#I have a gasing from ages ago that I could never figure out how to spin with the string...I wonder where it is now...

[hydralune]

a delicious meal 🥪

[kwonhoshi0]

𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 | fic

navigation | requests : open | 12th march 2021

pairing : dabi x fem!reader

genre : fluff, angst

word count : 3.1k

warnings : fire, death, trauma

themes : strangers to lovers, mutual pining, denial, story changes,

summary : you had to get away from the toxicity that is your father and the hero society. after 17 years of being trapped, you finally have a chance to escape but with a man you didn’t really expect to help. you wondered why he helped you, you don’t know it’s because you don’t question his looks, you saw him not his scars.

you didn't plan for this, you didn't expect him to save you.

the corrupted superhuman society, the toxic society you lived in angered you. maybe things would've been different if your quirk, or your parents weren't who they are.

they wanted to mold you into the perfect weapon against villains, were the villains really the bad guys? who had the right of calling people heroes and villains. what separated them.

those thoughts you asked yourself each day growing up, if you could even call it that. 

everything was okay at first, you felt loved, but once your quirk manifested that changed, drastically.

training everyday until you couldn't move, the tears, the bruises. when would it be enough, is this really what it took to be a hero, to be deemed worthy of such a title?

you had already had to endure 12 years of training constantly, for your dad. you always wondered what is would've been like, to grow up in a stable happy home.

your father had been rejected by the superhuman society, his views were called sick and twisted. he wanted, needed to make you the best. that would've been okay if he let you have a childhood, if he trained you like a daughter not a robot. 

your fathers quirk is jet fire, he can quite literally make jets of fire with his mouth. the green haired man wasn't always bad, he didn't always push you or bruise you. you remembered there was a time, he would hold you, he’d spin you around. 

your quirk is the manipulation of fire, with the particles around you, you can create fire and other gases like smoke. it was a literal merge of your parents quirk, except you don’t breathe fire you create it with your hands.

your mother hasn't talked to you properly since your father started training you at the age of 5. maybe it was the guilt, she never questioned her husband, he had left another woman for your mother, personally you thought she was the last thing holding your fathers sanity together. the guilt of ruining you, corrupting you had haunted her so much she didn't even notice the scars and bruises on your body.

you had never had a real mother figure to show you how strong women are. she would never tell you this but she wondered where you got your anger and courage from.

everyone has a breaking point. yours was when you realized your parents would be living your life for you until they die. that terrified you more than you'd like to admit. the thought of living your life as a hero, a hero you didn't believe in or want to be. an entire lifetime in someone else’s shadow.

did you really live 17 years for this.

you thought about this as you stared up into your ceiling. it was 1am and you couldn't sleep, again.

you had had an argument with the green haired man you were cursed to call dad. it got heated and you locked yourself in your room, you had a bag packed full of clothes and money. staring at it you thought, is it worth it, will all this be worth it.

heroes and villains, you scoffed, they're all the same.

hearing loud steps coming up the stairs, you panicked standing up quickly and shoving the bag into your closet.

“y/n!”

“what” you looked at your door where the man stood, putting your book down next to you. 

“training in 1 hour” you stared at him incredulously, it is 1 fucking am and this lunatic wants me to train, Now.

“no” you deserve sleep, you only finished training a couple hours ago.

“you will train with me in one hour, or else i’m taking your phone and you’ll be training until tomorrow night.” you sighed frustrated and angry as he slammed your door shut. of course he’d take away my one fucking escape.

your eyes darted to the bag peaking out the corner of your closet, maybe today is the day.

you stared at it for a minute before grabbing the bag and checking everything was in there before grabbing a couple more items of clothing and your charger cable. you quickly got changed out of your training clothes and shoved on some baggy jeans and a black turtle neck with some boots. ‘fuck okay, we’re doing this’

you grabbed a pillow and shoved it under your sheets to make it look like you’re sleeping and opened your window, your room was on the second floor so you weren't worried about the drop, you jumped down using smoke to soften your fall and you ran through the alleyways of the city.

after an hour of running you leaned against the wall of an alley and checked your phone to see 30 missed calls from your father. before leaving you made sure to turn off the tracking app and restrictions on your phone.

as you turned to run through the alley you felt eyes on you, a cold breath made the hairs on your neck jolt up, yelping slightly you jumped forward to see.. some sort of sludge monster?

‘fuck’ you breathed as it backed you against the corner, throwing your bag to the side you floated up a little with your quirk and blasted fire at it, it parted where you aimed the fire before molding back together, ‘strong, worthy of me’ it breathed and it collided with you making you scream out in pain, it was agony, it felt like it was ripping you apart inside out.

you could hear voices coming closer but you were a little preoccupied. you had an idea, you slowly created as much fire you could with your hands, the creature shrieked pushing you away as you gasped air filling your lungs again.

you noticed a circular black matter at the end of the alley where the sludge monster appeared from, before you could inspect it it shrunk until it was nothing.

the same voices you heard earlier yelled as the sludge monster slipped through the drains “she’s valuable, she defeated that monster” a man said coming closer to you, you looked at him with furrowed eyebrows “touch me and you die” you breathed standing up from the dirty alley floor. “feisty too” he chuckled.

you were outnumbered, it was 6 to 1 in a small alleyway. before the men could come any closer a voice behind them made them turn, ‘the people you wanted dead are just that, where’s my payment ’ you couldn't see his face so you attempted to look around for an escape, you noticed a drain pipe leading up to a sturdier metal one, if you could jump onto the electric box and swing your up you could make it onto the roof, you just needed to time it perfectly.

one of the men turned to keep an eye on you, “we’ll have your payment in a week” the man in the middle scoffed turning back to you, “you know that’s not good enough, the payment, now or i’ll burn you to ashes” he said with venom laced in his voice, one of the 6 men had moved to the side, you had a clear few of who they were talking to you, you felt as your face heat up at him but you shook it off.

you raised an eyebrow at him signalling to the metal bar, you weren't sure if he’d help you but he’d probably help you if it was for his benefit as well. he flicked an eye between you and the metal bar immediately smirking at your plan. 

you took his smirk as a confirmation and grabbed your bag from the floor and lifted yourself up with smoke from your feet and jumped swinging yourself from the metal bar to the roof, before you could fully push yourself onto the roof you felt a hand gripping onto your leg, you tried shaking the man off only to feel blue heat take over the alley beneath you.

your eyes widened slightly as the scarred man continued burning the men below you, “stop it!” you yelled as he raised an eyebrow at you the blue flames dying down to nothing.

you sighed in relief rolling onto your back, the men scurried away, burnt but alive.

“why’d you stop me?” he asked, you supported yourself on your elbows as he climbed up onto the roof, he didn't look mad, it was a genuine question. “i don’t know maybe i didn't want to see anyone die.” you deadpanned sitting up dusting the dirt off of your clothes.

he looked at you as if you were the most confusing person in the world, you hadn't asked about his scars or flinched when you saw him, or stared at the purple marks around his face and body. he wanted to know why.

“what?, do i have something on my face” you pouted slightly running a hand through your hair. “no, just surprised” you pursed your lips as if waiting for him to say more, you stood up and grabbed the bag full of your belongings you mumbled a “thanks”.

“what was that smokey?” he smirked, a nickname, really. you rolled your eyes at his remark “you should be thanking me as well, without me you would’ve been cornered” he nodded a little at your words “hm well, what’re you doing out here”.

“ran away” you said quickly as you stared at the missed calls on your phone screen. “i need to get away from here” you added as he watched your every move as if trying to decipher you.

“well, you wanna go to hosu?” you looked up at him in disbelief, “what’s in it for you”, he looked conflicted you weren't great at reading people, its not like you had friends or anyone other than your parents around growing up. 

“might change my mind” he grinned before motioning you to follow him, you cautiously followed his steps along the rooftop. “wait i don’t even know your name”. he turned around for a split second before jumping onto another roof, you did the same, “what’s yours”.

“y/n mido- just y/n” if you were really going to leave this world behind then this is where to start, leaving behind your fathers name.

“names dabi, why did you run away” he’s intriguing, besides you needed to get as far away as possible and he’s willing to help so telling him this isn't exactly a danger to you.

“my dads a dick, he’s trying to train me to become the greatest hero but if this is what it takes to have the fucking honor of being called a hero then i don’t want it. i don’t want to be controlled my whole life, or live a life i don’t want”.

“huh, sounds familiar” he joked leading you out of the alleys closer to the lit up streets of the city. you smiled at his joke before jumping down the building as he did using smoke to soften your fall again, he zipped the trench coat up around his mouth and let the hood cover his hair, his piercing blue eyes and nose were the only facial features visible, you laughed slightly at the sight making him roll is eyes at you.

you moved to peak around the corner of the alley, dabi stuck out a protective arm before peaking out as you tried to do a couple seconds before. he let his arm fall to his side again before motioning you to join him, you walked beside him. 

the large lights and billboards made your eyes go wide, “what you never seen the city at night before?” he joked watching your expression stay the same, you looked like a child seeing fireworks for the first time, it was endearing yet sad. had you really been isolated like this, never even seeing something as simple as lights in the darkness.

“i told you, my dad trained me most of my life, so I've never had the luxury of seeing this, never mind at night.”

he hummed at your words as he turned another corner grabbing your arm and dragging you in at the last second making you yelp, a couple motorbikes and cars stood in a line along the small street. the man eyed each of the bikes, you watched as he grabbed a key from a pocket in his oversized trench coat and placed it into a black and blue motorbike before throwing a leg over the seat and turning a head to you. “you coming or not?”.

you grinned before jumping up into the seat.

the world blurred past you, lights buildings and people became one, it really was beautiful, your wide eyes tried to catch everything as you sped past. “where are we going!” you yelled over the noises of traffic and people. “1 day in the city, then hosu city”.

you had never felt more alive, of course you were taking a risk going somewhere you didn't know with a stranger but this was better than being trapped in a house you couldn't call home. 

you gripped his waist as he sped up slightly, he probably didn't how much you hadn't seen, or how much you'd been cut off from the world you thought, in reality he knew more than anyone.

he was busy in thought as you sped past the lit buildings, he watched in the small metal mirror at your expression.

she’s the type to fall in love with everything unreachable, just like i once did.

maybe this was a bad idea, i could’ve just told them i lost her.

the sun started rising a little after you left for the centre of the city, the sunrise you knew all too well rose, sleepless nights led to you watching the sunrise on the rooftop of your house. it was lonely, being alone wasn't something you thought about often. people are disappointing is what you had been taught through experience but however much you wanted to be okay with loneliness you knew you’d find someone to change that, a friend.

“aye you still awake?”,

“mhm”, he grunted in return as you asked him about how much he’d seen of the city, the conversation went onto talk of your family. 

“my mother, she was so in love with the idea of my dad that she kind of just ignored how he treated me, they were good parents at some point, but somewhere along the line that changed”

the day was the most fun you had ever had and much to his disgust you went shopping, you were taking a while “fucking hell, yeah that’s fine”, you frowned at his tone before grinning “hm ill find something better”.

“No, no that is good, yeah its great stick with that”, you laughed at his annoyance before going to pay, “i’ll pay” you shook your head a little grabbing the card you put your fathers money on. 

he rolled his eyes before shoving his own card in the machine and punching in a couple numbers, you thanked him and took the bags resting them on your arms. 

the day went by faster than you liked, you soon found yourself heading towards the motorbike, the black haired man followed next to you eyeing your every move.

she’s going to hate me.

you followed the road out of the city towards another, the lights slowly becoming only dim streetlights. the bright yellow lights of the city were far behind you but even within the peace something was off, you could feel the tension between you and the male, even if you were to ask its not as if he’s going to tell someone he’s known for a little over a day.

“where are we staying in hosu?” you tried to fill the tension with small talk, the man sped up a little before answering “with a couple uh friends, they’re weird”. you nodded as if he could see you, just as you were about to ask him about his ‘friends’ you felt a drop of water hit your cheek.

as the rain slowly got heavier you giggled feeling the drops slide down your face, “what’s so funny smokey” he turned slightly to look at you, you blinked the rain out of your eyes to look at him not expecting to see his bright cerulean eyes looking straight into yours, your breath hitched slightly but you didn't look away, his eyes averted back to the road again and you let out of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

he found himself somehow jealous of the fact that the rain got to touch you, your eyes lit up as you watched the lightning flash across the night sky.

he huffed in anger at himself for even feeling these things, whatever, shes gonna hate me after this anyway.

with only an hour left for hosu you felt yourself getting tired and you grabbed a monster from your bag, you opened the can shuddering a little at the cold you chugged most of the acidic down your throat before hearing the boy in front of you elbow your knee, his hand was held out for the drink, you rolled your eyes pouting slightly and handed him the drink, the rest of the sugary drink drained down his throat. 

something about him intrigued him, maybe it was his mysterious nature, mystery had always drawn you in, it was fun figuring out mysteries and conspiracies, so why is he so difficult to figure out. his eyes were the most mysterious to you, his bright ocean filled eyes. they held so many stories, so many emotions you couldn't decipher.

“hey i asked you a question” you shook away your thoughts and asked dabi to repeat it he sighed shaking his head before smirking for a split second, “i asked how much you hate villains”, you furrowed your eyebrows at his question.

“i don’t hate villains.” you said simply he looked back at you as if asking you to carry on.

“its unfair how quick people are to decide the difference between heroes and villains, most heroes aren’t even good people, they're just fakes hiding behind the mask that is saving people, you hurt people in secret your whole life and then save a couple people and you’re suddenly a hero?, i don’t hate villains, i hate people who think get can choose who’s a hero and who’s a villain just from their appearance”.

he thought for a couple minutes before his lips curled into a small smile, she really gets it huh.

“i’m not stupid, i know you’re deemed a villain dabi, but you don’t seem one to me”, his smile softened a little as if you said the most meaningful words to exist, he felt his walls slowly breaking for you, worst part is he let it happen.

he turned one final corner before parking outside what looked like an abandoned warehouse, you hopped off the bike and followed the man to the door he sighed slightly, he let you go in front of him, you stopped at the door and turned around to look at him questioning his sigh.

he inched closer to you as your back pressed against the door, your eyes widened as his former comforting smile turned into a sad smile, as if he wished this could last.

your breath hitched as his face got closer, he grinned for a second his nose brushing against your own, just as you thought he was going to kiss you he pulled back slightly and lifted his hand which was clenched as if he was holding something, his hand stopped level to his mouth, he opened it and blew the powder into your face making you immediately collapse.

you didn’t expect him to save you anyway.

A/N : damn so part2? DJSF

FUN FACT : manga spoiler : when he said “ she’s the type to fall in love with everything unreachable, just like i once did.” he was talking about his desire to become the greatest hero with his quirk but because of his body is was unreachable.

taglist : @todoroki-shoto-is-life @blazedbakugou @luluwiie @blue-gold-demigod-clouds @gazelle-des-pres

[smells-like-mettaton]

Perhaps Toriel and Alphys interacting?

Gift of Truth

Rating: G Word Count: 1310 Prompt: #23 weight of the world (randomly generated) Read on AO3: here Notes: Pretty sure this was for an art request a long time ago but I never got around to it, so I hope you don't mind that I did a fic instead! (If you even remember sending this ask lol)

---

There was no right way to do this. Alphys had talked herself into and out of it endless times, ever since they reached the surface four months ago.

It was too soon. It was too late. It wouldn’t make a difference. It would make too much of a difference, crush the former queen’s newly healed soul into dust.

Alphys probably would’ve put off the decision forever, but Undyne had started to worry. And everyone knew what happened the last time Alphys had tried to keep a secret of this magnitude. Everyone would’ve been better off if she’d just told the truth about the amalgamates from the beginning, right? So if she told the truth now… even though it was late… it would have to be better than not telling it at all.

Gosh, she hoped it would be better.

Alphys didn’t have to open the lab doors for Toriel. She’d had automatic doors installed in her new lab, just like her old one. It saved her a lot of hassle when she brought armfuls of old parts up from the dump—or, in more recent times, when she hauled new equipment or DVDs in from the nearest electronics store. Just one more incredible thing about the surface.

“My apologies, Alphys. I had to stay late to talk to a parent,” Toriel said as she strolled elegantly to Alphys’s desk. Even in slacks rather than her royal robes, she cut an imposing figure.

“I-it’s fine!” She had just panicked for the past thirty minutes, slowly driving herself insane, but that was about what she deserved for keeping this secret for so long. “I, um, why don’t you sit down?”

Toriel raised an eyebrow.

...Right. There was only one chair. The one Alphys was sitting in.

Alphys hopped up, offering it to Toriel, who now looked more bemused (and maybe a little embarrassed) than anything.

“It is quite alright, Doctor Alphys. I am no longer your queen, nor have I ever been. I apologize if I gave you the impression of expecting such formalities.” She sighed, her gase sweeping across the ground. Her paws folded in front of her. “I should also apologize for how I treated you before. Even if you did terrible things under Asgore’s direction… you were able to heal families wounded beyond repair.”

One paw brushed something off of her pant leg. Alphys would’ve recognized that white-gray goop anywhere.

“You—you met with Snowdrake’s mother,” she realized. Crystal was the only amalgamate who had a school-aged child.

“Yes.” Toriel smiled fondly. “She is a wonderful, sweet woman. She cares for Snowdrake deeply, and has been willing to volunteer at the school any time we need help. Just today she was discussing plans to organize a talent show for the children. She believes it would help Snowdrake—oh, excuse me! I am rambling.”

She chuckled, and Alphys gave a nervous little laugh in response. This was… good? Toriel didn’t hate her? Well, Alphys knew she didn’t hate hate her, because Toriel let Frisk come over and watch anime sometimes, but—well, Toriel had never used her title before. Toriel was the one who revoked the title of “Doctor” in the first place, even if she’d technically lacked the authority to do so. It didn’t really matter, because humans didn’t acknowledge monster degrees anyway.

“What was it that you called me for?” Toriel returned to the point. Her expectant gaze weighed on Alphys like an anvil in one of those ancient human cartoons.

“I-I was just, you know…” Alphys tapped her claws together, but even the rhythmic clicks couldn’t soothe her. Sparks started to fly between her fingers unbidden.

Toriel’s brows lifted in sympathy, and suddenly the weight wasn’t so unbearable.

“Is something bothering you, my—” Toriel cut herself off, but Alphys could guess what she was about to say. My child. It was how she most often addressed Frisk.

“No! I mean, y-yeah, but it’s—it’s my own fault.” Alphys’s claws dug into the back of her hand. The magical sparks finally went out.

Toriel waited patiently. Alphys really did feel like a child, trying to squeeze the words past the tightness in her throat.

“I-it’s about Flowey. I… you should know, he’s…” Alphys swallowed. Best to just rip the bandaid off, metaphorically speaking.

“He’s your son. He’s Asriel.”

Alphys looked up with a wince. She wasn’t sure what expression she expected to find on Toriel’s face. Horror? Confusion? Disbelief?

At first Toriel just looked blank. Slowly, her mouth flattened to a thin line, her fangs jutting out from under her upper lip.

“That… does explain some things.”

“W-what?” Alphys gaped.

“He has always known things I couldn’t explain. My favorite snail recipes. How my oldest human child would fill their water to the brim of their cups. And he is rather averse to the idea of me dating anyone but Asgore, no matter how clear I have made it that we will never get back together.” She gave an affectionate snort.

Alphys forced a grin. Well, there went one folder full of fanfiction. But! Other than that, this was—this was good!

“W-well! Then! Glad you’re, um...”

“Not ‘freaking out’?” Toriel asked.

“Hehe…”

“I certainly am. Freaking out, I mean.” She chuckled. “For all of their similarities, Flowey is also far less… civil, than Asriel used to be. Unless he… well, I suppose I never did truly understand my children.”

Tears leaked from Toriel’s eyes. This time, when Alphys slid the desk chair behind her, she collapsed into it.

“I—I am sorry.” She sniffed. “I am not usually a crier. And truly, this is wonderful news. My child… reunited with me. However you accomplished Flowey’s creation, I must thank you for that.”

Though her eyes were still wet, her smile was sincere.

“I’m still sorry,” Alphys said quietly. “I didn’t know what the determination would do to him. I didn’t know it was a him at all. I was just—trying to break the barrier without hurting anyone. And I… I didn’t know Asriel’s dust was on the flower, on Flowey, and, I-I messed up so bad! Your son doesn’t have a soul, Toriel!”

It was the wrong thing to blurt out, but Toriel took it gracefully.

“I know. He truly has matured despite his condition, has he not?” Her lips curled wryly.

“But—!”

“Doctor Alphys.” Toriel placed a hand on her shoulder. “We all changed while trapped underground. We suffered pains that no one should have to bear. You felt tasked with the same responsibility that my children did—the responsibility of breaking the barrier on your own.”

Alphys’s eyes widened. Toriel knew? Had she seen the videos of Chara and Asriel that Alphys had found? Alphys hadn’t taken them to the surface with her; anything could’ve happened to them. It didn’t seem like Toriel to go through someone else’s things, though… even if they were technically her things.

“I cannot imagine the stress that Asgore placed on you, or that you placed on yourself. You hurt many monsters, truly. But you also healed many. Including my son.”

Tears pricked Toriel’s eyes again, but this time she smiled widely, a bleating laugh escaping her.

“My son is alive!” She exclaimed again, as if just realizing for the first time.

She scooped Alphys up in a hug that threatened to crush her.

“Uh—! T-toriel—!”

Another laugh, and then Toriel set her back down. Alphys’s face was still hot.

“S-so, you, um, forgive me…?” She asked quietly.

“Yes, Doctor. I forgive you, and I thank you.”

With those words, the weight of the world lifted from Alphys’s shoulders.

“Now if you will excuse me, I must be getting home to my children.” Toriel beamed again. “My children! Hee hee!”

Alphys watched the automatic doors slide shut behind Toriel, and she finally allowed a real smile of her own.

[chocochar]

ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ? | ᴅᴀʙɪ/ᴛᴏᴜʏᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1: ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏᴍᴇ

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Valentine’s Special | Part 6: TBA

(AN: feel free to skip this first part of the AN, slight spoilers for the story ahead!: Okay so before we start some quick notes: 

Reader and Dabi are 25 presently, Dabi is the eldest sibling with the others being their canon ages.

(I’m mentioning this next part here because I couldn’t figure out how to add it to the title eue) Reader and Touya went to school together since their first year of middle school.

She had gotten pregnant at around 15 with Touya’s baby (this all gets explained!) but given this follows the Touya theory he ‘died’ so she’s a single mom.

I was sorta iffy posting this fic, because I wasn’t sure if it would get any attention, but I’m also excited to do it so... Here you go? lol

Reader’s quirk: Mirror: The ability to make a large force field spanning up to 30 feet or smaller force fields to protect people within it/them. When projectiles hit the fields they are deflected, when non ranged attacks hit them they bounce off. )

[F/n’s POV]

        It’s been 10 years already, since I last saw Touya Todoroki. Even now it feels like almost yesterday his ashes were found in his room at the Todoroki house. I still remember Fuyumi calling me in tears, sobbing nearly to the point she was inaudible and she had to repeat herself more than once. I was 15, pregnant, and finding out my boyfriend for a little over a year had cremated himself, I went into shock before I broke down. My mom was there fortunately, and held me as I shook with sobs.

        “I didn’t even tell him, mom!” I remember screaming over and over until my voice gave out. It was a bad dream, it had to be right? I hoped that every night for a year that I’d wake up to a call from him telling me to get up, that he was outside my house waiting to walk to school.

        But the calls never came, I only saw and talked to Fuyumi and later Natsuo after that; like me they seemed so numb, after all their mom had been sent to a hospital shortly before, their little brother was a complete stranger thanks to their father, and then Touya was gone… I was there for them as much as I could; my mom shortly after Touya’s death moved us a few cities away too, resulting in me changing schools to attend a normal high school. UA became a far away dream along with my future as a hero; this baby became most important to me, it was going to be the last connection I would have to Touya.

        After Kaoru was born it became hard to focus on school and homework, but I pushed through, my mom and older sister Rina helping me with him along the way, and soon enough I was graduated and working towards a career in the police force. Becoming a hero then… It stayed a faraway dream, plus I still wanted to help people.

        “Are you sure about this? Rina and I have already said-”

        “Mom,” I stopped her, smiling while I fed a then 3 year old Karou,”It’ll be fine, plus my quirk will help with hostage situations and raids no matter what. I’ll be a hero in a way still even if it isn’t a pro.”

        Even with my words and smile I don’t think she believed me, but she helped me either way. She was a single mom young, raising Rina and me by herself, so she understood.

        I eventually told Natsuo first about Kaoru and let them meet so long as this big news was kept from his father. Fuyumi was next, and while she tried to convince me to let Kaoru meet his grandfather (if you can even call him that, much less a father) I told her I wasn’t comfortable with it. Especially when Kaoru’s quirk came in: My force fields along with his father’s powerful fire? Not an easy combo when your son wants to try out his new powers. Last to meet him was Rei, and surprisingly Shouto who was visiting his mom, last month; Karou by this point was 10, and while I was surprised to see Shouto so grown up from the pictures I saw (and feeling bad it took so long to bring Kaoru to finally meet his other grandma) they were even more shocked by the little redhead clinging to my leg.

        Kaoru… Looks just like a mini version of his dad: messy, wild red hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin (with a slight mix of my (skin color)), just like Touya. The only thing resembling me is the streak of (hair color) in one of his bangs. Rina and Natsuo have taken part in jokingly calling him ‘Chibi’ but it doesn’t seem to bother him much; he’s a calm little guy, a lot like his dad in personality too although he gets his brains from me.~

        Now 25 I’m a police officer, working mainly on tracking cases and hostage situations. Kaoru and I moved back to Musutafu two weeks ago due to me transferring to the station there; with his problems handling his quirk I was hesitant but it made it easier for him to see his other family and I’ve considered asking Shouto if he or one of his friends can help his nephew learn to conquer this power.

        Things seem… Okay. But moving back I can’t help but get this feeling something will change. I just can’t place my finger on it.

[X][X][X]

        “Alright, Kaoru, do you have your bag?”

        “Yes mom.”

        “All your books inside? Did you double check?”

        “Yes mom.”

        Smiling I hand Kaoru his bento to also slip into his bag after I tuck mine into my own. 

        “Good, I made some yummy stuff this morning, there’s some extra so if Hari-chan wants to try any of it you should share a little,” I tell him while slinging my bag over my shoulder. I watch his cheeks turn pink at the mention of his best friend/crush and bite my lip so I don’t giggle. So cute.~

        The two of us leave the apartment and start walking to the stairs, the morning peaceful at least as we head down the steps and start on our way. People pass the two of us as we weave our way through the crowds, people going to their jobs or schools just like Kaoru and me; it’s silent between us, although Kaoru doesn’t talk much normally but Natsuo has been trying to get him out of his shell. 

        “What do you want for dinner tonight?” I ask him, glancing down while we wait to cross the street. He shrugs, meeting my eyes.

        “I don’t really mind anything, I guess oyakodon?” He replies, the crossing light changing and the two of us following the crowd.

        “Oh that sounds delicious! Alright then, I’ll pick you up from Hari-chan’s house after I get off work and we’ll head to the store to get anything we need, okay?” I tell him, Kaoru nodding while the breeze blows through his crimson locks. Looking down at him I sigh, patting his head feeling his hair. “I keep telling you to brush it, Kao,” I smile, the little guy tilting his head away from my hand and scratching the back of it.

        “Natsu-oji said it looks cool, he said it’s how dad started to do his…”

        I go stiff immediately, remembering him again. My eyes watch ahead as my brain swirls with memories I had pushed to the back of my mind a while ago; I keep him in my thoughts of course, it just is painful to regularly remember Touya. Kaoru looks more and more like him as he gets older, from his messy crimson locks to the way he smiles, which makes me both happy and a bit depressed. He never got to see him, he’ll never get to see him grow��� My chest tightens thinking about this.

        “Mom?” I stop abruptly and meet my son’s eyes, surprised and coming out of my stupor. He’s pointing to the left at another crosswalk and says,”We need to go this way.” I glance at the street sign realizing I was about to pass where we need to go while so lost in thought. Shaking my head I step next to him and wait, my mind steadily repressing those feelings and thoughts. Kaoru seems to have noticed my shift in mood as I feel his smaller hand take mine and hold it, my (eye color) eyes peering down in surprise. He doesn’t meet mine but I can tell he’s trying to comfort me as best he can while we’re waiting and giving his hand a squeeze we begin to cross when the light changes. 

        We reach his school first and kissing his forehead goodbye (much to his embarrassment) I wave as I hurry off to work.

[X][X][X]

        “Heyyy (F/n),” a voice that makes me inwardly groan speaks up. I stop what I’m typing to look up at Nanaka-san, another officer who’s only been here a few months more than me. He’s younger and seems to know what he’s doing, his quirk giving him the ability to suck in gases and fumes and use them to his own advantage, but he also, from what I’ve seen and heard, has done a few shady deals in the past. I try to steer clear of doing anything more than talking to him while at work. He grins down at me and turning in my chair to face him, he continues,”We’re all goin’ out drinking after work today, you free to join us?” ‘He knows I’m not…’ I think, rubbing my neck and shaking my head.

        “Nanaka, I told you not to ask,” Ira-senpai says, coming over as well. “(L/n)-san has a kid, remember?” 

        Nanaka, while trying not to show it, I can see he’s annoyed she even came over, replying,”Well he has other relatives, right? Can’t they pick him up and watch him?”

        “They work and stuff so I try not to bother them. Maybe another time, okay?” I smile, hoping he gets the hint this time. Fortunately he sighs, shrugging and going off to talk to another coworker. A sigh I didn’t realize I was holding releases while I sit back. “Ira-senpai, thank you. I can’t seem to get him to understand,” I tell her, the older woman’s arms crossed and a chuckle escaping her lips.

        “Just ignore him or let his words go in one ear and out the other, alright, (L/n)-san? He set his sights on you the moment you entered the office but as long as you deflect his advances he’ll move on,” she replies, patting my shoulder. “Tell Kaoru-chan I said ‘hi’ alright? I have to go check out some things on the League of Villains case.” With that she heads off to her desk and I watch her go before turning back to my work. The League of Villains… I too have also been looking into them but given my being new they’ve kept me a lot out of the loop. I only really know their names and appearances and the like, pulling them up in the database I glance over the information that’s accessible to me and read through them.

        ‘They’re kind of like boogeymen,’ I think, getting a look at the photos we do have of them. ‘Powerful yet elusive, they give nightmares to parents and children alike, and people are starting to wonder if they’ll be caught…’ I reach one specific person of interest who stands out: Dabi. His name, ‘cremation’, most likely derived from his quirk which… Uses bright blue flames allegedly powerful enough to cremate. The rest, for the most part, have their true names as well as their villain names but no one seems to know who he is. No crimes beyond the work with the league, no age but appears to be early to mid 20’s, no image but a description of black hair, messy, blue eyes, and scars lining his body along with staples seeming to keep his skin in tact maybe? After reading all of this I decide to check out any articles pertaining to the League, but all I find are mostly discussing ‘Tomura Shigaraki’, the attacks on the UA students, their involvement in the Shie Hassaikai situation, and All Might’s retirement. 

        I do find some murder cases where the victims were burned alive, including the hero Snatch, but they’re unsolved and there’s no suspect yet. Still, I keep it bookmarked for later.

        Standing I sigh as I pop my back. Sitting for most of the day can really take a toll on your body sometimes, especially when you’re used to going on missions regularly. Seeing I have about an hour left before I can head home I go grab some coffee before jumping back into filing case notes. I get halfway to the break room when my cell phone starts ringing and furrowing my brows I see it’s Hari’s mom calling me, which is a bit odd given she knows what time I’m off.

        “Hello?” I answer, pressing it up to my ear.

        “Oh (L/n)-san, thank goodness you answered!! It’s Kaoru, he’s having trouble controlling his quirk again!” Her voice is panicked and my eyes widen.

        Ever since his quirk came in he’s struggled to control it, and hearing Hari yelling trying to calm him down in the background I say,”I’ll be over soon!” I hang up and hurry to my boss’s office, knocking on the chief’s door. He luckily isn’t busy as I almost barge in and I’m guessing he can read my expression as he immediately looks worried. “Sir, am I okay to leave early? I hate to ask, b-but my son is in trouble!”

        Luckily he understands, this isn’t the first time Kaoru has had this problem since we moved here, but he replies,”Yes, you’re fine to leave now. But (L/n)... You might want to find a way to help him control it, before something happens.” The way he says it I look away and slowly nod, knowing better than to reply in case I say something I shouldn’t. Shutting the door I rush to my desk and grab my bag, logging off my computer, then running out of the station going as fast as I can to Hari’s house.

        When I get there it seems like things are under control again but I clearly see the damage; not only is Kaoru burned on his fingertips and hands but a wide circle of dead grass sit in their yard. Hari and her mom are rubbing his back when I arrive, all three on the front steps of their house and looking up when I'm jogging up to them. My son looks terrified, hiding his hands and having trouble meeting my eyes. 

        “... I’m sorry, mom,” he mumbles, the crack in his voice leaving a tightness in my chest. I quickly lean down and pull him into a hug, rubbing his back.

        “It’s okay, Kao, go get your stuff okay?” I tell him pulling back and getting him to look at me. He nods and turns, going inside to grab his things while I step back and run my fingers through my (hair color) locks. “Tsuachi-san, I’m sorry.”

        “Don’t worry, (L/n)-san,” Hari’s mom smiles sympathetically. “We’ll get the yard taken care of, I’m more concerned with Kaoru but he wouldn’t let me bandage him up.” I sigh, glancing at the ring again, knowing there’s nothing I can do but still trying to think of a way to fix that. “But (L/n)-san, I’m worried for when he’s at school,” she continues, and turning back to her I’m confused for a second. “Has he gotten any sort of training or something to help him learn to control it? I hear many kids struggle so have you thought about getting him maybe help from his dad’s side of the family.”

        “Of course, I’ve talked to his uncle about it, but he’s just in high school… He said he’d help him when he has the time, but lately he hasn’t…” I trail off, crossing my arms and looking down as I start to get lost in thought. Maybe I’ll go visit Shouto again or text him, see if he has any availability or if a friend of his is willing to help. His friend Midoriya offered too when I was talking to their group, maybe I can go talk to him too. I blink out of my thoughts and look up to see Kaoru is saying goodbye before facing me. He’s still having trouble looking at me, and I ruffle his hair as we start walking away, saying goodbye.

[X][X][X]

        The walk home is silent, people passing us and the streets not as busy since many people seem to still be at work. I glance at Kaoru a few times, not knowing what to say while he trails a step or two behind me still looking upset about earlier but trying to hide it. I rub my neck in thought, looking up at the sky and humming.

        “So how was school?” I ask, looking at him again.

        “It was okay,” he mumbles. I nod, and again the awkward quiet settles.

        “Did you like your lunch?”

        “Yeah.”

        “Kaoru, you know… Hari and her mom weren’t mad at you,” I say, deciding talking about earlier can’t be avoided. I catch the way his brows furrow and continue,”They’re just worried.”

        “I can’t help it mom,” he says back, making me go quiet as he finally starts to say more than a couple of words. He looks at his hands as he continues,”I-I keep trying, and trying, b-but it’s so hard, I don’t want to hurt anybody, a-and I’m scared…!” His voice cracks again and I can tell he’s trying to stop himself from crying. My brows furrow and I pet his hair, giving a soft smile.

        “Kaoru-” I go quiet when my phone buzzes and I pull it out, checking it while I keep walking. I hear my son stop in his tracks a few feet behind me.

        “A-are you really going to ask Shouto-oji to help me?” he asks. I halt too and look back at him, nodding.

        “Yep, in fact he just text me back,” I let him know, looking at my phone again. Luckily it looks like Shouto may be available this weekend so I start texting him back, telling him thanks and letting him know what times I’m open to meet and ask where he’d like us to go to do the training. “Uncle Shouto said he can probably do some training with you this weekend, what do you… think…” 

        My voice trails when I look back at Kaoru; he’s standing next to an alley between two shops and staring up at something. While that is already a bit alarming the expression on his face is what I notice the most. His blue eyes are wide and while he does look stiff he doesn’t look all that scared, more like he’s looking at something that’s left him frozen in place and curious. My brows furrow, my motherly instincts kicking in immediately as I start to come back over, asking,”Kaoru…?” But he blinks and looks at me suddenly, replying,”O-Oh really? I miss Sh-Shouto-oji, his ice is fun to slide on…”

        I don’t say anything for a moment and move in front of him, peering into the dark alley, hands ready to use my quirk if needed, and looking around. Notably I see the black marks almost like a fire had recently burned here, but other than that nothing. I’m confused, my eyes scanning over everything for any movement but again, nothing. That doesn’t stop me from taking Kaoru’s hand and saying,”Yeah… I’m sure he misses you too, honey…” I pull him away from the alley, wanting to hurry home.

        I don’t know what it was, but even if I couldn’t see anything in that alley… I could feel us being watched. I just hope my gut feeling earlier about moving back isn’t a bad sign.

(AN: Part 2 is already halfway done (Dabi comes in too!) so if this does well I’ll post that too. I have a looooot of ideas for this, and WARNING it is going to follow canon like.... Only a little. Like mentions to activities going on in the universe will happen but given this is about Dabi/Touya, (F/n), and Kaoru it’s obviously gonna stray from canon lol 

Anyways I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know if you wanna see more, maybe?)

[steveusesfaberge]

Sunsets Back Home (pt. i)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: Billy longs to see a California sunset again, he misses the way the sun kisses the rim of the ocean; how the wind carries salt...how the sand feels. He doesn’t think it can ever be the same now that he’s stuck in the middle of Indiana... But...it seems in his dark days, he’s forgotten that despite where you are...the sun always sets the same. A few hours talking with little miss Y/N and he can’t help but give in to a ridiculous arrangement...too bad she can’t make it happen....or can she?

Type/Style: Imagine, female pronouns

Warning(s): None really...a bit of angst (it’s Billy, c’mon now..)...lots of fluff...and...a hopeful promise to be fulfilled!

Word Count: 7k

a/n: I thought of this on a whim!~ I decided that Hargrove needed a lil’ more love because that boy is....so much more than what people cookie-cut him to be <3 (sorry it’s a bit long, got carrrieddddd awayyyy...<3)

Also...that wink in that gif...hadddd meee weakkkkkkkkk -- WEAK; I say!

Please send requests! I’m excited to write for you all! I have many stories coming out soon, as I’ve got burs/ideas of them written out and ready to be flushed out and made reality! Can’t wait! I wish there was more time in the day..what can ya do? What can you do...<3

Part 1 (you are here) - Part 2 - Part 3

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

Most wouldn’t think it, but he liked sunsets. Yes - the Billy Hargrove - enjoyed witnessing the sight of what most would consider; sentimental and considerate. The dance of light finally meeting its downfall finding solace in the horizon and touch of land as a welcoming embrace. Yes, Billy enjoyed them. If you spoke anything about it though - you’d surely never be able to speak again - he’d make sure of it...(that classic Hargrove style of his).

Back in California, he’d drive down the winding roads linning the coast; to one of the many piers, or find a nice, withdrawn, abandoned stretch of beach and watch the sun dip into the water; simmering with the last lights of day. The smell of the ocean, the feeling of sand underfoot, the sounds of tranquility, and the sight of such a beautiful phenomenon...how could one not love it?

He found himself at peace when watching the great ball of flames and gases have its own tragedy - reminding him that everyone and everything has its own weaknesses; its own flaws. Reminding him that even with those flaws, the sun is still able to rise once again - banishing the darkness of night to the corners of the world. An endless, honorable cycle.

 He knew that even if his father’s heart was made of what the sun chased away - Billy could still wake up each morning and go on living. Sitting in his bedroom, staring at the ceiling, his mind wandered back to The Golden State.

He had a cigarette hung loosely from the corner of his mouth, one hand on his chest, the other jaded off the side of his bed. He was in a plain, white tank top, accompanied by denim jeans hanging shyly off his hips. His door was shut and there wasn’t anything he wanted to do on this early evening besides brood in his own thoughts and emotions.

Hawkins, Indiana was nothing like California...nothing like it. They didn’t have beaches - not the kind Billy was looking for (lakesides didn’t count, they didn’t carry the same grand-gestures or even the vast mileage of just...ocean). It was drab, cold, and shit always seemed to be lurking around every damn turn. Hawkins didn’t have the same style as Cali either - with its energy, the air of freedom... Here, Billy felt trapped. Suffocated. Alone. Nothing. He felt nothing here.

They say home is where the heart is, but Billy forgot long ago what such a phrase meant. Throughout his years, he found that if you gave away such a vulnerability, you’d only end up stabbing yourself in the back. People were not to be trusted, because they were snakes who had venom dripping down their fingertips, hiding in the grasses ready to strike a weak heart down without a second thought. A handshake was a deathwish, and a smile was worse.

Home is where the heart is - to Billy this meant: you cannot trust anyone, because if home is where the heart is - your heart is in your own goddamn chest -- and who else better to trust than yourself? Yes. That was the motto of a lifetime.

And Hawkins...Hawkins...was not home, to begin with. There was nothing to keep him here (besides...begrudgingly...Max, he knew he wasn’t always kind to her, but...he needed her to learn to never rely on someone else, because it would only end up in tears and disappointment. If she knew how to keep herself guarded and hold a level mind...he’d say success to his job as an older brother). He’d always felt alone, even back home...but...now? Billy had nowhere to go. Nowhere at all. Home being miles away from...here.

There wasn’t a California sunset waiting for him at the end of the road; just some crappy gas station adjacent to downtown Hawkins. At the end of the paved road, all Billy could see was his own violence, longing, frustration...he figured driving slowly would only prolong those feelings within him. So he drove fast. Always, always driving fast. If it was all a blur around him, maybe he’d forget who he was and where he was...

Because God...all he wanted was to be found...maybe if he drove fast enough, wished hard enough...someone would see him. The pitiful man he’d become - and they’d see he needed someone...anyone...just...a hand to hold, a heart to love, and a mind to cherish.

And as they say; (though Billy thinks they say a lot of things...can’t they shut the hell up and mind their own goddamn business?) there is more to life than simply increasing in speed. Billy hoped someone would stop him one day. Ask him why he was driving so recklessly...he’d only ask them a question in return. Did I lose the road yet? If they told him no; he’d sigh. I guess I’ll have to be faster then.

Knock, knock, knock.

It came in threes, followed by a soft, even tone. “Billy...can you take me to El’s house?” Max’s voice was heard from behind the door, only muffled to a slight distortion. He rolled his eyes; he wasn’t doing anything - but...the silence of collecting his own mind was more than enough to be doing for an entire decade. It would keep anyone busy if they decided to take a look in that head of his.

“Yeah, yeah - whatever. Just be ready by the time I’m out the door or your ass can walk for all I care.” He heard a soft okay and her gentle footsteps were gone. He wondered briefly if Max too felt alone - but...the images of her smiling and laughing with her friends...that...that was all the family she needed, besides she had Susan (his step-mother) as well, it wasn't like she was completely on her own...He was there too... Billy wiped a troubled simper from his lips, throwing the butt of his joint out the window.

He slid his boots on, grabbed his car keys, and slung his leather jacket over his left shoulder. “C’mon, Max!” He yelled down the hall while tapping his sunglasses down.

The drive was quiet. It always was. Maybe it was because Maxine couldn’t ever speak above the music Billy played, or maybe she just didn’t have anything in particular to say; not to him anyway. He didn’t mind. Her presence was enough.

He slammed on the breaks, and out of the corner of his eyes, catching the redhead brace herself readily (she’d been in a car with him enough times that his driving was more than normal). He watched her climb out, carrying a small bag with her. He raised an eyebrow in question, fingers rapping the steering wheel.

“She asked if I could sleepover,” Max explained while holding a hand up to close the passenger door. He gave a curt nod. “Call me--,” “Yeah, yeah, I know...if I need something or whatever.” He wondered if Max thought he said that out of mockery and habit. Billy meant it...despite how he may sling it, as much as he’d hate to admit it - he’d be back here in less than six minutes if she asked...

He watched her knock on the door, and expecting to see the sheriff - he was greeted with a face he’d never seen before. Leaning forward in his seat, he tilted his head in slight curiosity, not really caring if it was odd he was still parked outside.

His window was open, and their conversation flowed through with ease. He even turned down the radio a few notches; to make sure he didn’t miss a single note.

“Hey, Max! You here for El?” the y/c/h haired girl chipped, holding the door open.

“Yeah! Are you babysitting tonight?” Mayfield asked hopefully.

“Yup, Hop asked me to -- he’s got a late shift at the station, I think,” the young woman explained.

Billy wasn’t quite sure who this was, but he could tell Max was well acquainted. She looked roughly his age - she’d probably gone to Hawkins High without him even noticing; Hargrove rarely ever forgot a pretty face - especially if it had been hers (names, sure - but he remembered their face at least)...he’d have known if they’d met before.

She had y/l/h y/c/h hair, and from what he could make out - y/c/e eyes that seemed excited to see his little sister. He wondered who this babysitter was. So, instead of leaving right away, as he usually did - he killed the engine, the music freezing abruptly - both heads turning just as Max was entering the house.

“Does uh, your brother need something?” Y/N asked while tilting her head, looking down at the younger female.

“Beats me, he never really sticks around this long,” Max didn’t waste much breath on it - not really caring what Billy wanted. Disappearing into the cabin a second later, calling for El.

The y/e/c-eyed girl stepped outside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. “Hey! It’s Billy, right?” She greeted kindly while walking to meet him at the front porch’s steps. Of course, she knew who he was...No one knew his name without his face to match (not a face like his anyway...and certainly not a name like his). 

Sure, she’d seen him a few times when dropping Max off - or picking her up. A few more times around the halls at school, and at the basketball games (almost all of them to be truthful)...and once at the pool (deciding to hide instead of being caught by the particular lifeguard).

“Glad you know the name, do I get the pleasure of yours?” Y/N was taken back by his wave of...charm and confidence. She’d seen him around school, philandering up a storm; walking like he owned the place...but...that didn’t matter anymore, because they were both graduated. There shouldn’t be a single title to his name; other than Billy Hargrove. No, Billy The New King, or Boy Toy Billy, or even The Billy Hargrove...as of now - he was just Billy Hargrove...the kid dropping off Max for a sleepover.

“Y/N, Y/N L/N,” she offered, leaning against one of the support pillars holding up the roof over the porch.

“L/N? By chance, you have a--,” “Brother? Yeah, he used to play basketball with you for the school.” Y/N filled in for him. She wondered if he had ever realized that she’d been to all their games, had seen Billy play, and how much of a commotion he made when he got fouled...(she’d laugh about it on the car ride home, her brother only rolling his eyes telling her that if Hargrove ever found out you make fun of him - he’d have your neck).

Billy had no knowledge of this, he didn’t think L/N had a sibling - let alone a sister as attractive as the girl before him. How come he’d never heard him talk about her? Not even a hint of lockerroom talk from any of the other boys either...

“Who knew little Davy was hiding you at home,” he chuckled while lifting one foot to rest on the second step of the porch. Leaning back on his grounded leg, hands in his jacket pockets. He looked like a god on earth and Y/N could understand why David told her to stay away from him. All he cares about is alcohol, sex, and his own skin, Y/N/N -- don’t even think about bringing him home. She’d never believed all of it - well, some of it...from first-hand experiences of watching him have girls fall to their knees with just a wink... Nonetheless, Y/N liked to judge a character for herself - which was why she got along with the party so well -- she lives next door to Henderson for Christ’s sake! She can smell the geek on him...(not that Y/N cared, she’d often go to his house and just hang out with the kid - seeing as he was an only child, and his darling mother worked most of the time. Y/N was an avid babysitter for him - a good friend of Harrington’s at that; which explained why Dustin had a hard time deciding who was his favorite sitter; he told Steve it was him...but...he was really only protecting the brunette’s, dainty heart).

“Ha, well -- little Davy -- is literally, the most overprotective guy, you’ll ever meet,” she explained with a shake of her head and a good-natured sigh. The number of boys David had run off “for” her...He wasn’t any good! He was looking at your ass! I just don’t like him! He was acting out of line... If he saw Y/N now - talking to Billy Hargrove, the catch of them all...he’d have had a heart attack for sure.

Billy only nodded, he understood why. The same reason that he cared for Max in his own way...what did they call it? -- Brotherly love. 

He fancied the way Y/N could pull off a solid grey T-shirt like she was wearing Ralph Lauren - preparing to walk the runway. He liked her casual air...a lot.

“Well, seeing as you’re still here - is there something you need?” Y/N asked while trying to steer the attention away from herself and back to the topic of babysitting El and Max (she had a strange feeling that Hargrove didn’t just come here to make sure his little sister went to bed on time).

“Just wanted to see who’d be watching Max for me,” he shrugged earnestly. He ran a hand along his chin and the dirty-blond pushed back a few curls from his view. “Glad to see she’d be in good hands.”

The conversation carried on longer than Y/N and Billy both thought it would, he ended up coming inside when it got dark.

He was sitting at the small kitchen table, the distance so short, if he reached out his hand, Billy could grab Y/N’s. The girls were in El’s room - intimations of laughter would bubble up every now and then, allowing for both Billy and Y/N to breathe easy that both were okay and not doing anything troublesome (so they assumed).

“So, you just expect me to believe...that?” she snorted while shaking her head, using her hands as if to push away the thought and the words he’d spoken, back to where they’d come from.

Billy was leaning in his chair -- slouched -- having one arm resting on the tabletop, the other hung over the back of his seat. He shared a smile with her (and damn did he have a nice smile...whether it was fake or not, Y/N found herself staring for a second too long. Even with the sneaky wink he’d shoot her when he noticed her gaze - she still felt that Billy was being...genuine), while lightly drumming his fingers on the table. His left leg was bouncing up and down...up and down...Billy was clearly the jittery, go-go-go type.

“I’m for real! She didn’t even realize she’d left without them!” He chimed, noting the way Y/N’s y/c/h hair was held back messily with a polka-dotted scrunchie; thinking it was kinda cute how she held such a childish essence.

“But...they were her underwear!” Y/N sputtered, lowering her voice as she spoke, pulling a hand to her lips in obvious disbelief.

Billy shrugged, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “What can I say? One night with me and you’ll forget your own damn name, sweetheart.” Oh, he was smooth...

Y/N had so far taken him as a flirty guy - but she’d also noticed he’d listen when she spoke. He’d give her all his attention, and it washed her in a sense of simple understanding. He’d not be a step out of line when not necessary, and he hadn’t raised his voice once (like he was oh-so infamous for).

 Yet, Y/N was reminded by the small voice in her head, that he had almost killed Steve and Lucas only last year...and she recalled the multitude of fights and parties Billy’d pick and crash; sleeping with anything with legs and a pretty face...remembering the distaste the majority of the party held for him (she’d even comforted Max once when she was frustrated with the said boy, claiming that he was just the worst to live with - so moody, so cold, and hateful of everything).

It shocked her honestly, to see Billy act so...normal. It kept her on edge, curious to see if this was just a facade or his charm acting up - assuming those old habits would die hard with him.

“What’re they doing out there?” Max questioned while pressing her ear to the door. She’d heard laughing and talking, and when she and El realized Y/N had invited Billy in - and he’d accepted it...both were left suspicious and confused. Max had expected Billy to burn rubber as he left, the second she got out of the car, heck, he’d have done it with her half-way in. So, she was more than astonished to see he’d come in the damn house.

They were both pressed to the door, trying to understand why Billy was being so...weird. “He better not try anything with her,” Max grumbled while listening to her brother’s hearty chuckles - narrowing her eyes at the sound. Max couldn’t tell if he were being serious or not, his charm held such a captivating lure...no one was safe.

“Maybe he likes her.” Eleven’s honesty had always shocked Max and the gang. She always spoke her mind, and always had something to say with such heart and interest (of course, she knew that El wasn’t the most versed in speaking, but she could speak well enough by now).

“Maybe...,” Max offered lightly, her eyes dodging to the girl,” But Billy doesn’t like girls - he doesn’t like people, for that matter! Not like that anyway,” The redhead explained, only partially listening to the conversation held between the two eighteen-year-olds about Billy’s job as a lifeguard. She was too fixed on but Billy Hargrove hates getting to know people...Billy Hargrove hates small talk and cuts to the chase of whatever he does...Billy Hargrove hates going slow...

“Maybe it’s different this time,” El proposed while offering a shrugged solution, lifting a hand to scratch her neck.

“Maybe.”

“Are you sure you wanna go now, Billy? It’s really la--,” “It’s fine, dollface. This isn’t my first time driving in the dark, L/N,” he chuckled as he stood himself to full height. His sunglasses now hanging from the collar of his tank top.

Y/N frowned, playing with her fingers as she glanced outside the nearest window. “Yeah...but...it’s...really dark, and the road here is like - at this weird angle - you know? Like, right where you turn in to get to Hop’s cabin? Yo--,” “If you wanted me to stay. You could’ve just asked.” He cut through her rambling, smiling to himself as he watched Y/N’s face paint pink at his “humor-filled” suggestion.

“O-oh! I mean...I...uh..It did kinda sound like that,” Y/N offered sheepishly, not believing her own feeble-minded mistake (saying such a thing in front of him...of course, he’d take it as...an offer...). That hadn’t been her intention, she just wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of Hargrove driving blindly without a proper road, save for dirt cut through the woods...

Billy only waited, watching her; arms crossing over his broad chest. “You want me here or not? Make up your mind, princess...I can’t just stand here forever.” His tone was teasing, and yet, it was sincere in the oddest way. Y/N bit her lip and glanced around the small cabin, trying to decide what to do with this...rather sticky situation. The girls had long gone to bed - Y/N had peaked in for a check-up, and found them asleep on the floor for some reason...by the door at that. (Billy had been kind enough to carry each to the bed and help Y/N tuck them in, seeing as she wasn’t apt enough to do it as effortlessly as he. She was thrown off to see him so willing and so helpful for someone who Max described as senseless and selfish).

“Um...,” she brushed past him, Billy eyeing her as she did, wondering what she was up to - turning to watch her step to the couch. “This pulls out into a bed - I know that ‘cause Hop lets me stay here a lot.” Y/N confessed a bit shyly.

Billy was so surprised to hear that, that he didn’t even fight her while she was casually offering him to spend the night. “You...stay here...a lot?”

“Oh...uh, since Davy left to Virginia for college, the house is...kinda..ummm...lonely,” she admitted softly. Now that, had Hargrove stunned. He was surprised to hear that leave her lips as a follow-up.

“What about the rest of your family?” He asked while walking over to help Y/N remove the cushions from the pull-out. He was interested in her response, Billy hadn’t known the L/N estate was...lonesome.

Y/N pulled the left seat off and plopped it to the floor. “The only person there is my aunt - but she works....like...a lot. So, I don’t see her very often. She’s a businesswoman or something like that.” Y/N told while struggling to pull the actual pull-out bed from its original placement. “Here, let me do it.” Billy offered.

He didn’t even break a sweat...usually Hopper grunted in inconvenience, as the stubborn old thing was always a bit finicky - it seemed those muscles of Billy’s weren’t just for show (Y/N had presumed they helped him pick up chicks or just to be manly). She thanked him, and then shuffled down the short hallway, looking for the pillows and blankets - Hop usually had them in the closet in his bedroom.

“You home alone most of the time?” Billy asked while following her a bit awkwardly - not really knowing if she’d need help again, nor knowing what to do with himself still there. He hadn’t expected...well...any of this to happen. He was hoping to snag Y/N’s number and leave, or even persuade her to ditch the babysitting and come home with him...(the options had been endless in his mind...Billy supposed he just hadn’t thought of this being one of them).

Y/N didn’t really tell people about her absent home life - from what she knew, she had it easy (she’d heard a few stories from Max...and it had her heart twist for Billy). Y/N was surprised she was so easy to tell him (of all people) - maybe it was just the heat of the moment...

“Yeah - well, since Davy’s gone now - and my aunt doesn’t come back for weeks on end...it’s just me,” Billy admired how she could say such a sad thing without faltering - in fact, he thought the smile on her face was too gently worn for such words.

“Oh, I have a cat named Lolly...-- but I know you meant...like...real company,” Y/N added with a soft laugh. Finding the spare pillows and blankets on the top shelf in the sliding door closet (Hop’s rather messy closet, that is) she reached up on her tiptoes to seize them.

Getting a hold, Y/N passed them down to Billy who stood behind her (closer than she’d like to admit, and closer than Billy realized). He chuckled.

“You sayin’ Lolly isn’t real company? That’s harsh,” he joked.

Y/N could only giggle - she didn’t take Hargrove as the...witty type. She expected a poke about pussy-cats or something lude, she almost felt shameful for how much she undermined him.

“She’s good enough I suppose...likes to hide more times than not though, so really...I’m the victim here.” Billy only offered a crooked grin.

“There, you’re all set up!” Y/N announced, clapping her hands together at the finalized work. Billy was standing a few feet to her left, an eyebrow raised as he glanced over the mismatch pillowcases and random maroon comforter - along with a few other sheets that clearly didn’t make a set. Not that Hargrove was complaining, he had learned to take blessings in life with ease; as they were rarely given out and when they were, they didn’t last long).

He ran a hand down his chin, nodding at their so-called quick thinking and handy-work (as Y/N placed it). “Okay...and where are you sleeping? Hopper’s  room?” Y/N hadn’t thought about that...she wasn’t a fan of sleeping in a someone else’s bed (some could argue that sleeping on their couch wasn’t any different, but she begged to differ. The bedroom was a private space and she didn’t feel swell invading that).

She also wasn’t sure if she even had permission to do so - Jim was only expecting Y/N and Max to be staying the night...and not a third guest as well... (if she called him asking about it, he’d get suspicious - and as it was, Hopper treated her as a second daughter - and would drill her about who was there, and if he found out it was a boy...Hargrove at that...he’d flip his lid. Probably never trusting her again - goodness sake...Hopper would hire another babysitter for her as she watched the kids...a sitter for the sitter...).

“I um...I mean yeah...I guess,” she replied while thinking over her options thoughtfully. Hop staying the night at the station meant he’d be back by...she calculated...maybe sometime tomorrow morning. She could fix his room back the way it was, still leaving enough time for Billy to wake up reasonably and---

“Look...if it’s too much trouble, I’ll just go,” Hargrove answered quickly, seeing the slight alarm in her y/c/h eyes. As much as he’d like to stay over - he wasn’t going to stick around if he were a bother. He knew what it was like being bothersome to someone...he didn’t need to add to a new list.

To be frank, Billy himself wasn’t sure why he was being so considerate to someone else’s troubles in the first place. Normally, he’d kill to be out of the house - unsure of what mood his father was in...and how he’d react to Billy being home so late...

Maybe it was because he learned Y/N’s favorite bands were The Rolling Stones, Queen, and Guns N’ Roses (all of which, he approved of). Or that she liked talking with her hands - allowing him to be entertained as she told her stories (Billy thought it was amusing to see such excitement over something as little as that one time I fell because I missed a step and everyone saw it moment). There was also the fact that Y/N talked about Max so highly (while Billy had rolled his eyes, scoffing lightly - as he had a reputation to keep up... he was beaming to think that Y/N thought so of his little sister).

She’d also mentioned a taste for late-night drives and hating a kid named Vance Kerr back in her Junior Year (You wouldn’t know him - he moved to Ohio before you and Max came ‘round. But God...was he awful - let me tell you about this one time he--), and the time Davy and her snuck out to met with Harrington (to which Billy groaned on cue, earning a smack to the chest and a laugh. Oh, shut up, Hargrove!) for a party...

Point being...Billy didn’t do much for other people. He didn’t see a point in putting more energy than it was worth. People were disappointing; conniving; and cruel...that’s what they said about him anyway. That’s what they’d made him believe...

So, for Billy to give Y/N a soft smile - reassuring her it’d be fine if he just...drove home...it took a lot out of him. But...for her? He didn’t mind letting his reputation slip.

Standing on the front porch, arms rubbing away the chills of a summer’s night; Y/N watched as Billy strode to his car. “Billy, I really don’t--,” “Relax, princess. I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy, and fully capable of driving fifteen minutes down the road without losing my way in the dark,” he eased while chuckling. Billy’s left arm holding himself up on the side of his Camaro. While he came off calm and collected, he was truly shocked at her display of...care.

Billy didn’t think it was possible to be so sincere and endearing with someone you’d just met less than twelve hours ago. No one had ever cared enough to ask him to stay the night - not for sex - but to simply make sure he wasn’t driving in the dark...that was honestly...something...he’d consider....sweet (and he rarely used said word; You want your ego stroked? Go ask Harrington to give you a-- it was too...soft...for a guy like him to use and, or be referred to as).

“Will you be okay here with the girls?” He asked, switching the attention back to Y/N, his eyes never leaving her as he popped his driver’s door open. She stood there, leaning against the wooden pillar, arms holding her heat as close as possible before the chilled summer swept it away.

“Oh, yeah! I’ve done this plenty of times! - Though I’ll admit, sometimes I have Steve’s help - I’ll be fine, really! He’s usually only around when all the kids are with us, but I’ll be fine with these two.” Hargrove didn’t like when people talked too much (nor when they brought up Harrington), but for some reason...he didn’t mind Y/N’s rambles...he almost...enjoyed them.

Noticing the slight shiver run down her figure; Billy clicked his tongue shaking his blond head of hair - walking back in her direction. Y/N raised her eyebrows, going to question his actions - wondering if he’d decided to just spend the night instead of going home. She was tempted to crack a joke - but he stopped her.

“Here, you’ll get cold standing there like a moron,” he muttered, sliding his leather jacket around her shoulders. “Bu--,” “I’ll get it back when I pick Max up. Don’t worry, L/N,” he paused, and she swore it, that her heart skipped a beat at that smile of his. Illuminated by the soft glow of the cabin’s porch light, Billy’s skin was glowing golden and his eyes were rimmed with a glittering warmth, their blue color seeming to intensify at that moment. Hargrove’s curly hair had a golden hue - and Y/N had to blink away a faint streak of fatigue to realize that it was simply a few out of place strands and not a halo of sorts...

“No seriously, I’m just gonna go back inside--,” she was cut off again as Billy sighed, a roll of those pretty blue orbs and a tug of the coat to be more snuggly fit about her torso. His hands stilled as he fixed the collar; lingering there for a few heartbeats extra.

Billy licked his lips, glancing away from her for a short instance (but all Y/N could see was the way he bit his lip nearing the end - and the way his long eyelashes brushed his cheeks gently). “Can’t you give a dog a bone, Y/N? I’m trying to say, I wanna see you again...but you’re not lettin’ me do it!”

She was speechless. His hands slowly falling from being so close to her neck, dropping to dig into his jean pockets. “I’ll keep the jacket, Billy. Until you come back tomorrow.” He smiled at Y/N’s response - her gentle blush even evident in the dim lighting. He thought that despite having her back to the light; it really wasn’t fair - because a soft glow seemed to haunt her silhouette anyway (and that just wasn’t fair for him to have to walk away from without looking like a fool).

“Thanks, princess,” he hummed while winking, trekking back down the set of stairs and towards his car. Y/N admired the defined muscles of Billy’s arms, seeming to show-off without him even having to try. She also thought his white tank top was tastefully tight. Shape up, Y/N! You’re drooling! God...

“Oh, and Billy?” He hummed, slowly spinning back to Y/N on the balls of his feet. He was just a few steps from his (still) open car door and questioned her by cocking his eyebrow.

“I-I...I liked talking to you...,” Y/N admitted while playing with the edge of the too-long sleeves (Billy’s jacket fell down to meet her mid-thigh and it was still warm with his presence). “You’re...a...a nice guy.”

Billy only smiled, offering her a soft goodnight, Y/N, and then he was in the car - and pulling out without another word. The music still as loud as ever. Y/N only waited a minute or so before she could no longer see him - silently crossing her fingers that he’d make it home okay...

Closing the front door, she pressed her back to it, soaking in the night’s events at their truest form. She’d talked to Billy Hargrove...and it hadn’t been about sex...(he’d made a few cracks at it - but it was lighthearted nonetheless). Y/N wasn’t even sure why she offered him to stay the night; she told herself it was because she didn’t feel okay with him (or anyone) zipping down the road in the dark...but...Y/N knew there were other reasons. She wasn’t the type to invite guys to stay over; heavens no! (Steve and the boys didn’t count because they were honorary family - even Steve who she’d agree was good-looking...he was too much of a dork to even attempt flirting successfully).

Maybe it was because Billy’s favorite drink was Jolt Cola (an overly spiked energy drink, bursting with caffeine...so much, that she didn’t think it was safe for anyone to be consuming), and he liked late-night drives just as much as she did - windows rolled down, music turned up.

Or how he hadn’t interrupted her unless he had a suitable reason (like when she nervously rattled off, Billy had put a hand to hers and gently changed the subject) - staying respectfully quiet and nodding when Y/N spoke, as a sign of acknowledgment to him listening.

Maybe it was the fact that Billy had a sweet-tooth, claiming he could introduce her to the best kinds of chocolates she’d ever had...or...maybe it was because he enjoyed watching sunsets. Yeah...Y/N liked that about him.

Oh, and the other night - this was after the whole pranking Harrington thing - I saw the most beautiful sunset, like...you won’t believe how gorgeous it was! I...um...know it’s kinda stupid to...rememeber... she’d trailed off when he began chuckling under his breath. A hot new color finding her face, hands tampering with a chipped corner of the kitchen table. No, no -- I don’t mean to make you embarrassed! I...I just think it’s ironic. I...uh...like sunsets too.

When Y/N had asked Billy if he’d seen the one she was talking about, he’d only shook his head, tapping the table with his pointer. Not the sunsets here, L/N. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the ones back home in Cali. I haven’t watched a sunset since I came to this crappy little town. Y/N hadn’t taken offense; too focused on the fact that Hargrove had been missing out on such pretty moments in time - the only chance he’d get to see the sun ready itself to rest, draped in painted colors of pink, red, and orange... It happened every day, and he still managed to miss it.

God -- you’re crazy, Hargrove! What’s the difference! He’d only shaken his head, his tongue skimming the skin of his teeth as he leaned back in his chair. Billy had explained that back home, the sun was different. A California sunset is better than any skimpy one you see here, kid. I’m sure the sunset you saw, was nothing compared to the one happening three hours later in Cali.

Tightening her scrunchie (gifted to her by Eleven - promising to always wear it), Y/N pursed her lips. Well then, Hargrove - you haven’t seen everything this... ”skimpy” town has to offer. Using hand gestures she’d used air-quotes on his words - narrowing her eyes playfully.

Billy had rolled his eyes, lifting his eyebrows once in understanding, though Y/N could tell he was still unconvinced. Sure, doll. Whatever your little heart wants to believe. Y/N had then and there, decided one thing - Billy Hargrove -- I’m gonna show you the most...amazing sunset you’ve ever seen! It’ll blow those California ones out of the water! They shared a smile, Billy’s bordering smirk (at her poor attempt of a clever pun) while competing in a short staring contest. It was as if Billy was trying to have Y/N take her words back if she blinked. She hadn’t. And so he ruined the lovely moment by mentioning she could always blow something else...

Y/N tried settling down on the pull-out bed (previously set up for Billy), drawing the maroon quilt to her chin. She had the radio humming lowly in the background, as she found white-noise the most excellent way to fall asleep. Y/N lifted the jacket, still adorning her body, up to her nose. The collar smelt of cigarettes, a classic Aramis cologne, and what she could only describe as...Billy Hargrove (Y/N made a mental note to tell Billy when returning his jacket that he pulled off Aramis’ scent flawlessly...woody, with a fresh smell she couldn’t place...spiced with cinnamon maybe...and garnished with that masculine touch she thought represented Billy perfectly).

She drifted to sleep with only good thoughts of her night - hoping to prove to Hargrove that he could truly enjoy a sunset...even if it wasn’t Cali’s beach dime reflections and beauty.

Who would’ve known...Billy Hargrove enjoyed sunsets. Y/N wasn’t sure what to anticipate anymore - he’d already thrown all of her expectations out the window (and of course, she’d thought some of it was simply for appeal...as he was notorious for flirting, to which by now, Y/N suspected him to have perfected it - she did not deny him that). Either way, it made her smile as she fell asleep, thinking it possible she had Billy Hargrove all wrong...

The drive home was quiet. Though it was always quiet. Billy didn’t have someone to talk to - the melodies of music being his only company. He was speeding down the road, nodding his head lightly to Scoprions ‘You Rock Like A Hurricane’ as it lulled the night’s silence to something more his pace.

He was rewinding and replaying his night spent with Y/N... Puffing an air of smoke out from his lungs - he held his hand out the window to get rid of the ash (he didn't like getting it in his car after all).

She was unpredictable. Absolutely someone Billy wouldn’t have given the time of day if they’d met in a different situation (and if it hadn’t been Y/N that he’d met, it wouldn’t have been worth a single breath - he’d be certain of it).

Y/N had this...enchanting air surrounding her - leaving Billy with more questions than answers. He wanted to ask about how she felt - now that David was gone...how did she...feel...being home...alone. And if she didn’t mind; he wanted to ask her - shaking her by her shoulders either for the truth - or for an answer of how? How she managed to be okay with being alone... weren’t nights dark and days indifferent? Y/N had mentioned staying at Hopper’s house more times than not - so maybe being alone bothered her more than she led on. If so...they had more in common than he’d originally pinned her for.

Billy would also criticize what Y/N thought was a good sunset. Throughout their talk, he’d learned that she had never left Hawkins - not once in her lifetime. He’d been floored. So..you’ve like...never...been to the beach? She had bashfully said no. God, you would love the beaches in Cali! Our house was like...on the beach...and surfing -- wait, don’t say you haven’t even thought about it before?! Y/N had only rolled her eyes, grin on her lips as she reminded him where they were. She was admiring the way he seemed to lit up like a little kid at the topic of something he really loved. No beaches around here, Hargrove. I’ve never even dreamed about it. Billy had promised, then and there - that he’d one day, take her to the beach to teach her to surf. And as a payment...I suppose you’d need to wear a bathing suit...I like the color red, by the way, L/N. He just had to go there.

In return, Y/N had promised him the most amazing sunset he’d ever lay eyes on. I’m gonna hold you to that, L/N. He’d teased. Oh, I won’t disappoint, Hargrove! On my word! Why he even told her his interest in gentle dying evenings was beyond Billy... He had never told anyone; as it’d totally throw off his image of being this badass, chick-magnet, with no regrets or regards...mainly because desolate failure who missed his old home, dragging daddy issues wherever he went, who also squealed at sunsets didn’t have a ring to it, nor did it fit...

Now pulling up outside his house, Billy cut the engine quickly, his music having already been turned down to a low muted static. Neil wasn’t a fan of Billy’s favored engine roars and revving. Getting out of the midnight blue Camaro, he stepped out his cig and made his way down the busted walk-way in easy silence.

Slipping into the house undetected was a blessing, and he was able to make it to his room without any issues. Kicking his shoes off, he stripped to his boxers. Laying on the bedsheets with nothing but the ceiling to look at...Billy wondered how Y/N was seriously going to pull off a sunset better than California’s.

Billy still believed that leaving your heart carelessly on your sleeves would only result in disaster...but, he was reminded that he’d given his entire jacket away - so screw the sleeves...he had neither.

He could only hope Y/N spared him that...mercy was the gift of a genuine soul...and good God...he hoped she was forgiving - because Billy wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but he’d found himself slowly letting his guard down. All of that time spent building it up - brick by brick with stones of malice and contempt.

All that being threatened by a lonely girl with a grey T-shirt and a polka-dotted hair-tie...topped off with (a now) sick leather jacket.

“This damn sunset better be worth it, L/N,” Billy mumbled to the darkness. Lord knows how she’d have answered such a remark.

Falling asleep, Billy thought it possible he had Y/N L/N all wrong...

--

Sooooo~ what do you think about part 1 of Sunsets Back Home? I wasn’t planning on it being a possibly two-parter (or three), but here I am...XD

Part 2 anyone? <3

--

Tag List:  @novaddictx @mairalynn416 @wefracturedmotivation @truthdaze @xxcxrolinexx @billyhargrovescigarette

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Until You Return From the Front Line *Isiah JesusxOC

A request from @everythingandyou

Summary: Tommy’s eldest daughter, Avis, falls for Isiah Jesus but before they can have a whirlwind romance they’d always dreamed of, Europe crumbles. 

//Judging that the ages for the children in the series are wonky enough, I’m just going to have Isiah, Finn, and Avis in their late 20s, Charlie 18, and Ruby as 14.

           Dear Dad,

It’s been about a month since I’ve arrived in France. There are a lot of lovely girls my age. There’s a girl from Birmingham as well! I hope you’ve heard from Uncle Finn and Michael as I haven’t received any letters from them as of yet. I heard from Charlie about a week ago and it sounds like he’s becoming acclimated. It’s been a bit difficult as I’ve never seen such wounds before. There was a young man, couldn’t be more than twenty, who lost a leg. I’m hopeful the war won’t last very long. But I worry for Isiah and the others. Give Ruby and Lizzie my love and let them know I’m always thinking of them.

Love,

Avis

           It was an absolute nightmare. Tommy thought he could raise his children and never have them know the horrors that he and his brothers knew. The War was in the past, Charlie would never know the fear of being buried alive by a tunnel or the sound of bombers in the air and rifles through the night.

           But no longer. Britain had once again declared war and no able-bodied young man was safe from the draft. Charlie, a proud boy enlisted much to Tommy’s anger.

           The two fought over the decision for a few days. Charlies argued that it was the same thing his father had done. Tommy argued that, yes, it was the same thing he’d done and that’s why he was trying to protect his only son.

           Despite the power he had both in Parliament and in the community, Tommy couldn’t pull enough strings to get his son discharged before he was shipped off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Before Charlie left, they had a party for him at the Garrison. Tommy’s three children were all there. Avis was the oldest and the last thing Tommy had left of Greta Jurosi, the first love of his life. Next was Charlie, and finally, little Ruby who was actually taller than her older sister and nearly as tall as her brother.

           Drinks were flowing and spirits were generally up even though Charlie was leaving for the front lines. Everyone tried to remain optimistic. Maybe things would be settled and the young man would never even see a lick of combat. That’s all they could hope for.

           Across the room, Tommy spied Avis. She was a beautiful young woman with dark hair and her mother’s green eyes. Ever since she was little, she wanted to be a nurse. Growing up in Small Heath and around the rise of the Peaky Blinders she’d seen more than her share of injuries. So, with Tommy’s support, she completed nursing school and worked with ill children. Despite her rough upbringing, she was a gentle figure in the family.

           And now she was dancing very close to Isiah. The sight wasn’t too strange as the two had grown up together. She, Finn, and Jeremiah’s son were inseparable on the streets of Small Heath.

           Little did Tommy know; Isiah was Avis’s first kiss. Her first love. When they turned eighteen, he gifted her a promise ring which she never removed.

~~~~~~~~

           As the music slowed down, Isiah pulled Avis closer. “I need to tell you something.” He whispered to her.

           “You’re enlisting.”

           He frowned. “How did you find out?”

           Avis pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Finn told me you two went.” She answered quietly. “I didn’t want to believe him until you told me yourself.”

           “I’m sorry but I can’t stay here while Charlie’s over there.”

           Avis nodded and the two were quiet for a moment as they considered the possibility of being separated. Neither were sure the longest time they’d gone without seeing each other. It was like they were magnets, just due to be drawn back to each other at the end of the day.

           “I’m going too.” She finally spoke again.

           “What?” Isiah stopped swaying with her and lifted her chin so she was looking at him.

           “They told us in the hospital that they needed nurses.” She explained, her green eyes locked on his. “And I signed up. If you’re all going then I am too.”

           He shook his head but he knew there was a very slim chance she would ever change her mind. She had strong convictions and that was one reason why he loved her so. “I’m guessing there’s nothing I can say to make you stay here?”

           She smiled and shook his head. “No.”

           “Stubborn girl.” He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

           “I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy pulled his daughter aside the next morning. “There something you want to tell me?” He asked.

           Avis attempted to feign innocence. Mostly because she wasn’t sure what her father was trying to call her out on. Her relationship with Isiah? Her decision to enlist as a nurse? That one time when she was ten and broke a plate but blamed it on Charlie? “Tell you what?”

           “I saw the way you were with Isiah last night.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How long has that been going on?”

           Avis averted her eyes and rifled around her purse for a cigarette. “A while.” She admitted. “Why?”

           “Av, I don’t want to control you. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”

           “But you’re worried that people are going to look down on you because your daughter’s dating someone who’s black?” She snapped and glared at him.

           “What?” Tommy shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m talking about him providing for you. He’s a Blinder, Avis.”

           “And?” She threw up her hands in disbelief. “He’s intelligent, dad, you know that. If you gave him and Finn more responsibilities on the tracks then maybe they could make more money.” She accused.

           “That’s what you want, aye? Your husband working on the tracks? You could date someone of better social standing, Avis.” Tommy wanted nothing but to have his children succeed. To never allow them to see the slums of life, the worst of the worst of living. They would never go hungry, they would never be cold in the winter, they would never be afraid of being evicted.

           “I want someone who I love more than anything else.” Avis shot back at him. “I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.”

           Tommy ran a hand over his face, deflating slightly. “I understand you love him but…”

           “But nothing, dad. There’s nothing you could say to change my mind. I love him, isn’t that enough?”

           He looked at his oldest daughter, the apple of his eye. Perhaps he was just making up excuses. Maybe he was afraid of her getting old and starting a family of her own. It probably wouldn’t have mattered who she loved. He would protest because time had moved too fast. She’d grown too fast.

           “Dad, I enlisted.” Avis decided the time was as good as any to tell him the other news. “I’m going to serve as a nurse.”

           “No, absolutely not.” Falling in love was one thing. Going into a war zone was another thing. “I will not have you and Charlie over there. Absolutely fucking not.”

           “What am I meant to do here? I’m a nurse and I want to do what I can!” She cried.

           “What if I lose you both, aye?” Tommy stood up and began pacing anxiously. “What if you two both come back in boxes? I’m gonna have to tell your sister that you’re gone?”

           “Nothing’s going to happen to us, dad, we’ll be okay.”

           “You don’t fucking know that!” He shouted. “Neither of you have no idea what the fucks happens in those trenches. You both want to be proud of your fucking country when this country left me and your uncles for dead, buried alive!”

           Tears began to brim in Avis’s eyes. “I won’t be worthless. I’m going to make a difference.” She whispered tearfully. “I won’t sit around while men die. I’m going.” She asserted and left before Tommy could yell at her more.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Avis returned home from France a few weeks before Isiah and Charlie. Tommy refused to let go of her for quite some time. She was home, now he just needed to get his son back and the world would be right again.

           It was like there had been a never-ending alarm over the world for years. But finally, at that moment, everything went completely silent. The echoes faded and now everyone was left to pick themselves up, gather their dead, return home, and find out what normal had been.

           Isiah had been shot twice, once in the leg and once in the shoulder. Finn had nearly lost his arm to a grenade. Charlie had grown very ill from the gases. Michael had a bullet lodged in his back that would have to be taken out by surgeons in London. They’d all been through hell and back but at least they were returned home alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Isiah grinned and dropped his bag when he saw his Avis pushing through the crowds on the train platform.

           “Baby!” She squealed and leapt into his arms.

           “Oh, I missed you so much.” Isiah spun her around, hugging her tightly and then kissing her deeply. He never wanted to let go of her again.

          After a moment, Avis pulled back for a breath. She took in his handsome features, tracing her thumb over his cheek. “I missed you more.” She sighed with relief and kissed him again. Feeling him hold her again was reassuring. Not even a world war could tear them apart. They’d always return to each other.

Masterlist 

[sniktya]

Arthur Fleck x Reader

A/N: This is a short story about the first meeting between the reader and Arthur Fleck, i haven’t written in probably 2 years so i hope you guys enjoy it anyways. If you want a part 2 let me know!

A drop of rain landed on your face as soon as you stepped out of your decayed apartment building. You closed your eyes and tilted your head towards the cloudy evening sky.

The smell of Gotham flooded your nose. Trash, exhaust gases, alcohol, piss, tears and desperation. After a few seconds of breathing and listening to the street noises you started making your way towards the subway station.

It was a usual Friday night but you were hoping that the recent protests didn’t mean that there would be even less customers in the little diner you worked at. Tips were crucial for you since the old grouch who ran the place didn’t pay you a cent more than he needed to.

You knew you could do better and you used to have dreams but this city drowned them all before you had the chance to go after them. Not all hopes were lost though. The city was changing. You could feel it in your blood, something was about to happen. If that was a good or a bad thing, you didn’t know yet. The people needed change and they were about to make it for themselves.

The entrance to the subway was dimly lit, most lights were broken. The stairs were dirty and covered in pieces of old newspapers. A few homeless people were sitting on the floor inside the station hoping for some strangers with a few quarters to spare to walk by. Three minutes until the next subway would arrive, you used that time to put on headphones and put a new cassette into your Walkman.

The only i reason you could afford having one of those was simply because you had stolen it from a really rude customer a couple months ago. It was a middle aged guy who just had to make comments about your body and call you names, he even tried to touch you but that resulted in you almost breaking his arm. He had stormed out of the diner, calling you even worse names now, but as a pleasant surprise his Walkman had fallen out of his suitcase. The man never returned to ask for it so you were more than happy to make it your own.

You could hear the train approaching from the tunnels and stepped back a bit until it came to a full stop in front of you. The music on your headphones was loud enough to drown out most of the peoples voices as you entered the subway. There weren’t a lot of passengers, a couple drunk guys, an elderly man reading the newspaper, a woman with her two kids further down in the wagon.

You sat down on the empty bench and noticed the man sitting across from you. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, his head was tilted downwards and a few strands of his wavy brown hair were falling into his face. He didn’t seem to notice or care, it looked as if his mind was somewhere else, far away from Gotham. You couldn’t blame him, it wasn’t a good place to be but it made you wonder what he was thinking about.

He must’ve felt your stare and his head jerked up making his deep green eyes meet yours. They were absolutely stunning and you felt your heart skip a few too many beats. Immediately you tried to smile at him just so he wouldn’t think that you were staring or judging him. He looked a bit unsure if you actually meant to smile at him, friendliness was a rare thing in the city these days.

After short hesitation his mouth formed a little awkward smile too and you could tell that he was a bit uncomfortable. You felt bad for staring,but there was just something about him that was very mesmerizing. He looked so genuine, so sweet and innocent in a world that only did him wrong.

The subway came to a stop and you realized that it was time for you to get out. The stranger across from you straighten himself and it almost looked like he was giving you a short nod as a goodbye.

For some reason you hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time you would see him but you also hoped that he would make it out of Gotham and have a chance of a better life.

You got up and waited for the doors to slide open. As you walked out of the train you started focusing back on the music that was still blasting from your headphones.

Arthurs view:

His mind was no where and everywhere at the same time. Why was life this cruel? What had he done to deserve this life of never ending pain and suffering. He just wanted to feel happiness for once, know what its like when someone genuinely cares about you.

One station after another was passing by and he didn’t even remember how long he had been riding this train already. He didn’t have a destination anyways, just aimlessly wondering around in the hopes of finding something that could make him feel like he mattered.

The subway just stopped and was now picking up speed again when he started to feel a bit uneasy. He hated when people starred at him, it made him nervous and he was scared that he wouldn’t be able to control his laughter attacks. He only wanted attention when he was prepared for it.

He stopped staring at the ground and looked up to find the source of his uneasiness when he met eyes with the woman sitting across from him.

He froze immediately.

Her eyes were fixed on his and they seemed as if they could hold the whole universe within them. How did someone so beautiful end up in this sordid city.

The stranger gave him an unsure smile as if she was silently apologizing for disturbing his daydream. It took him a second to be able to smile back since he was still startled by her stunning beauty.

His stomach felt weird looking at her, good but weird. He never felt something like this before so he wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret it.

The subway was approaching the next station and he could tell that the girl was getting ready to get up. It made him sad to see her leave so quick after just discovering her.

He hoped to see her again someday but he also hoped that she would make it out of Gotham to have a life better than it would ever be possible here.

She got up and he noticed that something was now laying where she had sat just a moment ago. It looked like keys, he started getting freaked out. Were these hers? He couldn’t just let her walk away when he had the opportunity to do something good.

“Ma’am ...Ma’am!” She didn’t hear him.

Just now he realized that the girl had headphones on her head. She had already walked out of the subway and was making her way towards the street exit.

It was now or never, he had to make a decision. As fast as he could he got up and grabbed the keys and sprinted out of the train before the doors could close.

Your view:

The subway stations of Gotham were without a doubt the grossest parts of the city so it felt almost refreshing to get back into the cold street. The diner was only a couple blocks down the road and you were a bit too early today so you weren’t running like usual.

The streets were moderately busy and there were quite a few shops and corner stores still open and beaming with lights. It always made you feel better when it felt like there was still some life left in the city.

In front of you a glass door opened and you slowed down to let the people pass. You looked into the reflection of the glass door and noticed a figure about thirty feet behind you. It was the stranger from the subway.

His hands were again buried in his pockets and you could tell he was looking at you. God dammit. You knew this city to well to believe that it was a coincidence. He was following you and the hands in his pockets most likely meant a knife or worse. Why couldn’t you just smile at a stranger without getting murdered.

You continued the walk towards your work place, right now you had the advantage. He didn’t know that you caught on to him. If he thought that you didn’t know how to defend yourself after growing up here then he was mistaken.

The further down the road you got the less people were out on the streets. You knew that there was an alley way coming up and it would be your chance to catch him off guard.

You had to act quick. The alley was right next to you, you took a sharp left and pressed yourself against the cold brick wall of the building. Your breath was shaky and your hands were sweaty, you pulled down your headphones so you could hear him approaching.

Blood was rushing trough every part of your body, making you almost exited with anticipation. The man was walking into the alley, he didn’t see you standing in the shadow until it was too late.

You grabbed his arms from behind, yanking them back so everything the was holding inside his pockets fell down to the ground. He was making muffled sounds of distress and confusion.

As soon as you had a good grip on his arms behind his back you pushed him face first into the brick wall and stood very close to him so he could hear you clearly.

“Why are you following me?” Your voice was calm and strong.

He was trembling under your grip and he let out a small laugh.

You were very confused, why was he laughing? Was this some sick game, did he like following seemingly defenseless girls at night?

“I’m... “ he coughed and another small laugh interrupted him.

“... sorry, y-our ...... keys “

He was almost wheezing, his foot was now pointing towards something that had fallen to the ground when you had overwhelmed him.

You looked down and saw the familiar bundle of keys laying on the wet floor. You let out a long sigh and let go of his hands to bend down and pick up your belongings. He turned around and slammed against the wall with his back, his hands coming up to grab his own throat while still laughing and coughing at the same time.

You stood back up and looked at him a bit unsure regarding his laughter. One of the mans hands came down to his jacket and he clumsily tried taking something out of his pocket. Now you got nervous again, maybe he did have a knife of a gun and you had failed to disarm him.

To your surprise he pulled out a wrinkled little card and held it out in front of him so you could grab it. He had to bend over from all the coughing and you took the card from his hand and read the words written on it.

After you read the card you looked back at the stranger, you felt bad for him, what a terrible condition to have.

“Hey ... hey! It’s okay. I’m really sorry, i thought you were following me and i got scared you know ....”

You put your hands on his shoulders and pushed him so he would stand upright again.

“It’s okay, just breath .... inhale ......exhale ...... its okay, I’m here.”

You looked him in the eyes and you could see the pain and panic in them. He mimicked your breathing patterns and you could tell that he was slowing calming down.

“Good... you’re doing great ... inhale ..... exhale.... there you go ....”

He was finally breathing normal again and he closed his eyes for a few seconds before locking them back with yours.

“Thank you... i just get these outbreaks sometimes... I’m sorry ..... I didn’t mean to scare you. You left your keys on the subway, i was calling for you but you had your headphones on and then .... i don’t know i got anxious and just followed you so i could leave the keys somewhere for you ... im so sorry .... you must’ve been so afraid ...”

The words were pouring out of him like a waterfall but you stopped him when you put your cupped hand on his cheek.

His eyes widened and confusion spread across his face.

“You don’t have to apologize, i didn’t think about the headphones, i just put them on so people don’t bother me. Thank you so much for grabbing my keys, I’d be pretty screwed without them.” You smiled at him and you could see a small smile forming on his face as well.

“I feel terrible for pushing you into the wall and overwhelming you ... let me make it up to you.”

You took a step back and straightened your jacket. With one hand you pointed down the street.

“I work at the diner just a few minutes from here, if you like milkshakes then I’ll get you one on the house.”

You smiled at him in hopes he would agree. Why exactly you felt the need to make it up to him you didn’t know. Maybe because he wasn’t what you thought he would be and his awkwardness and clumsiness made you feel some sort of way.

Even though his way of trying to give you your keys back wasn’t exactly ideal, it was still nice to know that he was going out of his way to do something good.

It’s far more than anyone else in this city would do.

“You really don’t have to do that-“ he started before you promptly interrupted him.

“No no no no, i insist, i almost broke both your arms, this is the least i could do.”

He still looked like he was going to decline but then he shyly nodded and gave you the cutest smile you had ever seen.

Together you made you way towards the diner.

[gelderon52]

Consensus Building: an art that we are losing. The Case of Climate Science

by Ugo Bardi (from The Seneca Effect”)

In 1956, Arthur C. Clarke wrote "The Forgotten Enemy," a science fiction story that dealt with the return of the ice age (image source). Surely it was not Clarke's best story, but it may have been the first written on that subject by a well-known author. Several other sci-fi authors examined the same theme, but that does not mean that, at that time, there was a scientific consensus on global cooling. It just means that a consensus on global warming was obtained only later, in the 1980s. But which mechanisms were used to obtain this consensus? And why is it that, nowadays, it seems to be impossible to attain consensus on anything? This post is a discussion on this subject that uses climate science as an example.

You may remember how, in 2017, during the Trump presidency, there briefly floated in the media the idea to stage a debate on climate change in the form of a "red team vs. blue team" encounter between orthodox climate scientists and their opponents. Climate scientists were horrified at the idea. They were especially appalled at the military implications of the "red vs. blue" idea that hinted at how the debate could have been organized. From the government side, then, it was quickly realized that in a fair scientific debate their side had no chances. So, the debate never took place and it is good that it didn't. Maybe those who proposed it were well intentioned (or maybe not), but in any case it would have degenerated into a fight and just created confusion.

Yet, the story of that debate that was never held hints at a point that most people understand: the need for consensus. Nothing in our world can be done without some form of consensus and the question of climate change is a good example. Climate scientists tend to claim that such a consensus exists, and they sometimes quantify it as 97% or even 100%. Their opponents claim the opposite.

In a sense, they are both right. A consensus on climate change exists among scientists, but this is not true for the general public. The polls say that a majority of people know something about climate change and agree that something is to be done about it, but that is not the same as an in-depth, informed consensus. Besides, this majority rapidly disappears as soon as it is time to do something that touches someone's wallet. The result is that, for more than 30 years, thousands of the best scientists in the world have been warning humankind of a dire threat approaching, and nothing serious has been done. Only proclaims, greenwashing, and "solutions" that worsen the problem (the "hydrogen-based economy" is a good example).

So, consensus building is a fundamental matter. You can call it a science or see it as another way to define what others call "propaganda." Some reject the very idea as a form of "mind control," or practice it in various methods of rule-based negotiations. It is a fascinating subject that goes to the heart of our existence as human beings in a complex society.

Here, instead of tackling the issue from a general viewpoint, I'll discuss a specific example: that of "global cooling" vs. "global warming," and how a consensus was obtained that warming is the real threat. It is a dispute often said to be proof that no such a thing as consensus exists in climate science.  

You surely heard the story of how, just a few decades ago, "global cooling" was the generally accepted scientific view of the future. And how those silly scientists changed their minds, switching to warming, instead. Conversely, you may also have heard that this is a myth and that there never was such a thing as a consensus that Earth was cooling.

As it is always the case, the reality is more complex than politics wants it to be. Global cooling as an early scientific consensus is one of the many legends generated by the discussion about climate change and, like most legends, it is basically false. But it has at least some links with reality. It is an interesting story that tells us a lot about how consensus is obtained in science. But we need to start from the beginning.

The idea that Earth's climate was not stable emerged in the mid-19th century with the discovery of the past ice ages. At that point, an obvious question was whether ice ages could return in the future. The matter remained at the level of scattered speculations until the mid 20th century, when the concept of "new ice age" appeared in the "memesphere" (the ensemble of human public memes). We can see this evolution using Google "Ngrams," a database that measures the frequency of strings of words in a large corpus of published books (Thanks, Google!!).

You see that the possibility of a "new ice age" entered the public consciousness already in the 1920s, then it grew and reached a peak in the early 1970s. Other strings such as "Earth cooling" and the like give similar results. Note also that the database "English Fiction" generates a large peak for the concept of a "new ice age" at about the same time, in the 1970s. Later on, cooling was completely replaced by the concept of global warming. You can see in the figure below how the crossover arrived in the late 1980s.

Even after it started to decline, the idea of a "new ice age" remained popular and journalists loved presenting it to the public as an imminent threat. For instance, Newsweek printed an article titled "The Cooling World" in 1975, but the concept provided good material for the catastrophic genre in fiction. As late as 2004, it was at the basis of the movie "The Day After Tomorrow."

Does that mean that scientists ever believed that the Earth was cooling? Of course not. There was no consensus on the matter. The status of climate science until the late 1970s simply didn't allow certainties about Earth's future climate.

As an example, in 1972, the well-known report to the Club of Rome, "The Limits to Growth," noted the growing concentration of CO2 in the atmosphere, but it did not state that it would cause warming -- evidently the issue was not yet clear even for scientists engaged in global ecosystem studies. 8 years later, in 1980, the authors of "The Global 2000 Report to the President of the U.S." commissioned by president Carter, already had a much better understanding of the climate effects of greenhouse gases. Nevertheless, they did not rule out global cooling and they discussed it as a plausible scenario.

The Global 2000 Report is especially interesting because it provides some data on the opinion of climate scientists as it was in 1975. 28 experts were interviewed and asked to forecast the average world temperature for the year 2000. The result was no warming or a minimal one of about 0.1 C. In the real world, though, temperatures rose by more than 0.4 C in 2000. Clearly, in 1980, there was not such a thing as a scientific consensus on global warming. On this point, see also the paper by Peterson (2008) which analyzes the scientific literature in the 1970s. A majority of paper was found to favor global warming, but also a significant minority arguing for no temperature changes or for global cooling.

Now we are getting to the truly interesting point of this discussion. The consensus that Earth was warming did not exist before the 1980s, but then it became the norm. How was it obtained?

There are two interpretations floating in the memesphere today. One is that scientists agreed on a global conspiracy to terrorize the public about global warming in order to obtain personal advantages. The other that scientists are cold-blooded data-analyzers and that they did as John Maynard Keynes said, "When I have new data, I change my mind."

Both are legends. The one about the scientific conspiracy is obviously ridiculous, but the second is just as silly. Scientists are human beings and data are not a gospel of truth. Data are always incomplete, affected by uncertainties, and need to be selected. Try to develop Newton's law of universal gravitation without ignoring all the data about falling feathers, paper sheets, and birds, and you'll see what I mean.

In practice, science is a fine-tuned consensus-building machine. It has evolved exactly for the purpose of smoothly absorbing new data in a gradual process that does not lead (normally) to the kind of partisan division that's typical of politics.

Science uses a procedure derived from an ancient method that, in Medieval times was called disputatio and that has its roots in the art of rhetoric of classical times. The idea is to debate issues by having champions of the different theses squaring off against each other and trying to convince an informed audience using the best arguments they can muster. The Medieval disputatio could be very sophisticated and, as an example, I discussed the "Controversy of Valladolid" (1550-51) on the status of the American Indians. Theological disputationes normally failed to harmonize truly incompatible positions, say, convincing Jews to become Christians (it was tried more than once, but you may imagine the results). But sometimes they did lead to good compromises and they kept the confrontation to the verbal level (at least for a while).

In modern science, the rules have changed a little, but the idea remains the same: experts try to convince their opponents using the best arguments they can muster. It is supposed to be a discussion, not a fight. Good manners are to be maintained and the fundamental feature is being able to speak a mutually understandable language. And not just that: the discussants need to agree on some basic tenets of the frame of the discussion.  During the Middle Ages, theologians debated in Latin and agreed that the discussion was to be based on the Christian scriptures. Today, scientists debate in English and agree that the discussion is to be based on the scientific method.

In the early times of science, one-to-one debates were used (maybe you remember the famous debate about Darwin's ideas that involved Thomas Huxley and Archbishop Wilberforce in 1860). But, nowadays, that is rare. The debate takes place at scientific conferences and seminars where several scientists participate, gaining or losing "prestige points" depending on how good they are at presenting their views. Occasionally, a presenter, especially a young scientist, may be "grilled" by the audience in a small re-enactment of the coming of age ceremonies of Native Americans. But, most important of all, informal discussions take place all over the conference. These meetings are not supposed to be vacations, they are functional to the face-to-face exchange of ideas. As I said, scientists are human beings and they need to see each other in the face to understand each other. A lot of science is done in cafeterias and over a glass of beer. Possibly, most scientific discoveries start in this kind of informal setting. No one, as far as I know, was ever struck by a ray of light from heaven while watching a power point presentation.

It would be hard to maintain that scientists are more adept at changing their views than Medieval theologians and older scientists tend to stick to old ideas. Sometimes you hear that science advances one funeral at a time; it is not wrong, but surely an exaggeration: scientific views do change even without having to wait for the old guard to die. The debate at a conference can decisively tilt toward one side on the basis of the brilliance of a scientist, the availability of good data, and the overall competence demonstrated.

I can testify that, at least once, I saw someone in the audience rising up after a presentation and say, "Sir, I was of a different opinion until I heard your talk, but now you convinced me. I was wrong and you are right." (and I can tell you that this person was more than 70 years old, good scientists may age gracefully, like wine). In many cases, the conversion is not so sudden and so spectacular, but it does happen. Then, of course, money can do miracles in affecting scientific views but, as long as we stick to climate science, there is not a lot of money involved and corruption among scientists is not widespread as it is in other fields, such as in medical research.

So, we can imagine that in the 1980s the consensus machine worked as it was supposed to do and it led to the general opinion of climate scientists switching from cooling to warming. That was a good thing, but the story didn't end with that. There remained to convince people outside the narrow field of climate science, and that was not obvious.

From the 1990s onward, the disputatio was dedicated to convincing non-climate scientists, that is both scientists working in different fields and intelligent laypersons. There was a serious problem with that: climate science is not a matter for amateurs, it is a field where the Dunning-Kruger effect (people overestimating their competence) may be rampant. Climate scientists found themselves dealing with various kinds of opponents. Typically, elderly scientists who refused to accept new ideas or, sometimes, geologists who saw climate science as invading their turf and resenting that. Occasionally, opponents could score points in the debate by focusing on narrow points that they themselves had not completely understood (for instance, the "tropospheric hot spot" was a fashionable trick). But when the debate involved someone who knew climate science well enough the opponents' destiny was to be easily steamrolled.

These debates went on for at least a decade. You may know the  2009 book by Randy Olson, "Don't be Such a Scientist" that describes this period. Olson surely understood the basic point of debating: you must respect your opponent if you aim at convincing him or her, and the audience, too. It seemed to be working, slowly. Progress was being made and the climate problem was becoming more and more known.

And then, something went wrong. Badly wrong. Scientists suddenly found themselves cast into another kind of debate for which they had no training and little understanding. You see in Google Ngrams how the idea that climate change was a hoax lifted off in the 2000s and became a feature of the memesphere. Note how rapidly it rose: it had a climax in 2009, with the Climategate scandal, but it didn't decline afterward.

It was a completely new way to discuss: not anymore a disputatio. No more rules, no more reciprocal respect, no more a common language. Only slogans and insults. A climate scientist described this kind of debate as like being involved in a "bare-knuckle bar fight." From there onward, the climate issue became politicized and sharply polarized. No progress was made and none is being made, right now.

Why did this happen? In large part, it was because of a professional PR campaign aimed at disparaging climate scientists. We don't know who designed it and paid for it but, surely, there existed (and still exist) industrial lobbies which were bound to lose a lot if decisive action to stop climate change was implemented. Those who had conceived the campaign had an easy time against a group of people who were as naive in terms of communication as they were experts in terms of climate science.

The Climategate story is a good example of the mistakes scientists made. If you read the whole corpus of the thousands of emails released in 2009, nowhere you'll find that the scientists were falsifying the data, were engaged in conspiracies, or tried to obtain personal gains. But they managed to give the impression of being a sectarian clique that refused to accept criticism from their opponents. In scientific terms, they did nothing wrong, but in terms of image, it was a disaster. Another mistake of scientists was to try to steamroll their adversaries claiming a 97% of scientific consensus on human-caused climate change. Even assuming that it is true (it may well be), it backfired, giving once more the impression that climate scientists are self-referential and do not take into account objections of other people.

Let me give you another example of a scientific debate that derailed and become a political one. I already mentioned the 1972 study "The Limits to Growth." It was a scientific study, but the debate that ensued was outside the rules of the scientific debate. A feeding frenzy among sharks would be a better description of how the world's economists got together to shred to pieces the LTG study.  The "debate" rapidly spilled over to the mainstream press and the result was a general demonization of the study, accused to have made "wrong predictions," and, in some cases, to be planning the extermination of humankind. (I discuss this story in my 2011 book "The Limits to Growth Revisited.") The interesting (and depressing) thing you can learn from this old debate is that no progress was made in half a century. Approaching the 50th anniversary of the publication, you can find the same criticism republished afresh on Web sites, "wrong predictions", and all the rest.

So, we are stuck. Is there a hope to reverse the situation? Hardly.

The loss of the capability of obtaining a consensus seems to be a feature of our times: debates require a minimum of reciprocal respect to be effective, but that has been lost in the cacophony of the Web. The only form of debate that remains is the vestigial one that sees presidential candidates stiffly exchanging platitudes with each other every four years. But a real debate? No way, it is gone like the disputes among theologians in Middle Ages.

The discussion on climate, just as on all important issues, has moved to the Web, in large part to the social media. And the effect has been devastating on consensus-building. One thing is facing a human being across a table with two glasses of beer on it, another is to see a chunk of text falling from the blue as a comment to your post. This is a recipe for a quarrel, and it works like that every time.

Also, it doesn't help that international scientific meetings and conferences have all but disappeared in a situation that discourages meetings in person. Online meetings turned out to be hours of boredom in which nobody listens to anybody and everyone is happy when it is over. Even if you can still manage to be at an in-person meeting, it doesn't help that your colleague appears to you in the form of a masked bag of dangerous viruses, to be kept at a distance all the time, if possible behind a plexiglass barrier. Not the best way to establish a human relationship.

This is a fundamental problem: if you can't build a consensus by a debate, the only other possibility is to use the political method. It means attaining a majority by means of a vote (and note that in science, like in theology, voting is not considered an acceptable consensus building technique). After the vote, the winning side can force their position on the minority using a combination of propaganda, intimidation, and, sometimes, physical force. An extreme consensus-building technique is the extermination of the opponents. It has been done so often in history that it is hard to think that it will not be done again on a large scale in the future, perhaps not even in a remote one. But, apart from the moral implications, forced consensus is expensive, inefficient, and often it leads to dogmas being established. Then it is impossible to adapt to new data when they arrive.

So, where are we going? Things keep changing all the time; maybe we'll find new ways to attain consensus even online, which implies, at a minimum, not to insult and attack your opponent right from the beginning. As for a common language, after that we switched from Latin to English, we might now switch to "Googlish," a new world language that might perhaps be structured to avoid clashes of absolutes -- perhaps it might just be devoid of expletives, perhaps it may have some specific features that help build consensus. For sure, we need a reform of science that gets rid of the corruption rampant in many fields: money is a kind of consensus, but not the one we want.

Or, maybe, we might develop new rituals. Rituals have always been a powerful way to attain consensus, just think of the Christian mass (the Christian church has not yet realized that it has received a deadly blow from the anti-virus rules). Could rituals be transferred online? Or would we need to meet in person in the forest as the "book people" imagined by Ray Bradbury in his 1953 novel "Fahrenheit 451"? We cannot say. We can only ride the wave of change that, nowadays, seems to have become a true tsunami. Will we float or sink? Who can say? The shore seems to be still far away.

h/t Carlo Cuppini and "moresoma"

[stringcoin0-blog]

Erica Wagner's Chief Engineer: Washington Roebling, The Man Who Built the Brooklyn Bridge

One of life’s more delightful surprises comes about when something one has expected to be at best no more than a pleasant chore turns out to be a positive pleasure. I must admit that when Peter Aigner asked me to review this book my first thought was that it was a brave soul who would dare to follow McCullough’s vintage account, even if the passage of nearly fifty years held the promise of new sources and fresh perspectives. My second thought was along the lines of “OK, enough of the ‘Great Men’ already!” After all, Washington Roebling didn’t build the Brooklyn Bridge any more than a movie star makes a movie: what about the second gaffer or the assistant third grip or any of the hundreds of others whose names we briefly catch at the end of the movie, if we even bother to watch them roll by? But then I was also curious about “the man in the window” — in McCullough’s felicitous phrase — the house-bound invalid who supervised the last six years of the construction of the bridge from the confines of his office at the back of the Roebling’s home at 110 Columbia Heights in Brooklyn. And the book’s author was indeed able to draw on sources that were not available fifty years ago, mostly importantly Washington Roebling’s private memoir of his father’s life, which turns out to have been as much a memoir of his own life as that of his father’s, at least up until his father’s death in 1869. Our sense of history has, I think, also changed: fifty years ago my mother’s mother, who was born in 1881, could still repeat the Civil War stories told by her grandfather, who had been a captain in the Union Army; today not only she but her children also are gone, and even her grandchildren are getting long in the tooth. The span of Washington Roebling’s life, which saw New York emerge as one of the great cities of the world, has by now passed not only from the realm of living memories but also from the living memories of those memories. And of course today we can read about those by-gone days on our mobile devices via a wireless connection to the internet while flying across the country at 500 miles per hour at an altitude of 30,000 feet, which does, somehow, change our perspective on history in ways that at present we can only guess at.   Chief Engineer does give us a lively account of the actual construction of the bridge and the trials and tribulations of all kinds attendant upon any engineering project of such magnitude, but appropriately enough, the bulk of this account takes up less than a fourth of the story, and even so is interwoven with the events of Wahington Roebling’s “non-bridge” life. Chief Engineer is not a technical account: readers wanting to know, e.g., the details of how the bridge’s cables were “spun” would be well-advised to search out Roebling’s assistant Wilhelm Hildenbrand’s 1877 Cable-Making for Suspension Bridges, with Special Reference to the Cables of the East River Bridge, or, for the construction of the towers, Roebling’s own 1873 Pneumatic Tower Foundations of the East River Suspension Bridge (scans of both are available on-line at archive.org). But for this reader, at least, the greater interest of the book lies in the cast of family characters surrounding his own life: his father, his mother, his brothers — especially the youngest, Edmund — and his first wife, Emily Warren.

The word “Dickensian” almost unavoidably springs to mind: the portrait of John A. Roebling that emerges from his son’s memoir is that of a monster who beat his wife and children — four sons and three daughters survived into adulthood — so often and so mercilessly that they lived in constant terror of him; who when he wasn’t beating them subjected them to the most hideous torments of his quack belief in “water cures” for all ailments of body, mind, and soul; and who later in life engaged a spiritualist medium to establish communications with his deceased wife, even though, as Washington later wrote in his memoir, he had treated her so horribly that “the poor woman was glad to die, even at 48.” The “dysfunctional family” has been around at least since Helen ran off with Paris, and was apparently still thriving in nineteenth century America, as it no doubt still is even today. In any event, it’s hard not to feel some sense of poetic justice when Roebling Sr. dies an agonizing death from a tetanus infection after rejecting proper medical treatment in favor of another of his bogus “water cures” when his toes were crushed in a ferry slip accident while inspecting the site of the Brooklyn-side bridge tower on June 28, 1869.

The middle two of the four Roebling sons survived well enough — at what psychic cost we will surely never know — to be able to run the Trenton, New Jersey, firm that, following their father’s death, was known as the John A. Roebling’s Sons Company, a steel wire mill that later supplied the wire for the Williamsburgh, Manhattan, George Washington, and Golden Gate bridge cables. The youngest brother, Edmund, was not so fortunate. Erica Wagner tells us that sometime after 1917, when, in Washington’s words, Edmund was “a harmless white haired old man of over 70,” a doctor engaged on behalf of the estate of his recently deceased brother Ferdinand had declined to say whether Edmund was compos mentis. Apparently this had been something of a life-long concern. Washington later explained that Edmund’s sad situation arose “from his surroundings from boyhood— No real home, no friends, no ties of relationship, no wife, no occupation, not sufficient force of character to rise above the circumstances and perhaps too much money when young.” He, would, however, survive Washington by some four years, dying in 1930. Washington Roebling’s sisters play no prominent part in Chief Engineer, but the same cannot be said of his wife Emily Warren, whose assistance in supervising the construction of the bridge during the years in which her husband was an invalid was indispensable, rising to the status of becoming what her biographer Marilyn Weigold called the bridge’s “surrogate chief engineer.” Erica Wagner recently told The New York Times that she “didn’t think the Brooklyn Bridge would be standing, were it not for [Emily Roebling] … She was absolutely integral to its construction.” It should come as no surprise that the eldest son of the monstrous father should himself be a difficult man to live with, even without the burden of his chronic illness and the responsibilities for the bridge project it imposed on his wife. Erica Wagner quotes a letter to her son John written on her wedding anniversary, January 18, 1896, saying that “Your father has been married 31 years today. I twice that long.” After the completion of the bridge, however, she was able to establish something of a life of her own beyond the reach of the Roebling family curse: she became involved with a number of civic organizations, travelled widely, and took the Women’s Law Course at New York University, from which she graduated with honors in the spring of 1899, not quite four years before her death at age 59 in 1903. Her 1899 feminist essay, “A Wife’s Disabilities,” written for her NYU course, is still notable for its arguments for women’s rights.

Emily Roebling’s role in the construction of the bridge was a consequence of her husband’s crippling attack of “the bends” in 1872 resulting, in his own words, from his “imprudence in remaining too long in the caisson on Saturday last.” The caisson was a highly pressurized structure that made it possible to work underwater to excavate the riverbed for the bridge towers’ foundations; though little understood at the time, “the bends” were the result of decompressing too rapidly on returning to the surface, which allowed atmospheric gases that had been dissolved into the body’s fluids by the pressure in the caisson to reemerge and to form bubbles that pressed painfully, injuriously, even fatally on the body’s joints and tissues. Erica Wagner tells us that Emily “was not always entirely convinced by her husband’s complaints” and that “much of what ailed him would remain mysterious.” The suspicion, however, lies not far off that whatever part of his suffering was due to “the long term costs of working in compressed air,” another part may have been due to the long repressed pressures of having been the dutiful son of a monster  — a genius of a monster, perhaps, but a monster nonetheless.

Erica Wagner is a wonderful writer and Chief Engineer is as entertaining as it is engrossing, so much so that I am reluctant to register a few complaints about the book itself. Publishers have become so shy of footnotes, bibliography, figure captions and lists of picture sources, as well as indexing, that in their attempt to minimize what they fear are, for the lay reader, the forbidding aspects of a proper scholarly apparatus, too much is lost for those who read a work like Chief Engineer for more than its entertainment value. Alas, Chief Engineer is no exception to this lamentable trend, which puts the burden of sorting out which note belongs with which part of the text on the reader. While the color illustrations are well-done and well-captioned, with sources given, the black and white illustrations in the running text are of only variable quality, sources are not given, and in one instance, a photograph of Washington Roebling seated with British Admiral Jacky Fisher, even the caption has been dispensed with — and the reproduction is so murky one could scarcely begin to recognize either of the two men or to tell the one from the other. This is, I suppose not the author’s fault.

There are also occasional minor errors of a kind that while surely unavoidable in a work of this breadth are nonetheless disconcerting. The Catholic World article on the “The Sanitary and Moral Condition of New York City” on which the author relies for her evocation of slum conditions in New York (Manhattan) at the time the work on the bridge was about to get underway appeared in volume VII (1867) and not, as the note in the back would have it, volume VIII (1869). And it is a mistake to take such a source at its word: the number of seven or eight story tenement buildings in the city at that time — if indeed any existed at all outside the Catholic World writer’s quite properly indignant imagination — must have been very small, too small to be presented as typical. Even in 1903, when the number of tenements in Manhattan had more than doubled, less than one percent were more than six stories tall.

The Roeblings, father and son, may have seen Rossini’s Barber of Seville and Donizetti’s Don Pasquale performed by a travelling opera group in Pittsburgh sometime around 1858, but they could not have seen La Bohème, at least neither Puccini’s well-known nor Leoncavallo’s lesser-known opera, both of which had their premiers in 1896. If they saw a Bohème it could only have been Théodore Barrière’s hit play of 1849, which was based on Henri Murger’s stories of Parisian life in the Latin Quarter in the 1840s, collected in 1851 as his novel, Scènes de la vie de Bohème.

But I cavil, perhaps unnecessarily, as these are minor slip-ups — there are surely a few others too that readers with expertises and interests different from my own will wince at, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I’ve made a few myself even in the brief space of this review. None of them can alter the overriding fact that Erica Wagner has given us a wonderful if disturbing portrait of a man, a family, and a time in New York’s history — and America’s too — that is both informative and a genuine pleasure to read.

Source: https://www.gothamcenter.org/blog/erica-wagners-chief-engineer-washington-roebling-the-man-who-built-the-brooklyn-bridge

[alltheworldsrpg-blog]

WELCOME TO ROSWELL, DEIMOS NOX!!

ADMIN CAMERON: From first read, it was clear Deimos was someone to watch out for, stylish and alluring, with the ego I’d always seen The Ajax possessing. Their likes and dislikes were especially reveling and I’m excited to see where this little cyber-criminal ends up.

You’ve been accepted as THE AJAX with the faceclaim of STEVEN JAMES. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS: 

Roman + they/them

AGE: 

24

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY: 

EST + 8/10, i’m on at least once a day to do replies, but i can pretty much always answer messages at least, as i’ve got weird work hours, especially for the summer

TRIGGERS: 

Removed for privacy. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: 

hi yes i’m super bad at intros, but as it says up there, i’m roman, i live in boston, i work in theatre and actually make a living from it (ikr wtf), but writing is my fav thing to do. i love this whole concept and #aesthetic so much and i had a lot of fun writing this app, so yeah! 

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE: 

The Ajax

FULL NAME: 

Deimos Nox, formerly Alex Weston

{Deimos- from Ancient Greek meaning dread, god of terror, son of Ares and Aphrodite}

Deimos was not always Deimos. Once Deimos was Alex. Unfeared, not even glanced at twice by anyone. Once they were nothing but a confused child with no idea how to enact the change that they needed. Once they were human, too, weak and fragile. No longer. They shed that name and that life long ago like a snake shedding its skin, born anew with the knowledge of what must be done. And now they are more. Now, wherever they go they are looked upon with fear. Terror. Now they are Deimos.

{Nox- from NOx, gases produced by lightning strikes as well as the combustion of fuels, causing air pollution, acid rain, and smog}

Now they are Nox. They will be the one to slowly but surely cause the downfall of a selfish, hateful species that cares for nothing but their own wellbeing. From the inside out they will cause destruction, the downfall of man. They will be the poisonous gas that humans breathe in  And they will laugh as the world burns around them.

GENDER + PRONOUNS: 

Agender + they/them

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: 

bisexual + demiromantic

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE:  

March 30 + 26 years old

OCCUPATION: 

Cybercriminal/hacker- They earn most of their money from petty crime, doing hacking and data erasure for everyone from jealous spouses, to government officials, they create and destroy identities and entire histories, especially for extraterrestrials who wish to integrate themselves as humans. Most of their time, however, is devoted to perfecting viruses to help bring down the human government slowly from the inside, and software to create human-hating androids. They hope to get to the point soon where they can create their own androids, but they don’t have the proper knowledge, let alone resources, to achieve that yet. But this is their true job.

FACECLAIM: 

Stephen James

BIOGRAPHY:

They weren’t anything special, at least not at first.

The Weston family was completely ordinary in every way, and Alex Weston was no different. Alex was smart, but not too smart, quiet, but not too quiet, and kind, but not too kind, just as their parents taught them. They were raised to keep their eyes to the floor and stay out of trouble, spending more time on their computer than they did with other people at their parents’ encouragement, with the purpose of being prepared for a nondescript tech job at the company their father worked at when the time came. Things were simple, and they were happy.

They didn’t understand, as a child, that their parents were afraid of that which was other.

Perhaps if Alex had been special in any small way, if their family had been anything other than utterly normal, utterly content to accept the lies that were fed to them, perhaps their path would have been different. Perhaps they would not have been forced to face the reality of the world. Perhaps they would have had that tech job, would’ve still been known as Alex Weston.

Alex saw human cruelty early on in their life. They saw it in the way their parents spoke about the extraterrestrials who lived on Earth alongside all of them, the way they told them to stop talking to that Luytan. They saw it in the otherness that was created by the government between people nearly the same as them, in the bullying they endured at the hands of their peers because of their intense interest in these others. And then in their peers’ refusal to accept them because of their own differences. They learned how much human beings loved to hate when they were young. They learned that anger was beneficial. Anger could keep them safe from becoming like all of the others.

And it changed them.

They could pinpoint down to the millisecond when it changed. It might’ve been before, if they were someone else; it would have been when they saw the way their peers liked to taunt and beat extraterrestrials, it would have been when they first heard their own parents muttering slurs against their friends when they thought Alex could not hear. Someone else would have become a hero.

But Alex was not noble. Alex was selfish.

It came when it was personal, as if something finally clicked once the hatred was turned on them. They were a teenager, when their human friends started to whisper about them, whispering that they wanted to be like the aliens, that they’d probably even grow up and try to marry one, as if that was something disgusting. They made the mistake of speaking too loudly, of making certain that Alex heard.  At that moment they understood what anger was good for. Those humans would never say anything of that sort again they made certain of it, first with their fists, and then, at home over the course of a few weeks, in the darkness of their bedroom on their laptop, as they destroyed their lives with a few keystrokes.

After that, they made themself into something special, different from other humans, with the express purpose of making certain each and every human was punished for their hatred. First in simple ways, but with the ultimate goal of complete destruction.

It happened in steps. They knew that they could not do what they wanted as Alex Weston. So they started at creating their new identity, setting themself up for what they wanted. Small hacks, ransoming private data for small sums of money, more annoyances than any real danger, practicing for more from the comfort of their parents’ home, always making certain the victims knew who their attacker was. They moved out, heading to the center Albuquerque where they knew they would have better opportunity to accomplish their goal. And on their way out, they created several false warrants for their parents’ arrest due to tax fraud, just to give them a little taste of what happened to those humans who were cruel, and full of hatred.

It was a long game, but it was ultimately worth it. Deimos Nox had a reputation amongst the hackers and cyberpirates before Alex Weston was, for all intents and purposes, dead. Deimos Nox arrived in Albuquerque with a reputation that preceded them. Humans and extraterrestrials alike whispered about them, not in mocking now, but in fear. The feeling was intoxicating.

Nearly as intoxicating as it was to be truly free and independent for the first time, no more expectations but their own, the ability to be more than ordinary suddenly easy. They were able to do their work without the threat of judgement, but, perhaps more importantly, they were able to live. No matter how much they wished to distance themself from humans, it was impossible not to fall prey to human wants and desires. In the beginning it was just a few nights out, a bit of fun, perhaps sometimes at the expense of others, but the longer they were there, the more it grew. Their hunger grew and it grew as they experienced more of humans, more of the others, just like their anger, a strange dichotomy that soon came to define them. Every moment they did not spend diligently working toward their ultimate goal, they spent indulging in every desire and fantasy that they could dream up.

And it was good.

Deimos’ ego grew along with their reputation. Word of not only their skill with a keyboard spread, but also of their defiant and often rambunctious personality. There were rumors of the fights they got into with others while under the influence of drink or sometimes drugs, more often than not for the fun of it rather than because of any real slight against them. When not hidden behind their screens, they became more than just angry, they became mischievous, taking delight in any inconvenience they could cause, especially to those smug and wicked humans who hated so passionately.

And if their ultimate goal suffered even a little bit for the fun that they liked to indulge in, well, they did not mind taking a little longer bringing about the descent of humankind, since their fellow humans seemed to be doing so well at the job anyway. Especially not when the opportunity to strike seemed to be lining up in their favor, with an android finally willing to work with them, and the interspecies cooperation council bringing so many important figures to one place. They can feel the breakthrough on the horizon. They can feel their moment coming, and they will not allow it to pass. They have seen what humans can do to any poor soul left vulnerable with them, and it is time for it to stop.

After all, Deimos is not noble. Deimos is selfish.

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

+Originally, their so-called grand plan really just consisted of destroying as many human lives as possible with the skills that they had acquired from their years of cybercriminal activity. Why they took that task upon themself was most likely because of the imagined importance they placed upon themself from a young age, the need to be something special. They didn’t really have specific ideas for how to do what they wanted, though, but they mostly assumed that they would know when they found the right thing. In the interim, they spent their time creating viruses, testing them on smaller targets, local government officials and the like, and trying to find an android who was willing to let them actually take a look inside things. They felt, for some reason, that that would be the key. And it turned out they were right. The idea came to them as they read more and more about the failed androids, specifically the Android 2.0. They realized that was their opportunity. Find the remains of those androids, or the ones who made it out somehow, and finding a way to create more. At the very least, figure out just how to reprogram and hack the current androids to become more like their morally-ambiguous predecessors.

+Contrary to what a lot of their peers believe, they don’t wish they were an extraterrestrial. They’re smart enough to know that the same hatred that humans possess in spades is rampant in every other species that’s made it to Earth as well, but they’re not quite as bold with their hatred of anything different. They simply feel more kindred with nonhumans because they’ve always felt other as well, and they’ve found that extraterrestrials treat them better than other humans do.

+It is not rare for them to fight on behalf of the slights of others, but not because of some sense of righteousness, more so if they see someone else in a situation they have been in. They’ll fight humans for calling extraterrestrials anything less than polite, etc. They don’t discriminate, though. They’re just as likely to punch a rude Centaurian as they are a human, it just so happens that humans are usually a lot more openly impertinent than any other species, which is exactly why Deimos sees their destruction as necessary.

+There’s that John Waters quote about hackers having no style: “Now if you’re a rebel, you’re a hacker. But there’s no hacker look. What is hacker chic? I can’t think of it, you know? Bad posture from being in front of the computer?” WELL DEIMOS HAS A STYLE. They’ve got their own version hacker chic, to the point where it’s almost become a uniform; it’s rare for them to be seen wearing anything different. This uniform of theirs consists of well-tailored suits, usually in leather, velvet, or metallic materials, usually in flamboyant and flashy colors. These expensive, custom-made suits are more often than not paired with their favorite pair of black platform heels, despite their height without heels. Often times, they dye their hair to match whatever color suit they currently love the most. They wear a silver choker with a rose charm around their throat at all times, always a little too tight as if to keep themself focused on their task. One of their favorite aesthetic indulgences is getting their nails done; long acrylics painted metallic, shiny colors. They’ve always been a fan of how their nails sound while typing, but they wouldn’t tell anyone that.

+Also they wear sunglasses even when they don’t need to, and no one really knows if it’s because their eyes are sensitive to the light since they spend so much time in the dark hacking and planning, or if they’re really just that much of an asshole. It’s definitely the second one.

+On a similar note, over the years they have collected dozens of tattoos that cover the majority of their upper body, except their face, most of which are tech and space related. Their latest is the solar system and sky that surrounds their head like a half crown, not quite as visible with their hair grown out.

+Deimos wouldn’t consider themself an addict by any means, but they do enjoy indulging freely in alcohol, and on particularly intense nights, recreational drugs as well. It takes their confidence and makes it even more outwardly focused. They get louder and brasher, and definitely more annoying along with that. This is when they become a joker, but perhaps not in the traditional sense, as their “jokes” often end up more mean-spirited than funny.

+Despite their years of hacking, or maybe because of it, they’re cocky. They don’t think about the consequences of any of their actions, because they had never had to face any of them before. They’ve never been caught for the lives they’re ruined, and they are confident that they won’t be caught in their attempts to create human-hating android software.

+MBTI type: ENTP, “the debater”; quick thinking, outspoken, resourceful, alert, ingenious. “Resourceful in solving new and challenging problems. Adept at generating conceptual possibilities and then analyzing them strategically. Good at reading other people. Bored by routine, will seldom do the same thing the same way twice, apt to turn to one new interest after another.”

+Enneagram type: type 4, “the individualist”; principled, envious, romantic, emotional, subjective

+Likes: Dark rooms and bright screens, the ping of a successful hack, bright colors, roses, the click of nails against keyboards, stargazing alone in the middle of the night, three shots of espresso straight up, tattoos, high heels, extraterrestrials, red wine, incense, a good fight, the color of blood, well-tailored suits, loud music, new technology, sunglasses worn inside

+Dislikes: Humankind, the smell of lavender, the color lavender, capitalism, wearing hoodies, the middle of the winter, police officers, boxers (like the underwear not the people), people trying to talk to them about stupid things, sleeping too much, wasting time, beer, lemon poppy seed muffins, people who are rude to service workers, people who are rude in general

PLOTS + CONNECTIONS:

{hell is empty and all the devils are here.} Something big happens, something that makes their dislike for their own race spiral downward, something that makes them start acting rashly, less careful about what they’re doing. Maybe it causes them to draw unwanted attention to their experiments. I’m really interested in pushing them to extremes, making things uncomfortable for them when they kind of felt invulnerable to be honest.

{have more than you show.} I want to see them work so hard and so single-mindedly on achieving their goal, that they get out of hand when they actually do let themself relax and they possibly end up self-sabotaging by going too far, either in their actual research, or in accidentally telling someone more than they would want to, because as cocky as they are with their average hacking, up until now they’ve been keeping the details of their grand plan secret.

{crack me open.} I’d love to explore some sort of plot where Deimos is actually given the chance to start experimenting with androids and their software, in an attempt to better understand and possibly start work on their own software. This obviously goes with their connection with THE SYSTEMS, but I’d also really love to see how this could become something bigger, like maybe someone else gives them access to something they’ve been looking for, possibly attracting some kind of attention from either the government or someone with more power who wouldn’t approve. I want to seem them get in trouble, man.

{the more I hate, the more he follows me.} Who doesn’t love a good unrequited? This would be someone who genuinely likes Deimos, which could take the form of about a million different things, but whatever it is Deimos doesn’t like it. Maybe they almost idolize them and their ideals, maybe they’re really amused by all the petty fighting that they do when they party, whatever it is, they’re interested in them, and Deimos is having none of it. At least for now.

{the more I love, the more he hateth me.} Same sentiment as above, but reversed, and probably something that would cause even more problems for Deimos than the former option.  I’d be interested in exploring some sort of romantic/emotional connection, probably with a human, that would make Deimos question, even just a little bit, what they were planning on doing. Nothing grand, but just someone who manages to plant a seed of doubt in their head that maybe they’re not doing the right thing, all because they accidentally started to care about someone. I don’t like my characters to have happiness, though, so fuck it actually being a completely mutual thing.

{the matrix.} Considering the goals that THE MATRIX has of figuring out androids and possibly reprogramming older generations of them, I’d love to have some sort of plot that involves some sort of partnership with the two of them, probably begrudging, because of Deimos’ ultimate goals. It could go any number of ways, though, and I think it would be really fun to explore a relationship like that and what it could mean for either of them.

WRITING SAMPLE:

Some writing samples removed for privacy. 

{THE AJAX in character writing sample}

Deimos used to love lavender.

Loved lavender in any and every form that they could find it in. They wore lavender perfume, they painted their room lavender, consumed anything that had lavender in it, would steal their mother’s lavender nail polish and paint their toes, even wanted to dye their hair lavender, although their parents didn’t allow that last one to happen. The smell of lavender, the sight of the color, made them feel safe, warm.

It reminded them of their childhood, a time before they realized the reality of humankind. It reminded them of late springs in the suburbs, their mother pruning the lavender bushes that their father had planted the very first year they had moved there, even before they were born. Spending the warm months eating lavender bread, drinking lavender lemonade, sneaking out in the middle of the night to lie amongst the lavender bushes and try to make out the constellations in the sky.

Now it reminds them of something else.

Now it reminds them of the night they came home and told their parents about the friend they had made, as they all sat around and drank lavender tea, their father telling them to grow up and stop associating with freaks from other planets, or that they would end up in trouble. Now it reminds them of their mother catching them trying on her lavender pumps, of her telling them to “act like a man,” that they’d never have a normal life if they kept insisting on “being different.” Then lavender started feeling strange. Then the color of their walls started feeling oppressive and judgmental, the smell of fresh lavender wafting through open windows in the summer was suffocating instead of comforting, the taste made them feel sick to their stomach.

Now, they prefer roses.

ETC:

Pinterest board! https://www.pinterest.com/romanxwinter/deimos-nox/

Character tag! http://roman-winter.tumblr.com/tagged/%3B-deimos-nox

Playlist! https://playmoss.com/en/romanwinter/playlist/fire-on-your-tongue-a-deimos-nox-playlist

[thomdunn]

Smash Mouth wrote “All Star” to warn about climate change & anti-intellectualism 20 years ago—and we turned it into a stupid meme.

Smash Mouth wrote “All Star” to warn about climate change & anti-intellectualism 20 years ago—and…

Medium · by Thom Dunn · August 24, 2018

It was the fall of 1998. Guy Fieri was preparing to open his second Johnny Garlic’s Restaurant, while his clone-twin, Steve Harwell, was in the studio with his bandmates wrapping up their sophomore album, “Astro Lounge.” Beyond the studio walls, military tensions were rising in North Korea, Pakistan, and Iraq, and a little company called Google had just opened up in Silicon Valley; but all anyone cared about were Bill Clinton’s blowjobs.

Smash Mouth had carefully curated the sonic landscape of their first hit single, “Walkin’ on the Sun,” to use as a musical weapon to avert the coming damages that would soon be caused by nuclear apocalypse and climate change. The dopeass organ riff was specifically designed to vibrate on a frequency that would deliver a message of peace, hope, and sustainability directly into the prefrontal cortex of anyone who heard it. Even the title of the song itself was a direct nod to threats of rising global temperatures largely caused by carbon and greenhouse gas emissions. Yet somehow, it failed to stop the dystopian vision of the future they had seen that one time after communing with too much California weed.

The members of Smash Mouth knew they had an obligation, as all pop-ska-rock groups do, to deliver a totally sick jam that would also save the world from its own impending doom.

And thus was born “All Star.”

 Unfortunately, we were all too stupid to figure out the idyllic message hidden in its rhythms. Something did resonate about the song, however. That cleverly diminished chord in the chorus took root in our heads and found new life as a sonic meme, a viral idea that would spread from person to person and perpetuate its own existence.

Rather than heeding the foreboding prophecy that Hartwell and his bandmate, songwriter-guitarist Greg Camp, laid out for us in that little earworm, we just used it to make “Smashups” and other esoteric Internet jokes.

We should have listened more closely.

Like Moses parting waters with the tablets of the Ten Commandments, the truth was revealed in a tweeted photo of the original handwritten lyrics:

#TBThursday #tbt Original "All Star" Lyrics by: @GregCampMusic pic.twitter.com/65zzzT3caG

— Smash Mouth (@smashmouth) February 9, 2017

As you can see, the last line of the chorus was originally different. Perhaps if Smash Mouth had left that line “Wave bye-bye to your soul” intact, rather than replacing it with “Only shooting stars break the mouooohuould,” then perhaps we could understood the truth sooner, and avoided the predicaments of our current political climate, just as they had intended.

When you look at the song line-by-line in this new context, it all makes sense.

Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed

From the very opening of the song, Steve Harwell invokes the imagery of some kind of higher power, and a greater global purpose — and the fact that humans are a bunch of fucking idiots by contrast. He cleverly plays on the idea of the “world” and “rolling me” to allude back to the days when people thought the world was flat, and how they mocked and ridiculed the scientists who tried to tell them otherwise.

She was looking kind of dumb with her finger & her thumb in the shape of an “L” on her forehead.

In every verse, the narrator stands in for humanity at large, and this case, humanity is largely a bunch of uneducated manual laborers who think that Galileo is the stupid one, standing there making the classic “loser” sign of the 90s. Except…what if he was actually measuring right angles, attempting to use the physical science to better understand the world?

But no; these anti-intellectual raptors go so far as to mock his masculinity, swapping out his gender pronouns like a trollish Twitter egg. “LOL what kinda loser believes in science?” they say with their French frog cartoon faces, willfully ignorant to the measurable truths of the natural world, and all of the potential it contains.

Well the years start coming and they don’t stop coming Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running

This couplet is revealed as a critique of the US education system, and how for-profit agendas collude with Creationist beliefs through misleading text books that spread mass disinformation across the generations. From an early age, children are told not to break the mold, but instead to fall in line and maintain some preconceived sense of “order” that follows them from school into adulthood, when they start to scold the individuals and revolutionaries for not breaking rules in the “right” way.

This also alludes to the passage of time on a grander scale, and how the anti-intellectualism and stubborn war between science and religion would repeat themselves in endless cycles, even as mankind continues to grow and evolve. Rather than look back and learn from our past mistakes, humanity is encouraged to hit the ground running, and never to question anything—including the fact that we’ve dealt with all these same conflicts before.

Didn’t make sense not to live for fun Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb

This is where Smash Mouth predicts the rise of “snowflake” as a pejorative. Imagine Galileo’s anti-intellectual haters mocking his gender while they chant, “Can’t you take a joke?”

So much to do, so much to see So what’s wrong with taking the back streets?

Now we start getting into issues of carbon emissions and sustainability. Our narrator-as-stand-in-for-humanity is clearly coming from a position of privilege, with no concern about temporal or financial obligations—or the damages that his gas-guzzling joyride does to the planet. It’s generally accepted among climate scientists and activists that ecological catastrophe will have a disproportionate impact on marginalized groups, since the rich and powerful can always afford to shield themselves from the brunt of it in their ivory towers.

You’ll never know if you don’t go You’ll never shine if you don’t glow

These words are sung from the point-of-view of climate deniers, who seem to think that unless they, personally, can recognize the precise moment that a 2°C temperature change occurs, then there’s nothing to worry about. Worse, they think that something bad will happen if people stopped using carbon-based energy and greenhouse gases. Until the day that people start literally glowing in the aftermath of nuclear fallout, they’re not going to see a problem or care to prevent the seemingly inevitable.

Hey now, you’re an all-star, get your game on, go play Hey now, you’re a rock star, get the show on, get paid

And all that glitters is gold

In true punk rock style, Smash Mouth invokes the anarchistic belief that Capitalism is a disease, and that overly-toxic economic competition is an impediment to peace and progress. It’s all about games and money.

The use of “gold” can also be read as a reference to oil as “liquid goal,” and the ways in which oil industry profits have steered most of the social, political, and technological progress of the last century, particularly in the form of Koch-sponsored legislation.

Wave bye-bye to your soul

This should be pretty self-explanatory.

It’s a cool place and they say it gets colder You’re bundled up now, wait till you get older

Yet another direct jab at climate deniers who insist that the continued existence of winter and/or snow supports their belief that “the climate is always changing.”

The second part of this couplet plays on a double-entendre: it can be interpreted as the condescending voice of an older generation basking in their ignorance and the dismissive of when-I-was-your-age attitudes that reinforce the aforementioned rule establishment brainwashing of the for-profit school system; or, it’s yet-another intentionally ironic allusion to rising global temperatures, the idea being that there will be little need for us to bundle up by the time that 2099 comes around because we’ll all be dead from freak storms, flooding, or mosquito-borne illnesses.

But the meteor men beg to differ Judging by the hole in the satellite picture.

Despite the fact that it was written 20 years ago, this is another example of how “All Star” predicted our current circumstances in which media, expertise, and evidence are no longer trusted.

This also alludes to the idea that “weather” and “climate” are two separate things — a distinction that continues to elude people—as well as the notion that scientific prediction is not 100% reliable. Climate scientists in particular use the available information to form models and calculations, and while the specifics have been incorrect at times, the larger idea that the climate is changing in disastrous ways still shines through. Climate Critics will always miss the forest for the trees, at least until naturally-occurring brush fires wipe out all the forests.

The ice we skate is getting pretty thin The water’s getting warm so you might as well swim

Crumbling ice floes. Rising global temperatures. Rising water levels, caused by that melting ice. The struggle is real, my friends.

 That’s right: by predicting our fiery doom, Smash Mouth also inspired the popular “This is fine” meme. This is an historical fact.

Somebody once asked could I spare some change for gas? I need to get myself away from this place.

Income inequality has grown drastically in the 20 years since “All Star” first graced the airwaves—and Smash Mouth saw this coming, too, as evidenced in this vignette of a poverty-stricken person forced to beg for change in order to afford gasoline, despite knowing that their own contributions of carbon emissions will get them away from this place, that is, bring on their impending death.

I said yep, what a concept I could use a little fuel myself And we could all use a little change

This was clearly intended as an ironic juxtaposition, urging us to make a change from our fossil fuel-based energy system to one of more sustainable production—particularly if we are going to continue taking the back streets (once again, a double entendre both for gas-guzzling fuel waste, and the hope that we could extend human life using biotech advancements that now collide with the ecological damage that threatens to shorten our lives.

And then we return to begin, as we’re once again reminded that the years start coming and they don’t stop coming—because Smash Mouth the future was inevitable, unless we did something about it.

But all we did was make a bunch of stupid Smash Mouth memes, ignoring the clear warnings they placed before our ears.

It’s why the songs ends on that ringing chord, Steve Harwell’s warbling vocals fading off like the dying echo of our not-so-distant future. It’s why the song has persisted as a meme: because somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of our subconscious minds, we understood what Smash Mouth was trying to tell us.

“All Star” resonates with something primal and shared by all of mankind—but sadly, it was not a truth that we would find within until it was too late.

“Wave Bye-Bye to your soul” indeed.

[tortuga-aak]

Rapid collapse of Antarctic glaciers could wipe out every coastal city in the world by the end of this century

Marcos Brindicci/Reuters

The Pine Island glaciers and the Thwaites glacier are steadily moving toward the Amundsen Sea as they collapse due to global warming.

The glaciers act as a dam because they hold back enough ice that could cause sea levels to rise by a catastrophic 11 feet.

This could happen between in 20 to 50 years leading to the destruction of every coastal city.

Other glaciers around the world will be vulnerable as well.

  This story originally appeared on Grist.

In a remote region of Antarctica known as Pine Island Bay, 2,500 miles from the tip of South America, two glaciers hold human civilization hostage.

Stretching across a frozen plain more than 150 miles long, these glaciers, named Pine Island and Thwaites, have marched steadily for millennia toward the Amundsen Sea, part of the vast Southern Ocean. Further inland, the glaciers widen into a two-mile-thick reserve of ice covering an area the size of Texas.

There's no doubt this ice will melt as the world warms. The vital question is when.

The glaciers of Pine Island Bay are two of the largest and fastest-melting in Antarctica. (A Rolling Stone feature earlier this year dubbed Thwaites "The Doomsday Glacier.") Together, they act as a plug holding back enough ice to pour 11 feet of sea-level rise into the world's oceans — an amount that would submerge every coastal city on the planet. For that reason, finding out how fast these glaciers will collapse is one of the most important scientific questions in the world today.

To figure that out, scientists have been looking back to the end of the last ice age, about 11,000 years ago, when global temperatures stood at roughly their current levels. The bad news? There's growing evidence that the Pine Island Bay glaciers collapsed rapidly back then, flooding the world's coastlines — partially the result of something called "marine ice-cliff instability."

The ocean floor gets deeper toward the center of this part of Antarctica, so each new iceberg that breaks away exposes taller and taller cliffs. Ice gets so heavy that these taller cliffs can't support their own weight.

Once they start to crumble, the destruction would be unstoppable

"Ice is only so strong, so it will collapse if these cliffs reach a certain height," explains Kristin Poinar, a glaciologist at NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center. "We need to know how fast it's going to happen."

In the past few years, scientists have identified marine ice-cliff instability as a feedback loop that could kickstart the disintegration of the entire West Antarctic ice sheet this century — much more quickly than previously thought.

Minute-by-minute, huge skyscraper-sized shards of ice cliffs would crumble into the sea, as tall as the Statue of Liberty and as deep underwater as the height of the Empire State Building. The result: a global catastrophe the likes of which we've never seen.

Ice comes in many forms, with different consequences when it melts. Floating ice, like the kind that covers the Arctic Ocean in wintertime and comprises ice shelves, doesn't raise sea levels. (Think of a melting ice cube, which won't cause a drink to spill over.)

Land-based ice, on the other hand, is much more troublesome. When it falls into the ocean, it adds to the overall volume of liquid in the seas. Thus, sea-level rise.

Thomson Reuters

Antarctica is a giant landmass — about half the size of Africa — and the ice that covers it averages more than a mile thick. Before human burning of fossil fuels triggered global warming, the continent's ice was in relative balance: The snows in the interior of the continent roughly matched the icebergs that broke away from glaciers at its edges.

Now, as carbon dioxide traps more heat in the atmosphere and warms the planet, the scales have tipped.

A wholesale collapse of Pine Island and Thwaites would set off a catastrophe. Giant icebergs would stream away from Antarctica like a parade of frozen soldiers. All over the world, high tides would creep higher, slowly burying every shoreline on the planet, flooding coastal cities and creating hundreds of millions of climate refugees.

All this could play out in a mere 20 to 50 years — much too quickly for humanity to adapt

"With marine ice cliff instability, sea-level rise for the next century is potentially much larger than we thought it might be five or 10 years ago," Poinar says.

A lot of this newfound concern is driven by the research of two climatologists: Rob DeConto at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst and David Pollard at Penn State University. A study they published last year was the first to incorporate the latest understanding of marine ice-cliff instability into a continent-scale model of Antarctica.

Their results drove estimates for how high the seas could rise this century sharply higher.

"Antarctic model raises the prospect of unstoppable ice collapse," read the headline in the scientific journal Nature, a publication not known for hyperbole.

Instead of a three-foot increase in ocean levels by the end of the century, six feet was more likely, according to DeConto and Pollard's findings. But if carbon emissions continue to track on something resembling a worst-case scenario, the full 11 feet of ice locked in West Antarctica might be freed up, their study showed.

Three feet of sea-level rise would be bad, leading to more frequent flooding of U.S. cities such as New Orleans, Houston, New York, and Miami. Pacific Island nations, like the Marshall Islands, would lose most of their territory. Unfortunately, it now seems like three feet is possible only under the rosiest of scenarios.

At six feet, though, around 12 million people in the United States would be displaced, and the world's most vulnerable megacities, like Shanghai, Mumbai, and Ho Chi Minh City, could be wiped off the map.

At 11 feet, land currently inhabited by hundreds of millions of people worldwide would wind up underwater.

Twice-a-month Hurricane Sandys

South Florida would be largely uninhabitable; floods on the scale of Hurricane Sandy would strike twice a month in New York and New Jersey, as the tug of the moon alone would be enough to send tidewaters into homes and buildings.

DeConto and Pollard's breakthrough came from trying to match observations of ancient sea levels at shorelines around the world with current ice sheet behavior.

Around 3 million years ago, when global temperatures were about as warm as they're expected to be later this century, oceans were dozens of feet higher than today.

Previous models suggested that it would take hundreds or thousands of years for sea-level rise of that magnitude to occur. But once they accounted for marine ice-cliff instability, DeConto and Pollard's model pointed toward a catastrophe if the world maintains a "business as usual" path — meaning we don't dramatically reduce carbon emissions.

Rapid cuts in greenhouse gases, however, showed Antarctica remaining almost completely intact for hundreds of years.

NASA

Pollard and DeConto are the first to admit that their model is still crude, but its results have pushed the entire scientific community into emergency mode.

The entire scientific community is in emergency mode

"It could happen faster or slower, I don't think we really know yet," says Jeremy Bassis, a leading ice sheet scientist at the University of Michigan. "But it's within the realm of possibility, and that's kind of a scary thing."

Scientists used to think that ice sheets could take millennia to respond to changing climates. These are, after all, mile-thick chunks of ice.

The new evidence, though, says that once a certain temperature threshold is reached, ice shelves of glaciers that extend into the sea, like those near Pine Island Bay, will begin to melt from both above and below, weakening their structure and hastening their demise, and paving the way for ice-cliff instability to kick in.

In a new study out last month in the journal Nature, a team of scientists from Cambridge and Sweden point to evidence from thousands of scratches left by ancient icebergs on the ocean floor, indicating that Pine Island's glaciers shattered in a relatively short amount of time at the end of the last ice age.

The only place in the world where you can see ice-cliff instability in action today is at Jakobshavn glacier in Greenland, one of the fastest-collapsing glaciers in the world. DeConto says that to construct their model, they took the collapse rate of Jakobshavn, cut it in half to be extra conservative, then applied it to Thwaites and Pine Island.

NASA

But there's reason to think Thwaites and Pine Island could go even faster than Jakobshavn.

Right now, there's a floating ice shelf protecting the two glaciers, helping to hold back the flow of ice into the sea. But recent examples from other regions, like the rapidly collapsing Larsen B ice shelf on the Antarctic Peninsula, show that once ice shelves break apart as a result of warming, their parent glaciers start to flow faster toward the sea, an effect that can weaken the stability of ice further inland, too.

"If you remove the ice shelf, there's a potential that not just ice-cliff instabilities will start occurring, but a process called marine ice-sheet instabilities," says Matthew Wise, a polar scientist at the University of Cambridge.

This signals the possible rapid destabilization of the entire West Antarctic ice sheet in this century.

"Once the stresses exceed the strength of the ice," Wise says, "it just falls off."

And, it's not just Pine Island Bay. On our current course, other glaciers around Antarctica will be similarly vulnerable. And then there's Greenland, which could contribute as much as 20 feet of sea-level rise if it melts.

Next to a meteor strike, rapid sea-level rise from collapsing ice cliffs is one of the quickest ways our world can remake itself.

This is about as fast as climate change gets

Still, some scientists aren't fully convinced the alarm is warranted. Ted Scambos, a lead scientist at the National Snow and Ice Data Center in Colorado, says the new research by Wise and his colleagues, which identified ice-cliff instabilities in Pine Island Bay 11,000 years ago, is "tantalizing evidence." But he says that research doesn't establish how quickly it happened.

"There's a whole lot more to understand if we're going to use this mechanism to predict how far Thwaites glacier and the other glaciers are going to retreat," he says. "The question boils down to, what are the brakes on this process?"

Scambos thinks it is unlikely that Thwaites or Pine Island would collapse all at once. For one thing, if rapid collapse did happen, it would produce a pile of icebergs that could act like a temporary ice shelf, slowing down the rate of retreat.

Despite the differences of opinion, however, there's growing agreement within the scientific community that we need to do much more to determine the risk of rapid sea-level rise. In 2015, the U.S. and U.K. governments began to plan a rare and urgent joint research program to study Thwaites glacier. Called "How much, how fast?," the effort is set to begin early next year and run for five years.

Seeing the two governments pooling their resources is "really a sign of the importance of research like this," NASA's Poinar says.

Given what's at stake, the research program at Thwaites isn't enough, but it might be the most researchers can get. "Realistically, it's probably all that can be done in the next five years in the current funding environment," says Pollard.

He's referring, of course, to the Trump administration's disregard for science and adequate scientific funding; the White House's 2018 budget proposal includes the first-ever cut to the National Science Foundation, which typically funds research in Antarctica.

"It would be sensible to put a huge effort into this, from my perspective," Pollard says. Structural engineers need to study Antarctica's key glaciers as though they were analyzing a building, he says, probing for weak spots and understanding how exactly they might fail. "If you vastly increase the research now, [the cost] would still be trivial compared to the losses that might happen."

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[bffhreprise]

Entry 172

 “I noticed that you landed a few hours ago, Duncan.  I trust your flight went well.” commented Lady Pendreigh.

 “Yes, thank you.  My flight landed much earlier than they expected due to strong tailwinds.” he explained.

 :Nii-san wouldn’t really try to pull anything over on her.: stated Ai.

 :No, but I do think he was testing her.: I replied.

 Lady Pendreigh had smiled slightly.  An average person probably would’ve laughed at nii-san’s joke had they understood he always helped planes along with his magic.  Unlike us, his affinity was for manipulating air, gas of any sort, really.  In combat, he could be precise enough to separate gases enough to combust with a spark, which he’d casually provide.

 :Still not a match for us.: teased Ai.

 :Not together at least.: I agreed.

 Lady Pendreigh politely told him “Funny how often that happens for you.”

 Nii-san smiled and nodded before raising his hand to catch a waiter’s attention.  In Italian, he said, “Please bring out the wine you’re keeping for me.”  Then he explained in English “I deposited a wine here earlier as a gift for you.  I hope you enjoy its flavor.”

 :His Italian’s slightly better than his English.: mentioned Ai.

 :He really needs to spend more time practicing with a native speaker for both.: I agreed.  :If only mother would let him call us more…:

 Ai gave an internal shrug as she said, :She won’t.  We’re a bad influence in her eyes.:

 I knew she was right, just as she knew I wished she wasn’t.

 My sister then asked “Nii-san, how long are you going to be staying?”

 “I’ll be staying until the end of the upcoming charity auction.  Mother sent a donation.” he replied.

 :Lady Pendreigh must have orchestrated his visit.: I suggested.

 :Agreed.  She probably told mother about what she planned on donating while also offering a business proposal.: replied Ai.

 We wondered what Lady Pendreigh had planned.  Too great an offer would have drawn mother here in person, but something important enough for a courtesy call from nii-san was on the table, something that would keep him here for weeks..

 :You don’t suppose…: started Ai, thinking about how our attachment to Jarod had obviously been mentioned.

 :He’s part of her plan.  We’ll have to wait and see what comes next.: I finished for her.

 “Sixty-one Château Latour?” I asked, surprised by nii-san’s choice.

 Ai quickly said, :Mother’s choice probably.:

 She rarely let anyone else around her make a decision.

 “Can we open it, nii-san?” Ai asked, smiling at him.

 “The wine is Lady Pendreigh’s, so that would be her choice, though I would wait until our meal arrives.” he replied curtly.

 Giving a slight nod, she said, “Let’s wait then.  I’m sure you’ll find the food here equally appealing, Duncan.  I asked the finest chef I know to rearrange the menu not long ago.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t willing to take over as the head chef.”

 “Oh?  I’m surprised anyone would refuse one of your offers.” he told her.

 “She shrugged and explained “He works for James at Somerset Estate.  You’ll be able to sample plenty of his excellent cooking during your stay.”

 My sister and I smiled.  Neither of us came close to Marco’s cooking, and we weren’t so bad ourselves.  The man knew more variations on more dishes than anyone we knew.  We had questioned him extensively over our stay and had him teach us numerous techniques.  Sadly, he was even better than us in regard to making Japanese cuisine, though we did manage to teach him a couple recipes he seemed to like.

 “I look forward to anything that earns your praise.” stated nii-san.

 We nearly laughed, but managed to control ourselves.  Nii-san surely had no notion of how his words could be purposefully misinterpreted.

 “What are you going to have, Jarod?” asked Ai when the waiter returned.

 “We’ll gladly order for you.” I assured him.

 Jarod casually ordered in Italian as if he had always spoken the language.  We couldn’t control our grins.

 :His fluency has to put nii-san to shame.: I suggested.

 Ai agreed, saying, :Not that he’d admit it to Jarod.  Did you see the scowl?:

 She only saw it through my eyes, so she knew I had.

 “Trust me to order?” asked Lady Pendreigh to James.

 “Please do.  I can’t say I’ve ever studied Italian.” he admitted.

 Nii-san quickly said, “Please order for me as well.  I’ll trust your expertise.”

 We nearly laughed again, knowing he probably didn’t want to demonstrate his poor speech again in front of Jarod.  Lady Pendreigh politely nodded to him before ordering.  She was, of course, perfectly fluent, being the one to instruct us.

 “James, my sisters tell me that your business started just this year.  I find your success to be quite impressive, considering the niche your company fills.” stated nii-san to strike up a conversation again.

 “Well, we’re managing to stay afloat largely due to my secretary’s amazing organizational skills.” replied James.  “Jarod, on the other hand, single-handedly designed an incredible electric engine.  The original prototype is what gets me from place-to-place.”

 “Yes, I read about his design.  Most impressive.” begrudgingly admitted nii-san.  “How do you manage to find clients for your company?”

 “I originally relied heavily on my website and viva voce, but Aaliyah, my secretary, seems to use some of her own contacts as well.” explained James.

 Smiling, nii-san said, “Your secretary sounds like an amazing woman.  I should like to meet her someday.”

 “You already have.” stated Lady Pendreigh.

 My sister and I nearly giggled again as nii-san stared in shock at Lady Pendreigh.

 Quickly standing, nii-san bowed and said, “Sumimasen.  My sisters failed to mention this.”

 :Bit extreme…: I muttered.

 :Well, the assassin is rather well known to our family.: replied Ai.

 :Figures nii-san blamed us.: I told her.

 :We’ll make him pay later.: she teased.

 “Don’t worry.  She gladly tells everyone about working for me.  She’s even listed on my website as my secretary.” explained James, looking a bit confused.

 We grinned at nii-san as his gaze turned to us.  He wasn’t amused.

 :He’s going to lecture us again.: stated my sister and I.  We didn’t really mind.  He’d at least be paying attention to us.

 As we waited for our food, nii-san continued ignoring us as well as Jarod as best as he could.  We didn’t mind that either, since he couldn’t say anything about us holding Jarod’s hands under the table that way if he actually was paying attention.  Nii-san could locate people through vibrations of the air if he concentrated much like we could find people through water.  None of us could compare with Lady Pendreigh.  Locating people seemed effortless for her, as did most things.

 Our food was quite good, and nii-san seemed satisfied as well.  The wine was quite delicious, but we were surprised how much Lady Pendreigh seemed to enjoy it.

 “You must try this, James.  It’s pretty rare.” I insisted.

 “I’ll order you a cola if you wish, but you should at least take a sip.” suggested Lady Pendreigh.

 He looked hesitant, but he went ahead and took a sip.  Then he said, “No offense, but I think I’ll have that cola.  Alcohol really isn’t something I’m comfortable drinking, being underage here.”

 “Ah.  Sorry.  Sorry.  I never thought to ask your age.  My family is highly resistant to ill effects from alcohol, so we don’t often consider such things, though my sisters probably could have warned me.” explained nii-san, look at us sternly.

 We commenced with akanbe, but he wasn’t amused.

 Conversation continued with pleasantries at a little business discussed, largely between nii-san and James.  Nii-san was ignoring us again, not that we were surprised.  He could be incredibly stiff.

 When dinner was finished, we all walked out to the parking lot.  My sister and I rushed to nii-san’s sides as the cars were being fetched, clinging to his arms and smiling up at him.

 “Nii-san, don’t you want to ride in Jarod’s car with us?” we asked.

 He crossed his arms, and told us in Japanese “No.  You two need to learn proper etiquette before I’ll be seen in public with you.  I am surprised Lady Pendreigh admits to knowing you.”

 “Well, we might be home late.” suggested Ai.

 “We’ll have Jarod all to ourselves.” I added with a grin.

 “Let’s go, Jarod!” we exclaimed, rushing to the mustang.

 Nii-san sprinted to the front passenger seat of the car, despite the witnesses.  I argued with him a little about who should get to sit by Jarod before sitting by my sister in the back.  Jarod was amused, and we convinced nii-san to join us, even if he looked rigid with his arms crossed.  We still won.  He was going to get to know Jarod no matter what he wanted.