#fen formulates

[fen-the-magnificat]

i am telling all of you right now to go and watch dead boy detectives please pleaseplsplsplspls

[tomtenadia]

Serve you my heart

Here I am with a silly fic based on the following prompt:

thegreyj asked: 

Fenrys giving Rowan advice on how to start a conversation with someone he likes

Fen: "Ask her something, get to know her!"

Ro: "Like what?"

Fen: "Ask her if she likes books."

Later Rowan tries to follow the advice. Only he ends up staring at Aelin for a minute before just blurting out "Books."

@rowaelinprompts

When I saw it I knew I had to write something with it. I wrote this in an hour. it's a quick 1.4k word fic and I hope you like it.

It has an awkward Rowan who has a crush on Aelin and yes... I love a flustered bird boy.

The title is silly and as you know I am bad at it but since it has a mention of volleyball (a sport I love with all my heart) I tried to play with words.

Enjoy

-----

Rowan felt like a teenager. He was in his thirty but when Aelin Galathynius was around his brain just stopped working. He would just turn into a blubbering idiot and would quickly walk away to avoid passing for an idiot. By now she probably thought that he hated her.

He worked in a high school as biology teacher. Aelin was the new English teacher and she was the sun in his dreary life. Her hair blonde like the sun, her eyes a gorgeous blue with a ring of gold. And her curves. Rowan had to force himself not to think about her body or he would just combust on the spot. Surely it was not proper having such thoughts about a colleague, but he could not deny that he was interested in her. Speaking to his other colleagues he had heard nothing but good things about her and he wanted to try and have a proper conversation with her.

Truth was… he was not the greatest communicator when it came to women. He had  a few relationships, but most of the times the women threw themselves at him. This time he wanted to make the first step and he was terrified.

So, after assigning homework to his class he decided to go to the only man who had a stellar success with women.

His friend Fenrys was the coach of the volleyball team and always surrounded by females. Maybe he could have some insight from him and get Aelin’s attention.

With long strides he crossed the school halls and eventually reached the gym and inside he saw his friend wrapping up practice.

“Roro, my friend. What brings you down here?” He threw a ball at his friend and Rowan caught it swiftly.

A moment later Fenrys moved to the other side of the net and nodded at the other man as if in saying bring it on. Fen assumed a defensive position and Rowan walked towards the end line and prepared to serve. He bounced the ball a few times and then leapt in a run and jumped, spiking the ball with a loud crack.

Fenrys was ready but Rowan had thrown him one of his famous serves that ended in an ace.

“Are you sure you still want to teach biology to these hellions?”

Rowan walked to his friend “Aye, my ACL is not very keen on the sport anymore.”

Rowan had been a volleyball player and after uni he had gone pro for a couple of years. But then during a game he injured his ACL and that was it for him, so he had gone into teaching biology. His second passion after volleyball.

“So, how can I help?”

The two men sat on the benches court side.

“I need help.”

“Ro my man, there’s still hope for you. You are not on Lorcan’s levels yet.”

Rowan glared at his friend “lady problems.”

Fenrys face broke in a bright smile “well, you came to the very expert. Women love me.”

They were both silent while Rowan tried to formulate the question in his head. Fenrys was always confident. He was not.

“So, who is the hottie who has your pants twisted in a knot?”

Rowan muttered something intelligible.

“Hm?”

“Aelin.” He repeated in an almost grunt.

“Ohhh look at you, trying to play with the big league. I don’t think she has good taste though. She rejected me.”

Rowan was shocked “you hit on her?”

Fenrys scoffed “Hell yes, I wanted to offer her the Moonbeam welcome pack but she declined.”

A deep groan left Rowan’s lips at the innuendo.

“Have you talked to her?”

“No? I freeze when she is around. By now she thinks I am a psychopath.”

“Nah, don’t degrade yourself like that. You are just bad with women.”

“How can I talk to her?”

Fenrys tapped his lips with his finger in a pensive motion “Ask her about something she likes.”

A blank stare was Rowan’s reply.

“She is an English teacher, which means that maybe she likes books? Ask her about the books she likes,” he explained “you are a boring bookworm too, she might well be the woman for you.”

Books. Rowan mentally slapped himself for not having thought about that before. That was a conversation he could have. He loved reading too.

“Ok… that I think I can do.”

“Go Rowie, and get some. Rowan junior needs action.”

Rowan waved at his friend and walked out of the gym and back in his office to mull over his plan to try and talk to Aelin.

A few days had passed and Rowan had studied Aelin’s schedule and knew that on a Wednesday she had a break long enough between classes that she loved to take a moment to herself and go outside and sit on a bench under the trees and read. It was the perfect location, away enough from other teacher to hide his shame if she shut him down.

It was a warm day and he strolled through the school yard in his blu shirt with sleeves rolled up and a book in his hand. When he got to the bench Aelin was there and he paused. She had a gorgeous summery green dress on and a green ribbon around her long blonde hair. All Rowan could think was that she was stunning. She was reading and he felt like a bastard for interrupting her, but he wanted to talk to Aelin really badly.

He forced his body to move and then stopped I front of her.

Blue eyes looked up at him in surprise “do you need anything?”

Rowan tried to speak but words failed him “I…”

Come on big man, you can do it, one word after the other “Books.” He eventually blurted out pointing out at the book she was holding in a perfect imitation of a caveman.

“Yes, this is a book.” The smile that she gave him had the power to melt him. How was it that this woman had such power over him?

“Book,” he repeated, lifting his “I have a book too.” Gods he was pathetic. Why did he listen to Fen? Someone gave him a shovel and help him dug his grave because he was dying of embarrassment.

“You like fantasy too?” She added, noticing the book he was carrying.

Rowan grabbed the book under his arm and stared at the title. He always had at least two in his backpack and he had just grabbed a random one to try and impress her.

“I do.”

“I read that. It’s really good. How are you finding it so far?”

It was working, she was talking to him “I am enjoying it very much, I find the world building pretty incredible.”

Aelin gave him a bright smile “the author is incredibly skilled at that. What about the characters?”

He sat on the bench at her side, feeling a sudden surge of courage “I am struggling with Celaena. Hope she gets better.”

Aelin gave him a warm laugh and Rowan stared at her in fascination “she will steal your heart soon. Give her time.”

“I trust you,” he said quietly.

“I am Aelin, I teach English.” A hand extended in from of her.

“Rowan, biology.”

“I know,” a soft confession “I have been wondering when you were going to find the courage to finally talk to me.”

Rowan’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

“I saw you many times walking towards me and then stopping and retreating.” Another beautiful smile “Looks like the captain of the Orynth Hawks is not as fierce with women as he is on the volleyball court?”

“I…” and the stuttering was back.

Aelin stood “I watched a lot of your games, captain.”

Rowan looked up. His gaze followed her perfect legs all the way up to her stunning face.

She made a move to walk away but he stopped, his hand gently grabbing hers “tickets.” He cleared his gruff voice “I have tickets for the next game. Come with me and then we can go and hit a bookstore.”

Aelin squeezed his hand back “who says that the icy captain does not know how to woo women?”

Rowan stared at her with apprehension.

“Of course I am coming, Whitethorn.” One second her lips were on his cheek, the next she was walking away with her head turned to him and a beautiful smile painted on her face.

He was taking Aelin to a volleyball game of his old team and then a bookstore.

He did it.

Definitely had to find a way to set up women to one of the pro women’s team as a thank you for his pep talk.

He fist pumped the air and with a spring in his step went back to his office with the biggest smile stamped on his face.

taglist

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[transmutationisms]

Do you have a perspective on why stimulants aren’t currently widely prescribed as weight loss drugs? Im guessing it’s related to it being a ‘controlled substance’ and ‘scary drug’ but drug marketing in pursuit of pharmaceutical profits is pretty powerful… I wonder why I haven’t seen (effective?) efforts to try to ‘overhaul’ the image of stimulants as only associated with “addiction”, “hyperactive children”, finance bros, and “lazy adults”.

I know vyvanse is also prescribed for binge eating but I get the sense most people are unaware of that. I tried many stimulants and I had the most rapid and “easy” (found food repulsive) weight loss on vyvanse. Granted all of the many prescribed stimulants I’ve tried all greatly suppress my appetite.And I’ve seen it described as a benefit by some people who have it prescribed for adhd (I understand why people do and I sometimes see it as a very depressing benefits because lack of food security despite). Binge eating disorder and prescribing for general weight loss aren’t too far from each other in the fatphobic society we live in but I guess I’m curious how it hasn’t had the ozempic treatment already/ when will it happen. People already look down of folks who can’t function by society’s standards in certain contexts and I see that similarity in how people talk about people who take ozempic for weight loss (admonishing and a moral failure).

stimulants absolutely still are prescribed for weight loss lol, in addition to Vyvanse for 'binge eating' (v unreliable diagnosis that many people receive when they are in fact dealing with subjective loss of control around food as a direct result of restrictive behaviours...) there's also Desoxyn (methamphetamine) and Phentermine (a substituted amphetamine), which are both still FDA-approved for short-term weight management. and yes that's Phentermine as in half of fen-phen. you also have to keep in mind that off-label prescribing is hard to track but is probably still occurring at not-insignificant rates (i know it happens with Ephedra and Clenbuterol, for example). and then there are also patients who use stimulants for weight loss without a doctor's knowledge, either by obtaining them on the black market or by simply getting a doctor to prescribe them for something else.

anyway in regards to pharma marketing strategies i think there are a few things going on here:

weight loss has never actually been the sole market for these drugs, nor was it the first. amphetamine was first synthesised in 1929; it was put into asthma inhalers almost immediately and by the late 30s was being sold as a kind of generalised wellness-producing drug, used by, for instance, college students as a 'pep pill'. the Allies used quite a bit of amphetamine in WWII to keep soldiers alert (the US military was still doing this in Iraq and Afghanistan in the 2000s; afaik they have not stopped this practice). by the late 50s stimulants were also marketed as pick-me-ups for unhappy housewives and for a dizzying array of depression 'subtypes' (postpartum, old age-related, disability-related) and 'modern miseries' (atomic anxiety, economic and political unrest). it wasn't until the 50s and 60s that stimulants really started to be marketed as diet pills, with 'overeating' configured as a symptom of depression. even those formulations also had other use markets: professional athletes, for example. i'm sure pharma companies would love to have the stimulant dominance they once did in weight loss, but it's not really necessary in order to move product: these days the ADHD diagnosis will generally do the job just fine. nicolas rasmussen's book On Speed has more on this history.

speaking of the ADHD diagnosis, i have observed that in the last two or so decades, it has increasingly been invoked in bioessentialist narratives of either 'chemical imbalances' (usually dopamine, norepinephrine) or distinct 'neurotypes' that are said to cause, worsen, or be susceptible to 'overeating', which can therefore be treated by the use of stimulant drugs. i strongly suspect an effect here is that 'overeating', weight gain, or 'obesity' are de facto being used as diagnostic criteria for ADHD, or for other psychiatric diagnoses considered to have high overlap in behavioural presentation. this is not dissimilar to the formulation in the 60s of 'overeating' as a result of depression; in both cases the narrative elides the appetite-suppressant effects of stimulants and presents them as aiding with weight loss by treating an underlying bio/psychiatric pathology. an interesting historical note here is that Adderall is simply a rebrand of the second-gen formulation of the weight-loss drug Obetrol.

presently, weight loss is largely marketed using the language of health rather than aesthetics. although pharma companies are certainly not morally above lying, i do think it would be a tough pill to swallow (pun intended) if they tried to convince anyone that a stimulant prescription is part of this sort of 'wellness' scene. that could change in the future, ofc; these perceptions and associations are socially and historically contingent. in the US even as recently as the 90s, people were definitely still presenting fen-phen as health-promoting (tautologically, because it caused weight loss!), at least until the valve disease scandal.

glp-1 agonists like ozempic are, i think, getting a lot of extremely credulous coverage, from both the medical establishment and health journalists, that is obfuscating the fact that they basically also work by suppressing the appetite. whether it is 'healthier' to do this with a substance that alters endocrine function than to do it with a substance that acts on adrenergic receptors is unclear to me. certainly there are many 'side effects' of the glp-1 agonists that are simply the results of rapid / significant weight loss (fatigue, weakness, osteoporosis, hair loss, gallstones, 'ozempic face', &c). that a process that causes these things can be marketed as health-promoting is a whole other topic lol. but i think the perception of the glp-1 agonists as healthful weight-loss agents has to do with certain misunderstandings of diabetes, metabolism, and body weight, as well as a degree of... not quite blackboxing, but something adjacent, on the part of pharma companies in their promotional materials. which is to say, it wouldn't surprise me if, in the future, people looked back at glp-1 agonists as also being risky drugs to use for weight loss, and only being worth using in specific, limited circumstances.

[evocation-of-mystical-eidolons]

I nodded and started presently a phantasmal and grotesque appendage slipped into my view...calcinated by the purification of spectral larvae I dozed and was sent whirling down nether abysses of non individuated oneness as of Neoplatonists...my eyes wrenched toward acrid gaudy lights drunk as of tenuous shadows tenebrous litten by eld mothy moon eared excrescences protruding from the luminous aether in unbounded spaces my neck snapped under pressure of pachydermatous hands of ferruginous salts of ammonia my brain was ravaged and I sunk utterly...infinite revulsion of spirit anguish clad by raiment of oleaginous and unctuous agglutinations of loathsome putrescent slime of eggs of enormous Worms and toads of fungal larvae and maggot born exhalations as of ophiolatrous worshippers beating ponderous drums to the tattoo of infernal rhythms my heart was choked and withering to hoary greybeards in the Selene clad prognathous cerements palls blackened teeming with spermatozoa and oocytes alleles as of genetic abominations delivered to my knowledge through cacophonous dins of insensate pulsating horrors acrimonious and ragged drug through miry fens and bogs of abhorrent medieval sorcerers witches clad in starry lachrymose textiles wrought from the skin of wyverns...my mental proscenium was filled with visions miasmal and horrendous celestial and glacial primal and prehistoric teeming masses of ancient organisms the entire phylogeny tree bifurcation and budding in myriad efflorescence's and umbels roseate honied speech flowed from the lips of maidens defiling from an eld cathedral clad in lace dresses as of white snow tresses as of ravens a grand processional of mystic proportions these imidrizing visions gave way to a new tide of repulsive abnormities flowed in unending tortuous cascades grim spectres of deaths heads and a tide of seething masses of horrid bat deamons culled from nether acrid caves as of trolls and moss swords and castles crypts buried rotting spectres phantoms of nitre-encrusted toads lurking in swampy fens denizens of ancient eld dominions of wizened cronies Hyperborean mages of alchemical phantasies philtres of love potions...I wavered and faltered encumbered by noisome vapors beset my nocturnal owls of sulphur and bitumen my soul froze and I wearied agonized by tumultuous vast scurrying thoughts of anguished wails of frightful ogres and ghouls, spawn of Tartarus and the eternal limitless abyss of Nyx. Beaten goaded and sickened my spirit breaks and is tattered and ravaged by innumerable orcs Elven faeries capered to and fro in front of the darksome and brooding grotto they danced a merry and gay jig the Gladsome and light airy fays or the aerial and ethereal sylph of Paracelsus I was entranced and filled with myriad tender thoughts as I gazed at the joyous dance of the eld little folk yet I was as yet still beset by ravages of the mind...ineffably weary weltschmerz unspeakable existential dread the vast and sardonic derision of the evil propagator of the universe I was tossed tempestuously and rendered derelict and abandoned my body was benumbed by an ancient and terrible icy frost of Norse hells beset beleaguered and bombarded beaten and torn ripped limb from limb utterly extirpated my soul cried out in horrendous despair why ? And the silence mocked my personal credo quia absurdums of Thomas Browne formulated and expressed at my utter limit of anguish De Profundis Domine Lord of the depths I have cried to thee blot out my iniquities , lord have mercy my anguish is yet a species of pride to be simple and humble to be meek I will do penance and mortify my concupiscent desires of the flesh self flagellate and beat my breast have pity on a lost soul wandering in the barren and desolate desert of Nubia I execrate this paltry and puerile life it is devoid of any worth it is a vanity and a lie a profound dearth worthless and ragged and torn asunder...I was slightly taken aback by this sudden torrent of pious devotion which had sprang from my lips I gazed at a crucifix hanging on the wall and thought of the Spanish black Madonna's and the byzantine Christ Panocrator...newly inspired I quickly navigated to the yt channel poesie psychotique vaguely felt affinities to my own experiences a vindication a link to an artistic vision of chaotic and beautiful nay more basically rich vibey vague and various Imagos as of moths of aether and silken dreams wrought in batik Malayan textiles...next I gingerly lifted a mug of fortifying libation of rich earth mould acidulous coffee darker than black as of anime archetypes creating effectively infinite expansive legendariums I sipped and savoured the rich flavour, the inimitable beverage quaffed by decadent dandys nay that was the green fairy Absinthe...my thoughts wandered and new images wrought of psychobabble formed novel and magnificent malformations upon my mental proscenium I plodded along the circuitous and labyrinthine passage of an eld mouldering city of vast cyclopean edifices raised by some archaic prehistoric race who worshipped ithyphallic monolithic idols of rough hewn basaltic stone and porphyry...I glimpsed terrible and arcane carvings and hieroglyphs carven into the malevolent stone which forbode of unknown and arcane rituals of sacrifice to zoomorphic and amorphous god beings extraterrestrial eldritch abominations spawned in the further reaches of Saturn at the edges of the cosmos...they were fungoid beings born from aerial sporangia which traveled galactic distances and arrived on Saturn countless aeons ago they were the Old Ones the Elder Gods identified with all the primal earthly deities of El and Astarte the horned goddess who dances a gyrating and lascivious ritual before the Tetrarch incense laden an perfumed of rich and fragrant myrrh and balsam and also darker satanic perfumes of acontium and wolfsbane they were henna painted and curved voluptuously to the tattoo of a drum beaten incessantly a decadent femme fatale an intoxicating houri of Islamic paradise an exotic oriental goddess the avatar of the destroyer Kali of brooding Kolkata which birthed deafening and thunderous war metal pummeling in its torrent of audial sonic desecrating filth.

[deeznuts-nl]

Recensie 1: Tja, hoe moet ik over De Avonden oordelen? Aan de hand van de samenvatting is het misschien wel te zien: ik ben er niet razend enthousiast over. Dat komt doordat er niks gebeurd is! Daar heb ik toch wat moeite mee. Het patroon in het boek is: slapen (een nachtmerrie hebben) – ontbijten, de stad in, thuisblijven, of iemand opzoeken – avondeten – iemand opzoeken – slapen. En ga zo door. Daarnaast heeft het boek een erg depressieve ondertoon: Frits is aangetrokken door de dood, het verval en kaalheid, iedereen zou ziek zijn, hij is seksueel gefrustreerd en hij vindt alles nutteloos. Kortom, niet het meest optimistische boek.  

Ik kwam er daardoor ook erg moeilijk doorheen, het taalgebruik vond ik erg moeilijk, het was erg saai, ik kon het moeilijk plaatsen. Pas na een literatuurgeschiedeniscollege over De Avonden kon ik de schoonheid inzien: het boek is namelijk zo mooi, omdat het een goede weergave is van de tijd. In de tijd na de oorlog (De Avonden is na-oorlogsproza) was de nutteloosheid, het verval, het besef van de dood juist iets wat de jongeren erg bezighield. Er was niet veel, er was veel gebeurd. Het was een periode van opbouw. Dat zie je erg goed terug in De Avonden, en misschien is die weergave van de (bittere) werkelijkheid, ook wel erg gedurfd.  

Dus als iemand mij mocht vragen, wat ik ervan vond: ik vond De Avonden geen fijn boek, ik heb er lang over gedaan en het was saai: maar het is een boek dat de tijd van toen mooi en direct weet vast te pakken. En dat blijft bijzonder.

https://www.spellingenzo.nl/boekrecensie-de-avonden-van-gerard-reve/

Recensie 2: Behoudens een enkele uitzondering kwamen de critici in 1947 woorden tekort om taal en stijl in De avonden te prijzen - maar behalve Vestdijk wees niemand op de humor in het boek. Toch hangen taalgebruik en humor hier wel heel nauw samen.

Fens (1965) wees erop hoe de monologen ‘een zeer komisch karakter (hebben). Men kan beter zeggen: tragikomisch’: veroorzaakt door het plechtige taalgebruik en de goedkope en daardoor overbodige levenswijsheden. Aangezien De avonden voor minstens driekwart uit monologen en dialogen bestaat, is het inderdaad een buitengewoon humoristisch boek. De mono- en dialogen zijn namelijk niet alleen ‘komisch’ of ‘geestig’, maar eraan ten grondslag ligt steeds Frits' wanhopige strijd tegen de wezenlijke kenmerken van zijn situatie: obsessies, eenzaamheid, stilte, isolement, angsten.

De stijl van de verteller is helder en sober, slechts een enkele maal gebruikt hij plechtige formuleringen als ‘sluimerde in’ en ‘t E rad binnen’ (p. 7). Ook Frits hecht grote waarde aan nauwkeurige formulering en correcte uitspraak. Daarnaast heeft zijn idioom veel komische eigenaardigheden, en de humor in De avonden wordt dan ook vooral door hem gedragen; van een strikt individuele stijl kunnen we overigens niet spreken, want sommige van zijn vrienden (met name Louis) praten op soortgelijke wijze. Behalve Frits' taalgebruik zijn ook vele situaties in De avonden - op zeer uiteenlopende wijze - komisch. Van den Bergh onderscheidt in totaal veertien.

categorieën, waarvan de meest frequente zijn: herhaling, herkenning, stadhuistaal, absurdisme, contrast, taboedoorbreking, cliché, lezersvoorsprong en ironie.

https://www.dbnl.org/tekst/anbe001lexi01_01/lvlw00513.php

Recensie 3: Ik heb nou niet echt genoten van het boek; ik vond het eerder saai dan boeiend. Het is allemaal zó uitvoerig beschreven dat het me niet heeft kunnen pakken. Ik heb het dan ook zeker niet in één ruk uitgelezen, daar is te vermoeiend voor. Wel was de wending op het eind erg verassend. Overigens heb ik nu wel een beter beeld gekregen van de leefomstandigheden van vlak na de oorlog. Het probleem is misschien ook wel dat ik me niet goed kan identificeren met Frits en de tijd waar hij in leeft. Maar de dramatische waarde van dit boek is wel goed op me overgekomen.

https://adoc.pub/boekverslag-de-avonden-gerard-van-het-reve.html

Reactie op de recensies:  

De drie recensies bieden verschillende perspectieven op "De Avonden" van Gerard Reve, ook al komen de woorden “verveling” en “moeilijk leesbaar” vaak terug. Dit boek is dan ook niet van onze generatie en is ook niet bedoeld een publiek te verkrijgen die niet meer leest omdat er niks ander te doen is, maar daar kom ik wo nog op terug. De eerste recensie bekritiseert het gebrek aan actie en de sombere gedachtes van het boek, maar erkent uiteindelijk de waarde ervan als een weerspiegeling van de naoorlogse periode. De tweede recensie legt de nadruk op de humor in het boek (en dus ook meer op de stijl waarin het boek geschreven is) en hoe deze samenhangt met diepere thema's van eenzaamheid en angst. En de derde recensie zegt kort maar krachtig ook dat ze het boek saai vond, maar benadrukt ook de dramatische waarde en de impact van de onverwachte wending die aan het einde plaatsvindt, ook al moet ik zeggen dat ik zelf het einde niet echt spannend vond en het een beetje een raar einde vond.

Als lezer van "De Avonden" kan ik me volledig vinden in de ervaringen die in de eerste en derde recensie worden beschreven. Het was voor mij persoonlijk ook echt moeilijk om door het boek heen te komen vanwege het trage tempo en het gebrek aan spannende gebeurtenissen, die echt nauwelijks of zelfs niet zijn voorgekomen in dit boek. Ook kon ik me niet echt identificeren met het hoofdpersonage Frits,

omdat zijn gedachten en gedragingen soms wel heel vreemd waren. Maar, ik kan wel begrijpen dat zijn karakter en zijn gedachten een representatie kunnen zijn van de gedachten en gevoelens die veel mensen hadden na de oorlog, vooral in Nederland die had geleden van de “winterhonger” waarin veel mensen waren gestorven en waarschijnlijk ook een beetje gek waren geworden (door bijvoorbeeld planten of lijm te moeten hebben gegeten of zelfs helemaal niks)

Wat ik wel bewonder aan "De Avonden" is de moed van Reve om een taboeonderwerp te gebruiken als onderwerp, van wat ik heb begrepen omdat er destijds niet gesproken werd over de mentale gezondheid van de mensen en over dat ze eigenlijk helemaal niets deden met hun leven. Het boek behandelt existentiële angsten en de zoektocht naar betekenis, terwijl dat de mensen daar toen helemaal niet bezig mee waren maar vooral bezigwaren Europa, en Nederland in dit geval, weer op te bouwen. Ik erken dat het boek voor zijn tijd revolutionair was hierdoor.

Onlangs dat het volgens mij wel revolutionair is voor zijn tijd kan ik zeer goed begrijpen waarom jonge lezers, en over het algemeen bijna iedereen eigenlijk, vandaag het boek als saai zouden kunnen beschouwen. Wij lezen namelijk niet meer om dezelfde redenen. Het boek is geschreven op een manier voor de mensen destijds, om de verveling tegen te gaan (boeken waren toen een beetje de smartphones van tegenwoordig), maar in onze tijd zijn er veel andere vormen van entertainment beschikbaar (zoals bijvoorbeeld dus de telefoon, tv, ... schermen).  

Ik moet dus eerlijk toegeven dat het boek ongelofelijk saai is door dus het gebrek aan actie. Maar ik denk dat je ook niet met een “bril van tegenwoordig” het boek moet lezen, maar dat moet doen met een visie die ze toen ook hadden (dus jezelf informeren over de situatie van toen voordat je het boek leest). Op die manier erken je denk ik wel de historische en literaire waarde van dit boek, omdat het boek dan tenslotte een belangrijk stukje naoorlogse geschiedenis vastlegt (door te laten zien hoe het moeilijke ne vooral saaie leven van toen was) en ons ook nog eens laat denken over de menselijke conditie en de zoektocht naar betekenis in tijden die veel lastiger waren dan die dat we nu kennen.

[ellinapark]

Diamond Wedding Ring Market to Scale New Heights as Market Players Focus on Innovations 2022 – 2027

Global Diamond Wedding Ring Market Report from AMA Research highlights deep analysis on market characteristics, sizing, estimates and growth by segmentation, regional breakdowns & country along with competitive landscape, players market shares, and strategies that are key in the market. The exploration provides a 360° view and insights, highlighting major outcomes of the industry. These insights help the business decision-makers to formulate better business plans and make informed decisions to improved profitability. In addition, the study helps venture or private players in understanding the companies in more detail to make better informed decisions. Major Players in This Report Include:

 Cartier (France)

Tiffany (United States)

Chow Tai Fook (Hong Kong)

Chow Sang (Hong Kong)

Lukfook (Hong Kong)

I DO (United Kingdom) 

Zhejiang Ming Jewelry (China)

CHOW TAI SENG Jewellery (China)

Lao Fen Xiang (China)

Harry Winston (United States)

LVMH (France)

Helzberg Diamonds (United States)

Forevermark Limited (United Kingdom)

The diamond wedding ring is a finger ring which indicates that the person who is wearing the ring in the left or right ring finger is married. Diamond wedding ring market is growing owing to changing lifestyle standards and rising disposable income in the developing countries. Further, increasing adoption of the diamond wedding as a style statement among millennials expected to drive the diamond wedding ring market over the forecasted period. Market Drivers Changing Style Statement Fueled By Rising Disposable Income

Emphasizing On Innovative Designs for Diamond Wedding Ring

Increasing Demand from Fashion Industry 

Market Trend Improved Lifestyle in Emerging Economies

Increasing Demand for Customized Diamond Wedding Ring

Opportunities Increasing Disposable Income in Low and Middle-Income Countries

Increasing Online Market For Wedding Diamond Ring

Rising Focus among Millennials

Challenges Lack of Acceptance in Low and Middle Income Group People

Alternative Available such as Gold, Platinum, and Others. 

The Diamond Wedding Ring market study is being classified 8962 Presented By

AMA Research & Media LLP

[kritikapatil]

Global Diamond Wedding Ring Market Is Likely to Experience a Tremendous Growth in Near Future

Global Diamond Wedding Ring Market Report from AMA Research highlights deep analysis on market characteristics, sizing, estimates and growth by segmentation, regional breakdowns & country along with competitive landscape, player’s market shares, and strategies that are key in the market. The exploration provides a 360° view and insights, highlighting major outcomes of the industry. These insights help the business decision-makers to formulate better business plans and make informed decisions to improved profitability. In addition, the study helps venture or private players in understanding the companies in more detail to make better informed decisions. Major Players in This Report IncludeCartier (France)

Tiffany (United States)

Chow Tai Fook (Hong Kong)

Chow Sang (Hong Kong)

Lukfook (Hong Kong)

I DO (United Kingdom) 

Zhejiang Ming Jewelry (China)

CHOW TAI SENG Jewellery (China)

Lao Fen Xiang (China)

Harry Winston (United States)

LVMH (France)

Helzberg Diamonds (United States)

Forevermark Limited (United Kingdom) The diamond wedding ring is a finger ring which indicates that the person who is wearing the ring in the left or right ring finger is married. Diamond wedding ring market is growing owing to changing lifestyle standards and rising disposable income in the developing countries. Further, increasing adoption of the diamond wedding as a style statement among millennials expected to drive the diamond wedding ring market over the forecasted period. Market Drivers Changing Style Statement Fueled By Rising Disposable Income

Emphasizing On Innovative Designs for Diamond Wedding Ring

Increasing Demand from Fashion Industry 

Market Trend Improved Lifestyle in Emerging Economies

Increasing Demand for Customized Diamond Wedding Ring

Opportunities Increasing Disposable Income in Low and Middle-Income Countries

Increasing Online Market For Wedding Diamond Ring

Rising Focus among Millennials

Challenges Lack of Acceptance in Low and Middle Income Group People

Alternative Available such as Gold, Platinum, and Others. The Diamond Wedding Ring market study is being classified by Application (Men, Women), Diamond Cuts (Marquise, Emerald, Cushion, Princess, Round, Heart, Pear, Oval), Distribution Channel (Specialty stores, Discounters, Online retailers, Others) Presented By

AMA Research & Media LLP

[mossworth]

Okay hear me out I haven't finished the game yet, and I don't know anything about Nick Valentine's story other than like the surface bare minimum (I'm really good at doing everything but finish Fallout games) But I just found the whole Fens Phantom sewer business while wandering around and what if

and bear with me here

what if the detective who (assumingly) was killed at the end of that four holotape set was actually the original Nick Valentine? And putting his mind into a synth body was an effort to keep him alive after the untimely nature of his death, and the importance of his role in the case of figuring out who the Fens Phantom was (seeing that he was the only person who actually saw them)?

[nephiliam]

jon slapping michaels ass so hard it sounds like a screenshot

[whimsicallyreading]

For Day 29 of Rowaelin Month

“A song fic-“

The song- “Always Been You” by Quinn XCII

CW- Mentions of miscarriage and divorce

"I can't believe you right now."

Rowan looks at his wife in frustration. She's sitting at the end of their bed, staring listlessly at the wall. The skirt of the red dress she's wearing is wrinkled, and his heart aches when he notices the mascara marks on her cheeks.

"Aelin," Rowan tries again to reach for her, but she leans away from his grasp.

"No, Rowan. I'm done."

Rowan takes a long swing from the beer in front of him. The time on his phone alerts him that he's spent most of the evening sulking at his bar.

The guys had invited him to dinner, but Rowan hadn't felt like going in light of his current situation. Instead, choosing to meander to the shady little pub they'd passed by coming from the airport.

His lawyer had sent him numerous emails. Documents to sign, agreements to approve, and papers he needed to read through before sending them to the judge.

Divorce was a pain, and Aelin wasn't making it easy.

"Hey, bud. I thought I might find you here." Fenrys slides onto the barstool next to his.

Rowan sighs and rubs the lines forming on his forehead. "Well, I thought it was obvious I didn't want company."

"Too bad. Drinking alone isn't a good look on you." Fenrys raises a hand and motions for another round of beers. "How are things going with ya know?"

"Shitty. She's never paid a dime of rent on that apartment, but she wants the lease signed into her name and for me to front the first four months of rent." Rowan cracks a peanut between his finger. He has no intent to eat the growing pile in front of him. He just craved the satisfaction of breaking something.

"Well, have you talked to her about that?" Fenrys frowns in sympathy, knowing how equally attached both parties were to the little rental.

Rowan laughs mirthlessly. "No, she said that it was better if our conversations were mediated. I always knew Aelin was catty, but she's acting like such a-"

"Don't." Fenrys gives Rowan a severe look. "I know you are upset, but don't start saying shit you'll regret."

Rowan pauses and reluctantly nods his agreement. It's the alcohol talking. He knew the problems that had festered his marriage were predominantly his responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, but a heaviness seems to keep the air from reaching his lungs fully. The weight was slowly becoming too familiar, starting the day Aelin had presented him with the papers.

Rowan wishes he'd done more. Wishes he'd paid more attention and seen the signs of Aelin's unhappiness.

The day Aelin had broken down in their bedroom had been a cold wake-up call but by then? It was already too late.

"You missed our anniversary Rowan." Aelin shouts and pulls her heels off angrily.

Rowan picks up a shoe and tries to hand it back to her. "I know. I'm sorry. It's not too late, though. We can still go out? There's still time to salvage-"

Aelin turns away from him and seems to fold in on herself. Rowan wants to reach out. He wants to hold her, but something dark is building in the air.

"I don't want your leftovers, Rowan," Aelin whispers. "That's all I get anymore—your leftover time. Your leftover attention. Whatever leftover resentment you bring home from work."

"Aelin-" he tries to cut off her depressive spiral, but she's not finished.

"You used to call me during the day." Aelin's voice cracks, and he realizes she's crying. "Every day, you would call me on your break. Now you don't even call when you leave town."

"Baby, just listen to me." He puts his hands on her shoulders, but Aelin breaks his grasp to turn around and look at him.

"Is there someone else?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. So unlike his regular Aelin."

"What?" His brain is struggling even to formulate a reply. Rowan's lack of response only causes Aelin to worry more.

Something in her cracks. There's a quiver to her lips, and her face drains of color. "Oh. Oh no."

"Aelin. I swear there is no one else." Rowan finally says, but it's too late.

"Is," Aelin presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Is it because I lost the baby?" She sucks in a hiccupping breath. "You've always wanted kids. So did I, but my fucking body doesn't work."

Aelin closes her eyes, and Rowan knows she's speaking more to herself than him, but her words gut him just the same. "My body doesn't work right. I keep giving us false hopes and wasting money on pregnancy tests. Of course, you would look for a woman who can give you what you want."

He's surprised by the sudden flare of anger in him. "Don't put words in my mouth. That will never be your fault."

They'd known right from the start their journey to parenthood would be a long one. Aelin had a family history of complicated fertility. It had seemed so trivial when they got married. Yet even knowing there could be issues, nothing quite prepared them for the pain of a miscarriage.

Aelin sniffles, unable to force back her grief, "But you resent me. Don't you?"

Rowan doesn't reply.

"It's rough," Rowan admits out loud. "I let a lot get left unsaid. I was hurt and pushed her away. Now she won't even speak to me without a lawyer present."

Fenrys nods, "It's all probably for the best. Once this is over, you guys can put this drama behind you."

"I wish it were that easy," Rowan knocks back the rest of his beer. He grimaces at the drink. It's not taking hold quickly enough.

Fenrys raises an eyebrow. "You both will be able to shut the book on this chapter of your lives and move on? Considering how bloody you two have been fighting, it sounds ideal."

They sit in silence. Fenrys takes the peanut basket away from Rowan and picks at the shells. The bartender comes by, and disgruntledly eyes Rowan's pile of crumbs as he orders a whiskey neat.

Fen was like his little brother, but Rowan found it hard to admit his real problem to him aloud. "I still love her."

The basket goes flying over the side of the counter, and Fenrys chokes on his beer. "What?"

Rowan can't look him in the eye, "We lost a baby. It was early. Aelin didn't want to tell everyone. Three years we tried to get pregnant, and finally, a test comes back positive. She was so happy."

"Shit," Fenrys says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"It was there, and then it was gone. I thought Aelin was fine. She cried for a week, but then it was like a switch flipped, and she was back to normal." Rowan clenches a napkin in his fist. "I was devastated. It hurt like hell, but I didn't want to send her back into a depression." Rowan shakes his head at how stupid he'd been. "So I put some distance between us. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her."

"I didn't feel better," Rowan sips the whiskey, relishing the warmth. "It made me mad that she got over it so quickly, and I couldn't. I didn't realize that I was growing that space between us. I didn't understand how much guilt she harbored and that she tried to be strong for me. Not until she broke."

"We fought. I said all the wrong things. Aelin couldn't take it anymore, she left, and I didn't stop her." Rowan leans his head on his hands and elbows against the counter. "She's the love of my life, and I watched her walk out the door."

Fenrys sucks in a breath and sighs. "You are my best friend, and I mean this in the most loving way possible. Why the hell are you here?"

"What?" Rowan looks at Fenrys annoyed face.

"Get out of here. Go. I'll tell the boss you have ebola or some shit." Fenrys fishes his wallet out and throws cash on the bar. "I'll even cover the tab. Just leave. Now."

"What? I don't understand?"

Fenrys looks at Rowan like he's stupid. "No offense, but you are about as interesting as a brick wall. The fact you caught a girl like Aelin is astonishing. If you love her, are you honestly going to let her go on being miserable?"

"She's not miserable," Rowan scoffs.

Fenrys laughs bitterly. "You forget I'm pals with Aedion too? Aelin winds up at his house almost every evening crying her eyes out. You two are still hopelessly in love. You're just dumb and badly in need of a good conversation."

"Aelin is upset?" A sense of disbelief washes over him.

"Yes! She misses you, but she's under the impression you are off sleeping around." His face saddens. "I told Aedion you weren't. He knows I go on all of these trips with you. Aelin's just upset you're gone and needs to believe in something that can help her let go."

Rowan stands up, swaying. "I have to go."

"Hell yeah, you do. Give Aelin my love," Fenrys waves as Rowan vates the bar like a hawk out of hell.

Aelin sets the stack of papers in front of him.

Rowan had been camping out in his office ever since there disaster of an anniversary. He'd texted a few times, but every time they talked, it was like relighting a fuze. Things weren't getting better.

"What are these?" Rowan asks without looking up from his screen.

"Your ticket to freedom," Aelin sits in the chair across from him.

She looks thin, thinner than she did when Arobynn was her foster father. It physically hurts Rowan that he's causing her that kind of stress. Glancing at the papers, she slapped in front of him. His blood becomes like an ice river through his body. "Aelin-"

"I'm not the one for you. That's apparent now. I won't hold you hostage in a marriage that you aren't happy in." Aelin blinks, and a tear slides down her face. He wants to wipe it away, but he's beyond angry. She was giving up on them.

"If this is what you want," Rowan slides the papers towards him and pulls out a pen.

Rowan is racing the familiar paths to their apartment. He doesn't care that it's almost four in the morning. The plane ride between Perranth and Ornyth is mercifully short, but he can't force himself to wait another minute.

"Aelin," he yells through their door. "Baby, answer me. Open the door."

Rowan's fists tap a consistent rhythm on the door, and his heart skips a beat when a bedraggled Aelin finally appears. "Rowan, do you know what time it is?"

She's in a pair of grey flannel pajamas, not one of her usual silky numbers. Aelin's eyes are red around the edges, and her face is still dewy from the excessive amount of lotion he knows she loves to put on. Rowan knows all of her routines. All of her favorite outfits, comfort movies, and best memories. He knows the scar she has on her left hand from an abusive foster father. Rowan remembers how the bridge of her nose wrinkles when she's upset in the same spot her cousin's does.

He knows everything about her, because not only were they husband and wife, they were best friends.

How could he have let that go?

Before Aelin can ask any more questions, Rowan has swept her into his arms. "I missed you so damn much."

"Rowan, have you been drinking?" Aelin asks in a voice cracked with emotion.

His hands are running up her back, and his knows burrows into her hair. He's always loved the smell of her jasmine shampoo. "Fireheart, I never resented you for losing the baby."

"Rowan, I don't want to talk about this," Aelin tries to push him away, but he squeezes her into his chest, and she melts.

That had been his mistake. He should have held Aelik like this and never let her go on pretending to be happy. How could he know everything about this woman and not have seen past her facade? She'd suffered. His own pain had blinded him.

"Aelin, I've made so many mistakes lately." Rowan rubs the back of Aelin's neck the way she likes, and he can feel the sobs starting to build up inside of her. "But the greatest shame of my life is not being there for you when you needed me. I was stupid, Fireheart. I'm not going to be stupid any longer. This separation can't go on, we aren't any happier for it, and I can't live knowing I'm away from the other half of my soul."

Aelin cracks, and he can feel the tears wetting the front of his shoulder. "You were never home. I thought there was someone else, someone who could give you the things you wanted because I can't."

Her whole form is shuddering his arms, and Rowan squeezes tighter as if he can hold her broken pieces together. "It's always been you. I don't care if we adopt or never have any kids at all. All I need is you, baby. You are all I've ever needed."

Suddenly, hands are in Rowan's hair as Aelin crushes their lips together. The kiss is frantic, a relief of the stress they'd carried upon their shoulders.

"I missed you too," Aelin whispers in between kisses. “Gods I mussed you so much.”

The rest of their night is filled with soothing words, frantic kissing, and murmured apologies. Rowan kisses the tears from her cheeks and Aelin looks into his eyes like she’s home. Nail dig into skin as they promise never to be apart again.

For the first time in months they sleep in the same bed. Rowan sinks into a deep restful sleep with his wife in his arms once more. He loves the way her cold toes search out his heat. How Aelin fits so perfectly against his chest. When he wakes up and she’s still there, his heart nearly features from relief.

After months of pain, it's the beginning of their walk towards healing.

The days after aren't perfect. They had legal issues to sort back out, more problems to lay bare to the sunlight. There was arguing, but it lacked actual heat, and they didn't walk away feeling unloved at the end. No longer did they fight to land barbs. Their bickering now served to work towards solutions and to express needs.

Between struggles, the love began to grow back. Rowan kept his job at work, and when he was home, it was about them. He started calling her on his breaks again, and it always astonished him how much he missed the sound of her voice. They both strived to communicate their feelings better and actually listen instead of reacting.

Aelin surprised him with romantic dates, and Rowan read pages of her favorite books to her at night. They danced in the kitchen and laughed at their favorite shows.

Fixing their marriage was hard work, but Rowan and Aelin didn't mind. The separation proved that neither of them wanted a life without the other. It was to whatever end, and they wouldn't accept anything less for them.

On one Sunday morning, Rowan opens his eyes and realizes that Aelin isn't on her side of the bed. Panic surges in him, and he looks around to make sure her things are still there.

They are, and the tension eases from his shoulders until he hears soft crying from the bathroom. Darting out of bed, he grabs Aelin's bathrobe and knocks on their bathroom door. "Aelin, what's wrong?"

Had he screwed something up? Was she sick?

The lock clicks, granting him silent permission for him to come inside. Rowan pushes the door open and finds Aelin crying on the side of the tup. With gentle hands, he wraps her robe around her and throws an arm over her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Aelin looks up at him, a radiant smile on her face. "Look."

Rowan glances down to her clenched fists and-

He blinks, once, twice. Aelin laughs at his dumbfounded face, and it breaks his paralysis. Rowan grabs her around the waist and spins her around the cramped bathroom, the positive pregnancy test clattering to the floor.

Aelin's arms wrap around his neck. The emotion in the room is raw and bittersweet, but there's a hopefulness that can't be denied. Rowan holds her tight as they process the news. When they break apart, the love between them is palpable. They had another shot at this, a fresh start.

Hards times would come and go, but good days were never far behind for them. Because for Aelin and Rowan, it's always been them.

And that's all they needed.

[fen-the-magnificat]

no thoughts just belle and jack from artful dodger + but daddy i love him from ttpd

[starbright-cobweb]

from a longer thing - I am finally ready to write about Penda's Fen

(tagging @afieldinengland - who might appreciate this)

There is a persistent undercurrent of genderqueerness to Rudkin's writing. In Penda's Fen, Franklin feels drawn to observe that Elgar's angel is performed by a man - but sings in a woman's voice - that unspoken fascination of the closeted for something he cannot yet acknowledge. "Sometimes," his teacher observes, "I don't think you want to be a man at all." And at the climax - his declaration of queerness, phrased oddly as "my sex is mixed", alongside the more comprehensible "my race is mixed". The term 'mixed-race' is in popular useage; but what are we to understand from 'mixed sex'? Bisexual? Bigender? Intersex? Gay, but experienced as a kind of gay-dissonance-of-gender? Are these quaint articulations of homosexuality, akin to the Victorian formulation of "a man's soul in a woman's body" - or something else?

I want to bring in Artemis 81. Protagonist Gordon goes to the British Museum Reading Room, and asks a student to tell him about Artemis. The student explains that Diana of Ephysus ruled over childbirth, virginity - and castration. Gordon responds that this is a weird combination of things - but this stands out to me as a transgender Pagan. Cis-lesbian-oriented Dianic wicca has been a flashpoint of transphobic debates for many years: cis women doing a particular kind of woman-focused magic, which they wish to keep trans women on the outside of, claiming that this magic rests only in the cis-female body. But what Gordon learns here is that there is no contradiction. Diana oversees the rites of women's lives: childbirth, virginity, castration. There is no tension in this for the sacred guardian of women's bodies - be they trans or cis - because Diana oversees them all. As a transgender person, the implications of this scene are immediate and clarion-clear.

Moments after this revelation, someone drops a note in his lap - it reads "I can help you". (Help you with what, we might ask? Is she going to sneak him 6 months worth of estradiol and a copy of Nevada?) He follows the woman - a chain-smoking film noir high femme, an intensely constructed image of womanhood - not not drag, if you understand me. She stands silently in front of him as he tries to explain his situation, and finally shouts MY SEX IS WRONG. The library stirs in anger at the interruption. Immediately, he drops his voice, and tones down his statement: "my sex is wrong...for you". From a transgender coming out, to a gay one. Then the woman flees and is immediately hit by a passing car, and dies beautifully - rather like the bird killed by Stephen's forbidden crush with a milk-cart in Penda's Fen - a living queer possibility, crushed out of being by the machine.

Rudkin has not offered much from his life for us to interpret beyond the texts - which is perhaps correct: to let work stand by itself without it being chained to autobiography (which does not, of course, prevent the viewer from making certain assumptions). Rudkin's ambiguous approach to telling clearly queer tales takes his phrasing and imagery to odd places: it points always to dissonance of sex, not just of sexuality. I'd love to talk to him about it.

[katieurah]

Guys, I can’t get Elorcan as Zoommates outta my head. So I write it. And it’s a mess. But here I am posting anyways. Yikes.

Forgive my terrible attempts at writing out sounds of a coffee grinder. I hear one every morning, but still..... 

Also, still titleless.

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

Whiiirrrrrrr. Sccrrrrr. Whiiiiiirrrrr.

Lorcan glared with bleary eyes at his coffee grinder struggling to keep up with the too-large scoop he’d tossed in that morning. He opened the latch and poured the grounds out into the pour over basket and set it to steep.

Extra butter went on his toast that morning, fried eggs instead of a healthy protein shake, and regular bacon - not turkey baked in the oven. Oh, no, not today, he’d thought as he laid the strips in the cast iron pan. He needed all the grease, comfort, and caffeine life could afford him for his day.

Seven months. Seven months, one week, and four days to be exact. His goddaughter’s dedication was perfect. The day was perfect. Until.

He finished his coffee, plated his breakfast, and walked to the office to turn on his system. And brood. Apparently he was good at that.

Elide. She was the other perfect thing about that day. But, apparently he was as self-absorbed as she claimed. How did he not know about that break-up? He and Elide were friends. They had a connection. A spark. Or so he thought. 

As Rowan’s oldest friend and former military buddy, he’d always been around. He knew Elide from the start of Rowan and Aelin’s relationship. Aelin’s cousin was more like a sister and was always there. They talked. They chatted about life. He thought they were friends. Then one day, friends didn’t seem like enough. He didn’t like that she went home earlier than everyone else and he couldn’t seem to talk to her. He had tried to compose about a million different texts to her, but nothing seemed right. He followed her Instagram and Facebook, but messaging her there felt like he’d just be sliding into her DMs, which made Lorcan’s skin crawl.

But, how had he not known about the breakup? How had he not known there was someone to break up with? She never said a word. Had she? He speared his fork through an egg and watched the clock. His computer system was up and running, but he realized after Elide’s haste and hatred in logging off yesterday, they never specified times for working today. He really thought 7:00 was too early to be video calling her. Mornings were not her thing. She’d probably shoot a virus through to his system. And if anyone could get one in his through his security protocols and firewalls, it was her. 

He ran through a few of his other projects while waiting, sipping his coffee and watching the clock. As 8:30 rolled around, he logged into the chat portal to ask what time they should start. As he was typing the first words, the screen lit up with a message:

>> Okay, Salvaterre. What time are we doing this?

He smirked at the sass in those eight words.

<< Whenever you want, Lochan. I’m all set up.

>> Gimme 5.

He chuckled as he imagined her getting her area cleaned off, checking her hair, and taking deep breaths before logging on. 

The 3-tone alert for a video chat came through and Lorcan switched the camera and mic on. Here we go.

…

Elide scrambled to get her hair pulled into a semi-decent bun on her head. She was at least wearing a nicer sweater this morning, even if she was still rocking glasses and no-makeup. Deeming her work area decent enough to be seen on camera, she grabbed her iced coffee and pressed the call button. 

Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths. 

Lorcan Salvaterre was on this planet to torment her, she was sure of it. They’d been… acquaintances? Friends? Something? Ever since Aelin and Rowan had started dating, Elide and Lorcan were along for the ride. They had a lot in common. It was so easy to talk to him. They had fun together. He made her laugh. She soon wondered how easy it would be to date. To hold hands, to kiss, to… everything. But he’d never seemed interested in more than whatever it was they’d been, so she went on dates. She went out with other guys and even a few second dates. Then a real relationship. For a few months anyways. She was sure she’d told him about it. 

Anyways, who asks someone else out while they’re crying from a break up? And while they’re buzzed? Ridiculous.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Nice of you to join me,” Lorcan crooned, eyebrow raised, small smile on his face. She was not a morning person. Never had been. And he knew it.

“Can we not? I haven’t even finished my coffee yet and it’s too early for your….your… it’s just too early…” She groaned at not even being able to formulate snark this early.

“What you’re drinking - that’s not coffee. It’s cream and sugar pretending to be all grown up.”

“Oh, yes, because your pretentious single-sourced pour-over makes you an expert,” Elide sniped back. Lorcan always drank the strongest, blackest coffee and it was always some single-origin that he had various methods for brewing. 

It would be too easy to fall into their banter. Too easy to believe he wasn’t an asshole. She needed some distance between them before it got too comfortable.

“So, I’ve been asked to make sure support services on the public side and the internal side secure and protect privacy rights. Here’s how we’re currently trying to keep that up,” Elide said as she launched into discussing protocols, servers, firewalls, identity management systems, and anything else they thought was necessary.

Lorcan was all business, professional to a fault, and courteous as they shared information. He asked great questions and traded scenarios with her. They worked for several hours getting a feel for what each department offered and wanted.

At noon, Elide’s stomach rumbled, drawing a chuckle from Lorcan.

“Geeze, El, hiding a gremlin over there? Go eat. We can pick up after one, yeah?”

She scowled back at him. Teasing her and using a nickname? Nope. “Sure, Salvaterre,” she said shortly, trying to put distance back between them. She almost felt guilty when she thought he looked startled, but his face went back to it’s neutral, calm, emotionless expression. She logged off the video chat and rubbed her hands over her face. How was this ever going to work?

…

As the chat window went dark, Lorcan sighed through his nose. He tried. He still had no idea why her ire with him went that deep. 

Lorcan strolled to his kitchen to get his protein shake ready. Before he could start the blender, his phone chimed. He swiped at the screen to read the messages.

Young Pup: So, old man, how’s the “partnership” going?

Lorcan sighed again. Fenrys somehow knew he and Elide were working together. This couldn’t be good.

Sarge: Fine.

He watched the three dots bounce and disappear a few times. 

Young Pup: Elide’s not got your balls in a twist yet?

Hawkeye has been added to the chat.

Lorcan groaned. Fen adding Rowan wasn’t a good sign either.

Young Pup: Ro, do we need to have an intervention with El? Two days working with the old man here and yet he’s alive and responding to our messages. Somethings wrong!

Hawkeye: Fen, knock it off. 

Hawkeye: El’s a professional. I give it a week before we need to worry about her.

Lorcan rolled his eyes and didn’t even worry about checking Fenrys’ reply and put the phone on vibrate. He finished making his shake and walked to the living room. As he sat on the couch, his phone buzzed for a phone call. Glancing at the screen, Lorcan saw Rowan’s name at the top of the screen. He sighed and answered. 

“I’m playing nice, I promise.”

Rowan laughed softly on the other end. “I bet. Look, Fen found out that you needed to work with their support services department and put two and two together about Elide. Aelin and I knew that Elide’s boss was going to ask you two to work together…” He trailed off, as if he didn’t know how to finish that thought.

“Just because we haven’t seen each other or spoken in months doesn’t mean I can’t do my job,” Lorcan said, a bite to his words.

“Hey, man, I know you can. It’s not that...It’s… Look, A is just worried. You two are Ellie’s godparents and you’re at odds right now. And I’m a little worried, too, about you both. You’ll let me know if things get worse, right?”

“Yeah, man, of course.”

“Good. And-” Rowan suddenly swore. “I gotta go. Ellie’s crying and A’s in the shower. Call me later and we’ll talk, yeah?”

“Sure.” Lorcan hung up. He looked at the time, downed his shake, and went back to his computers. Security systems and technology, those things he knew. People? Women? Foreign languages to him. He still couldn’t figure out why Elide was so pissed with him. Couldn’t figure out why Rowan and Aelin thought things would get worse. And now it was affecting his job.

It was going to be a long project.

[midgelenny]

for the moon never beams (without bringing me dreams)

so this idea for a sci-fi fix-it fic came to me a few weeks ago and wouldn’t leave me alone, so here i am...finally writing the self-indulgent queliot/season 4-5 fic i’ve wanted to for a while. Big big hug of thanks to my dear @celiabowne for listening to me yell about my early semi-formulated ideas for this fic and for just generally being a supportive and awesome friend. 😘

posting part I, part II should be coming later this week. Honestly not sure who still follows me for magicians content from those days, but...*shyly tags some mutuals under the cut*

Summary: In which Eliot takes a leap of faith and, just this once, gets to be brave, the hero of his own story (or a season 4/5 fix-it fic).

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Fillory is fucked. If he were a writer, he might find this delightfully poetic in a detached sort of sense. But if he thinks too hard and imagines how Quentin might excitedly point to the alliteration and launch into a discussion of the irony of that thought given the lascivious nature of the gods, he knows such musings can only be naturally followed by an entire bottle of vodka, and he really doesn’t want to debase himself by making cheap college pre-game alcohol his new hobby. Besides, there’s no time for him to wallow. Fillory’s fucked. Earth is fucked. The whole damn universe seems to have gone to shit. And his friends need him.

But what’s the use of saving Fillory if Quentin isn’t there to see it? a part of him wonders. What’s the point of saving magic when Quentin is no longer here to remind him how beautiful magic can be? And why should they risk their lives to save what has only ever taken from them?

It’s always been people he’s cared most about. Discovering he had magic may have saved him to some degree in the beginning, but he’s only truly felt like he belonged, like he had a purpose, like he could really be happy, because of Margo, Quentin - hell, the whole lot of them. When he thinks of home, it’s not his bed in the Physical Cottage or the turrets of Whitespire that he imagines - it’s Margo curled up against his side on the plush mahogany couch in the corner of the common room, it’s standing in the throne room with Margo and Fen by his side, feeling for the first time that it’s because of his broken little pieces and complicated past in the muck of Indiana that he can actually really help people, do something with his life that means something.

Most importantly, home to him is - it’s a kaleidoscope of colorful chalk streaked across his hands and under his fingernails. It’s the taste of carrot wine on his lips and literal stars and constellations in his eyes and the feel of dewy grass beneath him and a warm hand in his...

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...read more on ao3!                                                                Part I / Part II

@nellie-elizabeth @gulegardiner @steverogrs @thetwinsinlaw @ohmyohpioneer @baroquebachmountain @buffyscmmers @northernshe-wolf @timelykey

[veridium]

2018 Writer Review

I was tagged by the incredible @apostatetabris to reflect upon my writing in 2018. It was my first year in fandom and writing fanfic (I started this blog in July) and it’s been a wild ride ever since, so I’m delighted to look back on such an important year for me milestone-wise. 

Words written in 2018:  560,680 (oh...oh my god)

Number of short fics/drabbles written in 2018: Oh man, I would have such a hard time tracking this down. I tagged kinda messily in the beginning. I know I have about 20 stored on my wordpress, and that was from both prompts and my own volition...so, I’m gonna estimate anywhere from 30-45ish? I know I have some in my tumblr archives untagged or mislabeled. 

Number of fic chapters written in 2018: 126 Chapters! Oh boy, you can tell now I prefer my longer ordeals when writing...sheesh. 

Number of chaptered fics completed in 2018: I finished...5, according to my Ao3. A small multi-part Trev x Cullen angst fic was my first and boy do I cringe reading it -- but I do just to remind myself of how far I’ve come. The others are Olivia x Cassandra’s romance fics. 

Fandoms: Dragon Age 24/7 because that is all my emotional pea brain can handle at the moment, haha. 

Pairings: Theia Trevelyan x Josephine Montilyet // Olivia Sinclair x Cassandra Pentaghast // Veronica Crespin x Cremisius Aclassi // Naomi Ambrosia x Lace Harding 

Proudest achievements:

I started writing, period. I remember being so intimidated, like a fish out of water. I had no idea what the “rules” were, what constituted decent fic, stuff like that. The fact that I started and kept at is is a achievement for me in and of itself.

I started two Inquisitor long fics (because I’m obviously mad). But they are stories that I love and deeply care about, and to me that is an accomplishment, too. 

Honestly, it isn’t my largest or most prolific chaptered fic, but “All That Glitters” is still to this day one of my favorite things I have ever written. It’s a wild plotline but I loved getting to write a thrilling piece, and a romantic one, and really challenge myself to explore the psychologies of my characters. I love it so much and am so proud that I stuck with it. 

Writing goals for 2019:

I want to write shorter pieces more often (haha). I want to do more drabbles and ficlets instead of just burning myself out on my long fics. I think I wrote quite a few in 2018 but I didn’t dedicate nearly as much energy to them as longer, multi-chaptered pieces. 

I want to allow myself to take breaks and breathers more often instead of hyper-fixating on storylines. I think it would be better, and my narratives would improve if I gave myself more time to formulate them.

 Finish at least one of my long fics (Lord have mercy).

Tagging: @trvelyans, @fen-harel, @sunwarden, @bitchesofostwick, @daydreamingdragonage if you haven’t already done it! Thanks for the tag!

[philipwmx8023907-blog]

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