So because parkour is such a ridiculously male dominated sport, the "correct technique" for a lot of these movements that you're taught when you become an instructor plays to a male body's strengths: upper body strength, higher center of gravity, etc.
She demolishes this course by moving in ways that make sense for her body. She doesn't muscle her way up to her over a wall, she just throws a leg up over the wall. She doesn't use upper body strength to do the salmon ladder, she uses her hips!!! And it's fucking incredible.
So many girls and young women walk away from parkour because every movement caters to the strengths of men, because doing what makes sense for their bodies is seen as "bad technique" to be trained away.
If pre-transition me had seen this I would have cried tears of joy.
"I can fix him" this and "I can make him worse" that. How about "I can make him more nuanced." I can keep him the same level of evil but bring out his more sympathetic characteristics, which humanize him without excusing his actions, and indeed highlight the depravity of his character by contrast, proving that ultimately he is only a man and thus all the more pathetic than had he truly been an inhuman monster.
Lorath’s bandages were itching and his knee was swelling up again. They needed to get to the Horadric vault. Time was running out and the eclipse was fast approaching. But the trek through the volcano would be difficult and Tyrael insisted on rest.
Lorath knew he was right but still. It was damn annoying.
He sighed, turning over the bottle of Westmarch port in his hands.
His thoughts turned, almost against his will, back to his last encounter with Adreona. He had hoped that perhaps without Akarat there he could reach her, that she would listen. Wanted to apologize for being tricked. Appeal to their old friendship. Help her see through Mephisto’s lies.
For a moment, when his hand rested on hers, he thought he saw her face soften. Almost thought he managed to reach her. The hand at his throat had caught him off guard. She lifted him in the air with brutal strength and Lorath thought she was going to kill him.
You are a failed guardian. Of your land. Of your people. I won’t be. Her words haunted him.
But she didn’t, right? She spared him at the last moment. That had to mean something.
He didn’t tell Nico of the encounter. His beard hid the bruising well enough and—between the other wounds he suffered from his ill-advised fight against the Drowned, and Tyrael’s miraculous return—mentioning it didn’t seem important.
He looked over at their little encampment. Tyrael was off gazing at Hefaetrus in the distance, cloak whipping in the wind. Dramatic, he thought fondly.
Tharra was bent over a nearby table, her head in her hands. She didn’t take Adreona’s decision to abandon the isle well. It didn’t take a genius to see her heartbreak. Lorath watched Nico approach her. He leaned forward and rested his hands against the table. He was talking to her. Knowing Nico, probably trying to comfort her.
Lorath’s eyes were drawn to the man’s hands. He could get up. He could join them. He could walk over and stand beside him as he had Adreona and carefully rest his hand over Nico’s. How would he react? Lorath’s throat burned.
He knew he was being irrational. After everything they’d been through, Lorath knew Nico would never willingly hurt him. Hells, Lorath had already proposed marriage—inside the ancient ruin where Lilith had been banished to the Void had not been his first choice but, once Nico had confessed about the state of his soul seen through the Sightless Eye, Lorath knew he was running out of time.
Maybe waiting for a better opportunity would have been more romantic, but most of all he wanted to give Nico something to hold on to. Please. Come back to me. Don’t leave me.
After all that, something as simple as holding his hand shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking.
Still.
He felt rooted to his seat.
And yet, as had been the nature of their relationship since its start, Nico turned to him instead. Lorath watched him start to approach out of the corner of his eye. But then he paused, head tilting to the side. There was a strange unsettling haziness in his eyes.
What’s she saying to him now?
Whatever it was, it drew Nico away from him and out of the encampment instead. Lorath tried and failed to contain his worry. Even if they managed to get this blade and banish Mephisto, what would happen to Nico? Would he remain with Lilith in his head for the rest of his life? How long would he be able to hold her at bay? What about the damage Mephisto was already doing? What would be left of him by the end?
Was he destined for tragedy? To fall to corruption like so many heroes before him?
The thought haunted him. Lorath knew he couldn’t bear another loss like that.
“Drinking alone?” The tone was fond.
Lorath blinked, drawn out of his brooding by Nico sitting beside him.
“Well, I was hoping you would join me.” Lorath said.
Nico sat close enough for their thighs to touch. He could feel the warmth radiating from the man. Lorath didn’t have any cups, but they could still share the bottle. He took a swig. The wine was delicious. Smooth and velvety and Lorath could taste hints of caramel, nuts and spices. It tasted like long-forgotten memories of sharing a drink with his father in the late evenings. Tyrael had good taste.
He held it out to Nico and watched him take a drink. He looked tired. There was a far away look in his eyes, but not the same as when he spoke to Lilith. He just looked worn out. Exhausted.
“Nico?” Lorath called softly.
No response.
Lorath recalled one of his last conversations with Donan, what felt like lifetimes ago now.
“ ‘The mage Donan has proved to be a wonderful addition to our Order. The man has knowledge in spades. Any topic, even the most mundane, becomes profound in his care.’ ”
Lorath jerked his head up to glare at him. “Is that my old journal?”
“Mmhmm. Nico found it when we were searching through the old Vault.”
“And you decided to poke through my private things.” Lorath snapped. He forgot he’d written that. It was a happier time. The memories made him feel bitter.
Donan shrugged, “If you didn’t want someone to read it, you shouldn’t have left it behind.”
Lorath crossed his arms, “It was another lifetime. It doesn’t matter now.”
Donan’s smug expression fell away. He looked wistful, almost sad. “Perhaps if you had shared this back then…”
“What, Donan? You wouldn’t have left? Was praise all you were seeking when you joined the Horadrim?” Lorath snapped, defensive.
Donan didn’t rise to the bait, “Praise? No. But friendship? Some sign that you cared for anything beyond the mission? Yes, actually, that might have made a difference.”
The weight of it lingered in Lorath’s chest. What ifs were useless, he knew that, but still.
“It doesn’t matter now.” He repeated.
Donan watched him with eyes far too knowing. “Well,” he said, “I’ll give you one last piece of unwanted advice. For old time’s sake. Don’t make the same mistake again. If you care about someone—say, a wanderer with Lilith’s blood, for example—tell him about it before it’s too late.”
Lorath had, of course, immediately disregarded that advice. Had almost ruined the best thing that happened to him with his own self-sabotage by making a deal with the Tree of Whispers, then by pushing Nico away when the man was upset. But Nico was stubborn (oh thank the Heavens he was stubborn) and refused to be pushed away.
He was still here. Lorath still had him.
He eyed Nico’s empty hand resting on his thigh. Lorath took a breath to steel himself and reached out, tracing his fingers lightly over the back of his hand.
Come back to me?
Nico twitched at the contact and immediately turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with Lorath’s. He met Lorath’s eyes, alert now, brought out of whatever thoughts were haunting him.
Lorath felt a tightening in his chest that, for once, had nothing to do with grief. Instead it filled him with warmth.
I love you, he thought.
“I love you,” He said aloud.
He would not make the same mistakes again.
Nico’s eyes softened and he smiled. The sight of it heartened Lorath more than anything else.
“I love you too, Lorath.” He pulled their joined hands up and kissed Lorath’s knuckles, setting his heart galloping in his chest.
He was here. Lorath had not lost him yet. Not like Donan. Not like Neyrelle.
I will not let them have you. Not Lilith. Not Mephisto. He thought. I promise you.
Bad End RatMat where instead of Rathma teaching Malthael the inherent worth of life, Malthael convinces Rathma that Sanctuary is too far gone and mankind needs to be wiped out for the good of The Balance.
And then living as the last mortal in existence until Malthael figures out how to get rid of him too.
there are places where honor killings are legal and queer people get the death penalty and you can’t sell property to people of a certain ethnicity and virtually everyone is part of a singular religion. the supreme court just upheld birthright citizenship, something most countries don’t even have.
please understand that the rightward trend in US politics is alarming but mischaracterizing the US as the Worst Place On Earth is just fucking dumb as shit!
Actually so embarrasing for Greogoir that his entire company of trained for this specifically soldiers can't do anything, but one person and their three friends spend like an afternoon solving the problem.
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