#until i found a place where my sense of justice could flourish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dolliedarlin · 4 years

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a love like rodger and jessica ⏤denki k.

s u m m a r y : You and Denki have a love like Rodger and Jessica Rabbit

l e n g t h : 2k

g e n r e : fluff ; praises ; body worship ; supportive kaminari ; best boi kaminari ; precious baby

w a r n i n g s : mentions of lovemaking

p a i r i n g s : denki k x f.reader

a / n : this is a quick little headcanon I came up with at three am and needed to get out as soon as possible before I lose the will to write it. I hope you all enjoy the read! Feel free to comment and like - tell me what you think, constructive criticism is always welcome.

❥ You're a self-made millionaire, CEO of a successful skincare and beauty company, investor and supermodel. The level of success you've been able to accumulate over the years is nothing to sneeze at, especially with your young age of 21.

❥ However, you draw more eyes for your beauty and body rather than your accomplishments. It's rather annoying but you've grown used to it.

❥ It isn't a lie that you're as stunning as they come. And with a body that elicits lust and unspeakable fantasies in the men and women around you, it can be said that your beauty has more power than what any of your achievements could ever provide you with.

❥ It's disappointing how you've worked so hard but still seem to achieve so little despite the empire you've built from the ground up.

❥ You've turned many young and handsome, accomplished men down, no longer your naive self. Even with their own triumphs and wealth, you can see their true intentions when looking into their greedy eyes.

❥ They only want you for your body and only regard you with contempt - there was no love, there was no honesty, they never did anything to make you feel comfortable or smile.

❥ That was all you wanted.

❥ But, perhaps, it's too childish to think about such things now.

❥ You had given up all hope and with that loss of hope came a hardened shell that nobody could break. Deep inside your heart, you still wished for a fairy tale romance and a happy life where you could smile freely and be comfortable, which is why your piercing glare, harsh demeanor and cold speech manifested in defense of those desires.

❥ It was a normal day at work; you had several meetings to attend concerning collaborations with other brands in the morning before you needed to head off to attend a photoshoot for a magazine concerning skincare.

❥ You had just been on your way to said photoshoot, in fact, when a villain attack hastily painted an image of red and blue lights, panic, destruction, and screaming people before you.

❥ Upon realizing that you were in the line of attack, you rushed to exit your car. You have been a victim of your own clumsiness many times in the past despite their rare occurrence, but ill-luck had you tripping over in your attempt to flee, causing a stinging pain to shoot up your right leg.

❥ With your back turned and crumbled to the floor in pain, you became an easy target and didn't register the careless attack directed towards you until you heard a shout of warning.

❥ "Woah! Watch it, lady!"

❥ Behind you was the Stun Gun Hero himself: Chargebolt! You had never interacted with heroes but you greatly admired their work, heroism, and sense of justice. Keeping the peace and putting villains in jail brought on a sense of security that you never took for granted. However, you had never been more grateful for their presence than that moment.

❥ "Hurry and run away!" at his command, you attempted to stand and run off but instead was painfully reminded that during your fall, you had managed to sprain your ankle.

❥ What terrible luck.

❥ "I-I can't-" you almost sob, hating how powerless you were feeling in that moment, "I think I sprained my ankle,"

❥ You heard him mutter a curse before shouting at the other heroes on-site to cover him whereby he then took the chance to rush in carrying you in his arms and run to safety.

❥ "P-please be careful," you plea, worried about his welfare as you wrap your arms around his neck for security.

❥ "Don't worry about it!" he flashes you a toothy grin, "Just hold on tight and I'll get you somewhere safe! You can count on me!" for once in your life, even though you were still in a dangerous setting, you felt comfortable and safe.

❥ In this stranger's arms, you felt protected - it was a wonderful feeling. It made you lean even closer into him, catching a whiff of his husky scent combined with his sweat. What a pleasant aroma.

❥ Maybe you should make a perfume inspired by it and have him model in the commercial?

❥ This wasn't like you, you're embarrassed to admit. Even though you're in danger, you would still do anything to keep him close to you or see him again. You weren't some lovestruck school girl, you needed to get a hold of yourself!

❥ Finally at a safe place, he set you down as he panted heavily, "Damn, I need to get better at cardio," huffing out a breath, he checked you over, "you alright?"

❥ "Other than the ankle, I'm good," you smiled up at him, trying to convey your gratefulness.

❥ "Great! The ambulance will be here soon for any casualties so-..." he pauses. In the heat of the moment, his priority had been your safety and so he hadn't really taken the time to look at you, really look at you, and see how beautiful you were. Now that he had caught his breath, and began to process that he had carried a beauty in his arms, who was now smiling up at him, a dangerous heat crawled up his neck and blew steam out of his ears.

❥ "A-are you okay?!" had he been hit by something while he was carrying you off?

❥ "So beautiful..." he muttered, continuing to stare at you, your face, your body, even straining his ears to better hear your sultry voice.

❥ "What was that?" with a tilt of your head, Kaminari had to turn his gaze away so as not to get even more flustered and possibly die from too much blood rushing to his head. Beautiful and cute - a dangerous combination to have in a woman. He could fall to his knees and submit to you right then and there, shamelessly. It took everything in him to hold back.

❥ "Y-you're just really beautiful, sorry."

❥ For once in your life, someone was being honest with you. Yes, many people have called you beautiful but their reactions were never as raw or red as the hero standing before you. It was amusing and made you want to keep him close.

❥ "Thank you..." you had to say, he was pretty easy on the eyes as well, "you are also very handsome,"

❥ "Why thank you, pretty lady~" he sent you a playful wink which made you giggle, only spurring the male to continue his flirtatious act. It might have been out of habit or maybe it was a defense mechanism since he's never come across someone so beautiful before, either way, he was already dropping another cheesy pick up like before he realized what he was doing, "but, you know, you're very pretty and I'm cute..."

❥ "Hmm?~" you raised a brow, where was he going with this?

❥ "Together, we'd be pretty cute,"

❥ You didn't mean to offend him but you laughed and laughed and laughed, not realizing how his once grinning face had turned downcast and flourished red with embarrassment.

❥ "You have a point there," you giggled, catching the male off guard and almost making him self-combust, "whatever shall I do?~" you ponder aloud, looking at him with a twinkle in your eye.

❥ "Well...it just so happens that I'm writing a phone book," time to shoot his shot, "can I have your number?

❥ "Of course, you can~"

❥ Meeting Denki was a blessing in your life.

❥ He's a goofball with a heart of gold that was always getting overlooked by women, as he's told you on one of your many dates together.

❥ "It's their loss," you hum as you cuddle up into his side, his arm laying across your shoulders, "because you're mine now~"

❥ Truly, he was your ideal man.

❥ He never took you for granted, he was always honest, he praised you and worshipped you like a goddess and he made you feel loved and comfortable being yourself, which is what mattered above all else.

❥ In return, you were his ideal woman.

❥ You freely loved him for who he was, when people told you you deserved better than him, you shut them down quicker than a lightning strike, you actually liked his cheesy pickup lines and flirted right back. The achievements he's been able to get as a hero, you still praised no matter how small, as if he was the number one hero himself - you would even go so far as to say that he's your number one in everything. And, for a bonus, you were the beauty amoungst all beauties!

❥ All those rejections, all the insecurities he had to go through by being rejected by multiple women was all worth it because now he had you in his life.

❥ "Where have you been all my life, Denki? How did I ever live without you?" you sighed into the crook of his neck, straddling his lap as he hugged your waist and gave you a kiss on the temple.

❥ "Babe, that's my line," he chuckled.

❥ At first, he was always so flustered around you but over time, he's grown a reasonable amount of immunity. That didn't mean he stopped praising you for your achievements or worshipping your body whenever you were in bed together, however. He still did all those things.

❥ If others praise you, he didn't stop them because he knows you deserve all the praise but when he found out that you didn't take their words to heart like you did his and explained why, he made sure to be off patrol that night and kept you with him between the sheets until sunrise. For hours, he worshipped your body like a temple made of gold. Between kisses and gasping breaths, he applauded you for your achievements and assured you of all flaws you saw in yourself.

❥ That night you realised the true meaning of 'making love'.

❥ In hero awarding events, you'd accompany him dressed elegantly, with your hair and makeup done and smelling as intoxicating as you looked.

❥ "DEnKi How DArE YOuUuu!" his close friend, Mineta (you think it was), sobbed at the sight of you and him together on the red carpet as a couple. Even though they were friends, Kaminari instantly stood in front of you so as to shield you away from Mineta's perverted gaze.

❥ "Thank you, Darling~" you cooed, giving your blonde hero a kiss on the back of the neck before nuzzling in between his shoulder blades.

❥ On the outside, Denki allowed himself to grin and pull you into his arms with a cool air about him, seemingly unaffected by your actions but you knew him better than that. It was only because cameras were around and he needed to keep up his image. Inside, he was melting into a puddle of goo and you know it. He, very well, could've brushed you aside to appear better like all the other men you unfortunately dated before but, instead, he makes you feel special and loved.

❥ "I know I'm the luckiest guy in the world but please be more respectful Mineta," his arms tighten around you securely, shielding your curves from prying eyes. Appreciating the gesture, you turn his face to capture him in a kiss. It's a kiss that still makes his knees weak even after months of dating.

❥ "Let's go to our seats, dear," you lead the blonde away by the tie, knowing how your kisses can sometimes leave him releasing small bolts of electricity from his palms and fingertips. It was cute how a simple kiss could turn him as dumb as he was when he overused his quirk would, only in a slightly different way.

❥ Vice versa, whenever you had a big company party or event, Denki always made it so that he could attend the event with you. He wanted to be there to protect you and shut the men down who tried to approach you with ill intentions.

❥ With your human Pikachu around, you came to love going to events. It was a time where you could dress up just for him and eventually get undressed by him the moment you arrived home.

❥ Endless praises, endless love, endless comfort, endless laughter. That was what it felt like to be with Denki.

❥ He was your Rodger and you were his Jessica

bnha mlist .

#bnha kaminari #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari imagine #kaminari headcanons #denki x reader #bnha denki #denki fluff #kaminari fluff #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons

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ellastar1980 · 4 years

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Charmed end of season wrap up

Season Two thoughts...

WELL....

That has been some roller coaster. Not even sure I know what the **** is going on, who knows who, what happened to, well take your pick.

Saying that, I can sense a distinct difference in tone for the last few episodes and something like a return logical, organic progression of events.

I want to acknowledge that this season has been subject to some unfortunate circumstances, not least the pandemic that cut it short, but throughout it all I have not had such an uplifting experience as I’ve had on Twitter and Instagram with the amazing people that make it happen.

From the actors to the writers, wardrobe to visual effects and make-up, it’s clear this production is filled with incredibly talented people who have made this more than another job. They’ve made it, and us watching, feel like family. I know we thank you from the bottom of our hearts and I hope we can return the favour over the coming months.

Each of the characters have had so much to contend with the past season after their lives were turned upside down. Some have been left reeling and coping with their current situations, while others have flourished and stepped up as the events needed.

MEL

In the first season things were as comfortable and everyday for Mel as they were going to get. She was however the first to embrace the idea of being a witch. Season two shows how innate that choice was.

Never one to be happy left behind, she uses her wits to excel. She laps up all the information she can get and takes chances following her gut. Never afraid to put herself out there she’s a driving force, filling the role of eldest even though she’s technically not.

She still has a fire - it drives her - but is recognising more and more when to step back. It’s not in her nature to do so, with such a high sense of justice. More recently, when Maggie and Ray had their issues, I was impressed that her silence and feeling of powerlessness in this situation led her to stop. It’s devastating to realise there’s nothing you can do. Maggie needed to do it herself.

With her love life, I loved the sweet dynamic with Kat and the powerful connection with Ruby. I have no idea how things would have progressed had Kat still been in the picture but the reveal in 219 felt so compelling, it felt like it needed Ruby. I’m not sure how it will progress or even if Ruby can forgive being drawn back into the Witch world without resenting Mel, that’s something that will be interesting to see.

MAGGIE

I’m astounded at the progress Maggie has made this season. Much like Mel, she adjusted to each situation as needed and took on more responsibility i would have ever expected from a 20 year-old sorority student. Establishing a basis as part of Safe Space was essential and she stepped up to the plate like a champ.

It’s clear from early episodes she resents being seen as powerless and young. This is her growth story, her chance to break free.

She’s also dealt with her family history instead of hiding. For someone so connected with how others feel, it’s difficult to turn that on yourself. It’s much easier to just make everything seem OK. The only time she could confront Ray was with Mel by her side. It must have been jarring to have to do it on her own but she did, and with that asserted her independence and voice.

Her relationship with Jordan is truly lovely. Since it’s a deep platonic basis in a shared supernatural situation, the whole scenario doesn’t have a trope. Is he still with his girlfriend? I don’t know but I’m not sure it matters. Nothing that’s happened between them is remotely cheating, Maggie has a support as does Jordan, arguing the question - is this something that qualifies cheating? Having a caring, deep relationship with another woman is not allowed? Maybe if you’re related but... and that is truly sad.

However it proceeds, I appreciate this time. The moments where he really does look at her in awe. Where she cares about him. Where there’s something there but it’s not what you expect. Were that all relationships as deep.

Her story has so many ways to go but right now, it’s where it needs to be. She has grown from the childish ways to being a force to be reckoned with and I look forward to it.

MACY

The chaos of episode 201 was just the kind of circumstance Macy Vaughn would hate. It’s out of control, vulnerable mayhem where her abilities are useless and where events left her the most unnerved.

Worry for their Whitelighter, poisoned, her mind violated, her sisters in danger, almost dying, finding a new demon power and finally being under the most pressure to protect the witch world - she had it bad and that was just the first episode.

It didn’t get any better - the pressure got worse, she thought she’d found an ally in a fellow demon/witch hybrid, kidnapped by Darklighter... the list goes on! The ‘love affair’ with Julian was of no comfort since her heart was being twisted up by Abigael’s relentless and VERY predatory pursuit of Harry. Never have I witnessed a more uncomfortable storyline - from the bargaining for sex, the goading, the kneeling... Macy was diminished in every way possible and I’m still trying to figure out why or if there is some satisfying pay-off yet to come? I hope so.

The only bright spark - and seriously, it was very late in the game, - is the burgeoning relationship with Harry that was beautifully set up in season one but had to be ‘adjusted’ for season two. Macy and Harry were lovable dorks. I sincerely hope that comes back in the future - you can be both sexy and dorky.

The only other life line was her first love - science. Her face came alive at the world opened back up to her, so much so Julian received the afterglow. I hope her future effortlessly combines her magic and science just as it did before.

HARRY

I can’t possibly do justice to the incredibly complicated intricacies of Harry, Jimmy and James. Three totally different parts of the same man has left the Whitelighter we know so well questioning his existence and character. I can’t even imagine.

It’s horrific to wake up to the idea that you are not you because you want to be, you are you because others wanted it. How do you begin to discover who you are when all you’ve ever known is what’s been programmed? Would you still be a good person? Would you hurt the ones you love?

In this case I can more than make peace with his behaviour - it drove poor Helen to the depths of despair. My only frustration is relenting to Abigael - but I will always believe her permeating his mind and subsequent gestures were her attempt to influence him. I will hold onto that even after I’m told otherwise (la la la I can’t hear you what was that no still can’t hear you oh well).

Again his feelings toward Macy has been a saving grace. When questioned about ‘the attic apology’ I felt it would be for not being open with Macy, braving rejection and laying it all out rather than chastising her for not being sure where she stood. I did look for more there, I have to be honest.

But this might be why he’s considering using Maggie’s power. He’s not himself, and I don’t feel he truly will be until he merges with Jimmy.

Jordan

Should be part of the family. He’s there for them, he knows all the ins and outs and I NEED a bromance with Harry. That whitelighter needs it so much too... A++

Swan

What a delight! I love a quirky and interesting but dynamic cookie. A+

Marisol

I shall require spirit Marisol in the future. I was promised she would see Macy again and I’m holding her to that. Heartbreaking in 218. A++

Julian

Sorry man. Auntie’s lacky left a bad taste when you mentioned she’d already messed in previous relationships and you said NOTHING to her? Went downhill from there so no. D-

Abigael.

Poppy A++, Abigael F-

Ray

Who came up in my estimations significantly? Why yes it was you Ray, well done. I’m so interested in the dynamic of Marisol and Ray meeting again, I need it. Add in Dexter and I’ve got the popcorn. B+

Lee

Why, you powerhouse, where did you come from? One episode and I need to know more... (wishlist: Macy’s demon sister, willing to broker peace with witches to fight human threat.) A+

Kat

I do hope we get to check back in with the medium at some point - her abilities were so interesting and her dynamic with Mel so sweet B+

Ruby

I feel such a need for expansion on her distaste for witchcraft when she so clearly loves to do it. B+

Helen

No-one could fail to be devastated by Helen. Incredible. If only it didn’t have to end that way... A++

Jimmy

How complicated can a situation get... abduction is not a good way to communicate young man. D

Aunt Vivienne

Definitely the powerful, evil one... fine for now as the bad guy. C

Godric

Sidelined but formidable. I hope he sticks around. B

Parker

A nice throwback to S1 that turned so dark. Once he decides which side he is on I’m going to have to insist he commits to it. D

Celeste

The elders are no more, know your place! Adjust! Work with the Charmed Ones and BE BETTER. D

I cannot praise the cast enough - I’ve had so many ups and downs but the portrayals of Mel, Macy, Maggie and the double time for Harry and Jimmy, are more than we could have hoped for. I am in awe of all the factors that go into each episode and the traversing of issues dealt with daily to keep it going.

Thank you so much. Everyone.

I still see so much hope for the future and can’t wait for the final 3 episodes.

Here’s to Season 3!

Be safe, be well, be happy.

#charmed #charmedcw #macy vaughn #mel vera #Maggie Vera #harry greenwood #season two #Hacy

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wicked-game-black-butler · 4 years

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The Heart of the Sea pt. 2

June 10, 1922

The lantern room was filled with the warm, golden glow of the late afternoon sun. It bore down on Bard’s face, tiny beads of sweat forming on his nose as he squinted, his attention darting between the brass encased gauges and his log while he recorded the invaluable data. Outside his glass and steel cage, a pair of seagulls bickered noisily over a piece of bread on the catwalk, a series of metallic scrapes and clangs of their skuffle echoing in the otherwise silent room. It set Bard’s teeth on edge.

He growled, ledger dwindling to an illegible scrawl in his haste to finish, before slamming the pencil beside the thick book and stomping over to the metal door. Groaning in objection underneath Bard’s merciless grip, it opened with a bang.

“Piss off!” he shouted, waving his arms exaggeratedly as he charged at the offending birds.

They squawked, immediately taking flight when he approached, and circled in the sky above him just to taunt him before setting off toward the sea.

“Stupid birds,” he mumbled, kicking the forgotten scrap of bread off the ledge.

Leaning back against one of the connecting steel beams, he plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it with a flourish of his lighter. He closed it, the lid giving a ringing click before he slipped it back into the pocket of his uniform jacket. Billowing wisps of smoke poured from his mouth as he sighed, a mournful smile on his lips, light blue gaze trained on the glittering horizon. It was funny, he thought, taking another drag, he’d never intended on taking up the habit. Hadn’t been tempted by them in the past--before the war. His left shoulder ached in remembrance, though it was nothing compared to the gaping emptiness in his chest. Yes, there were a lot of things that happened which he hadn’t intended. War was funny like that.

He stood abruptly upright, coughing in a feeble attempt to seal off the swelling emotions that threatened to seep to the surface. He needed a distraction. Turning back toward the lantern room, he glanced down at his wristwatch, relief washing over him when he realized it was only half past seven. That was plenty of time. He had an hour before the lantern needed to be lit.

His hurried footsteps echoed off the brick walls of the spiraling staircase as he descended the great tower, only pausing when he snagged the stiff navy blue hat from the hook he had installed next to the entrance. He hated the thing, but he was a lighthouse keeper and people expected him to look the part.

Upon exiting, he took one last drag from his gasper, extinguishing the still smoking stub against the heel of his shoe before flicking it into an empty clay pot he kept by the entryway for that express purpose and ran his fingers through his hair before donning his cap. Deeply breathing in the sweet salt air, he closed his eyes, relishing in the slight relief it gave to the unsettling irritation that had ensconced itself in his gut. He sighed and opened his eyes before stepping out from the shade of the lighthouse, his feet subconsciously leading him to the one place that would ease his agitation--the beach.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him. He’d been out of sorts all week. Since that stormy night, to be exact. And, though he’d not heard the mysterious hum since, the urge it bore remained, clawing at his insides like a rusty hook. An all-consuming, persistent yearning.

Torturous as it was, Bard was secretly grateful for its presence. Otherwise, he would’ve thought he was going quite mad. There had been enough doubt that plagued his mind about that night. Even now, when he thought back on it, the memory was hazy and surreal, like a dream. Had it not been for the uncomfortable vestige the encounter had left with him, he would have chalked it all up to that, just a vivid nighttime vision. And the man he had met no more than a mere fantasy.

An image of the man flashed in Bard’s mind--brilliant eyes sparking, his plump lips curved in a smile while his soaked-through clothes sumptuously outlined his deliciously sculpted form--and he froze, heart fluttering at the memory. If he were fully honest with himself, the stranger was the reason he ventured down to the beach every day, combing miles of the shoreline. All for the ludicrous hope that he might catch a glimpse of the onyx-haired mystery. He had even asked around a few of the local hotels, thinking perhaps he might’ve been a tourist, but every time he left disappointed.

It was silly, someone his age chasing a spectre like he was some lovestruck schoolboy. But he couldn’t--no, wouldn’t stop. For too long he had been empty, a husk of a man, devoid of feeling and purpose. But this...this sparked something in him, rekindled the dying embers of his soul with the whispering promise that he might have a chance at being something more than how the war had left him. And he wasn’t willing to give that up.

The breeze was gentle, the rolling of the lulling tide rhythmic and peaceful when he stepped foot on the beach. Gulls flew overhead, crying as they glided just above the surface of the water, dodging the few kites they encountered along their way. Sandpipers darted this way and that, frantically pecking away at the wet sand for food before fleeing the next oncoming wave. Along the shore, the white sand was littered with groups of people, tourist and local alike, who had come to enjoy the remaining sunlight before returning home. Children laughed and squealed as they ran about while their parents sat underneath the shelter of an umbrella, content to watch from afar, most likely thankful for a moment to sit undisturbed. Young couples walked arm in arm, casting wary glances behind them, hoping no one would catch them while they attempted to inconspicuously slip away to the shelter of Lover’s Cove. Years of attentive care had allowed him to create a place of safety, of refuge for any who came here. And, on any other day, such a scene might have brought Bard some sense of satisfaction, but not today.

He gave a brief smile, waving in passing to Mr. and Mrs. Midford, who sat beneath a large parasol while their daughter, Lizzie, kept trying to get her friend, Sieglinde’s, attention so she could see the beautiful seashell necklace she had strung together. The other young woman paid her no mind, too consumed with a chemistry book to be bothered. Bard snorted, shaking his head as Lizzie dejectedly bemoaned something to the effect of ‘If I had known you were going to have your nose buried in books all day, I wouldn’t have invited you to stay with us,’ and set off toward what had quickly become a familiar haunt, where he had first seen him.

He nodded, tipping his cap to those who greeted him along the way, and muttered a hurried “hello” as he passed. He even paused long enough to give a visiting couple directions to the Noah’s Ark pub. And though none of those interactions took any time at all, they made him more anxious, more desperate to break free, like they were taking up time he didn’t have to give. Even his steps felt sluggish, like his shoes were weighed down with sand.

Cresting one of the rolling hills of the shore, a doubting voice nagged, not for the first time today, what are you doing? Did he really think this was going to change the reality of the way things were? Was he so deprived of real human connection that he was willing to scour the coastline to seek the company of a man he’d not even had a legitimate conversation with?

Growling to himself, Bard shoved those thoughts aside. Maybe he was right to doubt, to question the soundness of his thinking. But there was a stronger pull, as sure as instinct, which told him this time would be different. He had to give it a try, at least. Besides, it couldn’t hurt, could it?

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed it at first, the steady ebbing of the tension from his limbs, the slowing of the clawing. It wasn’t until his steps had stopped of their own accord that he looked up, heart thundering in his chest when his gaze rested on him.

He was a vision in white. The well-tailored cream suit fit his athletic frame like a glove, accentuating every angle, every curve in such a way that made Bard’s mouth water, the evening sunlight doing his visage more justice than lantern light could. His ivory skin glowed with the molten light as he looked over the glistening sea toward the approaching sunset, the same light gilding his onyx locks and catching entrancingly in his mahogany gaze.

“Why, hello.”

Bard froze, his brain short circuiting at the greeting, the man’s dulcet tone effectively erasing any coherent thought from his mind. Fuck! he thought, swallowing dryly, cotton-mouthed as the man turned to face him. Fuck! For all the time he had spent thinking back on their last encounter, Bard had never considered what he would say if he did see him again.

The man’s brows furrowed slightly at his silence and cocked his head in question, a subtly amused smile ghosting his lips. “You seem familiar. Have we met before?”

“Yeah,” Bard stammered once he found his voice and cleared his throat, doing his best to flash a confident smile, “I’m the bloke who saved you from gettin’ swept away last week. Don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to come down here in the middle of the storm.”

Bard wanted to slap himself. That was what he was opening with?

To his relief, the man didn’t seem put off by his blunt introduction. Rather, he chuckled, his smile widening before taking a step forward. “Ah, yes, I remember now,” he said, his tone light with recognition, voice dripping like honey, “I hoped I would see you again so I could thank you properly.”

Bard could only blink, his stomach clenching with anticipation at the promise of the stranger’s words.

The man glanced down, coming to stand within arm’s length of the lighthouse keeper, his cream-hued loafers tracing aimless shapes in the sand, while continuing, “You’ll have to forgive my foolish curiosity. My work keeps me confined to the open sea and its depths most days, so I was intrigued by the possibility of seeing a storm from land.”

“Well, I can’t say that I blame ya,” Bard answered, clapping a hand down on the man’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze when their gazes met, “It’s dangerous, but it’s quite a sight.”

A strange, knowing look flickered in the man’s eyes, simply answering, “Indeed.”

At that, Bard lowered his hand, trailing along the soft sleeve of the man’s suit jacket. His fingers twitched when his arm came to rest by his side once more, a yearning ache in his chest in the absence of contact.

“Actually,” the man continued, “I’m new to the area. Do you happen to have time to give me a little tour?”

Bard mustered all his self control to hold his tongue when the man flashed him a breathtaking grin. Everything in him screamed to accept. However, one glance down at his wristwatch had him swearing beneath his breath.

“Is something the matter?”

Bard looked up to find the man staring curiously down at his watch. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, but I’m actually late for my shift. I can ring a friend of mine to see if he could take you instead, if you’d like.”

The man cast his gaze toward the waves, pouting ever so slightly before turning to look at Bard again. Smiling now as if in apology, he took another step toward him, rapidly closing the distance between them.

“That won’t be necessary; I can wait. After all, it was your company I desired for that adventure.” He paused, gaze never leaving Bard’s as he reached out and brushed his fingers over the buttons of Bard’s jacket, his voice dipping an octave lower, the sound making Bard’s cock twitch. “Surely you can’t begrudge me for wanting to spend a few hours in the presence of such a handsome man.”

Bard’s cheeks warmed at the unexpected turn, his heart fluttering, his resolve quickly crumbling beneath the intensity of the stranger’s gaze and the luring temptation of his words.

“Um, I could show you round tomorrow,” he offered, “Town’s not that big, so it won’t take all that long. Meet here ‘bout five?”

“Sounds excellent. I look forward to it, Mister…?”

“Oh!” Bard gasped, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, extending the other to the man in belated greeting, “Name’s Baldroy, but you can call me Bard. Everyone else does.”

“Hmmm,” the man hummed, another smile lighting his face before clasping Bard’s offered hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bard.”

“No need for ‘mister.’ Bard’s just fine.”

“Very well, Bard.”

He sighed, the sound just short of a groan, cock growing firm as his name fell from those full lips a second time. Though it had been uttered in simple conversation, there was something about it that seemed forbidden. Sinful. Enticing. And he would do anything to hear it again.

If the man had noticed how utterly disarmed he was, it didn’t show. Instead he gave Bard’s hand a gentle squeeze with his long, slender fingers and added, “I am Sebastian.”

He cast a checking glace around them before drawing Bard’s hand up in a fluid motion. Bard gave a shuddering breath, skin tingling in the wake of the feeling of Sebastian’s soft, warm lips against the back of his hand. Mahogany met sky blue. The air thickened with tense promise, their hands remaining clasped as they lowered and he added a second time, “Sebastian Michaelis.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Part two of seven

Part one here

Another huge thank you to @plague-of-insomnia for beta-ing this chapter! You’re such a joy to work with and you’ve helped me learn so much.

#kuroshitsuji fanfiction #fanfiction #kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #bard #sebard #the heart of the sea

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puddygeeks · 4 years

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Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 52: Dᴏᴘᴘᴇʟɢᴀɴɢᴇʀ

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Fifty-Two

After following Indra in tense silence for a while, we slowed to a halt and she instructed us to tie our horses nearby a remarkable set of ruins. It was difficult not to be distracted by the looming shapes of the structure and I was aware of how little we knew of Earth compared to the grounders who had built their home here for generations. Despite the nerves building in my stomach, I continued to walk alongside Octavia into the unknown and tried not to allow myself to be distracted by the theories whizzing around in my mind. Indra silently lit a fire and we waited expectantly until she took a seat and I glanced over at Octavia with confusion.

“Who is this woman, Indra?” She enquired as she stepped closer to her mentor with curiosity filling her face and Indra glanced up at her with an unimpressed expression.

“She is a warrior and a friend. She is also your best chance at getting what you want. That is all you need to know.” She responded with a firm tone and Octavia shifted awkwardly on the spot at the firm response. Indra sighed and considered us both for a few moments, before she seemed to decide that she could trust us with some further details. “She was a village leader, like me, until her people were massacred and only she remained. Since then, she has lived alone and accepts tasks from the Commander when she is called upon to serve. As I recommended her for this role, I deliver the assignments and so she will come when I signal.” She elaborated in a bored tone and I felt myself growing tense as I processed this information.

“What makes you think she will help us?” Octavia probed and I felt nervous on her behalf as she continued to press at Indra. I noticed that despite what she had taught me, she mostly ignored the rule to not ask questions and wondered if their time together had allowed them to develop a strong enough relationship for Indra to view her as an equal.

“She does not consider herself part of any clan and cares not for our politics. She serves the Commander for her own reasons, but she has no investment in our distrust of Skaikru. You may be able to use her disinterest in our war to your advantage.” She explained in a tone that conveyed her annoyance at Octavia’s continued questioning, before she turned to inspect me with an assessing eye again. “Your friend resembles her only child. She died in the massacre. I believe this is no coincidence.” She added and I blanched at the information. I shot a panicked glance at Octavia, who seemed equally stunned at this idea, but before I could get any words out we were startled by a sharp voice.

“Who have you brought to me, Indra?” A woman stood at the edge of the ruins, just out of the firelight where it was impossible to discern more than a silhouette and Indra rushed to her feet to greet her. I remained rooted to the spot as I worked to calm the frazzled nerves that her arrival had caused and strained in an attempt to identify any of her features.

“These are allies, Octavia and Indigo Kom Skaikru.” She explained in an even tone and the woman turned toward us with an expression that was unclear in the dark. Though I couldn’t see her face, I could sense her disbelief and began to feel uncomfortable with this plan.

“You would bring Skaikru to this place?” She asked in a cold voice that displayed her suspicion and Indra clenched her jaw defensively. Although she had earlier stated that she considered this woman a friend, they seemed strangely stiff and I began to wonder if this was ordinary grounder behaviour. Until now, I had always imagined that they were warmer in their own relationships, outside of the impending threat of war but it seemed that formality was more deeply ingrained in their culture that I had first believed.

“Octavia trained as my second and has earned my trust. She would not betray it.” Indra stated firmly and I could sense that Octavia was pleased to hear this. “This girl seeks to be taught our ways. I cannot teach her in Polis whilst the Commander still battles to defend the ceasefire. I present her to you for judgement.” She revealed with a flourish before stepping back to allow the woman to assess me.

The stranger strolled slowly toward the campfire and as the light revealed her features, I felt myself take a sharp intake of breath. I recognised her immediately, but had long since forgotten about her existence due to all of the insanity that had occurred since. I recalled my brief guard duty in the woods, where I was ambushed by a grounder who spared my life for no discernible reason and all at once, I understood her choice as I replayed Indra’s words in my mind. She didn’t spare me out of mercy, but simply because I reminded her of her deceased daughter and the haunted expression that she wore as she stared into my eyes only confirmed my suspicions. She glanced over at Indra suspiciously, who nodded in acknowledgement, then back to me as she struggled to regain her composure. She had long copper hair that was almost entirely neatly plaited and a stern face that was as pale as my own. I shared her difficulty, as I stared into her blue eyes that reminded me of my mothers and couldn’t help a pang of familiarity myself.

“I am Arlo Kom Trishanakru. You wish to learn our ways, child?” Her voice was gravelly and full of authority as she stepped closer, and I nodded silently in return. “Your people are soft and weak. You will need to prove that you are worthy of my time. Do that and you will have the chance to regret your request. We do not hold hands. You will keep up or be left behind.” She divulged threateningly and I nodded, despite an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty that gripped my stomach. “Come with me. Indra, we will see how promising your offering is.” She stated as she began to stride away and I was relieved when Octavia and Indra followed together, instead of immediately leaving me alone with her.

Arlo led us further into the ruins in silence and I was amazed by the beauty of the structure. I wondered what this place had been before the world was destroyed, as we stepped through wide archways and into winding tunnels. Octavia and Indra fell further behind us as the space grew tighter and I found myself becoming nervous as I continued to navigate through. Arlo paused for a moment at an open archway and indicated for me to enter first. I took a deep breath and stepped through without question as I had been trained to do. As I emerged into a large, circular space, I heard the sound of a gate slamming and turned to find that I had been locked inside. Octavia hurried over to pull on it, but it didn’t budge and I scanned my surroundings with a feeling of dread.

There were high vantage points, but no other exits and it was clear that I would not be able to escape unless Arlo chose to free me. Octavia pounded against the gate with desperation, despite Indra’s barking orders not to interfere. A gradual movement on the other side of the space drew my attention, as a man chained to the wall struggled to his feet and my heart skipped a beat at the size of him. There was a jangling sound as keys fell from above in a crash at his feet and I faced upward to find Arlo leaning over from an alcove.

“This man slaughtered an entire village. He would have suffered death at the hands of those who call for justice, but there are no survivors to claim that right. Prove to me that you are capable of killing him and I will train you.” She announced from above as the man eagerly snatched for the keys and I stepped back in terror. “You, ripa. If you kill her, I will consider burning your body.” She added to spur him on and I felt my stomach lurch. She threw a dagger down in front of him whilst I frantically reached for mine and my hand brushed over the pistol that was hidden beside it.

I knew that this could improve my chances of survival, but that if I used it in this fight it would not earn my place with Arlo. I would have to depend on grounder tactics if I were to impress her and I gulped nervously as my opponent finished removing his restraints. When he straightened up it was clear that he was enormous, with wide shoulders and a ridiculous amount of muscle. He strode toward me with a menacing attitude and I could hear my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

I held my ground as he closed in on me and as he reached out to slash the knife in a wide motion, I jumped backward to dodge it. Seizing the opportunity to abuse the momentum of him falling forward, I brought my leg up to land a powerful kick in his stomach. He wheezed heavily whilst I bounced lightly on my feet to space myself from him. He hurtled around heavily and I only just crouched in time to avoid a sharp blow that skimmed over my head. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as quick on the next strike and his fist slammed into my face with an earth shattering impact. The shock caused me to stumble and he landed a quick succession of punches that threw me to the ground. I rolled out of the way, causing him to hit the solid floor on his next attempt and managed to drag myself back to my feet, despite feeling like my head could explode at any moment.

All of the training that I’d been through could never have prepared me for fighting to the death with someone this size and I felt myself slipping into panicked habits. I sloppily dodged around him for a while as I wracked my brain for ideas, until a powerful jab caught me in the ribs and I lost my edge. The grounder seized me by the neck and lifted me from the ground with a pressure that made my windpipe feel as if it were about to split in two. I kicked my legs in desperation as I squirmed in his grip and could hear myself screaming in my own mind.

In a moment of clarity, I plunged the dagger into the inner elbow of the arm that he was holding me with and his jerk reaction caused me to plummet back to my feet. Without missing a beat, I struck at his knees, prompting him to fall forward onto them. A desperate burst of energy allowed me to charge forward to kick him under the chin with all of the force that I could muster and he splayed flat on his back. My hands scrambled across the ground for the dagger and I brutally thrusted it into his chest. Hot, sticky blood sprayed up into my face as my hands shook wildly and I remained frozen in place as I stared down into his stunned face. My lungs burned from the panic and several parts of my body throbbed in a way that I knew wouldn’t heal anytime soon.

The gate that had trapped me in here finally swung open and Octavia rushed inside to help me to my feet as I groaned. Indra followed and seemed to view me with a new interest as I wobbled weakly on the spot. I could tell that she was surprised by this experience and couldn’t deny a slight pride in this, hidden deep beneath the whirlwind of emotions that currently wreaked havoc on my mind. Eventually Arlo entered the room with a controlled expression and I panted as I awaited her judgement.

“Well fought and you still live. This is not what I expected.” She commented as she crossed her arms at me and I scoffed at this confirmation that she had believed I would die here. “Very well, I will teach you. We camp here tonight. You’ll begin your training in the morning.” She declared, before sweeping out of the room and leaving me unsure whether I should celebrate or flee during the night.

***

By morning, my entire body screamed in protest at every attempted movement and sleeping on the ground certainly hadn’t helped with stiffness. I acknowledged that I would probably have to get used to many uncomfortable aspects of living with Arlo and the comfort of Bellamy’s bed felt as if it were a lifetime away. I woke to discover a pile of clothes on the ground beside me and reluctantly slid off my jacket. Before I could get any further, Octavia strolled into the room and smiled warmly at me.

“Ah, I see you got your new uniform then.” She commented as she indicated to the clothing and I shrugged in response. I hadn’t thought as far ahead as this and although I was willing to adapt to as much of the grounder lifestyle as was necessary, I still felt a pang of sadness at the idea of shedding my usual clothing.

“Yeah, I was wondering about that.” I confessed as she wandered over to take a seat beside me and she shrugged to indicate that she had not expected this either.

“Arlo says you’re too indiscreet in Skaikru clothes. Apparently you need to be able to blend in wherever you’re going.” She explained and I tilted my head thoughtfully. Although this made sense in theory, I had to admit that this earned my curiosity and my mind wandered over what challenges Arlo might have in store for me. It seemed that my training could become more involved than either of us would ever have imagined. “That also means your hair. I’ve got a bit of time before we head out, I could braid it for you? I can guarantee that I'll be gentler than letting her do it.” She suggested and I nodded at her gratefully. She slid into position behind me and made her best effort to get her hands through my hair that had already begun to dread in places. It was remarkably therapeutic for her to neatly organise it into sections and her presence helped me to gradually relax.

“It’s not too late to go back, you know.” She muttered in an attempted subtle manner and I tensed at her voice. “I know that this wasn’t the plan. You left camp to train with Indra and instead you’ve ended up with Arlo, who is…” She trailed off thoughtfully and I could tell that she was struggling to decide what she wanted to say. I wasn’t even sure how I could describe the differences between what I had expected and where I had ended up, but instead decided to lighten the mood with humour.

“The kind of grounder you could imagine eating their young?” I suggested and she snorted in laughter from behind. It was pleasant to enjoy such a simple moment alone with her, even if it was only fleeting and I noticed a pang of nostalgia in my chest. If nothing else, I was glad that my interest in this way of life had allowed me to re-establish my bond with Octavia and that my new knowledge gave me an insight into the person that she had become in our time apart.

“Exactly. Are you going to be okay with her?” She asked with concern in her voice and I sighed before answering. I appreciated our mutual protectiveness, but most of all I was pleased that we had both learned to trust the other to make the correct decision and to respect their wishes. As I reflected on how much things had changed between us since we arrived, an additional surge of determination rose from my chest to continue growing stronger to be able to meet threats at her side.

“I asked for this Tavi, literally killed for it. Now I’m going to make sure that I learn everything I can. I’ll learn to handle Arlo.” I assured her and she hummed thoughtfully behind me. “Just do me a favour and don’t mention the whole fight to the death thing to Bellamy. I won’t visit home until I heal up a bit. I think he’ll freak if he sees me with black eyes again.” I added with a slight snicker and Octavia shuffled around to view me as she finished up.

“I’ll keep it between us, don’t worry. Your hair is all done.” She chimed and as I moved to stand, I hissed in pain. My hand shot to my waist and I struggled to straighten up. “You look terrible.” She added with her brows furrowed tightly and I scoffed as I shook my head at her.

“Charming, thanks babe.” I teased as I forced a smile to hide my difficulty. I started to undress to change into my new outfit and Octavia cursed under her breath as I slid my vest off. She moved closer and brushed her fingers across my waist with a horrified expression.

“Fuck Indie, I think that ogre broke your ribs.” She gasped and I glanced to where she touched to find a large purple bruised area that covered almost an entire side of my waist. I hadn’t paid much attention until now and even I was shocked by the appearance of it. “You need to get this looked at.” She ordered as she met my eyes and I stepped backward to shake her off.

“It’s not that bad. I can’t immediately bail when I’ve only just earned my place.” I argued despite my inner horror and she stared at me in obvious disbelief. “I promise I will get Abby to take a look when I next come to camp, okay?” I offered, as I began to step into the clothing that I’d been provided and tried to ensure that I didn’t show any indication of concern. There was a heavily ripped pair of black jeans and a pair of knee high, lace up boots which I put on first. I was confused by what seemed to be an absence of a top, but Octavia revealed what I thought to be a long piece of fabric was actually a complicated, wrap around shirt which she assisted me into. There was a bodice that fastened at the front and had long, torn strips hanging from the side that allowed me to hide my radio and gun out of sight. Lastly were some arm warmers which had no real function that I could think of, but I put them on to appease my teacher. When I’d finished I turned to face Octavia, who examined me with pride.

“Look at you, you certainly look the part.” She crooned and I shrugged in return. It was interesting to discover how excited she was by this and her enthusiasm gave me a fresh buzz of appreciation for the journey I was about to undertake.

“All I’m missing now is my scary war paint.” I commented in a teasing manner and she shook her head at me.

“They only wear that when they’re going to battle, not all the time. It’s kinda in the name, doofus.” She snorted as she punched me playfully in the arm. I finished arming myself and hid my radio and gun, then followed Octavia outside to meet our mentors.

Indra and Arlo were standing close together as we emerged from the building and spoke in low voices. I noticed Indra passed her a small piece of paper that Arlo neatly tucked away and they touched arms in a grounder gesture of respect. As we neared, Arlo turned to face me with an appraising look and I was sure that I caught a hint of sentimentality in her expression as her eyes roamed my new appearance. For a moment, I wondered if she had even dressed me in a similar manner to her daughter, but the thought was uncomfortable and so I pushed it from my mind.

“Come child, we have much to do.” She ordered as she turned to stride away without another word and I strained to keep my focus in the moment. I glanced at Octavia to find her peeking between us nervously and without warning, she pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Don’t let her kill you.” She whispered with her mouth close to my ear and I smiled fondly over her shoulder. I basked in her comfort for a few moments, allowing her strength to bleed into me and committing the feeling to memory as I worried that I wouldn’t know when I might see her next. As we broke apart, my attention drifted over to Indra, who nodded subtly over at me in approval and my brows raised in surprise.

It took some considerable strength to tear myself away from the security of my best friend and to follow the strangely cold woman who now guided my fate. We collected our horses in silence and I climbed on to find that Arlo had tied hers nearby, out of sight of the meeting spot too. She led me for hours without a single word and I quickly began to miss the chatty rides through the woods with Octavia. I realised that my reality would be quite different now to anything that I’d previously known and steeled myself for the unexpected.

***

The clang of daggers filled the air as I recoiled from another attack and struggled to maintain my balance. Arlo continued to batter me with a barrage of beatings and over the past few days I’d come to understand that my training until now had been merely child’s play. She swept her leg out to take my footing and I slammed into the ground with a groan.

“Get knocked down, get back up.” Arlo threatened as she paced around my crumpled form and I had lost count of how many times I’d heard this statement. I had never known exhaustion as I felt in this moment and I couldn’t catch my breath. The practice had been utterly relentless since we arrived in her camp and I had the gut instinct that she was testing both my stamina and resolve. I tried to sit up but I couldn’t control a single muscle as my entire body cried out in agony. “Do you surrender, sky girl?” She leered from above me and I stared up at her with heavy pants of breath.

“I yield.” I groaned as I dropped my training daggers and stared lazily up at the sky. She had woken me during the night, kept me awake until late, stalked me to attack whenever I let down my guard and now I had nothing left to give. I bitterly awaited a punishment as I laid in the dirt and wondered which bruise I would receive for surrender. Instead, she simply smiled and dropped to a sitting position beside me.

“You are strong for a sky person; determined and stubborn.” She commented evenly and I thought I might die of shock from the compliment. “But you fight with anger and hatred. This fire fuels you, but it burns you also. You cannot control it. You fear it.” She clarified as she studied me with a wisdom that was clear to see. I fidgeted on the ground in an effort to raise myself into a sitting position and she pushed me flat onto my back again with little effort. “This is your weakness. It will get you killed. You must learn to control it.” She ordered in a stern tone and I sighed deeply.

“That is why I’m here. I need inner strength too.” I admitted under my breath and she smirked.

“That cannot be given, you have it or you do not.” She stated coldly as she got to her feet. “You must decide if you wish to be a warrior, or a coward.” She added, dusting herself off and placing her sword back in it’s sheath. “You have today to rest, tomorrow we hunt.” She stated, before striding away without a backwards glance and leaving me swiftly in the dirt.

Once alone in my tent I cleaned myself up, examining the black and blue of my skin that almost seemed to be my natural colour now. I removed the unnecessary items of clothing so that I could relax and my radio dropped to the ground. Wrapping myself tightly in a blanket, I gripped the radio close to me and as the light around the tent faded, I knew that Bellamy would likely be heading back to his quarters by now.

“Xena to Hells Bells.” I spoke quietly into the radio with a sly smile and waited eagerly for his voice. It had been gruelling since my arrival here and I had to admit that I could do with some comfort. A few moments of silence passed and I could imagine Bellamy rushing to find somewhere quiet to respond. I felt my eyes slipping closed from sheer exhaustion when a crackle finally alerted me to his presence.

“Hey Trouble.” The warmth in his words filled my chest, even through the tinny speaker and I felt a smile spread across my lips. “How's life with the Amazons?” He teased and I quietly giggled to myself.

“It’s exhausting on a level I never could have imagined.” I confessed in a meek voice and could sense his concern in his delayed response. Although I wouldn’t lie to him, I was also aware that I needed to be careful how much detail I shared and struggled to consider my words before I shared them.

“Are you alright?” He probed with a thinly veiled worry and I sighed deeply as I analysed my answer for anything that might send him into a protective frenzy.

“I’m getting used to it. How are you? Things okay in camp?” I enquired with a feeling of concern in my gut as the faces of the loved ones that I usually focused on flashed through my mind. The responsibility bared down on me and I tried to push it away before I could find myself crushed under the guilt of leaving them in their time of need. I reminded myself that I was here to become stronger so that I could protect all of us and asserted that I had to focus on myself.

“I’m alright, nothing much has changed here. I’m better now that I know you’re safe.” He mumbled and I hummed thoughtfully. I knew that he would be finding this change difficult, as his nature always urged him to keep his loved ones close and under his protection and I was proud of him for how well he was dealing with this. It was an important lesson for us both and although my heart cried out for him, I steeled myself against the loneliness that threatened to swallow me.

“We’re gonna be moving on tomorrow, so I don’t know when I’ll next be able to check in.” I relayed as I broke into a yawn mid sentence and he sighed.

“You sound like you could use some rest. I hope she’s giving you a chance to sleep?” He interrogated in a voice that I recognised well as defensive and I hummed in response sleepily. “It’s good to hear your voice Indie. Get some sleep and stay in touch.” He remarked and I could already feel my eyelids becoming heavy following the relief of speaking with him.

“I will. Take care of yourself. I’ll come back soon.” I mumbled before switching off the radio with a pang in my chest and settled down for a night of well earned sleep.

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soler97 · 3 years

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The Age of Unreason

Men want certainty, not truth.

- possibly from Bertrand Russell

A thoughtful friend asked me what 2020 will be remembered for, apart from the obvious, ie Covid and Trump losing. I could not think of anything.

My friend suggested it is the realisation that in the 21st century millions of people are turning away from science and reality towards a variety of beliefs that border on the crazy. Examples are QAnon, flat earthers (yes, they are serious), deniers of Covid, about 40% of Americans believe the Rapture is coming, biblical fundamentalism, climate change denial, neo-Nazis, Holocaust denial, belief in Trump as a saviour, doomsday predictions, sundry cults, alien abductions, New Age beliefs, and a multitude of conspiracy theories, such as that the moon landings were a hoax, or that 9/11 was an inside job.

Some of these beliefs appear harmless, but occasionally, they inspire horrific violence, such as the killing of 920 people by the Jim Jones cult, the sarin attack in Japan, the Breivik massacre, the Oklahoma bombing, the Waco siege, the Christchurch massacre, and the Heaven's Gate suicides.

It is difficult to generalise about the various strange beliefs that people hold, as these include conspiracy theories, varieties of denial, religious fantasies, extremist political or racist views, and beliefs like the flat earth, that elude classification. There is no common thread underlying this spectrum of beliefs. Rather, they can be characterised by what they reject, which in a nutshell, is rationality.

Rationality can be defined as the desire to be guided by reason, which we apply to the available evidence. The third ingredient is the willingness to admit we are wrong. So turning away from rationality means letting emotion or emotionally-based belief take precedence over reason, an unwillingness to look at factual evidence, plus a dogmatic belief that one is in possession of the ultimate truth. Many irrational beliefs run counter to Occam's Razor, which tells us to prefer the simplest explanation that covers the known facts. Complex processes may require elaborate or involved explanations, but the point is not to introduce unnecessary factors, especially ones of a fanciful nature.

Clearly, there are too many irrational beliefs to do them justice, so let us look at flat earthers, Heaven's Gate and QAnon to see whether there is a pattern.

A Flat Earth

Flat earth map with the Antarctic ice wall at the perimeter

A bizarre example is the contemporary belief that the earth is flat. Is such a belief even possible in the 21st century? It may be feasible to construct a world view that makes a flat earth plausible. However, it requires factors such as a massive world-wide conspiracy to hide the truth, the abandoning of all of modern cosmology and much of physics, as well as weird ad-hoc explanations for why planes fly in circles around a flat disc, rather than around a spherical globe. Also, that ships at sea disappear below the horizon requires adjustment to the laws of optics. If that still does not cover all the facts countering a flat view, then one could invoke mind control by Martians, or something of the sort. The point is that if one wants to conjure up fantastical reasons to invalidate what we know of reality then it is always possible to do so.

It seems to me that the flat earth people are not interested in gaining knowledge about the world. They are uninterested in discovering what lies beyond the putative ice wall in Antarctica that holds back the oceans or why NASA might be guarding it. They just believe in the flat earth and that is that. Their only concern is to bolster the theory, which I think they hold on emotional grounds. They are willing to perform elaborate mental contortions to support their belief, and it is interesting to observe how much of modern science they are willing to jettison in order to keep their belief afloat, eg gravity.

Whereas the explanations given for the earth being flat are interesting, to me it is more interesting to enquire what causes people to seek these explanations in the first place. What causes people to believe the earth is flat?

Four factors come to mind. One is a desire to be rid of experts and eggheads, who insist on telling ordinary people what to think. In the case of the earth's apparent flatness, the boffins are telling us to deny the evidence of our senses by invoking the large-scale curvature of the earth, something that is far from apparent in ordinary life. Flat earth is like the last stand of common sense in the face of the inexorable advance of science, which keeps telling us the world is far stranger than we thought. It is also a form of contrariness and rebellion against authority. The second is the ego-gratification of knowing a secret that is hidden from nearly everyone else. The third factor is on religious grounds. The fourth is a desire to return to a comforting and anthropocentric model of the universe, rejecting the notion that our planet is an insignificant speck in the incomprehensible vastness of the universe.

Many ancient cultures subscribed to a flat earth cosmography, including Greece until the classical period (323 BC). However, early Christian writers tended to believe the earth is spherical, though with some notable exceptions. Curiously, it wasn't until 1849 that the flat earth belief was resurrected by Rowbotham and later others. He argued that the "Bible, alongside our senses, supported the idea that the earth was flat and immovable and this essential truth should not be set aside for a system based solely on human conjecture".

In the internet era, the proliferation of communications technology and social media have given individuals a platform to spread pseudo-scientific ideas and build stronger followings. The flat earth conjecture has flourished in this environment. Social media and the internet have made it easier for like-minded thinkers to connect and mutually reinforce their beliefs. They have also had a levelling effect, in that experts have less sway in the public mind than they used to.

The belief that the earth is flat could be seen as the ultimate conspiracy theory, given how many people are needed for a cover-up on such a scale. According to the Flat Earth Society's leadership, its ranks have grown by 200 people per year since 2009. Judging by the exhaustive effort flat earthers have invested in fleshing out the theory on their website, as well as the staunch defenses of their views they offer in media interviews and on Twitter, it would seem that these people genuinely believe the earth is flat. They tend to distrust observations they have not made themselves, and often distrust or disagree with each other. I imagine they are maverick individuals who enjoy challenging the status quo.

Paul Sutter, "The question isn't 'why do people believe in a flat Earth?' but rather 'why do people believe in a conspiracy?' And the answer is the same reason it always is: a lack of trust. Many people don't trust the society around them, most notably the representatives of that society. By claiming that the Earth is flat, people are really expressing a deep distrust of scientists and science itself."

Heaven's Gate

Heaven's Gate Logo

Far more bizarre than the flat earth belief are the doctrines of Heaven's Gate, which melded the Bible with belief in UFOs into a religious cult. It was founded in California in 1974 by Marshall Applewhite and Bonnie Nettles. These two pondered the life of St. Francis of Assisi and read works by Helena Blavatsky, RD Laing, and Richard Bach. They studied several passages from the New Testament, focusing on teachings about Christology, asceticism, and eschatology ("the end times"). Applewhite also read science fiction, including Robert Heinlein and Arthur Clarke. They concluded that they had been chosen to fulfill biblical prophecies, and that they had been given higher-level minds than other people. They wrote a pamphlet that described Jesus' reincarnation as a Texan, a thinly veiled reference to Applewhite.

Eventually, Applewhite and Nettles resolved to contact extraterrestrials, and they sought like-minded followers. They published advertisements for meetings, where they recruited disciples, whom they called "the crew". At the events, they purported to represent beings from another planet, the Next Level, which sought participants for an experiment that would bring people to a higher evolutionary level.

In September 1975, the group visited the small town of Waldport, Oregon, to give a lecture about how UFOs were soon going to make contact with the human race. Roughly 150 people packed into a motel hall to hear Applewhite. At first the town thought it was a joke. However, soon after, in a testament to Applewhite's charisma and powers of persuasion, 20 people - or about one in 30 residents of the town - drove off to a meeting of about 400 people in Grand Junction, Colorado, in the hope of meeting aliens.

Later, the crew sold all their worldly possessions and said farewell to loved ones; the group vanished from the public eye. From that point, "Do and Ti", as the two now called themselves, led the nearly one-hundred-member crew across the country, sleeping in tents and begging in the streets. Evading detection by the authorities and media enabled the group to focus on Do and Ti's doctrine of helping members of the crew achieve a "higher evolutionary level" above human, which they claimed to have already reached.

Most of their followers are described by researchers as having been longtime truth-seekers, or spiritual hippies who had long attempted to find themselves through spiritual means. The clan of UFO followers all seemed to have in common a need for communal belonging in an alternative path to higher existence without the constraints of institutionalised faith. The group purchased alien abduction insurance that would pay out $1 million per person, covering abduction, impregnation, or death by aliens.

Applewhite began to emphasize a strict hierarchy, teaching that his students needed his guidance, just as he needed the guidance of the Next Level. A relationship with Applewhite was said to be the only way to salvation and he encouraged his followers to see him as Christ. In the 1980s, the group became more like a religion in its focus on faith and submission to authority. Students who were not committed to this lifestyle were encouraged to leave; departing members were given financial assistance. He specifically cited sexual urges as the work of Lucifer. Applewhite, "We do in all honesty hate this world".

In March 1997, Marshall Applewhite videoed himself in Do's Final Exit, speaking of mass suicide as "the only way to evacuate this Earth". After asserting that a spacecraft was trailing Comet Hale-Bopp and that this event would represent the closure to Heaven's Gate, Applewhite persuaded 38 followers to prepare for ritual suicide so their souls could board the supposed craft. Applewhite believed that after their deaths a UFO would take their souls to another level of existence above human, which he described as being both physical and spiritual.

News of the 39 deaths in Rancho Santa Fe motivated the copycat suicide of a 58-year-old man living near Marysville, California. The man left a note, "I'm going on the spaceship with Hale-Bopp to be with those who have gone before me," and imitated some of the details of the Heaven's Gate suicides as they had been reported in the media. At least three former members of Heaven's Gate committed suicide in the months after the mass suicide.

Heaven's Gate members believed the earth would be wiped clean and refurbished before 2027, and that the only chance for their consciousness to survive was to leave their human bodies at an appointed time. Initially, the group had been told that they would be transported with their bodies aboard a spacecraft that would come to earth and take the crew to heaven, the Next Level. When Nettles (Ti) died of cancer in 1985, it confounded Applewhite's doctrine because Nettles was allegedly chosen by the Next Level to be a messenger on earth, yet her body died instead of leaving physically to outer space. The belief system was then revised to include the leaving of consciousness from the body as equivalent to leaving the earth in a spacecraft.

While the group was against suicide, they defined "suicide" to mean "to turn against the Next Level when it is being offered" and believed their bodies were only vehicles meant to help them on their journey. Suicide, therefore, would be not allowing their consciousness to leave their human bodies to join the Next Level. They believed that, "to be eligible for membership in the Next Level, humans would have to shed every attachment to the planet". This meant members had to give up all human characteristics, such as their family, friends, sexuality, individuality, jobs, money, and possessions.

The Evolutionary Level Above Human was seen as a physical, corporeal place, another planet, where residents live in pure bliss and nourish themselves by absorbing pure sunlight. They do not engage in sexual intercourse, eating or dying. Heaven's Gate believed that what the Bible calls God is actually a highly developed Extraterrestrial. Evil space aliens - called Luciferians - falsely represented themselves to Earthlings as God and conspired to keep humans from developing. Technically advanced humanoids, these aliens have spacecraft, space-time travel, telepathy, and increased longevity. They use holograms to fake miracles. Heaven's Gate believed that all existing religions on earth had been corrupted by these malevolent aliens.

Applewhite taught that "aliens planted the seeds of current humanity millions of years ago, and have come to reap the harvest of their work in the form of spiritually evolved individuals who will join the ranks of flying saucer crews. Only a select few members of humanity will be chosen to advance to this transhuman state. The rest will be left to wallow in the spiritually poisoned atmosphere of a corrupt world". Only the individuals who chose to join Heaven's Gate, followed its belief system, and made the sacrifices required by membership would be allowed to escape the prophesied disaster.

In a group open only to adults over the age of 18, members gave up their possessions and lived a highly ascetic life. The group was strictly regimented, tightly knit and everything was communally shared. Eight of the male members, including Applewhite (who was gay), voluntarily underwent castration as an extreme means of maintaining the ascetic lifestyle. "They couldn't stop smiling and giggling," surviving member DiAngelo told Newsweek. "They were excited about it."

Lalich speculates that they were willing to follow Applewhite in suicide because they had become totally dependent upon him, hence were poorly suited to life in his absence. He isolated them socially and cultivated an attitude of complete religious obedience. Applewhite's students had made a long-term commitment to him. Most of the dead had been members for about 20 years, although there were a few recent converts.

Three of the people who suicided left exit statements on their website. These extoll the joys of the Next Level while summing up people on earth as the walking dead. The texts are not the ramblings of disordered minds. The content is fantasy, but they are written in a lucid way in excellent English and give every appearance of sincerity. Unlike the Flat Earth Society, which no doubt numbers people who joined for a joke, as well as those who are not fully convinced, there is little doubt that the members of Heaven's Gate were totally committed to their beliefs. After all, they gave up their sexuality and their lives for their ideal.

QAnon

QAnon at the Capitol invasion

QAnon is a powerful but diffuse contemporary movement that sought to have Trump re-elected. It is animated by a loose collection of extreme right conspiracy theories whose central theme is that a cabal of Satan-worshipping pedophiles is running a global child sex-trafficking ring and plotting against Donald Trump, who is fighting the cabal. QAnon claims that Obama, Hillary Clinton, George Soros, and others are planning a coup against Trump and are involved in an international child sex-trafficking ring. It alleges that an elite cabal of pedophiles, comprising, among others, Hollywood A-listers, leading philanthropists, Jewish financiers and Democrat politicians, covertly rule the world. Followers of QAnon believe that there is an imminent event known as the "Storm", when thousands of members of the cabal will be arrested and possibly sent to Guantanamo Bay prison, and the US military will brutally take over the country. The result will be salvation and utopia on earth. QAnon promises a "Great Awakening", in which the elites will be routed and the truth revealed.

However, this summary is misleading because QAnon is amorphous, multi-faceted and confusing. In addition it keeps shape-shifting.

The conspiracy theory began with an October 2017 post on the anonymous bulletin-board 4chan by "Q". Q claimed to be a high-level government official with Q clearance. Q predicted the imminent arrest of Hillary Clinton and a violent uprising nationwide. It is likely that Q has become a group of people acting under the same name. QAnon's adherents, while seeing Trump as a flawed Christian, also view him as a messiah sent by God. Trump himself pretends to know little about QAnon, which is a lie. Trump has amplified QAnon messaging at least 216 times by retweeting or mentioning 129 QAnon-affiliated Twitter accounts, sometimes multiple times a day. Being a savvy politician, Trump is perfectly aware that many, perhaps most, of his supporters are QAnon people. He made a correct political calculation, deciding to give only scant public endorsement to QAnon. Showing full support would hurt his standing with moderate Republicans, whereas he does not need to do anything to retain the devotion of QAnon. They are happy with the crumbs he throws their way, being accustomed to snatching at Q's hints.

Q's posts have become more cryptic and vague, allowing followers to map their own beliefs onto them. Part of QAnon's appeal is its game-like quality, in which followers attempt to solve riddles presented in Qdrops by connecting them to Trump speeches and tweets. Q enthralls readers with clues rather than presenting claims directly. Travis View, a researcher who studies QAnon, says that it is as addictive as a video game, and offers the "player" the appealing possibility of being involved in something of world-historical importance. According to View, "You can sit at your computer and search for information and then post about what you find, and Q basically promises that through this process, you are going to radically change the country, institute this incredible, almost bloodless revolution, and then be part of this historical movement that will be written about for generations."

Although Q's claims are false and the prophecies routinely fail, this does little to decrease Q's influence. Believers overlook the lack of results and failed predictions because they gauge the movement's success by its popularity, its opposition from the mainstream media, and its recognition by the President himself. On multiple occasions, Q has dismissed his false claims and incorrect predictions as deliberate, claiming that "disinformation is necessary". This has led psychologist Stephan Lewandowsky to emphasize the "self-sealing" quality of the conspiracy theory, so that evidence against it can become evidence of its validity in the minds of believers. "The absence of evidence is reinterpreted as evidence without batting an eyelid." Conspiracy enthusiasts believe that the burden of proof lies with their opponents, ie that QAnon's claims are valid in the absence of positive proof that there is no cabal and no trafficking of children by Democrats.

Experts judge that QAnon's appeal is comparable to that of religious cults. According to Renee DiResta, QAnon's pattern of enticement is similar to that of cults in the pre-internet era where, as the targeted person was led deeper and deeper into the group's secrets, they became increasingly isolated from friends and family outside the cult. Rachel Bernstein, an expert on cults, has said, "What a movement such as QAnon has going for it, and why it will catch on like wildfire, is that it makes people feel connected to something important that other people don't yet know about... All cults will provide this feeling of being special."

A series of ideas began burbling in the QAnon community: that the coronavirus might not be real; that if it was, it had been created by the "deep state", the cabal of government officials and other elite figures who secretly run the world; that the hysteria surrounding the pandemic was part of a plot to hurt Trump's re-election chances. QAnon is a movement united in mass rejection of reason, objectivity, and other Enlightenment values. Some QAnoners are highly focused on what they perceive as degeneracy in the mainstream media, a perception fuelled in equal measure by Q and by Trump. QAnon may be propelled by paranoia and populism, but it is also driven by religious faith. The language of evangelical Christianity has come to define the QAnon movement. QAnon marries an appetite for the conspiratorial with positive beliefs about a radically different and better future, one that is preordained. As one adherent proclaimed, "It's not a theory. It's the foretelling of things to come."

Edgar Welch is a deeply religious father of two, who until December 4, 2016, had lived an unremarkable life in a small town. That morning, Welch grabbed his collection of guns and drove 580 km to a neighbourhood in Northwest Washington, DC. He held an AR-15 rifle across his chest as he walked through the front door of a pizzeria called Comet Ping Pong. Welch was there because of a conspiracy theory known as Pizzagate, which three years later became a pillar of QAnon. It claimed that Hillary Clinton was running a child sex ring out of Comet Ping Pong. The idea originated in October 2016, when some conspiracy theorists asserted that sexual abuse of children was taking place in the basement at Comet, where there is no basement. After firing a rifle to break a lock, Welch realised his mistake and gave himself up to police. He was sentenced to four years in prison. The New York Times wrote in June 2020 that posts on TikTok with the #PizzaGate hashtag were viewed more than 82 million times in recent months. The abuse of children fantasy arose because someone suggested that emails written by the restaurateurs referring to 'pizza' and 'pasta' were code words for 'boys' and 'girls'.

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters

by Goya

Anthony Comello was charged with the March 2019 murder of Gambino crime family boss, Frank Cali. According to his defense attorney, Comello had become obsessed with QAnon theories, believing Cali was a member of a "deep state". Comello was convinced he "was enjoying the protection of President Trump himself" so he decided to act. Confronting Cali outside his Staten Island home, Comello allegedly shot Cali ten times. A May 30, 2019, FBI Intelligence Bulletin memo from the Phoenix Field Office identified QAnon-driven extremists as a domestic terrorism threat. Although the conspiracy that QAnon imagines does not exist, there is a real danger that QAnon itself might become a conspiracy of armed vigilantes, determined to bring about the promised "Storm". The storming of the US Capitol by Trump supporters, including QAnoners, is not a good sign.

Heavy on millennialism and the idea that a reckoning awaits the world, the theory has found fertile ground in the American alt-right. Some 56% of Republicans believe that QAnon is mostly or partly true. At least 35 current or former congressional candidates have shown support for QAnon. A Time magazine article listed Q among the 25 most influential people on the internet in 2018. Counting more than 130,000 related discussion videos on YouTube, Time cited the wide range of the conspiracy theory and its prominent followers and news coverage.

Why did Q's cryptic post on an obscure message-board ignite a movement involving millions? Why were so many eager to embrace such a far-fetched conspiracy theory? Perhaps it was the surge in confidence of the Right in the wake of Trump's win. Whatever the reasons, the grass was dry and Q provided the spark. Not all QAnoners come from a rightwing background. For those who have had no agency to suddenly discover a path into the game is heady stuff.

QAnon is not confined to the US. It has organised protest demonstrations in 200 countries, ostensibly to "save the children". One in four Britons are said to believe in QAnon-related theories. According to The Guardian, QAnon is growing in the UK, spilling over into anti-vaccine and 5G protests, fuelled by online misinformation. At a QAnon rally, Shemirani, a nurse suspended for promoting baseless theories about Covid19, told the crowd: "Our government has declared war on the people of the UK."

"There is a high possibility that the spirited belief system which surrounds QAnon can slowly become a political movement in the UK," Liyanage said. "It will be successful because no one can fight it through reason. It's not a rational belief system but mostly a supernatural belief system."

The time for Trump to arrest the pedophiles and satanists is fast running out. It is interesting to speculate what effect his departure will have on a conspiracy theory in which he is the key figure. My guess is that the powerful energy and passion that drive QAnon will shift focus.

My own view is that QAnon is a blank slate onto which people project their darkest nightmares, as well as their hopes for a Christian utopia. Where do the ideas of satanism, eating children, sinister cabals, sexual depravity, and other crimes against children come from? The answer is simple: from the minds of those who form QAnon. QAnon is nothing but a mirror showing people their shared fantasy. People are sharing with each other their worst fears, as well as their hopes. The dark parts are projected onto the favourite targets of the alt-right, ie Hillary and other Democrats, Jews, and liberals, whereas the messianic hopes are projected onto Trump and Q. However, it is a mistake to see the QAnon conspiracy theory as the work of Q. Although Q was the initial cause, his cryptic and vague messages are merely prompts, asking people to fill in the blanks. This is what many have done and the result is a miasma of fanciful lies about corruption, sexual perversions and violence. The irony is that whereas the accusations made by QAnon are entirely baseless, QAnon might itself become a violent entity, little better than the chimera it rails against.

James Baldwin wrote, "It is a terrible, an inexorable, law that one cannot deny the humanity of another without diminishing one's own." Voltaire put it more starkly, "Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities."

Is Credulity Humanity's Achilles Heel?

The three belief systems discussed have almost nothing in common except the rejection of the consensus view of reality, combined with belief in a fantasised conspiracy. In each case, powerful unseen forces are seen as perverting or hiding the truth of what is really going on. All three beliefs appear absurd except to people who are believers. The puzzle is why do apparently normal people adopt such ideas?

In a study published online in March, 2014, in the American Journal of Political Science, Oliver and Wood, found that about half of Americans endorse at least one conspiracy theory, such as the notion that 9/11 was an inside job or the JFK conspiracy. "Many people are willing to believe many ideas that are directly in contradiction to a dominant cultural narrative," Oliver said. According to him, conspiratorial belief stems from a human tendency to perceive unseen forces at work, known as magical thinking.

In the Middle Ages the Devil was a convenient factor that could be used to explain anything weird or harmful, while the deity took responsibility for the rest. With the advance of science, both the Devil and God gradually lost their explanatory powers. God became "the God of the gaps", being only needed to explain what was missing in our understanding of the physical world. Nowadays, the term "act of God" is reserved to describe the insurance industry's view of natural disasters.

In the modern era magical thinking has undergone a new twist. God and the Devil have been replaced by conspiracies. A recent survey of 26,000 people in 25 countries asked respondents whether they believe there is "a single group of people who secretly control events and rule the world together". In the US 37% replied that this is "definitely or probably true". So did 45% of Italians, 56% of Spaniards and 78% of Nigerians.

2020 was the year of Covid19. The coronavirus has triggered the rise of myriad myths, waves of misinformation and virus conspiracy theories, including that it does not exist - believed by 22% in Poland, where there have been nearly 1.4 million cases. The virus has also had an incubating effect on unrelated conspiracy theories because it has thrown humankind into a state of fear and isolated people in their homes with too much time to think and surf. The extra time in the virtual space means increased exposure to the proponents of conspiracy theories, without the balancing effect of social interactions.

According to the Dunning-Kruger Effect, the normal process is that as people begin to acquire knowledge of a given subject, their feelings of competence rise quickly towards a peak, before declining, as they begin to realise how much more there is to know. In the case of conspiracy theories, such as QAnon, people can arrive almost immediately at that delicious peak of confidence, without actually learning anything at all. QAnon is like a super-car that can do 0 to 100 kph in 3 seconds flat. Many are captivated by the vicarious thrill of believing they are privy to vastly important secrets about which millions of people have no idea. This is the seductive appeal of conspiracy theories.

What causes us to believe? There is an analogy between religions and conspiracy theories. Once you pay the price of entry, ie faith in a religious doctrine or conspiracy, the payoff is that much of the confusion and mystery of life is dispelled because you are in possession of the answers. Yuval Harari: "Our lives are repeatedly rocked by wars, revolutions, crises and pandemics. But if I believe some kind of global cabal theory, I enjoy the comforting feeling that I do understand everything. The skeleton key of global cabal theory unlocks all the world's mysteries and offers me entree into an exclusive circle - the group of people who understand. It makes me smarter and wiser than the average person and even elevates me above the intellectual elite and the ruling class: professors, journalists, politicians. I see what they overlook - or what they try to conceal."

The spectrum of irrational beliefs shares one characteristic: they are all unfalsifiable. Their adherents never say, "If such-and-such happens I will discard this belief." This is particularly apparent in doomsday predictions. The predicted date comes and goes, but the true believers simply reset the clock to a future date. A cult called the Seekers went one better. They believed a UFO would save them from a cataclysm on December 24, 1954. Afterwards, some of the members claimed that their group's devotion had saved the rest of the world from disaster. They responded by proselytizing with renewed vigour. Cults and conspiracy theories are highly resistant to correction. Even the thoroughly discredited Pizzagate is still believed by masses of people.

The self-validating nature of the beliefs ensures that all evidence can be construed as confirmation. New findings that contradict a belief are interpreted as proof of the further workings of the conspiracy to hide the truth. Yet cults and conspiracy theories are not the only systems that guarantee their own validation. If one questions what is taught in a personal growth course one is rebuked with, "You are resisting". Pseudo-science is very difficult to debunk. Inconvenient facts, such as aliens not showing up, are explained by another tweak to the doctrine.

To be fair, the process of theory adjustment happens in science proper as well. When a theory fails experimental test it may be given an additional proviso that accounts for the discrepancy. For instance, the fact that personal experience can be handed down as a genetic legacy to future generations seems to contradict standard evolutionary theory. As it turns out, there is no contradiction. A new sub-science called epigenetics explains the mechanism of this process in terms of alterations to the DNA molecule that do not change the genetic code but which influence gene expression.

Since science is a human activity, it is subject to the foibles of our species. It too has dogmas that are difficult to overturn. Thomas Kuhn has written persuasively about paradigm shifts in science. He saw the history of science as consisting of normal and revolutionary phases, in which the community of scientists in a particular field are plunged into periods of turmoil, uncertainty and angst. These revolutionary phases, such as the transition from classical physics to quantum mechanics, involve great conceptual breakthroughs and lay the basis for a succeeding phase of business as usual. This is captured in an aphorism that is only half humorous, "The measure of the greatness of a scientist is how long they hold up advancement in their chosen field."

The history of science features dogmas that were held too long and new ideas that took an unreasonably long time to be accepted. One example is the resistance to the theory of plate tectonics, another is the opposition to a bacterial explanation for the cause of ulcers. The mainstream rejection of functional medicine and the progress it has made in curing Alzheimer's Disease is a current example.

Nevertheless, the greatest strength of science is that it is tentative: any scientific theory may be overturned and replaced by a better theory in the future. The criterion of a theory being scientific is that it makes predictions which could, in principle, be falsified by new data. Yet to a fundamentalist or a common sense sceptic, such as a flat earther, this is not a strength but a weakness. They point out that science can never prove anything, that scientific theories have been debunked plus questions science can't answer. Hence science is not to be trusted. With the authority of science diminished, the field opens for persuasive individuals with pet theories, especially about conspiracies. Why conspiracies? Because a belief that goes counter to the accepted view of reality requires a widespread suppression of the truth.

The bottom line is that many people do not perform due diligence in checking the information they encounter and its sources. Given the virulent spread of QAnon and other conspiracy theories, this is a massive under-statement. The worry is that many obtain their news from questionable sources, such as Facebook and YouTube.

Ultimately, eschewing reputable news media in favour of bulletin-boards and succumbing to their conspiracy theories has deeper causes. These are alienation and a lack of trust in society and its leaders. Why are people alienated and distrustful? Perhaps the underlying problem is not credulity but its opposite, ie a loss of belief in the system. Those who are drawn to far-right conspiracy theories have lost trust in democracy and the modern state. They think the US no longer embodies the ideals they believe in. Conservative Christians and right-wingers resent their defeat in "the culture wars", which were about abortion, separation of church and state, creationism, recreational drug use, homosexuality, and censorship. Perhaps the "Great Awakening" is their dream of a return to how things were. The fact that they grasp at ludicrous ideas indicates the depth of their disaffection.

Of course, irrational beliefs, superstitions, baseless theories and weird cults have been with us all through history, ever since the invention of writing, and probably long before. The difference now is that we supposedly live in the age of reason and science. Furthermore, knowledge is far more freely available than at any time in the past. The problem is that disinformation, extravagant falsehoods, fringe beliefs, and sensational stories are more easily disseminated than ever before, and they seem to capture peoples' attention more than sober facts. The difference between 30 years ago and now is that anyone can post anything and potentially reach millions of people. It's the old story - those who know least have the loudest voices. The paradox is that although reliable knowledge is now easily accessible to anyone with an internet connection, millions are turning their backs on both science and common sense.

My conclusion is that despite the advances of human knowledge, human nature itself has not changed. We remain a species ruled by emotion rather than logic, and hence we come to believe all kinds of nonsense.

Another conclusion comes from an insight of the brilliant intellectual, Yuval Harari. He is convinced that we human beings can only prosper and live in harmony with each other provided we believe in a shared myth. If so, then a propensity towards credulity might be built into our genome. Unfortunately, credulity is dangerous, as shown in Heaven's Gate, the Jim Jones cult and QAnon.

Tad Boniecki

January 2021

#conspiracy theory #QAnon #Trump Q

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iandeleonwrites · 3 years

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Ian’s Case: A Personal Statement for Grad School Admission

Personal Statement, Ian Deleón

“He felt something strike his chest, and that his body was being thrown swiftly through the air, on and on, immeasurably far and fast, while his limbs were gently relaxed.”

It was more than a decade ago when I first read those words. Written by the American author Willa Cather, Paul’s Case: A Study in Temperament has always felt to me like an intimate account of my own life penned by a woman one hundred years in the past.

That is a feeling which makes me proud; that my personal whims, fears, and desires, could find their echo long ago in a story about a young man and his pursuit of a meaningful life. Because of it, I felt a pleasing sense of historicity at a time when I was struggling so much with my own.

I grew up in Miami Beach. Literally not more than a block away from water for most of my life. My father had emigrated from Cuba with his family in 1980. My mother had come on a work visa from Brazil a few years later. They met on the beach, had an affair, and I came into the world in May of 1987.

My life was marked with in betweenness from the very beginning. My parents’ relationship did not last long, so I grew up traveling between houses. I had two families. I was American, but I was also Cuban and Brazilian. I even have a Brazilian passport. I spoke three languages fluently, but I couldn’t dance salsa or samba. I felt at home with the working class immigrants and people of color in my neighborhoods, but I often had to work hard to prove I wasn’t just some gringo with a knack for foreign tongues.

[A quick note on Paul’s Case––If it happens that the reader is not familiar with the short story, let me briefly summarize it here: A disenchanted youth in turn of the century Pittsburgh feels increasingly alienated from his schoolmates, his teachers and his family. His only comfort is his position as an usher at Carnegie Hall, where he loses himself in the glamour of the art life. Having no drive or desire to become an artist, however, the dandy Paul makes a spur of the moment criminal decision and elopes to New York City. There, he is able to live out his fantasies in a financial masquerade for about a week’s time, until the authorities back home finger him for monetary theft. Learning that his father is en route to the city to collect him, Paul travels to the countryside and flings himself in front of a speeding train, musing about the elegant brevity of winter flowers.]

When I first encountered Cather’s short story I was blown away by the parallels I saw between my own life and Paul’s. In 2005, fresh out of high school, I was living mostly with my father as my mother had relocated to faraway West Palm Beach. I was an usher at the local concert hall, a job I cherished enough to volunteer my time for free. I became entranced by the world of classical music, opera, theater, and spectacle––often showing up for work early and roaming the performance spaces, probing high and low like some kind of millenial phantom.

In school, however, I had no direction, no plan. I had good enough grades, but no real motivation, and worst of all, I thought, no discernible talent. I probably resented my father for not being cultured enough to teach me about music, theater, and the arts. No one in my family had ever even been to a museum, or sat before a chamber orchestra. And it didn’t seem to matter to them either, they could somehow live blissfully without it.

Well I couldn’t. I began to mimic the fervor with which Paul immersed himself in that world, while also exhibiting the same panic at the thought of not being able to sustain my treasured experiences without a marketable contribution to them. But here is where Paul and I take divergent paths.

I was attending the Miami Dade Honors College, breezing my way towards an associate’s degree. I took classes in Oceanography, Sociology, Creative Writing, Acting and African Drumming. I was experimenting and falling in love with everything.

But it was my Creative Writing professor, Michael Hettich, who really encouraged the development of my nascent writing talent. Up until that point my ideas only found their expression through class assignments, particularly book reports and essays on historical events. My sister had always felt I had a way with words, but I just attributed this to growing up in a multicultural environment amongst a diversity of native languages.

As a result of that encouragement I began to write poetry, little songs and treatments for film ideas based on the short stories we were talking about in class. Somehow, thanks to those lines of poetry and a few amateur photographic self portraits, I was admitted to the Massachusetts College of Art & Design for my BFA program.

There, I attended classes in Printmaking, Paper Making, Performance Art, Video Editing, and Glass Blowing. I was immersed in culture, attending lectures and workshops, adding new words to my vocabulary: “New Media” and “gestalt”. I saw my first snowfall. I had the dubious honor of appearing at once not Hispanic and yet different enough. I was overwhelmed. I felt increasingly disenchanted and out of place in New England, yet my work flourished and grew stronger.

It was during this time that I developed a passion for live performance and engagement with an audience. I also worked with multi-channel video and sculptural installations. Always, I commented on my family history, grappling with it, the emigrations and immigrations. I even returned to those early short stories from Miami Dade, one time doing an interpretive movement piece based on The Yellow Wallpaper. Most often I talked about my father. He was even in a few of my projects. He was a good sport, though we still had the occasional heated political disagreement. We never held any grudges, and made up again rather quickly. It would always be that way, intense periods of warming and cooling. A tropical temperament, I suppose.

I continued to take film-related classes in Boston, but my interests gradually became highly abstracted, subtle, and decidedly avant-garde. I had no desire to work in a coherently narrative medium. This would eventually change, but for now, I let my ambitions and aspirations take me where they would.

I returned home to Miami for a spell after graduation. I traveled the world for five months after that. I moved back to Boston for another couple of years, because it was comfortable I suppose, though I was fed up with the weather.

Finally, I wound up in NYC. Classic story: I followed a charming young woman, another performance artist as luck would have it, a writer too, and a bit of an outsider. We were quickly engaged and on the first anniversary of our meet cute we were married on a gorgeous piece of land in upstate new york, owned by an older performance-loving couple from the city. Piece of land doesn’t quite do it justice, we’re talking massive tracts, hidden acres of forest, sudden lakes, fertile fields, and precocious wildlife. As they say in the movies, it really is all about location, location, location.

Nearly all of our significant personal and professional achievements in the subsequent years have centered around this bucolic homestead. After meeting, courting, researching and eventually getting married there, we soon decided we would stage our most ambitious project to date in this magical space––we would shoot...a movie.

We hit upon the curious story of an eighteenth century woman in England called Mary Toft. Dear Mary became famous for a months-long ruse that involved her supposed birthing of rabbits, and sometimes cats. The small town hoax ballooned into a national controversy when it was eventually exposed by some of the king’s physicians. My wife and I were completely enthralled by this story and its contemporary implications. Was Mary wholly complicit in the mischievous acts, or was she herself a sort of duped victim...of systematic abuse at the hands of her family, her husband, her country?

We soon found a way to adapt and give this tale a modern twist that recast Mary as a woman of color alone in the woods navigating a host of creepy men, a miscarriage, and a supernatural rabbit.

Over the course of nine months, our idea gestated and began taking the form of a short film screenplay. This was something neither of us had done or been adequately trained to do before. But we knew we wanted it to be special, it was our passion project. We knew we didn’t want it to look amateurish––we were too old for that. So we took out a loan, hired an amazing camera crew, and in three consecutive days in the summer of 2017 we filmed our story, Velvet Cry. It was the most difficult thing either of us had undertaken...including planning our nuptial ceremony around our difficult families.

It was an incredible experience––intoxicating––also quite maddening and stressful. But it was all worth it. Because of our work schedules, it took us another year to finish post production on the film, but throughout that process, I knew I had found my calling. I would be a writer, and I would be a Director.

Perhaps I had been too afraid to dream the big dream before. Perhaps I had lacked the confidence, or simply, the life experience to tackle the complexity of human emotions, narratives, and interactions––but no longer. This is what I wanted to do and I had to find a way to get better at doing it.

In the intervening months, I have set myself on a course to develop my writing abilities as quickly as I could in anticipation of this application process. I know I have some latent talent, but it has been a long time since I’ve been in an academic setting, and in any case, I have never really attempted to craft drama on this scale before.

I’ve read many books, listened to countless interviews, attended online classes, and most importantly, written my heart out since relocating down the coast to the small college town of Gainesville in Central Florida with my wife in June of 2018. It was through a trip to her alma mater of Hollins University that we learned about the co-ed graduate program in screenwriting a few months ago. After all the debt I accrued in New England, I didn’t think I would ever go back to college, though I greatly enjoyed the experience. But what we learned about the program filled me with confidence and a desire to share in the wonderful legacy of this school that my wife is always gushing about.

Our Skype conversation with Tim Albaugh proved to be the deciding factor. I knew instantly that I wanted to be a part of anything that he was involved with, and I had the feeling that my ideas would truly be nurtured and harnessed into a craft––something tangible I could be proud of and use to propel my career.

I continue to mine my childhood and adolescence in Miami for critical stories and characters, situations that shed light on my own personal experience of life. I’ve found myself coming back to Paul’s Case. No longer caught up in the character’s stagnant, brooding longings for a grander life, I’m now able to revisit the story, appreciating the young man’s anxieties while evaluating how it all went so fatally wrong for Paul. There was no reason to despair, no cause for lost hope. I would take the necessary steps to become the artist I already know myself to be. The screenplay I am submitting as my writing sample is a new adaptation of this story, making Paul my own, and giving him a little bit of that South Florida flavor.

I will close by reiterating how I have visited Hollins, and heard many a positive review from the powerful women I know who have attended college there. As a graduate student, I know Hollins can help me to become a screenwriter, to become a filmmaker. This is the only graduate program to which I am applying––I have a very good feeling about all this.

I want to be a Hollins girl.

#college essay #paul's case #queer writing #hollins university

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sebastianshaw · 4 years

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Fic idea where its a swap and Shaw had a demon in his (titts) chest and Haven is the partner of Emma for the hellfire club. Bonus points if Haven has Shaw's mutation?

(Ok so firstly this is a wild concept and I LOVE IT! I’m sorry this took AGES to do because honestly this is so cool? But Bill happened, and, y’know...anyway! Also please take note this would be 80s villain Emma so she’s a bit more evil/heartless than you might be used to.) Radha Dastoor was a bit of a mystery to her White Queen counterpart, and it was in ways the latter’s telepathy could not help her with. For instance, she truly was not involved in the Inner Circle for her own gain. And though she had achieved the title of Black Queen, she did not wear it half so proudly as she did her nickname from those children she spoke of from years ago---Haven. And how had she even become Black Queen anyway?! She wasn’t ruthless or cutthroat or cruel, she did not politic or power-monger or manipulate. She just got here because it seemed everyone liked her just that much. How in the world did that work?! No one in the Hellfire Club liked ANYONE else! And no woman ever got anywhere by being likeable! ”And tell me again why I should care about this, darling?” ”Sebastian Shaw is an American industrialist on a scale rivaling a modern Rockefeller or Forbes--” ”Yes, I’ve heard of him, his wife drags him here sometimes.” ”---but we have evidence of his companies turning to most...uncharacteristic activities for him.” Haven spread out papers from a folder beneath her elegant gold-ringed fingers, ”Funding terrorist groups of all kinds, with no apparent commonality to their causes, only to the degree of chaos and violence they commit. Orchestrating civil unrest and environmental disasters across multiple countries. The death toll has hit the millions.” ”Again, explain to me the part where this concerns me enough to offer my aid.” Haven was trying to appeal to her morality, which Emma found hilarious. Would this poor dear never learn? It seemed she would, for she sighed and gave Emma a good answer at last, “Because the holdings of the Hellfire Club are taking a beating as well, Emma.” ”Then we either kill him, or find a way to profit from this.” Really, what was Haven expecting her to say? This was so tiresome. And knowing Haven, she’d hate either option. Not that it would stop Emma from doing it. She’d probably do both! ”And, Emma---it’s not just his money doing this.” Emma arched an eyebrow, and Haven continued, “He’s manifested...incredible powers. Powers beyond...description. The reports suggest teleportation, reality warping, just...wiping people out. Into nothingness. Rewriting them from existence.” ”A mutant.” ”Perhaps. He’s in his 40s and I have it on good authority he never showed such abilities before.” ”Good authority?” ”His wife. Lourdes. She’s a mutant herself, and she---she brought this to my attention. She is terrified, Emma. Terrified of her husband. Of what he is doing. Of...who he is now. She says he is not himself.” ”Darling, none of us are who we pretend to be UNTIL we get the power to show it without risk,” Emma smirked. So many people, she knew as a fact, seemed good only because they did not have the POWER to afford to be what the world considered evil. This Sebastian was likely not a different man at all, but only showing who he had truly been all along beneath the surface. But Haven was right, this late-age manifestation was unusual, and perhaps he was not a mutant---but if he was this powerful, as Emma now perused with interest from the sheets, then he should be harnessed as any other asset. ”Very well,” she acquiesced primly, crossing one boot-clad ankle, “When can we leave?” ”Right now,” Haven replied, “Lourdes is a teleporter.” ***

The security was child’s play. Emma simply turned off the minds of the human ones-- “You didn’t KILL them did you Emma?” “No, darling, sadly that might prompt a police investigation and then it gets to be such an irritation wiping EVERYONE’S mind who knows about it”--- and as for the mechanical ones, well... ”Not that I ever understand you, Haven, but your mercy towards machines is truly ridiculous,” Emma commented, hanging back as Haven tore through the massive mech guards with her bare hands as though they were paper...paper that she was really very careful with, all things considered. Haven, too, was a mutant, but her powers, unlike Emma’s own, were physical. The other woman could absorb the physical force of any blow, and not only be unharmed by it, but channel it into strength. In other words, the harder she was hit, the more powerful she became. A most ironic power for a pacifist. And a pacifist she was. She never used these powers for anything worse than a gentle restraint on others when she could have crushed their bones into gelatin. And she ALMOST did the same with these machines, taking them out yet in the way that would cause the least damage. ”It’s reflex, really,” Haven admitted as she tossed a robot the size and weight of a car aside from her, “I logically KNOW they’re not alive, of course, and cannot feel pain, but my body just...automatically halts itself from doing all I could.” ”It’s called muscle memory, dear,” Emma side-stepped a bit of gravel that had been projected her way when the ‘bot crashed into the pavement of Shaw Industries’s now very battered private parking garage. She didn’t want dust on her shoes! ”You’re so used to reining yourself in you do it, as you say, automatically. Even with automatons!” ”Why, Emma, that’s quite a clever wordplay!” ”Also automatic, darling.” Once the droids were all dispatched, they continued, until they reached Shaw’s office and found him---not there. ”The roof,” said Emma, “I scanned for his mind, and he...I think he’s one the roof but Haven...” For the first time Haven had ever seen, Emma Grace Frost looked afraid. ”Haven, there is something else there in him. And it isn’t human.” *** He was one of the biggest men that Haven had ever seen. Photos had not done him justice, particularly since those photos had been taken of him while in the confines of a restraining business suit that disguised his massive physical. Now he stood before them in the middle of the roof, missing the top half of said suit, hirsute chest bared. But more remarkable than how a 40-something man stayed in a shape akin to an Olympic powerlifter, was that even from a distance, his eyes were solid black, like oil filling his sockets. And the fact that he was levitating before them as golden energy crackled in the air around him, the sky dark above, a strange vast symbol beneath his feet. ”Hello Dastoor, Frost” he said calmly, “I felt you poking around in here...he told me. So there’s really no point in lying, I suppose. A relief, really---I was getting tired of keeping things under wraps.” ”Under wraps? You’ve been making a bloody mess of the entire planet!” Emma said, but Haven heard the shakiness under her typical posh indignance. Haven didn’t blame her. The very air around them was...wrong. There was an ENERGY in it, a presence, something horrible that seemed to crawl under her skin and nest in her cells like a toxic infection of the soul. Every breath felt like an anathema against nature, every hair on her body seemed to simultaneously be standing up and trying to invert at the same time, her skin wanted to do the same, her stomach wanted to void itself--- ”I’m making the ideal world, you understand,” Shaw said, still very calmly, ”All of this destruction, it has a purpose---to give man something to rise above. The strong will prosper from it, the weak eliminated by it or crushed under the heel of the worthy. The world has become too soft, too gentle, and the parasites have flourished, feasting on the work of the deserving, miring the great in mediocrity. You and your kind, Emma, Haven, you understand that, do you not? The Hellfire Club has sought power, control, has always used its influence to push things as it pleases...and our goals are not dissimilar. He has told me of your powers, and I make you this offer: Be my angels, my acolytes, and you may live.” ”No!” both women erupted, but for different reasons. Haven because the idea was repulsive to her, immoral, evil. Emma because she had seen what was steering Shaw, what was only TELLING him that this man-made apocalypse would create his ideal world as it pushed him forward towards its own agenda...and what that agenda REALLY was. ”Shaw, you are being used!” Emma shouted, afraid to go back in his head again, ”It is NOT remaking the world for YOU, you are merely--” Emma vanished. As though she had never existed. Haven looked at where she had been, then back at Shaw, just before she too disappeared. ”No!” Lourdes emerged from her hiding place in the shadows, “Sebastian, what did you do?!” ”Lourdes?” Sebastian blinked his obsidian eyes. Up close, one could see they were not EXACTLY solid black---they were dotted with stars. And right now, flaming suns supernovaed within their centers. ”Lourdes, I had to, these women came here to--” ”Sebastian, I brought them here to save you!” she wailed, “Can’t you see you’ve gone mad?!” Shaw blinked down at her. And after a moment, he said, ”No.” But Lourdes sensed he was not speaking to her. ”No, I won’t. Not her. Let her go. She can do no harm.” ”Sebastian, what...who are you talking to?” Lourdes eyes widened. He really HAD gone mad. ”Lourdes,” he raised his hand, outstretched to her, ”Those women...they don’t exist anymore. Because I decided they did not. And I could decide the same of you, but---” I can’t ”---I shall let you live as a punishment instead. You will live with the knowledge you brought DEATH to these women who COULD have lived in the world I created---where YOU could have lived with me. Go--” Go, get away, save yourself “---and rue this day the rest of your miserable, wasted existence in the great plan to come.” “Sebastian--” Lourdes began to plead, tears welling in her dark eyes as she looked up at what had once been her husband. “Go!” he roared, and Lourdes vanished, not erased but teleported far away, not by her own power, but by his.

And Sebastian Shaw looked out at to the world he---W̴͈̔̌̏̄̅̃͆̂̌͗E̶̢͍̻͂́́̑̋̌̉̊͊̽͌̿͝ͅͅ

̸̢̡͈͇̯̪͖̬̳̼̬̈͆́̈́̍̆̎ ---would conquer-----D̸̖͎̜̣̱̈́̿͐̎̈͂͌̈́̈̕͜͝ͅE̴͕̥̣̖̋̽̈̉̈́͒̊̚S̷̳̦͉͚̲̭̱̤͌̃̈̈͋̑͑̈́̈̎̀̕T̶̳̹̆̆̈̈̃̐̍͋̈́̈́͒̀͘R̷̡͔͓̝̞̳͉̟̱̤͌̎̈̆̓̒͜O̷̢̢͇̥̯̻̝̠̦̫̲̝͕̣̒͊͋͂̋̽͂̏̂̄̆̉́̈́̑Y̸͓̓̂̉̽̈́̓̂̍̈̈́̇̽̕͝--and reshape in his---M̸̛̳͖͐̓̍̽̔̎̍̈́̈́̏̿͠Ÿ̷͖̰͎̯́̐̈̚--image

#fic #writing

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 4 years

Text

A Perfect Mess

This fic is based off chapter thirteen of @matchacakesareforfoxes fic Domesticity: The Random Files

I love their fic and if you haven't already, please go read it and the chapter this fic was inspired by. It was a privilege to write your and I just hope I managed to do it justice @matchacakesareforfoxes

In this fic the reader makes a mess

__________

You had tried to do this before, but you hadn't tried to do so in this place. In speaking about this place, you meant in the warmth and familiarity of his kitchen; whose tiles, corners, and fascinating collection of mugs were almost known by name; of the items which hadn't been given a name, they still had a purpose but weren't as remembered or remarkable. You've cooked other things here, like lunches and dinners, and breakfast on rare occasions, but baking here had been avoided. It hadn't been because Zeta-7s kitchen was lacking. On the contrary, it was a delightful space and he had all manner of ingredients; you weren't in want of possibilities or lacking imagination, but you held a reluctance.

Talent, for a better word, was not what you had when it came to sweets. It wasn't an art like cooking, but a culinary science which you knew Zeta-7 had studied down to the smallest degree. Still, you were going to try. Oh, but trying was different than doing.

You leaned towards an upper shelf for the bottle of good vanilla and found you couldn't reach. If this hadn't been as much of a surprise as you wanted it to be, you would've accepted his assistance. You would've admired the outstretched arm which would've found no challenge in grabbing the amber bottle; filled with the essence which forever permeated a few of his favorite sweaters and at times was detected on his skin. Yet, those were sentiments which could flourish on another occasion, because you were going to do this on your own.

____________

Perhaps you should've prayed instead.

The song McArthur Park came to mind when you stepped on the eggshells which missed the trash can. When the baking soda spilled all over the counter you couldn't recall, and you realized you were dusted with flour as though you had applied it like an after shower perfume; you thought maybe you should've quit. Yet, despite losing the recipe you had pinned on Pinterest and the ungodly amount of sugar which had been used, the batter was mixed together and placed in the oven. Great, that was done but now there was the mess. Oh man, where to begin.

Glancing at yourself, you thought maybe you should change, but you'd have to swing by your house to do so. Decisions, decisions; it just felt like too much work. During the span of time when you had wondered as to what you should do, the scent of burning passed your nose. That part though was simple to figure out; the oven was on fire. Wait……the Oven was ON FIRE?!

“RICK!”

Wherever he had been in the house hadn't mattered, for not only did he rush in, but his three robot clones had as well. If you hadn't been so panicked, you might've wondered why they hadn't joined in past cuddle sessions. Zeta-7 wasted no time when he scooped you up in his arms while clones one and two extinguished the fire. "Are y-y-you okay?"

"I'm um… I'm fine, but I'm not sure about the oven."

Clone three removed the burned contents of what would've been cookies, and determined that nothing had been damaged, but it would take a while to clean. Seeing that his robots had it under control, Zeta-7 eased you down onto the couch not caring if you would leave a mess and inspected you until he was satisfied that you hadn't injured yourself. "Ricky, I told you I was fine."

"Y-you're right, I'm s-sorry."

"No," you sighed; disheartened but all the more so embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I can't believe this all happened. I should've asked where the fire extinguisher was first. That, or bought some baking skills at Bed Bath and Beyond. I'm pretty sure you can find it in the abyss of the Beyond section."

Now that death was not imminent, you were a jumbled mess and just babbled as though it would make things better or possibly make sense. Zeta-7 for his part studied you, and the more he did, the more you wished you could crawl under a rock. You deserved to be yelled at, scolded, or anything where you would be punished for daring to believe you could keep up with this man skills. And when he opened his mouth to speak, you thought you were in for it, but instead, he laughed; the kind which spoke of his relief; you hadn't quite expected that reaction. You were partly confused, partly annoyed that he hadn't been upset when he should've been, but your pouting only encouraged his amusement; his laughter filling the house with this happy noise.

When he was like this, you couldn't stand how much you loved him; how you were won over, and enamored by the radiance he exuded easily; all the lines around his eyes and mouth prominent but reassuring of his happiness. Soon enough, having watched Rick collapse over himself with mirth, inspired giggles of your own to bubble forth. It would be a few minutes when either of you was rational; at least enough to explain what had transpired a half-hour before.

You wanted to bake cookies and surprise Rick while he was working. That was it; just bake cookies then surprise Rick with said cookies; possibly earn a few brownie points; any points for that matter, but no, the Baking Gods were against such aspirations for you evidently. Rick for his part, placed his hands lightly on your shoulders and gave them a squeeze, leaning over enough so you both would be eye to eye. “I don't think any Gods had a hand in this, I think y-your power is just too great for baking cookies.”

You tried not to, but you couldn't help it and began another fit of laughter with Rick not far behind. "I don't think I have any powers worth mentioning, but they are weak against chocolate. As well as other things."

The laugh which had been ready to escape him seemed to die as he took a glance at your lips, then away as though whatever thought sprang up in his head wasn't worth elaborating further. You really wished he would've because then you could've elaborated on a thought of your own.

__________

When you two had found your composure, you set about cleaning up the kitchen together; hopefully, it would be easier now that you had gotten the taste of pyromania out of your system. “Rick, you don't have to stay here. I can clean it up on my own.”

Zeta-7 wouldn't hear of it and simply smiled. "It's okay. Besides, it's no fun cleaning up th-the dishes by yourself.”

You blew a raspberry at him, petulant. "Are you sure? Or is spontaneous combustion also a worry for you?"

"N-no not at all."

“You just don't want me to be in here by myself anymore, huh?” you teased; flashing him a wink.

Confusion; the silent inquisition which occurred when you danced in between the barrier of enigmatic and odd. The questions which he had never came up, for the confusion melted into something like a smirk as he flicked some suds on your nose with the dish sponge. With mock surprise, you grabbed a spoon from the soapy water and placed it under the faucet; effectively splashing him and also yourself. "That did not go as I planned it."

Rick shook his head at you, but instead of responding he dipped his hands in the water and splashed you with more soapy dishwater; you responding in like kind; splashing each other and getting water all over the floor and yourselves; completely soaked in a matter of minutes. You didn't want to know how much worse you must've looked. However, when you calmed a little from your hysterics, you realized he had stopped laughing; lost to his ruminations. You wondered if you had pushed him too far, or if he was upset about the wet floor, but what followed was not what you had expected.

He was staring at you past his drenched bangs, his electric blues immovable in their intensity; this in itself was not uncommon, but it gave him this otherworldly quality; as though they would glow in the dark if the lights went out. The front of his sweater clung to him; the outline of his lean muscles impossible to ignore. You felt warmth in your cheeks; warmer yet when the hand which had been holding a sponge earlier, came up to cup your cheek and an arm was slipped about your waist. "Rick, I'm a mess. You don't…you wouldn't want to..."

"Gosh, y-you're so beautiful." he interrupted.

"What? No," you retorted, trying to pull away from his grasp as though you didn't deserve it. "not like this. I'm a mess and the dishes still need to be washed. If anything, I'm a disaster."

Tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, he softened. "Y-you're not a disaster."

"Yes, I am. I disrupted your work, almost burned down the house and dirtied your cute sweater."

"Gosh, it was only a-a happy accident."

"In what way?" you wondered.

"I-I got to see you. I don't know when I-I would've stepped out of the garage. Possibly whenever I finished working on my latest invention, but I should've been here instead. We could've baked together."

"I didn't want to bother you. You had your welding helmet on and all those processor chips. I wasn't sure if you were making a computer or a doomsday device, but you were busy. I know how important your work is to you."

"It is important but not as important as you. I'm sorry about that. I - an idea had struck me and I was dying t-t-to get started, but it seems I wouldn't have been able t-t-to get that far anyway since I didn't have all the parts required. This means I-I did have time."

"I didn't know. I just wanted to make you happy with a sweet surprise."

"Gee, I'm happy having you here. That alone is enough. I got t-t-to see a whole new side to you that I haven't seen before. I don't - I'm not talking about the way you're dressed, but unlike those other times we've cooked together, I feel as though I saw the real you. You don't - I know how you feel when it comes t-t-to baking and how frustrating you find it, but finding you there amongst that mess, wearing an apron that's a-a little too big for you and the flour on your cheeks, why it was…"

"A mess." you frowned.

"An adorable mess; a beautiful mess; a-a perfect mess."

"Dear, I don't think those words go together."

"I guess they don't, but I meant it when I said I was glad t-t-to see you're alright, and here all in one piece. That's all I could ask for. I thought an intruder had managed t-to get into the house, or that one of the security bots had malfunctioned, which was why I unleashed my robot clones, but seeing that it was simply a-a cooking accident was the best thing I could've seen because it meant that I-I hadn't lost you."

The hand which had cupped your cheek slipped itself into your hair and smoothed it down, gently, and with purpose. The seriousness which you had seen in his eyes earlier had returned, and the arm around your waist tightened. "Rick," you softened. "it'll take more than burned cookies to take me away from you."

"Really?" he brightened.

"Of course."

Looking at you, in that funny, darling way as he did from time to time, he pressed a kiss upon your temple and lingered there; finding comfort in the closeness. You rubbed his back, and told him it was okay; that you were okay and that he didn't need to worry. Though, in reality, you realized that you needed to be more diligent next time you decided to bake. However, knowing that he had your back if you put yourself in danger again was comforting in its own right.

And when it seemed that he had been comforted enough, he pulled away a little, only to return with an unknown confidence and captured your mouth in a soft kiss; his insistence winning you over, and made you forget what it was either of you was supposed to do; all there being was you, him, and the fading world. Entranced, you seemed to mold into him, and melted with every second that passed. If you hadn't needed to breathe, there wouldn't have been any force in this universe that could've made you two part. Yet, part you would, and when he pulled away, you wondered. "What about the dishes?"

Whether he was aware of it or it was done unconsciously Zeta-7 chased after your retreating mouth. With cheeks aflame, he answered before kissing you again. "The dishes can ugh - can wait."

Fin

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threewaysdivided · 4 years

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Yo hey!!! I just read through your YJ:DW series and I absolutely love it??? So much??? You write absolutely marvelously and have such a wonderful devotion to characterization and everything feels very Real and Natural. Your pacing is most excellent, you really know when things need to be lingered on and when they don’t need much more than a passing mention. And g o d I absolutely adore how you characterize so many characters, but particularly Danny. Like, he’s still the same Danny from the-(1/?)

show, but he’s changed in very particular ways that really match with what he’s been through. He’s very cautious and nervous and frightened after everything that’s happened, afraid to trust, to let people know too much. And that makes sense with everything he’s been through! He’s been on the run for so long, settling in one place definitely chafes at him. More than he feels it should, but it does. And like! He’s so wary and on edge with meeting the Team and the League members. I am def- (2/?)

-initely looking forward to seeing even more of their interactions. And like!!! The team’s reactions!!! Are so well thought out and just fantastic. Like, how Robin is aiming for a mix of normalcy and just a touch of protectiveness. And M’gann is curious and welcoming and doing her best to be Team Mom without being overwhelming. And how Wally is so intensely disbelieving and flippant QND almost abrasive to Phantom. I really wonder how he’s going to change in his approach to Phantom,- (3/?)

-like if he’ll dig his feet in even further to the point of rejecting reality in an attempt to maintain the reality in his own mind, or if he actually will start considering the science behind ghosts possible. I’m so excited to see how that develops. Also, aside, can I just say I loved getting Black Canary’s perspective on things with the last chapter? It revealed a lot more of Danny’s proper abilities and strengths than ya’d necessarily be able to piece together with a younger perspective-(4/?)

-and it just really helps develop the dynamics of everything even more. I’m wondering if you’re going to end up giving Danny enhanced strength or not, and if so to what degree, as an aside, explaining a bit more why he might be pulling his punches. I also wonder if he has any hesitation with fighting living folks who aren’t actively trying to hurt him, seeing as he mostly has experience fighting Ghosts and Hunters. Also also, I’m just so excited to see them all go on a mission!!! (5 or 6/?)

-Aaaah I could keep gushing for a Good While but I’m forgetting how many asks I’ve sent and I don’t want to bother you toooo much, so Imma just finish with you write beautifully and I’m So EXCITED to see where you go with things and like aaaaaaaaah, ya kno!!! (6 or 7/ 6 or 7)

Okay, first things first, you are absolutely not bothering me. You found a piece of free content that I put up and - with no obligation or expectation - sent me six messages detailing how much you liked it, and that’s Delightful. It made my morning. ‘Bothering’ is more than welcome on this blog. Encouraged, even!

We’ve got a lot to cover so let’s get to it:

Danny’s Characterisation

Danny’s character has been a bit of a challenge to balance at times but I’m pretty pleased with how he’s shaping up. There was this trend I noticed back when I started where - even in fics I really like - people had a frustrating tendency to swing him too much in one or the other direction; either turning him into a confident wise-cracking hyper-powerful hyper-skilled Troubled Badass™ who everyone respected even if he was humble about it, or into a Sad™ Broken™ Tormented™ cinnamon roll who just wanted love and who trusted and is trusted by every hero with minimal persuasion, when really he’s somewhere in the middle.

He’s a hero, yes, but he’s also a teenager. He’s experienced and competent, but it’s in the self-taught way that leaves him with rough edges, blindspots and a lack of technical skill. He can be a good, confident leader when the situation calls for it but he’s also someone who reads as fairly socially introverted and canonically has personal self-confidence issues, anxious and depressive traits and really wants to be accepted by his peers. He’s friendly and funny and likeable but lacks social experience in a casual setting and can struggle with expressing his feelings, knowing the right thing to say/ do and being open with people. He’s not just one or the other. He’s both.

I also really wanted to explore the Death and Secrets plot points with more emotional detail. It felt like a lot of the time in stories where he lost his family, Danny would either stall out in a tormented Grief State right until a Power of Love/ Friendship-prompted revival toward the final act, or he’d be sad for 5-10 short chapters then bounce back to his old self and go off with his New Family like it ain’t no thing. With Deathly Weapons I want the characters to have to grow and come together naturally; to earn their healing and show why/how they’d come to like and trust each other, or decide that the other person is worth making the investment.

The Team

It’s kind of funny in hindsight but the Team’s development was a oddly late addition to the planning. Which was fine for Arc I - being very Danny-centric - but then, as I was brainstorming Arc II it kind of hit me that if I was going to call this fic Young Justice: Deathly Weapons I should really try to showcase what I liked so much about the series. And then I realised how much Danny’s experiences (canonical and DW-verse) and Team Phantom paralleled different members of the S1 cast, and how much character exploration potential there was to be had. Arc II is basically just 8 teens looking at each other and going “We’re not so different you and I” in various settings for 20+ chapters.

There’s this nice quote from Stieg Larsson that I think sums up how I see both Danny and the different members of the Team fitting together:

“I’m not going to compete with you. I’m better than you are at what I do. And you’re better than I am at what you do.”

All of them have at least one thing they’re good at, and at least a few weaknesses that other members can cover. Their skills are complementary, their personalities and experiences are complimentary and none of them feel redundant in being there. And with the extra challenges a DW-verse AU opens up, it creates a space where Phantom can slot in without having to displace an existing well-established member.

It also makes revolving perspective a lot of fun as I can tag in whoever’s mindset and perspective best fits the tone and information that needs to be delivered, rather than risking any one character losing their characterisation to their role as de facto narrator.

Despite how he’s acting right now, Wally is actually one of my favourites. Needless to say there’s a lot more going on with our resident speedster than simple garden-variety ecto/paranorma-phobia, but that’ll be explored more in the chapters Flashpoints, Combustion and Equilibrium.

Training and Powers

Bruce and Dinah both make fun writes because they’re adults with more maturity and experience, which makes them great sources of diegetic exposition and perception that the main Team wouldn’t carry as well.

I’ve gotten a few questions about Danny’s powers in that chapter and how close they play to canon, so I should probably clear that up. First thing is that DP’s canon is very wibbly wobbly about Danny’s power set (Is it super-strength letting him lift that or is he touch-transferring flight to make it weigh less? Are those ectoblasts actually fire or was that just an animation flourish? Can he teleport or is he just really fast and invisible? Does him lifting a rake that one time mean he has telekinesis or was it just a quick sight-gag?) so I’ve had to make some calls with grouping and sometimes dropping or altering edge-case powers to create a system that makes sense. The other thing is that Chapter 17 is Danny explaining the things he consciously uses on the job and exploring how they compare to similar DC powers, rather than detailing out every single aspect that makes him different from regular humans. (Kind of like how you wouldn’t bring up your own lung capacity, 20/20 distance vision or excellent patellar reflex unless someone drew your attention to it). The chapter mostly serves to do some character set-up for later and drop some needed exposition so that Danny won’t have to be breaking the flow of future missions to explain very basic facts about his abilities the first time he uses them.

As for pulling his punches, some of it is certainly to do with him being uneasy about fighting breakable living beings when he’s used to ridiculously tough Ghost Beasts, and some of it was specifically due to who he was paired against. But again, that’s something we’ll explore in future chapters.

Pacing and Writing

At this point I can only put this down to lots of planning, drafting and taking inspiration from the styles and structures of some very, very good published authors. Quite a few chapters started out as simple exposition dumps or time skips before I realised that they’d have more value expanded out into full entries of their own. (My drafting process = step 1: write too briefly, step 2: balloon to massively bogged down self-indulgent explorations, step 3: reign it in to something readable).

Books I definitely took stylistic influence from:

1. Steig Larsson’s, Swedish crime-mystery series The Millenium Trilogy. Lisbeth is one of my character references for writing both Batman and Robin.(NOTE: Hard MA+ rating, cw for explicit discussions and depictions of misogyny, homophobia, violence, gendered violence, sexual assault, stalking, drug use and Nazis. Good books but Discretion Advised.)

2. Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief.General influence/ reference for prose and imagery, especially for the tone of Roads to Safe Places (ch.15).(Beautifully written story about humanity, but set in WWII-era Germany so be advised that Nazism, Nazis, War and Death feature heavily.)

3. Patrick Rothfuss’ The Kingkiller ChroniclesGeneral influence/reference for style and prose, YJ:DW Ch. 15′s title is a deliberate call out to the same title in Chapter 18 of KKC Book 1.(Fantasy books with some fantasy violence and a little bit of sex but nothing especially shocking.)

I’m just so excited to see them all go on a mission!!!

Me too! Quick question though:

Just one? Or are all of these okay? 😏

Now that I think about it there’s a weird dearth of story missions outside of the one needed for set-up in most YJxDP stories. Not sure why. Anyway, Deathly Weapons is a beast, we’re going to do at least 10. I gotchu fam.

Aaand I think that’s everything. Thanks for dropping in, feel free to stop by anytime. Hope to see you around! ❤

#young justice: deathly weapons #chapter 17 #In which I meet a wonderful person #strangelady1331 #3WD answers

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baldwin-montclair · 5 years

Text

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 11)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY (some S2 and Shadow of Night).

Summary: Having agreed to become Baldwin’s wife and mate, Alisha is introduced to the De Clermont family and their allies, learning more about her husband and what is expected of her

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326

The Story So Far...

The only thing able to pry Alisha from the hot, soapy comfort of the bath was the promise of yet more marital bonding with her husband.

Husband.

It would take some time before she would genuinely believe it as second nature, since it was so jarring.

She also felt the same, familiar, pang of guilt that she’d been carrying since the night before, to think of her own selfish happiness after what had happened to her mentor, guardian and friend.

He died, scared and alone.

Now, not even five days had passed since his death and she was in a luxurious bath in a stunning mansion, in Paris. Without her connection with Baldwin, however, Guillermo would have killed her too and most likely have gotten away with it.

Would that have been preferable?

She knew it would not have been, Gerbert will be served the same justice as Guillermo and she would have to live for that to happen.

Alisha intended to live, as Michael hoped she would when he hid his important secrets on a drive, in her violin. He planned for what he knew to be discovered by her, something that would help daemons. This could only be achieved if she were still alive and living meant doing what makes her happy.

Baldwin made her happy.

Drying off, she slipped on a silk bath robe, no doubt provided by the probably long-suffering De Clermont servant, and padded barefoot into the hallway and towards the illuminated lounge.

Baldwin was reading, such an innocuous yet attractive thing, his hair still slightly damp from his shower - according to him the mansion had five washrooms - and wearing a casual dark grey sweater and dark trousers.

“Wow, you even look authoritative whilst reading.” She ribbed gently as she approached his armchair.

“Did you enjoy your bath?” He asked, glancing up momentarily from his book before returning his attention to the page.

“I did, thank you for running it for me.” She stepped towards him until she stopped, right in front of him.

“You’re very welcome.” He emphatically closed the book and leant forward to inspect the graze on her knee from the night of their first meeting.

“It seems to have healed.” He observed.

“It has been two weeks.” She retorted, the speed of their courtship suddenly becoming plain.

“Almost two weeks,” he corrected, “yet this is the second night of our marriage, tradition dictates that we should be-“

“Fucking one another’s brain’s out?” She suggested, surprising him slightly.

“Mrs Montclair, you have quite the sinful mouth on you.” He jokingly reprimanded but watched transfixed as she lowered herself to her knees in front of him.

“With My Lord’s permission, I would like to put that sinful mouth on you.” Her cheeks were flushed with the forward tone of her words and she had a momentary worry it was maybe too forward for him.

He framed her face in his hands and placed a gentle kiss on each cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose before finally reaching her lips and giving the lightest kiss before pulling back.

��Like so?” He asked, suggesting an innocent aim when he was well aware there wasn’t one.

“Not that.” She shook her head.

“Then I don’t know,” he gently stroked his knuckles against her cheek, “you will simply have to show me.”

She held his gaze as she moved to free him from the garments and undergarments in the way.

“Wait, just a moment.” He stopped her before grabbing a cushion from the nearby chair, directing her to kneel on that instead of the hardwood floor.

She was oddly touched by the sweet gesture and if she hadn’t already been eager to please him, she definitely would have been after shifting her position.

“Fuck!” He swore as she took him into her mouth.

They opted to start out for Sept-Tours in the morning and planning to be there by the afternoon.

Between her nerves over meeting his step-mother and her gratuitous enjoyment of watching him drive, she wouldn’t have minded the journey being double the time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than a suit before this trip. I like it.“

He had chosen a dark red sweater, the sleeves rolled to just before the elbow, showing the antique watch on his wrist, very similar - if not identical - to the one worn by Rebecca, the witch from the silent auction. He usually wore an expensive, modern timepiece so this was a deviation from his norm.

“It was a gift,” he explained, noticing her focus on it, “from my father, before he left for Germany.”

She understood why he would choose it, considering his returning home, it most likely helped him feel close to the man who sired him.

“You know you can tell me, what happened. Like, you don’t have to if you’re not ready but I’m here, for when you want to.”

“I know. Give me time?” He asked, almost apologetic for his stoic nature.

“As much as you need.” She agreed.

“A warning,” he started, changing the subject, “the paperwork is likely to be very tedious. There are many assets and properties that are traditionally bestowed upon the wife of a noble, for the maintaining of her dignity, as they used to say.”

“You’re giving me property?”

“Don’t get too excited, it will be a while until you are without me by your side all of the time.”

“Why?”

“The vampire mating instinct.” He answered simply.

“Is that it?”

“It? Alisha, if you were being kept from me, I’d kill every human, creature and animal between us to get to you.”

“Not the bunnies!” She answered with mock horror, she had a hard time believing his words were more than exaggeration and artistic flourish.

“Especially the bunnies,” he warned gravely, giving her a sideways look, “they know what they’ve done.” He joined in with her teasing, making her smile.

“It will lessen in time.” He explained, making clear the truth of his words and encircled her wrist with his hand, his thumb brushing against the skin over her pulse in his own uniquely intimate way.

“Your step-mother, what do I call her? Mrs De Clermont, Madame De Clermont.”

“Ysabeau will suffice.”

“Isn’t that a little familiar? She doesn’t know me.”

“Vampires have many names, Ysabeau is the one she’s comfortable in sharing.”

She nodded absently as the high towers of the fortress came into view.

“Oh, My God, we have to go see that while we’re here it’s massive. Will we have time for sight-seeing?”

“You want to visit that fortress as a tourist?” He asked, managing to keep the amusement from his face.

“There’s no way a medieval castle of that size is privately owned, surely it’s a heritage site or something?”

“No, it’s privately owned,” he explained as he took the cut-off for road through the town and up to the fortress, “by our family.”

“That is Sept Tours?”

“It is.” He confirmed as he pulled up through the gatehouse to see Ysabeau at the top of the stairs, waiting to survey the newest member of the De Clermont family.

“Your heart is thudding my little nightingale, please try to relax.” He urged as he parked the car.

“I’m fine, just a little nervous,” she admitted, “Ysabeau?” She nodded to the impeccably dressed woman.

“Yes, and she’s clearly waiting for us.”

“Please tell me she’s not as intimidating as she looks?”

“She’s...it’ll be fine.” He answered, getting out of the car.

She tried the same to find herself unable to open the door again and had to wait for him to open it for her from the outside.

“Passenger Lock, again?”

“I open doors for you, and you, are just going to have to get used to that.” He promised as he held out his hand to help her from the car.

Being discerning about which battles to fight, she accepted his hand and let him help her from the car.

“Baldwin.” Ysabeau greeted when they reached the top of the stairs and they shared a frosty double cheek kiss before she ushered them into the great hall.

“Ysabeau, this is-“

“Alisha, I’m aware.”

“Marcus?” He rolled his eyes.

“And Gallowglass, they arrived earlier today.” She told him and turned her attention back to Alisha.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.”

Not permitted to offer a hand in greeting, Alisha was at a loss and found herself doing a shallow curtesy.

Baldwin failed to expertly turn his chuckle into an inconspicuous clearing of his throat.

“The poor thing is terrified Baldwin, what have you told her about us?”

“Nothing untrue,” he gave a look around, “I thought this place was supposed to be full of creatures, where is everyone?”

“Our daemon guests are walking the child in the hopes of getting her to take a nap. Marcus and Gallowglass are riding. Sarah and Emily, I have no idea.”

“Marthe?”

“Shopping, for the celebration dinner.”

“Celebration?” Alisha asked.

“Of course, the head of our family is married. A celebration is warranted.” Ysabeau’s expression was just as stern as before but Alisha got the sense that she was having more fun at his expense than she was letting on.

“If we must,” he grumbled, “has Alain equipped the tower as I asked?”

“Of course.”

“Then we shall retire for the moment, allow Alisha to get her bearings.”

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Alisha felt slightly winded. The last two nights - and that morning - were the most exercise that she’s had in a while, given the events, and the number of stairs didn’t help.

“Fuck!” Baldwin swore as he opened the main bedroom to see candles everywhere, despite the obvious electrical lights. On the bed was scattered rose petals.

He lifted a nearby remote to turn on the lights but instead an unseen stereo seemed to start form nowhere.

I've been really tryin', baby

Tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long

Baldwin shut the system down with an emphatic click.

“I am going to kill them!” He promised.

Guessing his wayward nephews were responsible, she understood their decision to ‘go riding’ as she and Baldwin arrived and it was suddenly her turn to disguise her amusement.

“Don’t you dare!” He warned at her failure to keep a straight face.

“It’s kinda funny,” she admitted, “and if you really want to get them back, say nothing, act like nothing happened. All this effort for no reaction? It’ll drive them crazy.”

“That is...brilliantly devious.” He nodded, impressed.

“But you have to sell, it, no glaring,” she smirked, “well, no more glaring than usual.” She gave a surprised yelp when he playfully swatted her backside.

After a quick tour of Baldwin’s part of the tower, they decided to face the other guests and made their way to the grand hall.

“There she is, we meet again,” Gallowglass’ voice reached them before he did “have you tried out the violin yet?” He asked, innocently, glancing at Baldwin, anticipating admonishment.

“Not yet, I’ve been...” she flashed a deliberately shy look at Baldwin, “...occupied.”

“Well allow me to offer my congratulations to you both. Has he given you the tour?”

Alisha knew he was fishing for satisfaction of his prank.

“I will get to it.” Baldwin answered, still stern but giving him nothing.

“Mrs Montclair,” Marcus joined them and treated her to an amused bow, “how do you find our humble home?”

“A lot less forbidding than it looks from the outside,” she admitted, “it’s good to see you again Marcus. I didn’t get a chance to thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, really, I’m just glad to see that you’re better. Oh, and I should have the results of your blood work tomorrow.”

“Blood work?” She asked, looking between Baldwin and Marcus.

“You drank something that knocked you out for like a day, I took some blood samples in case it was something we had to deal with.”

“Fortunately not.” Baldwin answered curtly, directed more at Alisha.

“But you’re alright, that’s all that matters.” Gallowglass interjected cheerfully.

“Right, so, what about the tower, have you had a chance to get settled?” Marcus asked, taking the deliberate route towards a reaction.

“Yes, Baldwin’s tower is very...impressive.” Alisha smiled innocently.

“A lot of stairs though?” Gallowglass offered.

She nodded in earnest agreement.

“It was definitely a challenge, when I first saw it I thought I’d never manage.”

“I think you excelled sweetheart.” Baldwin placed a kiss on her temple.

“Thank you darling.”

The upset frown on Marcus’ face was reward enough as Gallowglass backed away slowly.

“I should go help with the...aye.” He departed towards the kitchens.

“Me too.” Marcus ran after him.

“They will consider the next prank very carefully.” Baldwin noted with triumph.

“Yep, did you see poor Marcus’ face, I didn’t know vampire’s could go pale!”

“Very Impressive?” He gave her a smirk.

“Yes, and I apparently excelled regardless.”

“That you did. I’m eager to learn what other talents you have, dear wife.” He leant down to kiss her.

“Nathaniel, more people,” a friendly daemon interrupted, calling out to someone in the other room before she joined them.

“I’m Sophie.” The girl offered Alisha her hand and she took it, one of her own, it wasn’t against Baldwin’s rules.

“Sophie, hi, I’m Alisha.”

“Another daemon, so cool, Hamish will be pleased when he gets back.” She gushed before turning to Baldwin.

“Who are you?” Sophie asked him.

“Who...am I?” He was shocked at her question when a second daemon joined them, tall and with a wary expression on his face as he pulled her back to his side.

“Baldwin De Clermont, he’s the head of the congregation.” He told Sophie.

“And of this household, I may add.” Baldwin corrected.

“Oh, Matthew’s brother!” Sophie perked up and Alisha noted the clench of her husband’s jaw.

“Baldwin, a word?” Ysabeau requested sharply from the doorway.

Alisha wasn’t sure she’d hear anyone speak to him in that tone. Surprisingly, he gave Ysabeau a respectful nod and turned back to Alisha.

“You are about to be plied with food in exchange for information, be as discreet as you can be.”

“If there’s cake I cannot make any promises.”

“There’s cake.” Sophie promised.

“You would sell out your husband for cake?” Baldwin asked with feigned offence.

“Depends on the cake,” she placed a hand on his chest, “seriously, go, I’ll be fine.” She assured him.

He watched as Sophie led her towards the smaller sitting room

“You need to feed, especially so early in the mating process.” Ysabeau told him.

He nodded distractedly, watching Alisha disappear from his view.

“Do you intend to turn her?”

“No,” he hissed, “you know very well it could fail and kill her.”

“Good that you realise that. But I suggest that it might be challenging to differentiate between the hunger of a creature and the passion of a man for his new bride. Go, hunt, feed and return to her sated...of at least one need.”

“I should change first.” He agreed and started towards his tower.

“She’s beautiful...” Ysabeau’s word’s stopped him.

“Yes, she is,” he turned back to face her, “and a very talented musician.”

“Young.”

“She’s twenty-seven, Ysabeau.”

“Hmm, young.“

“Okay, I’m going to go change.” He shook his head as he left, missing the small twitch of a smile of enjoyment on her lips.

“You’re new!” A red-haired witch breezed through the kitchen and made a beeline for the kettle.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” Alisha answered, startled as the witch gave her a hard look.

“Daemon. Is she a friend of yours?” Sarah asked Nathaniel and Sophie before turning back to resume making the tea.

“No, Sarah, this’ Alisha, Baldwin’s wife.” Sophie stated as though there was nothing strange in it.

Nathaniel swore under his breath.

Sarah’s back straightened instantly.

“Baldwin De Clermont married a Daemon?” She asked in a low voice, turning to look at Alisha.

“Sarah, come on.” Nathaniel tried to head off the coming storm.

“Yes, I mean it’s...it just happened last night and we came here right away to, I don’t know, do some paperwork, I’m not sure, and yes I guess I am Baldwin’s wife and...is anyone else thirsty?” Alisha faltered beneath Sarah’s glare.

“You’re American?” Sarah asked.

“New York, you’re from Madison, right? I recognise the accent, one of the girl’s in the orchestra are from there, it’s so nice.” She went on as Sophie handed her a cup of water with a smile.

“Let me see if I got this right...” the witch started.

“Sarah, she’s not the one to be mad at.” Nathaniel attempted again but received a withering glare.

“Baldwin De Clermont married a non-vampire creature, a daemon, an American and a daemon, all against the covenant. Is that...am I crazy or is that what’s happened?”

“She’s also a musician.” Sophie spoke up, trying to help.

Nathaniel placed a loving hand on her shoulder with a smile at her attempt to lighten the mood.

“Did I miss something?” Alisha asked warily.

“No, welcome home, Mrs De Clermont.” Sarah answered with a forced, and very sarcastic smile before she left with her tea.

“Have you heard the name Diana Bishop?” Nathaniel asked after he was certain Sarah had left.

“Yes, she’s married to Baldwin’s brother, Matthew.”

of the covenant. That witch is Diana’s aunt. It’s perhaps not fair that she took it out on you but-“

“I thought it wasn’t a hard and fast rule anymore, there’s a way to appeal?”

“There’s a way to allow creatures to directly request a dispensation,” Nathaniel snorted, “which will mostly never happen because of the vote majority required. Also, the entire genealogy of the parties are on display, that could put creatures in danger if they bring themselves to Congregation attention. Really, only those at the top will benefit.”

Alisha had accepted what Baldwin had told her, that there was nothing to worry about but now, she wasn’t so sure. He might have influence enough for it not to be a problem for them but she couldn’t take that route if it barred others from doing so.

“That wasn’t a dig at you.” Nathaniel reassured.

“I know it wasn’t,” she answered, “I also know that you’re probably right.”

Besides Michael, she had never met another one of her own kind, never mind two, she found she rather liked the experience.

“Is revoking the covenant an option?” She asked and noted Nathanieland Sophie exchanging a glance.

“I believe we have a celebration to prepare for.” Ysabeau interrupted and left before more could be said.

“I suppose we’ll be seeing you later,” Nathaniel chuckled slightly, “and don’t worry about Sarah, she’ll come around.”

Alisha busied herself deciding what to wear to the family dinner, as she hadn’t seen Baldwin for a while, he was possibly hunting.

It was strange that she hadn’t thought about how he sustained himself whilst in the city, but in the country, the only way was a fresh kill and she tried not to think about it.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in.” She called back to see a grey haired witch enter.

“You must be Alisha, I’m Emily, Diana’s aunt. Call me Em.”

Alisha shuffled her feet, slightly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I thought I met everyone, I didn’t mean to leave you out.”

“No apology necessary, I wasn’t here when you arrived,” she gave Alisha a smile, making her feel more relaxed, “and I took over baby watch with Margaret.”

“There’s a baby in this place?”

“Yes,” Em laughed,”you’ve met her parents, Sophie was very curious about the new daemon, Nathaniel is still not totally comfortable about Matthew and certainly not Baldwin. I offered to keep their daughter occupied while they kidnapped you.”

“Oh, right.” Alisha smiled, looking forward to meeting the remaining Wilson.

“I think this one,” Em pointed to the dress on the right.

“Yeah, I was thinking that one.” Alisha pondered, glad to have her decision confirmed.

“Happy to be of help. I just wanted to say hi, offer my congratulations and also an apology, on behalf of my partner, Sarah. I heard about what happened.”

“No need, I understand why she’s upset-“

“But she should not have targeted you, she understands that, I think she was taken by surprise, as were we all.”

“I get that. Apparently, my husband was not so understanding when it came to his brother and your niece.”

“Which is not your fault.”

“Still though, the Covenant-“ Alisha started.

Em shook her head, cutting off Alisha’s words just as Baldwin walked in the door.

“Ms Mathers,” he greeted cooly, the scent of fresh air on him, “can I help you in some way?”

“Baldwin. I was simply extending my welcome to Mrs Montclair,” she turned back to Alisha, “it was nice meeting you my dear.”

“And you.” Alisha watched her leave before Baldwin closed the door.

“I think I’ve met everyone finally, did you have a good hunt?” She asked, busying herself with putting the not chosen dress back into the wardrobe.

“Why was there a witch in my tower?” He asked, his voice low and measured.

“She honestly just wanted to say hi,” Alisha hoped a partial truth would make him drop his enquiry, “she was being polite.”

“That is rather contrary to my experience of witches.” He answered, removing his black sweater to reveal faint streaks of blood on his chest.

“Baldwin, is that-“ she rushed to him, checking for any sign of an injury.

“It’s not mine,” he assured her, “now, I must get ready, we have an hour, then we will be subjected to some ridiculous festivities but we must endure I’m afraid.”

“It won’t be so bad,” she smiled, relieved, and picked up the dress to show him, “is this okay, do you think?”

“It’s perfect.”

She smiled and hung the dress back up on the door of the wardrobe.

“Alisha, you are not to discuss the covenant or the congregation with that witch or anyone else.”

Of course he overheard.

Alisha rolled her eyes at her forgetfulness when it came to Baldwin’s preternatural abilities.

“Why?” She turned back to look at him.

Baldwin’s face was mere inches from her own, startling her. He’d never used his vampire speed in front of her before and coupled with the silence of his movements it was all the more disconcerting.

“Because I told you not to, because you will do as I say.” He tenderly cupped her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek before placing a kiss there.

“And never lie to me again!” He whispered so close to her ear.

He left the room without waiting for an answer, he clearly didn’t believe one was necessary.

She didn’t exhale until the door to the washroom was closed behind him.

———

PART 12

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alindakb · 4 years

Text

Letters to my Parents - Wednesday 19 Augustus 1992 - by Alinda

Wednesday 19 Augustus 1992

Dear mom and dad,

He ignored me, just completely ignored me. Turned around and walked out of the shop without saying a word. It had been a nice and fun day until then. After that I just wanted to go somewhere I could be alone and cry. He must hate me if he acts like this, right? He wouldn’t ignore me if he really cared about me, would he? Mom, why does he not want to talk to me anymore? I thought we were friends. Even more than friends. I just don’t understand. Hermione was really nice, we went for ice-cream, just the two of us after we finally escaped Flourish and Blotts. She hugged me and said we would find out what is going on on the train to Hogwarts. She is convinced there is something else going on. According to her, Draco looked sad when he saw us. And I have to agree with her. Because when I saw him at Borgin and Burkes he wasn’t really himself, not like I know him. He didn’t just say what was on his mind or acted like he was important. He looked down at the floor a lot and tried to avoid his father’s gaze.

I should probably tell you how I ended up there. Well, this morning Mrs Weasley woke us up very early to go to Diagon Alley. We had to use Floo powder, but I had never done that before. Mrs Weasley was a bit worried about that, but Fred said I would be alright. Well, Mrs Weasley was right to worry, because it didn’t go as smoothly as it is supposed to be. But it is amazing that we can just travel somewhere by throwing some powder into the heart, stepping into it and shouting where you want to go. And that is where it went wrong for me. I didn’t say my destination clearly. But it was difficult, as soon as I stepped into the flames I swallowed a lot of hot ash and coughed my destination. And then I was off, spinning very fast through the green flames. It made me feel sick, so I closed my eyes and tucked in my elbows as Ron had suggested. My bacon sandwiches were churning inside me and I wished it would stop. And it did, I fell face forward onto cold stone. The bridge of my glasses snapped so I had to hold them up to my eyes to see where I was.

It was a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop where I had ended up. But not one with supplies for Hogwarts. In a glass case nearby stood a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards and a staring glass eye. There were evil-looking masks on all the walls, some bones on a counter and rusty spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. And I was sure that the dark narrow street outside was not Diagon Alley. I was sure if I got caught here that I would be in big trouble. So when the bell at the door clanged, because someone was coming into the shop I hid inside a large black cabinet, leaving the door on a small crack to peer through.

My heart did some somersaults when I saw who had stepped into the shop. My dreams had done his sharp pointed features no justice. His hair was even lighter than I could remember and was styled sleekly to the back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person that beautiful and couldn’t help but smile. I wanted to step out of the cabinet to greet him when I saw that he was not alone. A man with the same pale, pointed face and identical grey eyes followed Draco into the shop. I think it was his father. He snapped at Draco to touch nothing and Draco turned away from him. I don’t think Draco’s father would be kind to me if I would show myself so I stayed hidden.

It is when Draco turned around that I saw his eyes. Still beautiful, but puffy and staring down at the floor. He didn’t seem interested in any of the items in the shop. His voice was monotone when he told his father he wouldn’t. The man told Draco to man up and stop acting like a spoiled child, that he should be happy that he would get a new broom today, so he could join the house team. When Draco answered his father his voice broke and I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He said he didn’t want to be on the house team, that he would prefer to concentrate on his studies. And that just doesn’t make any sense. He was so excited last year about the fact that he was allowed to try out for the team this coming year.

Mr Malfoy didn’t get the change to respond to Draco because a stooping man had appeared behind the counter and he focused his attention on him. I couldn’t look away from Draco, wondering why he acted so different from what I’m used to. I know he was worried about not coming first in our class, but surely his father would not buy him a new broom if he was still upset about that, would he?

Draco’s father was selling some of his things, saying that it would embarrass him if the Ministry were to call at their place for raids. Mr Borgin didn’t think the Ministry would call on Mr Malfoy. But the man said that Mr Weasley was sure to include him. I don’t think Mr Malfoy and Mr Weasley like each other very much. Well, I’m sure they don’t. They started fighting in Flourish and Blotts, but I’ll get to that later.

By this time Draco was studying the withered hand on the cushion. Mr Borgin said it is a Hand of Glory, a best friend of thieves and plunderers. He also complimented Mr Malfoy on his son’s fine taste. Mr Malfoy answered that his son’s taste needed improving, just like his grades. Malfoy turned to the window and I think he almost started to cry there in the shop. He let out a small ‘I’m sorry, father’ and I felt sorry for him when his father told him it was a disgrace that a girl of no wizard family beat him in every exam.

After that, Mr Malfoy and Mr Borgin continued the sale of Mr Malfoy’s his items. I didn’t really pay attention to them. I just watched Draco stare out of the shop window, swallowing away tears. He looked so lost. I didn’t understand then, but now that I think about it, I think Mr Malfoy mend Draco’s feeling for me when he said that his son taste needed improving. Do you think this is why he ignored me when I saw him again in Flourish and Blotts? Is it because his father doesn’t approve of me? Am I not good enough for his son? I just wish he would talk or write to me so I would know, this guessing is just making me feel worse.

When Draco and his father had left and Mr Borgin had returned to the back room I slipped out of the cabinet and the shop. I had ended up in an alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. And people were staring at me. It was creepy, so I started off in hopefully the right direction. I just wanted to get out of the alley and find Draco, hopefully without his father, so I could talk to him.

I was very happy when Hagrid found me there in Knockturn Alley (a sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told me the name of the alley). Hagrid dragged me back to Diagon Alley and helped me find the Weasleys. He also asked me why I hadn’t written back to him and I explained him all about the Dursleys and Dobby the house elf that had stolen my letters. Hagrid started growling about those lousy muggles when Hermione found us. She ran up to us and threw her arms around my neck and hugged me, saying she was glad I was okay and that summer had been too long without her best friend around.

Not long after that, we were reunited with the Weasleys and we went into Gringotts to get money to buy school supplies. Fred and George wanted to know all about Knockturn Alley, saying their parents never let them go there. Mr Weasley fixed my glasses by the way with a simple spell. I should ask him about that tomorrow, I’m sure it will come in handy this coming school year. I told Hermione I had seen Draco and his father in Borgin and Burkes, but couldn’t continue because Mr Weasley asked if Lucius Malfoy bought anything. When I told him he was selling, Mr Weasley sported a familiar grim and was saying that he’d love to get Mr Malfoy for something. Mrs Weasley responded in a sharp tone that he should be careful, that the Malfoy family’s trouble. They almost started arguing inside the bank, but Mr Weasley noticed that Hermione’s parents are muggles and he got distracted because of that.

After we’ve all gotten our money we split up and agreed to meet again at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy our schoolbooks. I, Hermione and Ron strolled off toward the broom store. Here I bought the new Nimbus 2001. It’s black and silver with revolving stirrups. Because they pivot they should be more comfortable while slitting in different positions on the broom. The shop owner told me it’s the fastest broom in existence and already ordered by all the big Quidditch teams. Ron is very jealous about it and has already asked me if he can try it out tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll let him after I’ve taken it for a spin myself. I’m looking forward to flying on my own broom. It should be better than the brooms I’ve flown up until now.

When I had paid for my broom and ordered the shipment to the Weasleys house I bought three large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams for us. Hermione told us all about what she had been up to this summer. She helped out her parents at the dentist practice and did all her homework already. Ron and I still have to start on them and I’m sure Mrs Weasley will make us do it any day now.

Ron has also been writing letters to Neville, who had a great summer with his grandmother. I asked Ron what had happened to Neville’s parents, but Ron didn’t know. Neville had been practising his flying and was now capable to stay on the broom without freaking out. I’m glad to hear that he is doing better and hope he will also improve on his other subjects this coming year.

The hour was over before we knew it and I was a bit disappointed I hadn’t spotted Draco again. But that all changed when we reached Flourish and Blotts. First Hermione went mental when she discovered that Gilderoy Lockhart was going to be there for a signing. Just like Mrs Weasley. We met up with her, the rest of the Weasley family and Hermione’s parents inside the shop. They were already in line to get his autograph.

When we got nearer to Mr Lockhart, a little wizard making pictures recognised me and Mr Lockhart seized my arm and pulled me to the front. It was really embarrassing how he shook my hand and told me to give a nice big smile. He was sure we would reach the front page together. When Mr Lockhart let go of my hand I tried to slip away back to the Weasleys, but he threw his arm around my shoulder and announced that he will be our teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, giving me a free copy of his stupid autobiography and all his other works in the process. I gave them to Ginny, the Weasleys need the free copies more than I do. Ginny gave me a shy smile when I dumped the books in her cauldron.

It’s then that Theo Nott walked up to me and Ginny, saying nasty things about me like I must enjoy the attention because I’m bent. And then Ginny spoke for the first time in my presence. She told Nott to shut up. Nott laughed at her, saying she’s wasting her time trying to become my girlfriend, that it was not girls I was into. Ron and Hermione had made their way up to us by then, so they heard his statement. Ron told Nott to check his facts, while Hermione pulled on his arm trying to make him stop. I just wanted to slip out the shop unnoticed. This was so embarrassing. Why hadn’t I told Ron about my sexuality, then he wouldn’t have made a fool of himself today. He’s upset about it all and I’ve moved to Fred and George’s room for the night. Mrs Weasley said I shouldn’t worry about it, that Ron will figure out it doesn’t matter and that I’m still the same friend as yesterday when we were having fun in the paddock, just like his brother Charlie had still been the same after he told them all that he was bent. I hope she is right. I would hate to lose a good friend over this.

So when Ron went after Nott, Draco walked by and I called out his name and he turned around to look at me. His eyes were on me for a second and then they moved to look at Nott. It’s then that he just turned again and walked out of the shop without saying one word to me. I wanted to follow him but was stopped by Fred, who just shook his head to tell me I shouldn’t follow. Meanwhile, Mr Weasley had told Ron to stop it. Nott was laughing, Ginny was crying and Nott’s father and Mr Malfoy started a nasty conversation with Mr Weasley. Before I realised what was going on Mr Weasley had thrown himself at Mr Malfoy, Fred and George were cheering their dad on when a dozen heavy spell-books came thundering down on Mr Weasley’s and Mr Malfoy’s heads.

I don’t know what happened next with the fight because Hermione had taken my arm and had pulled me out of the shop. She took me for some ice-cream and tried to cheer me up. When I was not close to tears anymore we went back to Flourish and Blotts where we found the Weasleys, Hagrid and Hermione’s parents standing outside. Mr Weasley and Mrs Weasley were having an argument and Hermione’s parents looked scared and were happy when they could take Hermione back home. She screamed she would write as soon as she was home. Ron wouldn’t look at me and Ginny was still crying. George was trying to calm her down. Fred gave me a fist bud on the shoulder and said it was okay, that their older brother Charlie was also bent and that it was nothing to be ashamed about. I just nodded and was glad that we were going back to the Borrow after all that.

Ginny is okay now, George told me she is just sad that I don’t fancy her, but that she will get over it. I hope she does, I never mend to hurt her. He and Fred also assured me that Ron will come around, probably very quickly because my new broom is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. I’m glad the twins don’t treat me any differently than before. They are asleep now, it’s already very late, but I just can’t sleep. I keep thinking about how Draco didn’t say one word to me. I want him to talk to me. I don’t want to have to share a dorm room with him this year and not be able to fall down on his bed to complain about Hermione her study schedules. Or not get his help with Potions, he’s been the only one who has been able to make that subject make sense for me. And I want to see him smile at me, I want him to hold my hand during breakfast and dinner. And I want to hear him complain about headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall and how they always seem to favour Gryffindor students. But it looks like I won’t have all that this year and now I don’t know if I want to go back to Hogwarts. Because it’s just going to hurt, seeing him without being able to hang out with him. I’m afraid it’s going to be worse than just missing him.

I’ll try to get some sleep now.

Love you both and miss you,

Harry James Potter

#letters to my parents #fanfic #drarry #Harry Potter #letters #Draco Malfoy #the weasleys #hermione granger #AlindasStories

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takingcourage · 5 years

Text

The Mid-Point Reversal

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 2,100

Summary: Jaime stops by Arden’s apartment after one of the worst days ever.

Note: Today’s chapter left a bad taste in my mouth and I had to do something about it. I tried not to make any changes that would significantly impact canon, but the thought of Arden spending the night alone just didn’t sit well with me.

Fair warning: This fic is messy and probably has copious errors. Compared to my normal turnaround time for stories, the 3ish hours I spent on this is really pushing it. If you notice any issues, feel free to (kindly) let me know so that I can correct them.

The headache still hadn't gone away. For hours, both temples had throbbed, followed by a gnawing ache in the back of her skull. Headlights on the drive home had just made it all worse. By the time Arden arrived at her apartment, she couldn't stand anything brighter than the nightlight above her bathroom sink.

But the headache didn't even matter. What mattered was that she was finally left alone with her thoughts -- finally forced to face the reality of all that had happened over the course of the day.

Heart pumping with an alarming pace, she finally acknowledged what she'd known for hours. Since leaving the hospital with Anna, she'd been hedging around the fact that something very serious had changed.

She'd hit her mid-point reversal.

She'd fallen. Compromised her morals for what had, in the moment, seemed the greater good. But a compromise was still a compromise. No matter what the circumstances had been, she'd broken her most sacred rule.

In stories, Arden knew that this was a defining moment that could lead to the resolution of the plot -- an either-or sort of choice that could lead to either a happy ending or tragedy. And in all the stories she knew, abandoning one's convictions rarely ended well.

But what else could she have done?

Through the day, her thoughts had layered and stratified -- building upon each other to the point where she could hardly make sense of all the varied threads of questioning and considering. Yet, in all of that wondering, she still hadn't come up with a solution better than the one she’d chosen.

Arden tossed off her work clothes, opting instead for an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of well-worn leggings. She padded back into the couch and lay down on her side, bringing her legs to her chest. A cold, damp nose nudged at the fingers covering her eyes and she reluctantly pulled them away.

"Hey, Opie," she managed against a tight throat, extending one hand to cup his furry muzzle. His mouth fell open, tongue lolling in contentment.

But instead of his usual litany of the day's events, the quiet endured. Arden heard only distant street noises several stories below. A fresh wash of uncertainty spread over her. How was she going to be a star reporter now? How was she going to do anything?

Much as she appreciated Opie's presence, it wasn't enough to comfort her tonight. She needed a distraction -- a way to get out of her own head, if that was even possible. All other ideas exhausted, she reached for the remote and turned on Netflix. She couldn't watch the brightly lit screen, but having some noise in the background would have to help.

Silence was intolerable.

Arden was well into her third episode of The Office when she heard the quiet rapping at her front door. No part of her wanted to stand and confront another living human being. After the day she'd had, the chances of it being someone she hadn't disappointed were close to zero. Arden pinched her eyes shut and willed the visitor to leave, hoping against hope that it was just an unwitting guest who'd gotten the wrong apartment number.

Of course, she wasn't that lucky. The tapping sounded again, this time ever so slightly stronger than it had been before. Eyelids scrunching harder to confront the sudden burst of pain that came with standing, Arden made her way to the door slowly and pulled the handle without bothering to look through the peephole. She finally willed her eyes open, keeping her gaze close to the floor to avoid the flare of fluorescent lights in the hall.

Jaime's presence came as little surprise, but after their last conversation it wasn’t much of a relief either. Eyes trained on his shoes, she widened the crack and took a step backward. "Come on in."

Sensing her discomfort, he accepted the flat invitation and followed her into the apartment. "Listen," he began quietly once the door had latched shut. "The last thing I want to do is bother you, but I couldn't stand to leave things where they were. It's been eating away at me and I just needed to see you."

"I know." She swept a mass of unkempt hair from her eyes, trying to focus on his face. The sides of his mouth turned down in a heartbreaking frown, concern for her evident in every feature. "I'm doing fine. Trying to get myself good and tired so I can get some sleep tonight."

She wouldn't blame him for not believing her. Not when she didn't believe the words herself.

"I hate seeing you like this, Arden. But if you think you're better off on your own, I can give you these and leave." He stretched out a hand and placed a small paper bag on Arden's coffee table. "I found some treats I thought Opie might like. I've had them for a couple of weeks, but kept forgetting to bring them by. I figured they'd help in case I needed an excuse to show up here tonight."

"You never need an excuse." Arden's neck prickled at how easy it was to slide back into their familiar intimacy. After what had happened that evening, why would he even want to visit her again? She didn’t deserve it.

"Good," he said approvingly. But his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened before. I should have just kept my mouth shut instead of trying to solve your problems for you."

Fresh tears stung Arden's eyes. If only Jaime could solve this problem. Unfortunately, nothing that had happened today was going to be so simple.

"Anyway, I'll let you get back to Netflix. But if there's anything I can do to help -- anything at all -- please let me know. I can't stand having you hurt like this and not being able to do anything." As he hugged her goodbye, the tears spilled out, rushing down her cheeks in two hot streams.

"Please don't go," Arden whimpered into his chest.

"I'll stay as long as you want me here," he promised, stroking her back with one broad hand. With his arms as a barrier to the outside world, she finally felt some measure of comfort.

She eked out a whispered, "Thanks, Jaime."

"Do you want to go back to watching The Office? I'm up for some Scranton shenanigans if they’re any help." He pulled back slightly to read her face.

Arden shook her head and extracted herself from the embrace. Grabbing the nearby remote, she quickly powered off the television. "I wasn't really in the mood for it, but it was better than sitting here with my thoughts. I felt like I had to have something on so it wasn't so quiet." She plopped back to the couch, resting her ankles on the end of the coffee table. Jaime joined her, Opie in close pursuit.

"Is it okay for me to..." Jaime motioned toward the bag he'd brought.

"Of course. He deserves one after today."

"They're supposed to taste like peanut butter," he explained good naturedly, though Arden wasn't sure if the words were for her benefit or Opie's.

"As long as this means you're not letting him eat from the jar again..."

"Nope, we learned our lesson the first time, didn't we, boy?" Jaime waved the treat with a flourish, Opie's eyes following his every move. "Now, sit." The animal did as instructed, quick obedience rewarded with the desired treat and several enthusiastic pats on the head.

Arden's lip curved slightly at the sight before her. Even through her headache and all of the day's frustrations, she couldn't deny the adorable partnership before her. Why did Jaime have to be so damn perfect all the time?

Guilt roiled her stomach at the reminder of how imperfect she was by comparison.

"Jaime?" She took a deep sigh and slid her hands into the overlong arms of her sweatshirt. Tucking her fingers around the thick cuffs, she measured her words. "I'm sorry that I can't be honest with you right now. Today's just been..."

No words could do it justice.

"You're fine, Arden. I don't understand what happened with the Carmichael interview, but I shouldn't have pried."

"You were right to. There's an explanation, but I can't tell anyone about it yet -- not even you. I know that's not fair, but I have to work it out for myself first."

She almost missed the quick flash of pain in his eyes. "I don't understand why, but I'll try to accept it."

"That's all I can ask."

"You're sure there's nothing I can do?"

"Just being here is helping. I've made a big old mess of things already. Bringing you into it would probably just make it all worse."

"Okay," he agreed weakly.

For a spilt second, she considered telling him everything. Maybe if the truth had all been laid out, he'd be able to convince her that she didn’t deserve the terrible names she’d been calling herself since leaving the hospital. Maybe he'd echo Anna's earlier assurance that she'd only done what any other person in her shoes would have done. Or maybe he'd be disappointed and remind her of every misstep she'd taken in the course of this miserable day.

Worse, he might try to do something about it.

Jaime’s interference wasn't going to help her expose Charlie Carmichael. He always had lacked common sense when it came to standing up for her. Until she had a plan, it was better if he remained completely ignorant of what had transpired in the hospital room.

But even as she made the decision, a small voice throbbed: you're making a mistake.

Jaime’s voice cut through the sound of her conscience. "Are you feeling any sleepier than you were when I came in? I don't want to keep you up if you could be getting rest."

Arden gave him a sidelong glance, wincing as the abrupt movement sent a shock of pain through her head. "I don't think I could sleep now if I tried."

His brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe...no, nevermind."

"What?"

"It's just, remember how comfortable you were when we were out stargazing? Do you think you might be able to sleep if I was there with you?" His cheeks colored at the suggestion.

"I have no objections to trying it," she admitted. The thought of tossing and turning alone was pretty miserable. Even if she didn't sleep, she thought that she might at least be able to relax with him.

"I'm not just trying to get in your bed -- I promise."

Arden snorted in spite of herself. "Jaime, I know you're not.” Under other circumstances, she’d have reveled in the opportunity to drive the blush a deeper shade of pink.

“Phew.”

"I think I've even got some sweatpants that would fit you. Lemme go check.” After a brief trip to her bedroom, she tossed the pants to the couch and headed into the bathroom.

Teeth brushed and face washed, she returned to the bedroom to find Jaime stretched out on top of her quilt. He’d donned her pants and stripped down to his innermost layer of shirt. Arden had seen him in loungewear plenty of times before, but she couldn’t ever remember having such a strong urge to curl up beside him.

“You can get under the covers, you dummy.” She plugged her phone into the charger, watching him from the corner of her eye.

Jaime did as she suggested, flipping down the blankets on both sides of the large bed. She climbed in next to him, running an appreciative hand along his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming by to check on me. And thanks for staying. I really don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You never have to worry about finding that out. At long as you want me here, I’m here, Arden.” His fingers traced the apple of her cheek, as if sealing the promise in skin.

In return, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Goodnight, Jaime.”

“Goodnight.”

Easing down onto the mattress, she rolled to her side and pressed back against the length of his body. His long arm wrapped around her torso before settling against the flat of her stomach. She nestled closer and shut her eyes, exhaling a contented sigh. With him, the guilt no longer felt so suffocating.

Maybe there was still hope of using this twist of fate for good.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #wishful thinking #jaime lewis #jaime x mc

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failtoplan · 5 years

Text

Future Imperfect - On Capitalism, Technology and Ideology

Looking out from the 31st floor balcony, it doesn’t seem high until you look down. Shenzhen stretches 80 kilometres east to west, but is only 10 deep, North-South. The city snakes laterally, littorally, between the hills of the Hong Kong border, along Shenzhen Bay to the Pearl River delta, like a badly kept concrete lawn, with clumps of seventy and eighty story towers sprouting like steel weeds. The 115 story Ping An Tower, the worlds 4th largest, the town’s own tall poppy. When night falls, the entire town lights up like a circuit board, streaming with steel and light. The immaculately kept, perpetually swept, cycle path along the Dasha river is filled with office workers on dockless rental bikes, hired by the half hour, headed to one of the city’s many tech clusters, downstream, deeper into Nanshan district. They’ve phased out almost all the old taxis, replaced with a fully electric fleet. The same for the buses. Pretty much every transaction, from street-corner noodles to legal fees are carried out with QR codes and digital wallets. Cashless, silent, sleek.

This is not ‘The Future’, but it is ‘A Future’. Two days a week I commute from Shenzhen to Hong Kong. The journey takes around an hour and a half, but the time travelled is greater than the distance covered. After getting stamped out of Mainland China and into Hong Kong at the vast Shenzhen Bay checkpoint, coaches and cars spiral up onto the five-and-a-half-kilometre bay bridge to cross over to the New Territories. As we roll up the overpass onto the bridge, the plaiting of concrete weaves carriageways from right-to-left and left-to-right. The first sign that they do things differently here. At least for now.

Hong Kong, like Tokyo, represents a certain obsolete near-future in the collective imagination. Having had its image and form repeatedly appropriated by Hollywood as a stand-in for numerous dystopias, the familiarity can make it seem almost underwhelming. Hong Kong looks exactly like ‘Hong Kong’ - a trait it shares with New York. It also feels like yesterday’s vision of tomorrow. The stuttering neon signs and diesel-streaked streets, PoMo towers and marble-lined lobbies are a particularly sharp contrast with Shenzhen’s unironic modernity. From its peak in 1993, Hong Kong has declined from twenty-seven to less than three percent of China’s GDP. But beyond the numbers, it feels like a city in decline. Slowly, megaprojects such as the Hong Kong-Macao-Zhuhai bridge and the China High-speed Rail Link are stitching the territory together with the mainland, bringing Hong Kong’s greatest fear ever-closer, becoming just another mid-sized Chinese city. With the perceived erosion of its Rule of law, the Special Administrative Region has become a contested space. The acute confrontation over the ‘two systems’ principle, is also representative of a bigger conflict between two ideas. Two visions of what the future could be.

Words can be problematic; they are both the obstacle to articulating a thought and the best way to try. This clash of ideas, in which Hong Kong is just one front, isn’t easily reduced to opposing pairs as the Cold War once was. Capitalism’s ‘victory’ over Communism was always an artificial, lexigraphic binary that pitted an economic system against a total political, social and economic order. ‘Capitalism’ is synecdochic, an easy shorthand for ‘democratic capitalism’ and the free and limited, markets, open societies and shared small-L liberal consensus regarding the primacy of the individual. Democratic Capitalism is Limited Capitalism. And it was ‘Limited Capitalism’ that ‘won’. The front line crossed by the arcing span of the Shenzhen Bay Bridge is not the battle between capitalism and communism. Socialism with Chinese characteristics is Capitalism unencumbered by Democracy. It is the front line between Total and Limited Capitalism.

Limited Capitalism was never an outright winner, but in its rhetoric, it strived to achieve the illusion of permanence. The rights of the individual – the societal sidekick to the economic superhero - has never been inevitable and maybe not even natural. Increasingly this relic of our post-Enlightenment experiments feels like a humanistic blip. In the face of Brexit and Trump, Bolsanaro and Orban, I have found myself increasingly having to defend the ‘pragmatism of the primacy of the individual’ to friends not just in Singapore and Shanghai, but Boston and Berlin. Yes, it is the freedom to screw up, but it is also the freedom not to be screwed with.

When measured in terms of human development Limited Capitalism has been a great success. But ‘Capitalist Democracy’ is a productive tension, not a synonymic pair. Capitalism privileges results, Democracy, the process. One is fast, the other is slow. The market is majoritarian, while the democratic enshrines the individual, not merely responsible to a simple majority. This makes elections, perversely, the least important aspect of a democracy. Limited Capitalism is an uneasy hybrid. You are free to consume, you are free to participate, but the between the two there is no equivalence. The human flourishing this has propagated cannot be measured by statistics alone. It is this tension that universalised the franchise, enshrined judicial independent and – aspirationally -declared Universal Human Rights. Less tangibly and more significantly it gives each of us a hope of genuine human dignity and all of us some faith in a societal-level trust. Maybe it was easier to win hearts and minds in the late 20th century with Right to Buy than the Rights of Man, but failing to promote the civil alongside the economic conflates consumption with participation, creating the opportunity for Total Capitalism.

-- Shenzhen’s subway tunnels are lined with motion-synced LED screens that animate adverts outside the carriage windows selling pizza and pet food station to station. My connected TV won’t switch on without first showing me a short film promoting the latest toilet paper or plastic surgery procedure. Pop-up ads and promotions are a pervasive part of every single product or service, physical or virtual that I use. Upsell, cross-sell, resell. The imperative to consume is everywhere, the Chinese Dream constantly reinforced as the route to individualisation and self-actualisation. Judged by the old Communist clichés of a “decadent West,” focussed on temerarious consumption, contemporary China is the most “western” place I have ever lived or been. One where I am no more and no less than the sum of my purchases. I buy therefore I am.

At the same time deep integration of seamless technology has evolved a new species of human as consumer, Homo Emptus. The local branch of KFC lets me buy a Family Bucket with nothing more than my face, using cameras linked directly to my virtual wallet which holds my credit cards and fictive cash. Recently I was walking through the precinct by my block, when a young woman ran up to me, apologising. Her cleaner’s phone had stopped receiving transfers and she didn’t have the cash to pay. Did I have any? Pulling a handful of 100 yuan notes out of my pocket, she pulled out her phone, scanned my wallet and transferred me the 300 kuai which I had in cash. In less than a minute I had become a human ATM. It was demeaning and thrilling at the same time, I imagine not dissimilar to the excitement felt by the freshly humiliated submissive.

Sometimes living here can feel like magic. But if you only immerse in the wonder, you miss the cost. Recently, a group of cyclists in Shanghai rode past a police officer, stopped by the side of the road, deep in an animated discussion with the driver they had just pulled over. The group, aware the policeman was otherwise occupied, slowly rolled through the red signal ahead, traffic light on a quiet Saturday morning. Fifteen minutes later by the time they had reached their café stop and pulled out their phones to pay, they had all been fined. Facial recognition cameras mounted on top of the police car had ID-ed them and then allowed the officer digitally ensure justice was done. When we are defined only by our consumption, this make complete sense, our economic life is simply ‘life’, giving the state unprecedented control in return for our convenience. Seamlessness may be fast, but to protect Limited Capitalism, we need seams.

The reality is though that our willingness to conflate commercial choice with civil freedoms has makes it easy for us to walk backwards into Total Capitalism. Using ‘Capitalism’ as a shorthand for so long has meant a lack of focus on the social and political dimensions that has allowing the market to perform as a poor stand-in for the whole. This has led to declining trust in the very institutions that underpin both our societal freedom and our consumer choice. The recent World Values Survey shows a minority in both Europe and the US of people born after 1970 believe it is ‘essential to live in a democracy.’ If this is the case then we have collectively failed to remind ourselves what ‘democracy’ really entails. It has also led to the bizarre inversion for many on the neoliberal right who see any democratic limit placed on the market as ‘undemocratic’

The rising indifference to the democratic can be seen in part as a consequence of Limited Capitalism’s success. Just as a fish does not know that it is wet, we take for granted the protections afforded the individual. We have collectively and systemically failed to remind ourselves of the importance of the water we all swim in. Political leaders and populist demagogues who owe their very existence to the small L liberalism that underpins Limited Capitalism have failed to give credit, choosing instead to pee in the pond for short term gain. Taking our collective socio-political foundations for granted has led to their erosion. Ignoring them has also reduced the success of a state to its economy alone. Whilst freedom of speech won’t feed my children, GDP won’t make them happier or more morally rich. This tyranny of the economic means that states which favour the fast and the outcome will be judged the best performing, outshining those that optimise for the slow, the process, the individual. By judging a state by its economy rather than their humanity, we set up a framework in which the Total Capitalism is not only increasingly easy to admire, but objectively ‘better’, with no way to quantify its glaring qualitative flaws. The fallacy that our economic lives are an adequate stand-in for our civic ones provides the ideological misdirection to pull the trick off. Only what is counted is valued.

Total Capitalism, by succeeding on these terms, promotes a worrying model of growth and unfreedom, chipping away at the old liberal consensus. As pervasive technologies allow ever-greater accumulation of information, we are reaching an inflection point, two divergent versions of how this data is used and its implications for how we live. Progress marches an there is a decision to be made, inaction is not possible. A battle that is waged by only one side, even one of ideas, is not without bloodshed; it is a massacre.

Unencumbered by the limits that the state apparatus of Limited Capitalism places on it, technology can quickly become dystopian. The Limited Capitalist model is not just a check on economic entities – as the EU has proved with its fines on Google and Microsoft - but also on governments. And it adds an implicit societal dimension to the economic role. When Apple refused to provide a back door to iPhone for the FBI, it was asserting its social responsibility, not just its economic function. It helped that these two impulses were congruent here, but the difference between that and the case of the Shanghai cyclists is stark. Tencent, makers of the ubiquitous WeChat Wallet in question, were doing nothing wrong by allowing the state to pick pockets; they were fulfilling their duty, legally obliged to do so in the People’s Republic. The FBI’s response to Apple’s refusal was that American lives might be lost, but people died enshrining the rights Apple was upholding. Do we still believe the defence of the individual is worth dying for?

It would be worth asking that question to the millions of minority Muslims constantly surveilled, or interred in camps in Xinjiang. Advanced monitoring technologies, sharpened to scalpel-like precision, have created an unprecedented digital panopticon. The whole region is monitored at a level of detail that previously would have taken vast armies of watchers and handlers. Now instead, the state has the ability to micromanage human life at a macroscale; facial recognition, device tracking and digital monitoring turn an entire country-sized region into a prison colony. Xinjiang is not just a tragedy though; it is a testbed. China has rolled the same systems across the entirety of its domestic train network as well as at every airport, port and major public area. More disturbingly, it is a showroom for the implementation of its own particular strain of Total Capitalism. A sinister demonstration of how to unshackle the market from democracy, providing economic liberation whilst maintaining total control. For parts of the world that were previously faced with the choice between an all-inclusive version of modernity, open society and all, China offers an alluring alternative, a cake-and-eat-it model powered by pervasive technologies and financed by Belt and Road loans. And it is one that has succeeded by our own ‘Capitalist’ yardstick.

Total Capitalism is by no means inevitable, and its vision of the future not the only one. Technology is neutral and can be used co-opted for community as well as commerciality. The liberal limits within Liberal, Democratic, Limited Capitalism have allowed it to do both. But our willingness to collapse the social, political and economic into one big flat now have left us at a critical juncture. Hong Kong’s fight is an imperfect allegory for the decision that we need to make about what we should measure and what really matters, particularly in the developed world. We cannot take for granted what we already have. An era is only named after it has long passed. It is up to us to decide if we are to witness the end of this one.

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