm during the week. I am extremely grateful to my physical therapist, Ed, for helping me get back to health.

October – new challenges, new opportunities. It was time for me to face my fear of water. I started to take swim lessons with coach Liesl. I love her. For the first time I felt comfortable in the pool and I was able to swim into the deeper side the pool at my own home. I also did many swim drills at the LA Fitness pool. I am eager to the possibility of completing a TRI in the near future. As I continued healing, I was able to run 30 miles for this month. Every day has been a step into the right direction.

  Cleared To Run

Yoga Practice everyday

November – more road cycling, more swim lessons and drills, more strength training, more physical therapy AND a new run coach. A friend once shared that when something you’ve not planned for happens, see it as an opportunity. I have been meditating on that perspective since my injury. Road cycling, swimming, more focus on strength training and physical therapy have all been a new opportunity for me. Practicing yoga was another opportunity that I’ve embraced. But one of the biggest opportunities this injury brought was the opportunity to work with Coach Dave at Ame For It. Coach Dave is truly a top of the line coach, and most importantly, a kind person. He cares. He cares about people and he cares about his athletes. Through our first phone conference, I knew immediately that I wanted him to be my coach and to guide to Hopkinton to Boston – and beyond. November progressed on track and I closed the month with 67 miles.

December – December really felt like the new year for me. I started working with Dave and I could feel the difference his workouts made. His attention to detail and coaching on the mental aspect of training – not just the physical, is remarkable. His approach is always a workout at a time, a run at a time. I’ve been learning that since I started practicing meditation prior to the injury. As I started to be more consistent with running, a new challenge rose – trying to fit in all the extra-curricular training with running. I’m still learning to balance it out. December miles – 91!

Sugar Loaf Mountain

Hubby on the way to Sugar Loaf

  Fleet Feet Trail

Fleet Feet Trail

CONCLUSION: 2018 was a badass year! It wasn’t how I had planned, but everything felt in the right place at the right time. I learned so much about myself and the most important thing I’ve learned was TO LET IT GO. LET GO OF ATTACHMENT! Baystate marathon was an attachment. Miles ran per month was an attachment. PR in every race was an attachment. This injury has taught different ways to care for my body from when rest is needed to proper nutrition. I learned what I really want from running. I do not just want to quality and run Boston. I want a lifetime of running. The only way to live that is by being present a run at a time, a day at a time. I know what my goal is; the rest will take care of itself as long as I show up and care for my body mindfully.

But just out of curiosity, I closed 2018 with 1,057 miles as opposed to 2017 with 1,028. Letting go of attachment is giving bigger results – and I am loving the process with so much gratitude.

Love the process!

“Sometimes the bravest and most important thing you can do is just show up.”

Brene Brown

  2018 In a Nutshell “I want to be in the arena. I want to be brave with my life. And when we make the choice to dare greatly, we sign up to get our asses kicked.

#challenges #endurance #fitness #goals #injury #inspiration #life #perseverance #personal growth #physical therapy #Recovery #road cycling #runners #running #self development #setbacks #swim #Training