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highladyluck · 4 years

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Mat’s Types, or On Tricksters

I recently made a joke about Mat's 'type' essentially being the Shadar Logoth dagger, and while I stand by it, I also think there's a lot more to it than that. I believe Mat actually has two types, which is entirely appropriate for a trickster archetype. One of his types is playful, joyful, generous people, who reflect his early- but persistent- personality. The other is sharp, powerful, existentially dangerous people, like the person he becomes over the course of the series. Like a raven- itself a trickster figure in Haida storytelling- Mat is attracted to shiny things, mirrors, and death.

But first, some definitions. I'm calling Mat a trickster archetype, so what is that? The trickster archetype is built on a kind of dual contrast. To trick someone, you must change things in a surprising way. Tricksters introduce chaos into an ordered system, or reveal order in what was thought to be chaos. (It's not surprising, or a change, to add order to order, or chaos to chaos.) So tricksters are transformational, liminal figures, who defy expectations and subvert the preexisting order- but who therefore *require* predictions and structure to have any kind of impact or meaning at all. Playing a game requires there be rules; revealing a loophole requires there be a contract.

Within this definition, there's still a huge range of characters you can call tricksters, and it's useful to categorize them across spectrums. One axis of a trickster is "effectiveness", which refers to the trickster's ability to effect change; this is 'incompetent to competent', 'foolish to canny', 'harmless to dangerous'. Another axis is "motivation" which refers to the trickster's ethical structure; this is 'good to evil', 'generous to selfish', 'just to unjust'. There's another kind of axis that's related to motivation, which I'll call "comprehensibility", and which refers to the trickster's transparency of motive; the range there is 'knowable to unknowable', 'familiar to alien', 'clear to mysterious'. If you wanted to chart them all I'd make effectiveness the horizontal x-axis, motivation the vertical y-axis, and comprehensibility the z-axis perpendicular to both of them, but this is starting to get into 'gesturing at the wall map with crazy eyes' territory and I'm mostly just going to be talking about effectiveness and motivation anyway, so let’s move on.

Tricksters can be foolish figures, always getting caught, often the butt of their own joke. That's our early impression of Mat- a prankster who never really seems to get away with anything, or a fool caught in a trap of his own making. Mat is also generous, insofar as he has apparently been rescuing people his whole life, plus he's very 'easy come, easy go' about money, and has a decent instinct for gift-giving, whether those are compliments or actual physical presents. He has a strong sense of justice that puts him at odds with people who have (unearned) privilege and who are abusing power, and he loves verbally trapping people into confronting their own hypocrisy.

He keeps these traits throughout the series, but he also develops ones on the opposite side of the axes. Stealing the Shadar Logoth dagger is the catalyst for Mat's development from 'harmless, benevolent trickster' to 'dangerous, morally complicated trickster'. It literally overwrites first his personality, and then his memories. While he gets the personality back- sort of- he never gets the memories back, and his quest to do so sets him on the rest of his path.

By the end of the series, Mat has undergone enormous trauma and developed a much stronger sense of self-preservation. He becomes a canny and multi-talented figure, a brilliant tactician and strategist, a dangerous enemy to have. He's most selfish and cruel when under the influence of the Shadar Logoth dagger, but it turns out he's also never been in the rescuing business for free, he wants to be needed and will get a little pissy if he isn't (although to his credit, he respects people's wishes if they say they don't want to be saved from themselves.)

His greed for adventure and shiny things was what got him into trouble with the dagger, and he never quite loses his appraiser's eye (or taste) for luxury goods. And Tuon is entirely right to name him 'Devastation' or 'Ruin'; he's constantly blowing things up, killing enormous amounts of people directly or by proxy, and while everyone in this series commits war crimes, he's got the dubious honor of having another character (Teslyn) actually say to his face, "You know you just did a war crime, right?"

Mat spends the early books- when he's in good enough health to do so, and has the opportunity- pursuing women, wine, and song, and I mention them all together because that's the vibe he's going for. Mat genuinely loves flirting and dancing for their own sake, as fun things to do with receptive people, and that extends to sexual activities as well. It's a joyful, generous, playful way of interacting, and Mat's joie de vivre seems to attract people with similar attitudes.

Yes, Mat sometimes puts his foot in his mouth, but he's not actually disrespectful of anyone else's agency, so he's doing better than the rest of the Two Rivers boys. He doesn't make assumptions about whether there will be a next interaction or not, or how far each interaction will go; each step is negotiated with input from both players, which makes it a kind of game. Mat doesn't have long-term relationships with these fun, playful people, but he's not looking for that, and neither are they.

The other kind of people Mat is attracted to are what I'll call 'dagger people', who are sharp (smart, competent, possibly literally an edged weapon), powerful, and existentially dangerous. It is *possible* that Mat might have acquired this taste without the Shadar Logoth dagger's influence. He likes battles, he likes adventure, he generally treats women as respected equals, he might have gotten to 'date a woman who can kick your ass' all on his own. But Mat loved that Shadar Logoth dagger, they had a whole entire fucked-up relationship, and when they broke up he got a bunch of rebound knives and also some sharp, powerful, and existentially dangerous people's memories shoved into his head. Like calls to like, blood feeds blood, etc.

And boy, does Mat find these ladies, or more accurately, boy, do these ladies find him. Case in point: Melindhra, the sexy darkfriend Maiden of the Spear. I think Aludra partially fits, too- sharp, confident if not powerful, dangerous (though not so much to him as like... the world.) Mat isn't pursuing or attracted to either Joline or Tylin, but they also fit this description, and they definitely pursued him. (I'd love to add Lanfear to the list of 'dangerous ladies who made passes at Mat' but I can't quite do it with a straight face.) I don't think Mat's thing for dagger people really reaches its full flower until he starts getting to know Tuon, though.

Mat spends much of the series looking for both his types, and tends to find either one or the other, but not both in one person- until Tuon. Like Mat, Tuon is actually both these types in a sometimes uneasy coexistence. For all their many differences, they think about each other much the same way. They both find each other very layered and confusing, but also are surprisingly quick to trust each other, which is striking in people who are very suspicious, in a fraught situation, and on opposite sides. I think most of the reason they trust each other is because they have the same very contractual personal honor system, where 'my word is my bond'. That's a trickster thing; tricksters have to keep some kind of rules, or how else will they play games and know whether they've won or lost? But their rules can be hidden or idiosyncratic (that's the z-axis, comprehensibility) as you see in 'bargains with the fae'-type situations. Personal honor is also a feature of royalty, though, where the personal and political are bound together, and a person's promises can be treated as legal contracts, as well as honor-based societies in general.

Mat and Tuon take their promises to each other very seriously, but are also always both looking for loopholes so they can get the upper hand. They also are both following the script of prophecy, which I mention because they both devote a lot of time to subverting their own expectations about how exactly that prophecy is going to play out. Mat buckles down and says “I’m going to make this come out in my favor somehow, even though it’s not what I wanted,” yet he’s still surprised at how and when Tuon completes the marriage ceremony; Tuon does not find Mat anything like she expected, and she also is surprised at her own feelings for him. Near the end of the series, they take a break from playing tricks and mind games on each other, and instead bluff everyone else on the battlefield, tag-teaming their trickster powers for one last surprise attack.

Ok, so how is Tuon Mat’s first type, playful, joyful, and generous? She loves playing games with Mat, both actual literal games like stones, but also their weird flirting/power plays. She's super competitive, because anyone who wasn't who was in her shoes would be dead, but she's a good sport, "satisfied when she wins and determined when she loses". She's also got "mischievous" smiles, and turns the tables on Mat in a super trickster-y way, writing the letter that puts everyone in the circus under her protection except for Mat and his crew; which means he and his coterie are still 'not safe' and thus he has to keep travelling with her rather than bringing her back to Ebou Dar right away, by the terms of their promise.

Mat gives us really lovely descriptions of her in moments of joy, and one of the first things we learn about her is that her genuine smile makes her look completely different from the normal Resting Bitch Face she affects for self-preservation reasons. She's generous in the sense that she's (often) willing to consider other points of view and give people second chances, when others in her position wouldn't and don't. She has the generosity of privilege, which I admit is not the most laudable form of generosity, but it's still a form of generosity. She also has a natural compassion and merciful impulses that have been trimmed and hemmed and twisted into only the forms her society deems socially acceptable, but they're still there.

I have less of a job to do proving that Tuon is a 'dagger person'. You remember how I joked about 'sharp' meaning 'literally an edged weapon'? Well, I don't know how else I'm supposed to interpret "Tuon’s right hand swept across, bladed like an axe, and struck [the footpad's] throat so hard that he heard the cartilage cracking". SHE'S LITERALLY A WEAPON. MAT HAS FINALLY FOUND A REPLACEMENT FOR HIS SEXY EVIL KNIFE. :') She's also super smart, super canny, and a snappy dresser to boot. She's one of the most powerful women in the world, and by the end of the series Mat is absolutely into it. (The bit where he's like "She's so good at giving orders! *heart eyes*" is simultaneously hilarious and alarming. I get it- I simp for Kuvira from Legend of Korra, I can't throw stones at anyone who’s like ‘hot evil Empress, please step on me’- but there's a time and a place, Mat.)

And, of course, she's an existential threat to the world, Mat's family and friends, and (theoretically) Mat himself. The Seanchan Empire, despite not being bigoted towards the Tinkers and having pretty good gender equality, is committing massive human rights violations left and right, thanks to the slavery, channelerphobia, and imperialism. As a tool of the Empire, unless he works on extricating himself, Mat's going to be culpable for that (he already is, really, but it could be worse), which is a stain on his soul that I don't think either he or the readers want. Being a tool of the Empire is an existential threat to Mat's idea of himself as an independent agent and good person, and I guess also an existential threat to his life since he's getting all those assassination attempts from his coworkers. (I am excluding Tuon from the assassination attempts; as I've mentioned in a previous essay, her threats to Mat are not serious and are in fact a form of deranged flirting.)

Tuon and Mat are both dual-axis tricksters, in their way. Tuon- or I should really be saying, Fortuona, Lady Luck- is more on the bringing order to chaos side, and Mat falls most characteristically on the bringing chaos to order end of things. But they switch roles- Mat shores up the proper order of things when he reminds Tuon to keep her promises, and Tuon is often a chaotic influence at court, with her mercy or willingness to change her mind. They also both understand what it's like to be both a person and an archetype- Mat worries about losing his individual choice and freedom by becoming a hero, and Tuon worries about becoming too vulnerable and individual to be the strong and impartial hand she thinks the Empire needs.

They've also both experienced their instincts and worldview being overwritten by external forces; for Tuon it's been happening since birth and she's almost entirely embraced the process; for Mat, it was the consequence of a choice he made and he fought it every step of the way. They have very different responses, but they've experienced weirdly similar 'erasure' experiences. And they both have good and evil impulses entwined in complicated ways. Tuon is a survivor and a monster; a preserver and a destroyer; a person and an empire. And Mat builds a relationship with her when- and because- he accepts that he is both a lover and a fighter; generous and thieving; a person and a weapon. You may not like it, but this is what peak narrative compatibility looks like.

#wheel of time #wheel of time meta #meta #mat cauthon #tuon paendrag #mat/tuon #problematic fave tuon #trickster #tricksters #'I had more thoughts on my one-line joke so here is a follow-up essay' should be inscribed on my tombstone #it's about the ARCHETYPAL DEPTH #RJ gave me a 7-layer-dip of mutually reinforcing thematic parallels and my poor little 14-year-old literary tastebuds never recovered #mat/dagger

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bold-writing · 4 years

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The One With Whiskey Eyes || 4 || Finding Balance

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse.

Words:

Previous || Next

~4~

Barry sat somewhat uncomfortably in the seat that he normally occupied when he was visiting Dr. Fletcher; it was usually a place that he took comfort with relaxing in, but this time he was too on edge to be able to do that. He had come to Dr. Fletcher when he had struggled through a day of work at the zoo. He hadn’t been right since Iris had run off; even the other alters were having trouble sleeping and focusing throughout their days.

“I’m sorry, Doc, I gotta go,” Barry called suddenly, hearing Fletcher shuffling around in the other room. She’d stepped out a while before and he’d heard her speaking with someone on the phone, but then she’d come back in and had tried to offer him food and drinks, maybe a tea that might help relax him. When she left again, once more dialing someone on the phone, Barry was left with his thoughts.

He’d been fighting against the urge to go out and find Iris for the past week while maintaining his steady hours at work and letting the other alters take the light on their off time. He hadn’t been sleeping and even the others who had been in the light since then were much the same—not as bad, but still disrupted and draining.

Rising from his chair to leave as he tucked his hands into his pockets, he could barely hear Fletcher as she rushed back toward him, trying to call him back inside. Barry pushed the sound of her voice into the back of his mind, rushing down the first flight of stairs with such speed that the coat he had on billowed behind him as though caught on the wind.

He didn’t blame the psychiatrist; she’d done her best to help him through everything, but there was nothing that an outsider could do to ease the struggles of an incomplete soulbond. She had tried, and he was thankful that she was there for him even if she couldn’t help him this time. Her words and encouragement were amazing when it came to the situation of him and the other alters, as well as Kevin, but this situation was out of her reach.

Thinking back to his first glimpse of Iris, caught by surprise when she’d opened the door to see him on the other side; he’d been amazed by the soft colour of her eyes. A mix of amber and brown, soft like water but strong like whiskey. Her skin was pale as snow and looked like it would be made of porcelain if he touched it. She was beautiful. But she was afraid. Immediately after he’d spoken, the look that had overcome her eyes made his heart drop.

Had it not been for Dr. Fletcher’s assurances he would have continued to assume that it was his fault; she just didn’t want him. Thankfully, that had not been the case. She had just been afraid due to her own past.

Turning on the last landing of the stairs to finish the steps to the front door, Barry stopped so suddenly that his feet nearly slid out from under him.

Iris stood at the base of the stairs with one foot on the first step, wide eyes focused upward where he was standing. She was in barely more than old grey sweats, stained and covered in accidental bleach spots, and an oversized sweater that hung loose around her neck and down to mid-thigh. Her hood was up, but he could see that her hair was darkened and wet, twisted and pulled over one shoulder to dampen the material of her sweater.

She looked worse than him

Her pale skin was nearly transparent and her eyes had deep bruises beneath them. She looked like she’d been awake since the moment she’d left Fletcher’s building. Where her hand was resting on the banister, he could see the black writing of one of her soulmarks encircling the bone.

“Iris,” he breathed out in shock.

The time apart had made her ill; that much was obvious. He was able to rely on the strength of the others over the week, but she had been on her own.

Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out as she continued to stare up at him in something akin to awe. However, he could see even from where he was standing when her eyes watered with the overwhelming emotion. Barry could only imagine what he looked like to her, the both of them thoroughly exhausted and strung out.

“Barry…” the soft whimper barely registered to his hearing, but he could see her lips when they mouthed his name. “I’m so sorry.”

Rushing down the steps, Barry wrapped her tiny form in his arms before she could even step onto even ground again. As soon as his arms came around her the tense muscles of her shoulders relaxed, slumping against him like dead weight. Her head barely came beneath his chin and when he wrapped his arms around her to hold her closer, she felt completely cocooned in warmth.

His chin had pushed her hood from her head, letting him rest against her damp hair as the smell of soap rose to his senses, her body chilled from her journey to Fletcher’s building in the dark. He could feel when her arms slipped around his torso beneath his coat, taking in his warmth as she leaned against him in fatigue and assurance.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” she mumbled softly, her words barely audible enough to be heard over his own pounding heart.

“That’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he assured quietly, shifting to rest his cheek against the top of her head. The hollow pain in his chest began to ease as he hold onto her, the closeness of his soulmate healing the ache from her running away. “You’re okay.”

“I hurt you,” she whimpered faintly, pulling back from him only enough to look up at him with watery eyes. “I didn’t want you to hurt.” Her pale, thin hands came to rest against his cheeks as her thumbs ghosted beneath his eyes. His skin was soft there, but she could see that there was texture to his cheeks and jaw from years of shaving. He knew that she was touching the bruises that mirrored her own, though he could already see that hers were worse.

His hands came to frame her face as he looked at her properly for the first time. Her cheeks were thin and her cheekbones were sharp, making her whiskey eyes look so wide in comparison. She was so slender, fragile and delicate, and her skin was cool to the touch when his hands framed her face. When she swallowed, her throat and jaw worked with the movement as muscles and tendons shifted beneath his hands. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had the faintest trace of freckles on her nose.

“I’m not alone,” Barry soothed, “We had each other. But you…you were alone.”

Having his words confirm what she already knew, Iris closed her eyes while leaning into his touch.

He was warm. So warm. When she had leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him, she had felt the muscle that was masked beneath the thick layers of his clothing. It made her want to hold onto him and not let go. There was security in his arms, which was a concept that was sadly new to her. “I promise, Iris, you won’t be alone anymore.” She looked up at him when he spoke again, doubt hidden very faintly in her expression. No offence was taken when he saw it, knowing from experience that it was hard to trust after having family break that trust.

“Twenty three,” she whispered, holding the steady stare of his soft blue eyes. They widened fractionally when she said the number before flicking down to her wrist, the black writing still lining the joint. He couldn’t see the words clear enough form this perspective, but he knew that it was a soulmark for one of the alters. “Is that how many there are?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly, nodding against her hands. “Kevin had a…difficult childhood. We were born to keep him safe.”

“Kevin,” she mumbled, testing the name. “So, he was the original personality?”

“Yes, Kevin Crumb. The rest of us came to be over time, when he needed us the most. We were there to keep him safe from the life that he once lived. We keep him safe even now.” As he spoke, his fingers caressed her hollow cheeks, down the delicate line of her throat and jaw. “He is too fragile for this world.”

She had suspected that Barry, and therefore all the other alters, had lived a difficult life. It was the reason they existed. But to have it said aloud, confirming her suspicions and the small hints that Fletcher had offered over the phone, broke her heart

“And you,” he continued, “I don’t want this world to break you.”

Iris couldn’t help the smile that faintly touched her lips when he confessed that, the burn of tears increasing until a simple blink brought it cascading down her cheek. Barry immediately swiped it away, the moisture collecting in the palm of his fingerless gloves. “I am stronger than I look,” she assured while trying to fight back anymore tears from slipping free. “The marks…all of your words…they made me strong.”

Withdrawing her hands from him, she stepped back to put space between them and began sliding her right sleeve up. There were scatterings of marks along her forearm, but it was the mark encircling her bicep that drew his eyes. The words that he said to her a week before were messy against her skin, his writing more scratchy from the sketchy way he drew. It was definitely his writing.

Reaching for her arm, pausing long enough to meet her eyes for permission, Barry gently traced his words with his thumb as he took her thin arm in his hand. By doing so he came to realize, as well, that she was thin but she was not as delicate as she appeared. Her biceps had a decent amount of muscle definition—she was still terribly thin when comparing her to his own size, but she wasn’t as unhealthy as he had feared.

“I am sorry I ran away from you, Barry. I’ve never regretted something more…but I was scared to come back.”

Barry frowned as he gently released her bicep, letting his hands lower until they took hers in a gentle hold. Soft. Her hands were so soft. He hadn’t noticed that when she was touching his face; though he had known that her fingers held a distinct chill. From the cool spring air, he hoped, and not because of a health problem.

“What were you afraid of?”

Iris let out a sound that was a mix between a sob and laugh. “I was afraid you’d turn me away. I wasn’t sure if Fletcher was right…about a soulmark for each personality. I was worried you would turn me away once you found out about the other twenty-two marks.” Shaking her head at her own thoughts, realizing now the absolute ridiculousness of her running away—she’d done what she was afraid would be done to her. “And what was done to my marks.”

Barry’s hands briefly clenched hers. Looking down to her arm as he gently turned it, Iris seemed to realize what he was looking for and released his hand to push up her other sleeve as well, turning her arm so that he could see the long scar running down through the mark on the outside of her arm. He’s told us about you, little one, he really likes you. Barry ran his thumb along the scar as rage for her parents welled in his chest.

He wasn’t normally angered to such a degree, and when he was angered he normally had a better hold on his emotions, but this was…inhuman.

Lifting her arm up, Barry pressed a kiss against the scar. “I promise, Iris, that there is nothing you could do, or have done, to turn us away.”

Iris’s battle with her emotions tipped out of her favour when her tears began to flow more freely from her eyes, dripping down her cheeks as the worry and doubt bled away. Barry pulled her sleeves back down as the chill from the entranceway brought forth his concern for her, wanting her to be warm. Then he gently coaxed her back into his embrace so as not to spook her; she immediately buried her face in his chest to hide her tears while her arms wound around his torso.

“Hey, wanna go get coffee or something? I mean, I wanna get to know you better but I understand if you want to go and get some sleep. You look like you’ve had a hell of a week,” Barry proposed as his chin came to rest comfortably against the top of her head.

The vibrations of his voice helped to soothe her, feeling and hearing his words at the same time.

She was the perfect height in comparison to him. Short to his tall, lean to his muscled, quiet to his boisterous. He’d never quite been able to picture what his soulmate would look like, sound like, or even behave like. Yet, now that he had listened to her speak and taken in each detail about her that he could, he couldn’t have pictured anything more accurate.

He couldn’t wait for the others to meet her; she was perfect for them. And he knew that as shy and timid as she was now, there were many of them that would do everything they could to draw out the true Iris—the one that had hidden away to protect herself from whoever had caused those scars. And others would be more than happy to be quiet and subdued alongside her, basking in similar introvert qualities.

Iris’s arms tightened around him before she freed one of them to properly wipe her face of tears, majority having already soaked into Barry’s shirt. Not that he minded. “I’m off all weekend; plenty of time to sleep later. Coffee sounds great.”

Neither took notice of Dr. Fletcher standing just out of view on the landing above them, smiling faintly at the knowledge that the two would be okay.

Exiting the building allowed for the wind and cold air to return to Iris’s awareness, prompting her to pull her hood up to cover her damp hair. “I don’t usually go to cafes, so I hope you know one?” she posed quietly.

“Uh…yea, I think I know one around here. Dunno if it’s still open, though,” Barry admitted bashfully. Iris couldn’t help but to smile as she nodded her head, letting him lead the way. They were heading in the direction of her apartment, so she at least knew they would be close to home. Thinking back, though, she only knew of one café in this area and it was one she passed often while on her way to work. She’d always just made her own coffee or tea to bring to work, instead of stopping to buy one.

“So…what do you do?” Iris asked first, deciding that they had to start the conversation somewhere and she wasn’t interested in walking in awkward silence the entire way.

“For work? Or as a hobby?” Barry asked in return while glancing at her briefly, stepping closer to her as another couple passed them to head in the opposite direction. He was relieved to see that she didn’t flinch when he stepped closer to her, so she was at least somewhat comfortable with his presence. He had a feeling that it was most likely because of the soulmark—them being together had hopefully appeased it.

“Both, I guess.”

“Well, I’m a manager at the Philadelphia Zoo,” he answered immediately, pride colouring his tone as he tucked his hands into his pockets. He had the urge to reach out and loop Iris’s arm through his, but her own hands had slipped into the large pocket of her sweater to keep them warm. “Personally, though, I love art and fashion. I’ve been designing things for a while, sketching out what comes to mind.”

“Really? Have you ever created your designs?” Iris asked curiously as she thought back to the scratchy way he wrote. Now that she knew he was artistic she could make the connection with art sketches she’d seen in the past.

Barry sucked in his bottom lip as he shook his head. “Nah, maybe later but right now I just…enjoy the process of drawing them out. I guess you could say it’s my…stress reliever? Like how some people have diaries or journals? I’ve usually only shown my drawings to some of the others, and Dr. Fletcher, of course.”

“I can understand that,” Iris responded in understanding, noticing the way his expression lightened when he brought up art. “I suppose that makes my stress reliever music. When I was a kid, I would love to hum songs that I knew and when I got older I took some lessons with instruments and singing. Never really used them to perform, though.”

The two stopped at an intersection as Barry tapped the button to cross, leaving them to wait as the wind blew hard around the corner of the building. Iris hunched against the cold, tucking her arms close to her sides as her hands fisted in her pocket. Barry’s keen attention for detail noticed the slight changes and quickly stepped back to shake the coat off his shoulders and down his arms; Iris watched in surprise for a moment before she realized his intention and opened her mouth to stop him.

“No, take it,” he insisted, swinging the coat around her shoulders. Her arms weren’t in the sleeves, but it was large enough that it draped over her like a cape. “You’re too skinny; nothin’ to keep you warm!”

“Thank you,” she answered quietly, pulling the coat closed in front of her as the crosswalk sign turned to walk.

They quickly crossed the street and kept heading straight, closer still to Iris’s apartment building. “So, what do you do?” Barry continued their previous conversation, swinging it around on her. “Other than music,” he added on before she could reply.

Iris could pick up easily that he had a very social, extraverted personality. For him to have been so calm and patient with her, even up until that moment, made her heart pick up slightly. “I’m a manager at a bookstore,” she started. “I…I didn’t finish school, so I kind of use books to teach myself whatever I wanted to learn. I’ve always loved to read and when I started part-time at a bookstore it was like a dream. I’ve been there for ten years now.” It was slightly embarrassing to admit that she hadn’t finished school; the only people who knew that were her bosses, but they didn’t mind since they hadn’t finished it either when they were young.

“Got a library of your own at home?” Barry asked teasingly, drawing a laugh from Iris.

“I wish; if I had the space, I definitely would. I’m just in a little studio, but I get plenty of books at work to tide me over.”

Barry was listening so attentively to her that he nearly missed the café they were walking passed, but both he and Iris jerked to a stop at the same time when the smell of coffee drifted to them from the opening door as a young woman stepped out in a hurry. “Oh…we’re here.”

The bashfulness in his tone caused Iris to smile, following him as he stepped up to catch the door before it closed. Politely, Barry waved her in first. “Thanks,” she mumbled with a nod of her head, stepping into the small, homey café that was filled with the aroma of coffee and pastries. Barry followed quickly behind her, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly at his easy distraction.

Iris moved to one of the tables further to the back of the room, away from the door and windows. She smiled politely to the woman behind the counter who was already moving out from around the counter as Barry followed Iris over to the table. “Do you know what you want?” she asked while glancing between the two of them with a smile.

“Do you serve decaf here?” Iris asked first, knowing that coffee wouldn’t be a good idea when she was already so sleep deprived.

The waitress’s smile wavered slightly. “Sorry, we used to but it wasn’t very popular so we stopped ordering it. We have a large selection of teas, though.”

“Chamomile?” Iris inquired, relieved to see the smile return to the woman’s face. “I’ll have a large tea, then.” As she was speaking, Iris carefully pulled Barry’s coat off of her shoulders and gently draped it over the back of her chair.

Nodding as she mentally made note, the woman then glanced over to Barry. “And for you?”

“Do you have Chai tea?”

“We do indeed. Large as well?” Barry smile charismatically as he nodded. “Alright, I’ll have those to you in a moment. Will you need any creams or sugars?” Iris and Barry exchanged looks with one another, shaking their heads before they looked to the waitress and repeated the action. Leaving them to their own as the two took a seat at the table that Iris had selected, she immediately began preparing their drinks with practiced ease.

Iris folded her hands nervously in her lap as she glanced between Barry’s focused eyes and the clean tabletop. “I walk passed this place every day on my way to work; never actually gone in, though.”

“Really?” Barry asked with mild surprise. “What’s the name of the bookstore?”

“’Pages of the World’,” she answered easily, noting the moment a look of recognition came to his eyes. “You know it?”

A broad smile lit his features as he nodded. “Yea, I’ve been in there. I can’t believe I’ve never run into you before! To think, you’ve been so close all this time. You guys sell sketchbooks for a good price, that’s usually where I go.”

The soft, nostalgic way in which he spoke caused Iris’s stomach to flutter. “Can’t rush fate—that’s what I’ve been told, anyway.” Barry’s attention was drawn down to where she had shifted her hands in her lap, unconsciously beginning to run her fingers along the writing atop her palm. He forced himself to look away before he tried to identify the writing. That wasn’t for him to see—they were not his words, therefore they were for someone else. One of the other alters.

“We’ve met now, so that’s what counts. Nothing to rush anymore.”

Previous || Next

#Fanfiction #Split #Split Movie #Split 2016 #Barry Split #Barry #Dennis Split #Dennis #Soulmate #Soulmate AU #James McAvoy #The One With Whiskey Eyes #Barry/OC #Dennis/OC #Barry Imagine #Dennis Imagine

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muwi-translates · 4 years

Text

Collar x Malice Short Story: Inside the Box

Christmas Shiraishi-centric short story.

HEAVY SPOILERS. Only read this AFTER you have finished the first game.

**Please don’t move this translation or claim it as your own.**

Generally speaking, the thing called ‘Memories’ is not clear.

Unlike memory as information, it has no fixed form. Its content can depend on the person.

Sometimes sad memories turn into hatred, and happy memories sometimes turn into delusions.

The human brain can't be trusted. It can automatically rewrite itself for its own benefit.

I, who did not require ‘Memories’ —— surely it is the same for Shiraishi Kageyuki the human.

◇ ◇ ◇

This was when I lived in the ‘Facility’.

Every day, every minute and every second, I lived like a machine.

For me, who knew how to suppress pain and happiness as soon as I understood how, all I had was ‘Curiosity’.

The vast amount of knowledge grew with each passing day. Memories of the outside world were written in letters. Like events of a distant world, even the difficult to read special books were simply ‘Unknown Stories’ to me.

I thought that my desire to know things defined my personality. However, when I think about it now, it may have been a desire planted in me as part of my training. Training to become a perfect doll.

"Christmas. The festival celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, coming from the word "Christ mass", it takes the form of many activities in Japan—...”

Inputting information was simple. However, I was also trained how to ‘Use Memory’. If a huge amount of information stayed on the surface of the brain, it will become confused, so if it is not necessary, there was no need to take out the memory sealed in the deeper layers.

(Gifts are put under a tree, and you gather with your family around the dinner table…)

Perhaps this information will also be stored in a box that is rarely retrieved from.

Of course I knew the basics, it was only carefully investigated because it was related to other information.

(Giving love to each other...for what...?)

The outside world is full of as many far-fetched, mysterious customs as mountains. If you had questions about everything, it would only make the processing slower. But this time, I was not sure why I was so interested in this subject.

"Are you interested in Christmas?"

——Suddenly hearing a sound coming from behind, my shoulders moved unconsciously.

Points are deducted if you are seen reacting. I immediately pretended to be calm and looked back, only to see an unfamiliar face.

“Your hand, it’s been paused on this page for a while now.”

What peered at me was a pair of eyes full of serenity, transparent no matter where you looked — like glass balls.

"No, I'm very sorry. I memorised it without any problems."

"I’m not blaming you for anything. I know you have good scores here."

He was a high-ranking person who has inspected this ‘Facility’ many times.

But his appearance did not match his position, with his youthful face. He appeared to be younger than me.

I remembered his name, because it was necessary for me to do so. —Mikuni Rei. He was a human who worked with those who ‘control’ us.

“I’m interested why you, someone that’s like a precision machine, showed interest in ‘that’, that’s all.”

"I didn't become interested... I just had questions."

"Like?"

“......”

What was the meaning of his response? Was I being tested, or was he being whimsical? Either way, I had no right to not reply.

"Why do humans, who aren’t related to that religion, choose to give each other love on that day? What for?”

"...I think there are many other things similar to it but..."

"Yes. But... after reading this information, I think for the average person, this part seems to be more special than others."

As I finished speaking, he— Mikuni Rei’s eyes became slightly dim for some reason. Careful observation of the facial expression can lead to an answer.

【Pity】

A boy in the ruling class felt compassion for a stray cat trapped in a box.

A sense of superiority, a desire for control, and empathy. There were many times where I wanted to give it a name, but it was difficult to understand because I was immature.

"Human feelings... cannot be explained by theory alone. If you feel special, it must be because it touches your heart.... If the other person is the object of your envy and admiration, they are not bound by rights or wrongs."

Thoughts continued to sound as the words continued.

If ‘we’ have feelings for a particular thing, in his viewpoint, it is not a good thing. However, he agreed.

“Why do you treat me like a human?”

“Eh?”

Asking questions is normally prohibited. But now my curiosity had prevailed. This was a serious error. There should be no more curiosity beyond the rules.

"You said these things about a pawn, things impossible to explain with theory."

"...You are right. I don't know why. It's just..."

After speaking, his bewildered gaze stayed on me, and then he spoke unwaveringly.

"Number 14. I... don't want you to be unhappy."

...At that time, he smiled.

But what kind of smile it was— I can’t remember.

Pitiful? Loathing? Hateful? Kindly?

I don’t remember. I can't remember.

Because it's stored in a box that can't be taken out, deep and deep inside.

◇ ◇ ◇

In my dream, someone is calling my name.

“————Shiraishi-san.”

Did I always have this human-sounding name? I want to lie and tell myself that this is true.

But it's impossible. Even my name, which was supposed to be just a code, has become so dear to me.

“Oi, Okazaki! There’s no room for you here for dinner!”

"How mean. But it's okay, I'll eat some from Mineo-san’s.”

“It’s NOT okay! No one told you to come!”

“I’m sorry, Enomoto. ...I was the one who called Okazaki here today.”

“Geh! Yanagi-senpai?! When did you fall this guy’s wily ways—!?”

"His voice was so loud we heard it from inside, obviously he’ll attract attention. Yanagi-san probably didn’t want to disturb the neighbors."

“Yanagi-san let me in when I kept saying ‘I’m so cold… I’m so lonely…’, fufu, he’s so nice.”

“So you just left Yoshinari outside? Talk about pitiful…”

“I'll bring him a souvenir later. It's food that Yanagi-san and Ichika-chan made together. It'll definitely be delicious."

“I don’t know if it’ll suit your tastes but… Ah, but Yanagi-san’s food, I promise it’ll move you! It’s definitely not inferior to food you’ll find at high-end restaurants.”

"Why does the stupid cat look so proud?"

"It looks good thanks to Hoshino being particular about the arrangement."

“Yanagi-senpai…! I’m getting a little jealous watching you two compliment each other, please stop it!!”

Ah, so noisy. Completely unproductive dialogue. There’s no calculation and no falsity, the boring everyday that I like.

When did I get used to this warmth and treat it as part of my everyday?

While I was thinking in a daze, Ichika-chan reached out to me.

“Shiraishi-san, come here. The party has already begun."

——Party? ……Is that so? Has it started?

"These were all made with everything we had. Let's have a good meal today."

——Fufu, as usual, Yanagi-san takes care of others like this.

“......Though I really don’t understand what’s so good about a bunch of us adults coming together.”

——Although that was what Sasazuka said, he also stayed behind to join in.

"Hey, don't stand there in a daze! You’re the protagonist today!"

——Hm? Did Enomoto-kun just call me ‘you’?

“I heard Ichika-chan is giving you a present, right?”

——Even Okazaki is here… Fufu, he must have come in by force.

"Yes. It’s a wonderful gift I prepared with everyone."

I took a box from Ichika-chan who was smiling as she spoke.

I felt strange rather than happy. I was looking right at Ichika-chan, instead of looking down.

Yanagi-kun patted my head, and it also seemed to feel very big. No, maybe it's because I have shrunk.

Thin limbs, short hair. I am the same age as when I talked to ‘Him’ about Christmas.

(Ah. Is this… a dream?)

It seems I dream too much at Christmas.

"But Ichika-chan. I haven't prepared a gift."

"No, Shiraishi-san. We’re...returning you what you gave us."

“...? What I gave you?”

"Yes. You gave us… a lot. It's only natural that we want to return the favour."

“I see… so this is what it means… to exchange gifts…”

"Yes. We want to share it, because we cherish each other. Please open it, and take a look."

“Okay.”

I slowly opened the box, and inside was——、

◇ ◇ ◇

When I opened my eyes, I saw a familiar scenery.

This was their base, called the ‘Detective Agency’. It also became a place I could feel comfortable as well.

“Ah, Shiraishi-san, you’re awake?”

A pair of eyes I seem to always see somewhere, someplace, were looking at me. Crystal clear—like glass balls.

“Ichika-chan…? Ah, huh? Where’s... the present box…?”

"? Fufu, it's rare to see you half-awake. If you sleep in a place like this, you’ll catch a cold. Are you going to the office to stay overnight?"

I realized the reality as my consciousness gradually returned from my awakening.

That’s right. The collar—in order to protect herself from those who had declared to ‘pick her up’, she had taken refuge here with her brother.

The deadline announced by Adonis was approaching soon. In order to make her forget this fact temporarily, I had been talking to them about Christmas. When I thought about the gift she gave—and the only gift I could make, I fell asleep.

(Truly... the ‘Heart’ is so difficult to understand. I… must have been scared to have a dream like that.)

—Everything will end soon.

That smile of his I had gently stored away was blacked out.

The contents of the boxes I had received from her and everyone had been badly damaged and dirtied.

But I decided not to regret it, even if I was scared or in pain.

Because I got the most precious gift in the world.

"Ichika-chan...Thank you."

"Eh?"

"You taught me my first Christmas, right? So, thank you."

"What are you talking about? The real fun starts from now on."

"...Fufu, yeah."

In a few days, we won’t be able to greet Christmas as we promised. Regardless of what happens, it will only make you sad.

Even if I understand that, I want to see it. I don't want to give up. I want to make my wish come true.

This is certainly not a sad story.

I, who had received such a present, could not be unhappy.

Even if I get it dirty with my own hands, this warmth will not disappear.

There’s no reasoning. It’s because I’m human. ...Because I am special.

A shining, sparkling gift for me, who was supposed to be called Number 14.

An opened box filled to the brim with tender memories.

#otome #otome game #otomate #collar x malice #cxm #shiraishi kageyuki #mytranslations

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aamccarthy · 5 years

Text

Lucifer and Thomas - The Neighbour

I finished chapter 3 last night at 1.30am and wanted to keep writing, but had work. I’ve now just finished chapter 4.

https://www.wattpad.com/729388720-lucifer-and-thomas-the-neighbour

This time we are delving into the background of Lucifer and we end up meeting some new characters.

Enjoy!

Lucifer and Thomas Master List

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/186855778-lucifer-and-thomas

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

--------

“OK, OK, OK.” Lucifer held up his hands, standing in the playground in child form and quickly formed a T with his hands, “Time. Time. I’m done. I’m spent.” He collapsed onto his back, wheezing.

Thomas stood over him and tilted his head, “You’re really unfit.”

“Kid, please. I’m an old man.” Lucifer threw his hand over his eyes as he attempted to catch his breath. The damn kid was a freaking machine. He just could go, go, go. What was he? Did kids normally have this much energy?

“You’re not old. You’re the same age as me.” Thomas laid down on the ground beside him, staring up at the clouds. “Aren’t you?”

“Physically yes, mentally no.”

“I dunno what that means.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to reply then sighed, “Don’t worry about it.” He took a few more deep breaths then sat up, his eyes narrowed as he noticed that while they had been playing, a few of the doorsteps on the street now had the five-pointed insignia. “Your mother is probably wondering where you are. We should head back.” He stood up, brushing off the dirt from his black cargo shorts. He held his hand out to Thomas, offering to pull the boy up.

Thomas stared at his hand for a moment, not moving.

“Coming?” Lucifer asked, raising an eyebrow.

Thomas reached out and grasped his hand tightly, then smiled as Lucifer pulled him to his feet. He walked slowly behind Lucifer, a small grin on his face. Lucifer glanced back at the boy, as memories of being offered a hand then being dropped or slapped filtered across his mind. He frowned at the memories, feeling a surge of anger going through him. Part of him wished that Thomas had asked him for revenge. It would have been so, so sweet.

They reached Thomas’ house and the brown-haired boy walked inside. “Are you gonna stay and play?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Nah. I gotta sort out some things. Say Thanks to your mother for me. She’s a good lady.”

Thomas paused, about to close the door, “You’ll come back, right?”

“Of course.” Lucifer reached forward and rubbed the boys head, messing up his hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“OK!” Thomas smiled brightly, his eyes sparkling. “It’s a promise!”

With that Lucifer gave a quick wave and walked down the street, turning the corner. He looked back at the house and raised two fingers, pointing at the boy’s house, muttering an incantation under his breath. A golden glow enclosed the house, forming a protective layer over it, an anti-demon shield. Satisfied, Lucifer glanced around the street then stomped his foot twice, before disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

“So that’s the story. I need you to become human for me.” Lucifer was sprawled out on a red chair topped with skulls and bones in his half man-half goat form. His legs were crossed and he swung one of his cloven hooves back and forth as he chewed on a bone absent mindedly. He was back in Hell and talking with one of his Generals, having just explained the reason for his absence and his new found plan.

“You gotta be fucking with me.” A man with long black hair shook his head, staring at Lucifer’s golden eyes with his own icy blue. From his back flexed six long black wings.

“Come ooooon.” Lucifer rolled his head backwards, staring at the man upside-down. “It’ll be fun.”

“Lucifer. I know you.” The man sighed, placing his face in his hand. “You’re idea of ‘fun’ was to storm the Second Sphere of Heaven because the Dominion’s light orbs looked ‘cool’ and you wanted one.”

“Yeeeah? And? Wasn’t that fun?” Lucifer grinned.

“Having arrows and spears hailing down on me from Heaven is not my idea of ‘fun’.” The man frowned in response, his icy blue eyes glowering.

“Leeevviiiii.”

“No.”

“Come ooonnnn.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Argh! Aren’t you bored day in, day out here, Leviathan?” Lucifer sat upright, resting his arm on the chair, tapping it impatiently.

“Not really, no.” Leviathan replied, rolling his eyes.

“Hmph.” Lucifer frowned then threw the mini Pandora’s box at Leviathan. He caught it immediately. “What about this?”

Leviathan rolled the box over in his hands, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the box, running his fingers over the human engravings. “Where did you get this?” It was definitely a Pandora’s Box. Not the original of course, that was sealed in the first lake on the Ninth Circle of Hell, but it was definitely a version of one.

“That kid had it under his tree.” Lucifer rested his chin on his palm, eying Leviathan. “Whoever put it there intended for him to open it. It definitely wasn’t there the night before.”

“How do you know that?”

Lucifer waved off the question, pushing the thoughts of him digging through the presents in glee on Christmas Eve to the back of his mind, “Intuition.”

“Uh huh.” Leviathan raised an eyebrow, not believing him.

“Regardless, some shit is going down up there, and I need you, my right hand man beside me incase the shit really hits the fan.” Lucifer stood up, clapping Leviathan on the shoulder.

“I don’t get why I have to pretend to be a human though.”

“It’s alllll undercover. C’mon. Kick back, chillax! Have some fun!” Lucifer grinned and slapped his back before he walked out of the room, leaving Leviathan there shaking his head in disbelief.

“You and your fucking ‘fun’.” Leviathan muttered under his breath, knowing that he was being dragged into a horrible plan.

“Why is it… Urgh. So… Bright.” Leviathan half glared and half squinted as he looked around. The pair stood in a park, both in human form.

“Well, we don’t exactly have a Sun in Hell, now do we?” Lucifer was back in his child form, and Leviathan’s jaw dropped.

“What. The. Fuck.” A huge grin split across his face, “This is amazing!” He broke into laughter, having only just noticed Lucifer’s tiny form.

“Shut it.” Lucifer’s child-like voice growled.

“Are you fucking serious?” Leviathan stood there, merriment clear on his face; he too was in human form but as an adult male in his late 20s; his hair was tied back in a low ponytail, his wings now gone. He wore a long black jacket with black jeans, and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “This is fucking great.” He stared down beside him at the 4-and-a-half foot mini Satan. Leviathan grabbed his belly, howling in laughter.

“I swear to Father, if you don’t shut it, I will set fire to you in your sleep.”

“Holy shit, hahahahaha.” Leviathan continued to laugh, tears streaming down his face, “You are so fucking cute and tin- OOF!”

Lucifer had stood in front of Leviathan and punched him in the balls.

“Oh, fuck me.” Tears were in Leviathan’s eyes as he curled over, “I forgot how weak mortals were.” He collapsed on the ground, cradling his groin.

“I’m leaving.” Lucifer snapped and stalked off, walking down the street towards a vacant block.

“Sire! I’m sorry!” Leviathan chased after him, half limping, still clutching at his groin.

Lucifer ignored him and stood in front of the block of land, placing his hands out in front of him, closing his eyes. Within moments a surge of blue and white flames tore through the land and from it emerged a simple single storey home. The walls were painted black and the gutter and beams, a vibrant red.

A low whistle was heard behind him. Lucifer opened his eyes and looked over at Leviathan who was surveying the house. “You know, I sometimes forget that you’re not just capable of destruction, but you used to be an Angel of Creation too.”

Lucifer pursed his lips at that comment, ignoring him as he walked inside the house. The inside was unassuming, looking like any normal dwelling. In the centre of the room was a round table and Lucifer walked up to it, climbing onto the chair. Leviathan bit his lip, trying not to smile.

“Alright, so let’s go over plan again.” He narrowed his eyes and waved his hand over the table and a transparent map appeared, dotted with blue glowing lights. “The kid’s house is here, and we are two blocks away over here.” He pointed and two gold squares lit up, “These blue lights are the Demon Summoning Circles I mentioned to you this morning. When I first arrived, I only saw the odd one here and there, but now they are starting to appear everywhere. But,” he waved his hand again, zooming in on the street that Thomas lived on, “for some reason, there seems to be a concentration of Demonic power in this street. Our aim is to lay low, blend in with the humans and see if we can catch the being behind all this.”

Leviathan shook his head, “You left Hell, last night at what? About 11pm Earth Time…? It’s only 6pm now and all this?” He waved his hand over the map at the blue lights, “This doesn’t happen overnight. This looks like it was planned. It takes a mid-ranking demon, something like 2 or 3 weeks to create a Summon Circle. You have at least 20 within a block’s radius of us. That would require an insane amount of Essence to create that many Summons. And yet, not have a single General detect it? Surely even the Angels from the First Sphere would have noticed.” Leviathan plonked himself down in the chair, running his fingers through his hair in thought.

“Heaven hasn’t interfered at all.” Lucifer mused, tapping on the table, “Which means one of two things, either our Almighty Father doesn’t give a shit about Earth anymore, or there is someone higher ranked enough that can conceal their tracks.”

“You don’t think… An Archdemon?” Lucifer shrugged his shoulders in response, not disregarding the idea, “Fuck no. Those sorry bastards are bound by contract by to each of the Nine Circles of Hell. Break the Contract, and their existence goes,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that.”

“Regardless what the reason is, I need to catch this being. Hell is my Kingdom, and demons come under my domain. Last thing I need is Daddykins coming down for a visit.” Lucifer shivered, “Urgh, that man gets under my skin.”

Leviathan nodded in agreement, their Father rarely intervened now days, but when he did, not even Lucifer and his Generals could stand up to the big man himself. “Are we gonna exterminate the Circles?”

Lucifer waved his hand in front of the table again and the map disappeared, “No. I’ve asked Berith to do that for me.” Leviathan raised his eyebrow at Lucifer’s choice.

“You know that Berith isn’t exactly… subtle, right?” Berith was one of the fallen Princes of Cherubim, originally from the First Sphere of Heaven. He was blood thirsty Fallen, with a love of war and battle. He reigned over the Seventh Circle of Hell, Violence.

“That’s what I want.” Lucifer grinned, his golden eyes glowing mischievously, “Berith can draw their attention and we proceed undetected.”

“And what about the kid?”

“Watch him, and see what happens.” Lucifer scratched at his nose, “I’ll follow him around and see if anything tries to go after him, it’ll be likely. Something already tried to slip him a Pandora’s Box, so chances are whoever is behind this will try again.”

“And I’ll play Dad and keep an eye on the neighbourhood.” Leviathan mused.

“And Berith.”

“What! No! Sire, please!”

Lucifer smirked, “You rank higher than him, surely you can pull him into line if he goes overboard.”

“That guy is fucking nuts. You know the last time I went into battle with him, the fucker set my wings on fire?”

Lucifer continued to smirk, “Not my problem.” Leviathan opened his mouth to reply but then there was the ring of a doorbell. “Right on time.” Lucifer hopped off the chair, “Come on, Dad.” He stressed the word, almost teasingly, “Someone is at the door.”

Leviathan muttered in annoyance and got up to answer the door. “Yes, who is it?” He opened the front door and before him stood a brown haired woman, with soft brown eyes.

“Mrs Wood!” Lucifer beamed.

“Hello Luce. Thank you for staying over last night.” Alice smiled back at the small boy.

Leviathan seemed to be at a loss for words, staring at the woman before him. Her soul seemed to glow from within, her brown hair was shoulder length, pretty and straight, and her skin looked soft to the touch.

“You must be Luce’s Father, it’s great to meet you.” Alice held out her hand expectantly.

Lucifer elbowed the day dreaming Leviathan and he snapped out of his daze and took her hand carefully, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, “No, the pleasure is all mine. Levi.” He bowed slightly, introducing himself.

Alice went bright red and quickly pulled her hand away. “Nice to meet you, Levi.” Lucifer snorted in amusement, “Luce left his clothes at mine, so I thought I should bring them over. I hope it isn’t too much trouble.” She handed Leviathan the bundle of clothes.

“No trouble at all! Did you want to come in?” He asked, almost begging.

“I can’t, sorry. I have to get dinner ready. But next time, perhaps?” Alice politely declined and took a step back.

“Yes… Next time.” Leviathan replied, smiling at the woman before him.

“Alright. It was nice meeting you!” She turned and waved. Lucifer waved back and once she reached the end of their driveway, he slammed the door.

“Levi.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, “Are you fucking serious?”

“Didn’t you see her? She’s a pure soul! Beautiful! I thought you only found women like that in Heaven.” He sighed in content.

Lucifer kicked him in the shin, “You’re a creeper, you know that?”

Leviathan didn’t even seem to notice, let alone care. Perhaps spending time on Earth wouldn’t be so bad afterall.

Continue to Chapter 5

#luciferandthomas #satanandthomas #luciferfiction #adventures with lucifer and a boy #writing #fiction #lucifer and thomas #leviathan #lucifer

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ohwilde · 7 years

Text

Love, come find us.

CMBYN RPF, Armie/Timmy, small side of Armie/Elizabeth, Armie/Luca, 5.4k

My sister gave me the prompt: 'They got back to the villa where they shot the movie'. I took it to an angsty place.

All of this is fiction.

On AO3.

Timothée pushed the door open slowly and peeked inside the villa. He didn’t know what to expect, returning to the scene of the crime a year and a half later. He was nervous.

A gust of wind at his back made him shiver and hurry inside. Closing the door gently behind him, his footsteps and the creak of the door echoed across the barren room.

It was like a tomb.

Timothée had been able to imagine many things about returning to this place, where so many memories and feelings were cemented. But he hadn’t quite been able to imagine it like this.

Empty. Desolate. Or even worse. Like nothing had ever happened here. Like the whole shoot had been a dream.

Another gust of wind brought him out of his thoughts. He shook himself. He was being melodramatic. He walked on.

He let his feet guide him through the house he had almost called home for one Italian summer. His body knew this place. Knew where the light hit in the living room floor just so, knew the echoes of the hallway as people ran through it, knew that he could close his eyes and find his way to the kitchen blind. The scent of cooking had always lead him there unconsciously, during the days where lunch breaks were long, the wait for better weather tedious, but enjoyable.

All these memories were starker now, rougher. Where the echoes of feet on marble flooring would have been playful, happy before, they were now somber and harsh. Like accidentally hitting a discordant note on the piano, cringing almost before the sound makes it to your ears.

Being back felt like that. It felt wrong. Where sunlight reached everywhere in summertime, there was now a thick layer of dust. How many things must time steal from us. Timothée felt a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought.

It wasn’t all bad, he reassured himself. Last night at dinner, after Armie had devoured a few hundred servings of pasta, and he himself enough wine to feel free, invincible and not yet melancholy, Luca had let them in on the secret. Like asking them to participate in a conspiracy, he had gathered everyone in his sitting room after dinner. People had been spread out all over the sofas and armchairs, the party not a private event, but a familial one. Timothée had known all the faces in the room. It had made him feel safe and warm.

Luca, seated in his favourite armchair, with a twinkle in his eye and sipping on an espresso, had told them.

The profits from the movie were going to help him buy the villa.

The shock of the happiness they all had felt at that had been immeasurable. The villa had felt like part of a distant memory, intangible in that Timothée would’ve never been able to see it again in its full glory. Timothée had considered the thought that they would go to see it on this visit to Crema. He had imagined saying his farewells with a touch to the walls of the bedrooms, the railings of balconies and staircases. He hadn’t imagined a see-you-later, a rendezvous among a hundred potential future visits.

He had felt queasy with happiness. He had looked at Armie, Armie already looking at him, a small smile on his face. The soft gaze in Armie’s eyes had made him pause, as always. And Timothée had to look away. The evening had passed with all of them reminiscing, planning. Future visits and future shoots. Everything was possible now.

Except not really.

Timothée took a deep breath and moved toward the office. The cold penetrated his thin jacket and he shuddered. He wrapped his arms around himself.

Timothée thought that if he could package his life into a before, during and after Crema, he would be fine. A life before Luca. A life before Armie. Before moments of hesitancy and the deep meeting of souls. If he could remember that feeling, of not being known. Of being his own person.

Then Timothée could move on from Crema. He could be normal.

He could be friends with Armie. Best friends. And without ever having to reveal the depth of his feelings for Armie.

But if life kept bringing him back here, to the exact spot where he stood when he realised what was happening, how could he keep it hidden?

It had been raining, like so many other days that summer. Shooting had kept being delayed. Armie had been brooding. It had been around the time that he kept claiming in interviews to have shut down. Started distancing himself. Timothée’s heart had been breaking at what Armie was going through without really knowing how to fix it.

When Timothée had realised it was only Luca that could fix it, that maybe Armie was in love with Luca. That had been the moment.

Timothée had been walking around the villa, trying to find Armie. He had found him and Luca together. Nothing about the encounter breathed romance at first glance, except for the passion with which Armie directed his anger at Luca. The words harsh, and devastating. Armie’s hands flying across the space between them. Luca holding a script, gently raising it to Armie, asking him to look at something. The softness in Armie’s shoulder returning as his hand reached out and touched the script, and in turn Luca’s hand, lingering. Timothée had seen a love story play out before his eyes.

That moment had forced Timothée to look inwards, to understand what he, too, wanted from Armie. And he hadn’t been able to breathe. His heart had stopped beating. It had ruined everything.

He had stalked out into the rain, muttered a hasty apology to the nearest crew member, making up some excuse about feeling sick. He had left the set. And he had brought the new realisation of his feelings with him.

He was standing here now. In that same doorway. The memory much less vivid, the bookshelves gone, no furniture in the room. A carpet, forgotten, bundled together like it was about to be brought out. Timothée moved into the room, crouched down and started to pull out the carpet, airing it out. And as the carpet unrolled, there it was. The clear reminder of his memory. A couple of pages of script, highlighted, worn. And left behind.

He barked out a laugh. That hurt. Memory was a cruel thing.

Timothée had thought he could abandon his feelings in this physical place. Move on from Crema, sort his feelings away, and leave with only a strong, platonic love for Armie that never bordered on anything else. He thought that the strength of his denial could make it true.

How wrong he was to even consider such a thing.

He stood up, moved away from the carpet, looked out the window. He inhaled a deep breath of brisk, cold air. Closed his eyes tightly for a minute, then opened them. Barren trees were swaying lightly in the wind. And there. What looked like a toy car, but Timothée knew to be one of the tiny Fiats they had lived in two summers ago, slowly approaching the house from a distance.

Timothée was snapped out of his reverie, brought of his old feelings and into his new. Armie and Elizabeth were coming, along with Luca and some of his neighbours. Caught in painful nostalgia, he had completely forgotten that he had promised to turn on the electricity.

Timothée debated meeting the others outside the door and letting someone else handle it. But he needed more time to himself. The old feelings were still bleeding into him, colouring his every impression of this place. He’d hide in the kitchen until they found him, hoping those extra moments would do it.

Who was he kidding? No amount of time knowing Armie was nearby could do it.

He made his way to the kitchen.

Voices started to carry as he fiddled with the electricity. Why he had said he would do this, he couldn’t really recall. It seemed stupid now, but had probably felt exciting at the time. Exciting to be the first to step into the villa, to visit an old friend and whisper new secrets into the walls.

Turned out there was nothing new about the secrets he carried. Timothée imagined, for a moment, the brisk wind as a sort of brittle laughter moving through the villa. The house letting Timothée know that he was as transparent and predictable as always.

Timothée didn’t really want to think about what made him see the villa as a sentient creature.

“Dude, are you hiding?” Timothée jumped at the sound of Armie’s voice, too close and demanding. He must’ve rushed in to find Timothée. The thought made Timothée feel hot, then cold. Timothée could hear the laughter in Armie’s voice and he was nervous and afraid of exposing himself. Timothée turned his head just slightly, keeping Armie out of his direct line of sight, to acknowledge Armie, smiled, and turned back to the the circuit board. Just a couple of seconds more and he’d be ready to face Armie. To see Armie.

Too bad Armie could never give him a couple of seconds.

Timothée heard him move, then a warm hand on his shoulder, burning. Armie’s head popped up on the other side of Timothée’s head. All Timothée wanted was to tuck his head into Armie’s neck and lean on him until he felt better. Except, it would probably have the exact opposite effect. He steeled himself instead, staying upright, making sure as little as possible of Armie’s body touched his own.

“For a self-proclaimed expert electrician, this seems to be going at a fucking glacial pace.” Armie said, his breath and touch all over Timothée. Timothée squashed a full-body shiver. He braced himself, attempting their usual easygoing banter.

How does one attempt to be easygoing when nothing at all in the world seems easy?

“Asshole, I’m just-” Timothée snapped, clearly not easygoing. “I’m finding the right switch.”

“Well, if you need help,” Armie started. Timothée didn’t let him finish.

“No, I’m good, just - where did the others go? Bother them instead, will you?” Timothée couldn’t handle this, he clearly couldn’t handle Armie so close to him. He felt like he was on fire. He felt like he was made of ice. He was so close to the edge. His defences were down here, in this place he had learned what it meant to be completely open with another person.

Armie must have felt it. His hand left Timmy’s shoulder. He took a step back. Timothée’s body wanted to follow, but he reined it in.

“If you insist,” Armie drawled, moving away. Timothée let out a sigh, started to count to ten to calm his nerves. And then.

The electricity turned on, a noisy spark and what seemed like ten-thousand lights lit all at once. Timothée hadn’t realised how dark the villa had been, until he had to squint to adjust his eyes. Timothée turned around and found Armie at the opposite wall. His hand on a switch. The grin on his face maniacal.

Of fucking course.

Timothée didn’t have time to hide his expression, Armie was a force of nature after all. He attempted to pinch his face into something resembling annoyance, trying not to reveal the pain he was actually feeling.

Being in love was horrifying.

Armie noticed, Timothée’s sure he did. But he didn’t call Timothée on it, just smiled gently at him - the smile Timothée had been forced to meet all over this fucking European continent. Timothée hated being this well-known, this truly understood.

All he wanted was to head butt Armie and run away.

But Armie moved first, wiggling his fingers and shouting a later at him with a toothy smile, the decibel much too loud to be meant for him, clearly meant to reveal his location to the others. Armie disappeared through the doorway.

Armie had picked up on Timothée not wanting to be around him, but clearly didn’t want him to be alone.

What a fucking diamond of a person.

—

Timothée couldn’t stop laughing.

In front of him, Elizabeth and Luca were engaged in a sort of pseudo-dance form. They held hands and twirled around the living room floor. The music was tinny but bombastic, played on Luca’s old Iphone, placed inside a ceramic vase for stereo effect. Italian ballads, too convoluted and the vocabulary to explicitly romantic for Timothée to follow, set the scene for the performance in front of him.

They looked ridiculous. It was amazing.

Timothée had another drink of wine, straight from one of the bottles the others had brought with them. Opened by magic, or some Italian trick, the cork lying in pieces on the floor next to him.

It was both a blessing and a curse to move so smoothly and easily been abject misery and joy. After his almost-breakdown in the kitchen, he had left to find the others before they found him. Armie had disappeared, clearly engaged in a game of ‘who’s-more-like-their-character-now?’.

Timothée let him, it helped.

Timothée carefully shielded that tiny bit of raw emotion, tried to pretend his love for Armie wasn’t all-encompassing, and went to find the others. Luca had arranged a sort of impromptu living room in the office, his neighbours helping him out. Elizabeth was kindling the fire and pillows had appeared from God-knows-where, covering the entire floor. A couple of bottles of wine had been opened and Timothée had started to relax. He had become more at ease with his situation. With the possibility of revisiting this place and not revisiting his feelings.

He had danced with Armie and only felt a small pang of pain. Luckily, the pain had been swept away by the joy of being around his favourite people. The ease with which he could present himself here made him question why he should waste his time on being sad, when the joy was so tangible, so strong.

Armie had attempted to moonwalk and almost fell over when his feet wouldn’t follow his body. Timothée doubled over laughing at this six-foot-five giant without coordination. Armie’s smile had been blinding, when Timothée had been able to look at him again. Timothée’s smile had mirrored it, his face hurting. They could be friends. The best of friends.

Elizabeth had tugged on Timothée’s hand after that and they’d started dancing something Timothée would’ve wanted to call salsa, but he wasn’t sure. Elizabeth leading, her hair whipping around both their faces, Timothée had felt such deep appreciation for their family, for Elizabeth.

He wondered if it’d be weird if he thanked her for Armie. She spun him around the dance floor before he could really properly consider it.

And now he was sitting here, giggling at the scene on the dance floor. Giggling thanks to the wine, the company and the moment. He turned his head slightly and tried to catch Armie’s eye. Armie, stretched out next to him on a mountain of pillows. Still in that tracksuit. He had clearly been watching the show, but now his head turned, his focus shifting to Timothée. A smile formed on his face, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes becoming more pronounced.

A history of laughter, there.

Timothée wanted to reach out and trace the wrinkles, but thought he shouldn’t. He was still fragile. Instead, Timothée grabbed at a strand of his own hair, twirling it. Giving his nervous fingers something to do. Armie was still looking at him.

“You feel better now?” Armie said, his voice soft. Clearly, this was a conversation meant for their ears only. Timothée appreciated it.

“Yeah, sorry about before.” Timothée said. Armie just shook his head slightly.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Armie said, taking a deep breath. “You were clearly in your own head.”

Armie picked up his own wine bottle and drank deeply. Timothée waited for him to continue.

“I was considering Luca’s trick to get you to talk, you know, but I acknowledge that I don’t actually have the right to be privy to your every thought and emotion.” Armie continued, dropping his gaze. He looked embarrassed.

Where are you right now? If Armie had said that, could Timothée have stopped himself from blurting out the truth? Oh, I’m only stuck in a memory where I realise I’m in love with you and I try my hardest to stay out of it but now I’m here and you’re here and I can’t stop myself.

Yeah, that would’ve been a shit show. Timothée decided to tell another truth.

“I guess it’s starting to hit me that our time is almost up,” Timothée said, sad in all kinds of new ways when thinking about the fact that this week wasn’t going to last. Hanging out with Armie twenty-four-seven was a luxury he could rarely indulge in. And their time was ending.

Armie was still looking down, not meeting Timothée’s eyes. But Timothée could see his face hardening, the expression changing from embarrassment to something less delicate. Timothée continued.

“And it doesn’t help that we don’t know when we'll get this kind of quality time again, right?” Timothée said. For a split second, Armie looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. His mouth set in an angry line, he looked up at Timothée.

“I know you mean that as a nostalgic reflection on this fucking amazing week, but you do realise that is up to us, right? We don’t have to rely on fate to plan this sort of thing.” Armie said. He was angry. Timothée had made him angry.

“Of course,” Timothée started, not really knowing what went wrong. “But with filming, your family, award season, most of the time we spend together will be scheduled, you know?” Timothée looked at Armie, willing him to understand.

“This has been great, but we’ll want a break from the madness after all of this is done and maybe that includes a break from each other too, you know? I don’t know your brain.” Timothée said. He wanted to make it sound like a joke, but clearly the reality of being apart was too painful. He just sounded wistful. Timothée thought he heard a noise of frustration come out of Armie’s mouth. His voice was sharp when he replied.

“Do you really think I could ever tire of you, Timmy? I fucking projected you into my childhood memories!” Armie blurted out. Then, as if he realising what he’d just said, his face went pink, clearly embarrassed that he let that comment slip. Timothée felt his face get hot, as well.

That comment had made his mind whirl when he heard it the first time. He didn’t know what to think of Armie bringing it up now.

Instantly, the tension melted away, both of them too preoccupied to be angry. Armie was looking at the dance floor, nursing the bottle of wine, clearly hoping it would help him shut up. Timothée felt an odd sense of joy, the memory of Armie’s confession on French primetime television overpowering all other emotions. Armie had really said that.

If nothing else, Armie would always be his friend. Timothée could count on that.

Timothée reached out his hand and touched the wrinkles at the corner of Armie’s eye. He let his thumb trace the lines as he tried to count them, finding small joys in the impossible task. He carefully brought his free hand to the other side of Armie’s face, as Armie turned towards him, mirroring the movement, there. Armie closed his eyes and let out a sigh. His shoulders dropped and his body relaxed.

All of a sudden, Armie reminded him of a big cat. A ferocious creature undone by a small kindness. Timothée laughed at the thought, the wine killing all his inhibitions. Armie’s eyes opened, focusing on Timothée. Armie frowned.

‘What?’ Armie mouthed, but Timothée only shook his head. He let his hand drop.

“Nothing,” Timothée replied. They’d be fine.

—

Eventually, it was time to leave for Crema. It was getting dark and cold, the villa not hospitable enough to consider staying in right now, even just for a night. Luca went around the house, carefully - reverently - turning off all the lights, like he couldn’t believe the house was really his. Elizabeth, having decided to stay sober, was obviously the choice for driving them back to Luca’s apartment. She was rounding up empty bottles of wine, stashing unopened bottles (surprisingly few) in the pantry, a considerate houseguest wanting to lessen the burden for the host.

Everyone else was wasted.

Timothée could hear Luca’s neighbours singing, an Italian drinking song that they’d tried to teach him earlier. This rendition was the poorest one by far. Timothée would hazard a guess that the whole tune was completely off pitch. He applauded their effort silently and walked out of the villa to get away from the noise.

Where was Armie?

Timothée looked around the driveway, but there was no sight of him. But. He heard a whisper of a sound from the garden. He walked towards it, turned a corner, and there was Armie. Hidden, but not really, behind some bushes. Hunched over on a picnic chair, his body looked small from a distance. He was talking to someone on the phone, the screen lighting up his face.

The nonsense of the conversation drifted towards Timothée. Harper, then. Or Ford. Or maybe even both. Timothée smiled and moved closer.

“We’ll be home soon, guys,” Armie said. “Just a couple of more days and then everything will be back to normal.” Timothée was close enough now to hear the noises on the other end, but couldn’t make out what was being said. He usually needed the kids to be present to be an expert in kid-speak.

“No, Uncle Timmy can’t come this time,” Armie said. Timothée smiled. They were asking about him. “He sends his love, though, I’m sure he’d be there if he could.” Armie’s expression was hard to read in the twilight, looking washed out by the light of his phone. The line of his mouth was tight.

Missing his kids seemed to be getting to him.

More nonsense made its way out of the phone, and then Armie said a quick goodbye and hung up. He tilted the phone on his chin, left it there for a moment. Deep in thought.

After a beat, Armie pocketed his phone, dropping his elbows onto his knees. He stared out into the darkness. Then his head dropped, caught between his hands. He looked even smaller now, something sad in the clench of his shoulder. Timothée’s whole body responded.

Was he crying?

Timothée moved towards Armie, lovesick, unable to handle seeing him in pain.

When Timothée was just a few steps away, Armie looked up. Directly at Timothée. Timothée froze on the spot.

The look in Armie’s eyes made it impossible to breathe.

Armie looked devastated. The pain on Armie’s face looked bone-deep, and that expression reached into Timothée’s heart to grab hold. Unable to break Armie’s gaze, Timothée took the final steps to close the space between them.

Armie reached out a hand, seemingly without conscious thought and Timothée was helpless in the face of the silent request. He was in front of Armie in an instant, gently reaching his arms around Armie’s shoulders, holding him tight, bracketing him. Armie’s wet breath hit Timothée through his jacket and his arms came around Timothée’s middle. Timothée could do nothing but breathe, letting one hand cup the back of Armie’s head.

What was going on?

After a moment, Timothée leaned forward slightly, dropping his chin on top of Armie’s head. Armie let out a deep sigh, crowded closer. Timothée could feel Armie’s breath tickling his stomach.

Timothée wanted to ask what was wrong, but he couldn’t find the words. Something about this moment and the silence seemed so delicate. Like the wrong word at the wrong moment could break Armie.

Timothée stayed quiet and let his breath even out, encouraging Armie to do the same.

After a couple of minutes, the silence around them was broken by the revelry of the house guests, Luca’s voice clearly the voice of reason in the madness. They were heading towards the cars.

Timothée shivered. They’d been out here a while, the cold was getting to him.

Armie’s head shot up suddenly, at Timothée’s shivers or the voices, Timothée didn’t know. But Timothée’s chin was still resting on Armie’s head and he found himself the victim of an unintentional head butt. He gasped in pain and reared his head. Armie, clearly out of it, felt the struggle of Timothée’s body and released his hold, causing Timothée to fall backwards and hit his ass, hard, on the cold ground.

Ow.

Timothée was too stunned at first to recognise the wheezing noise coming from Armie’s direction. Then he knew what it was, the familiar sounds breaking him out of his reverie.

That son of a bitch was laughing.

Timothée looked up at Armie, in his chair, doubled over, clearly unable to contain himself. Finally, Armie looked up and Timothée swept one hand in front of him as if to communicate ‘you-cause-me-pain-and-this-is-how-you-react?’.

Armie was clearly having the time of his life.

“Your face-,” was all Armie managed before doubling down again. Timothée couldn’t complain about Armie’s mood brightening, the relief spread into Timothée’s toes and fingers and all through his body. Armie’s bedside manner was somewhat lacking, though.

“Remind me never to get seriously hurt in front of you,” Timothée said, sullenly.

“You clearly thrive on the pain of others.” He continued, but couldn’t keep a small smile from forming on his face. Armie looked up again, letting his laughter turn into a bright smile. Timothée could breathe again.

Armie got up from his chair and reached out a hand for Timothée. Wincing a little - mostly for show - Timothée pulled himself up, steadying himself on Armie to regain his balance.

They ended up standing very close, Timothée’s hand resting lightly on Armie’s shoulder. Timothée’s heart - traitor - started beating a little faster.

Damnit. He’d been doing so well.

Armie brought his hand up and touched Timothée’s chin gently, tilting it upward to get a better look. His eyes kept moving up to meet Timothée’s own, and then down to his chin, inspecting for damage.

Timothée’s breath started coming a little short. He had to find an out. Soon enough, all of his feelings would be clear as day on his face and there’d be no turning back.

“Thanks for ruining my face,” Timothée said, aiming for haughty. Due to his body not being on his side, though, it came out breathy.

“You’ll be fine,” Armie said. His voice soft. Their eyes met and Timothée thought he could see something forming in Armie’s eyes. Like a decision being made.

Armie leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the injured spot on Timothée’s chin.

Timothée stopped breathing.

Armie leaned back to look at Timothée, almost like he was checking in, making sure Timothée was okay. Then, he moved in again and pressed a flutter of kisses along Timothée’s jawline, cheek, temple. He paused there, leaving Timothée’s face pressed up against Armie’s pulse.

Timothée didn’t know what to do. The silence was heavy and Timothée didn’t want to say the wrong thing, didn’t want to spook Armie when he was vulnerable.

“I love you,” Armie said, barely more than an exhale, his voice pained. Like he was admitting a terrible secret.

Timothée stayed absolutely still. This wasn’t happening. He was dreaming.

“I thought we’d be fine, that I could live with it, without it affecting our relationship. But after this week,” Armie started, then stopped. He moved back, allowing Timothée to see his face, but not meeting his eyes. He looked lost.

“I get that this whole thing doesn’t make sense to you. I’m married, I’m ten years older than you. I should know better. I shouldn’t indulge myself in this. In you. But I did. And now I don’t know how to stop.” Armie seemed resigned, his whole body communicating sorrow, fear, vulnerability.

This is someone I know, Timothée thought. This person is beautiful. The reality of what Armie was saying sent shockwaves through Timothée. Adrenaline thrumming, Timothée wanted to scream, shout, flail, but he didn’t. He kept himself very still. Armie wasn’t finished.

“And that’s gonna be a big, stupid, ass-backwards problem, because soon enough I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing you.” Armie said, finally looking at Timothée. Like he couldn’t help himself, like this was the perfect moment for their eyes to meet. Armie looked devastated. And now Timothée understood.

Timothée felt a warmth spread through his body. This was real. This wasn’t pretend. He moved his hand as if in a trance, reached out to touch Armie’s wrist. And then pinched him. Hard.

Armie yelped and took a step back, his face open and vulnerable. Timothée couldn’t suppress a giggle, disbelief making him giddy.

“What the fuck was that for?” Armie barked, his brow furrowing and his hand reaching to touch his reddening wrist. Timothée’s smile widened.

“Just making sure neither of us is dreaming,” Timothée said, letting all the feelings he’d been hiding colour his voice. Armie’s eyes shot to his, his jaw dropping. Understanding forming in his eyes.

Timothée reached for Armie’s wrist, pulled it up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there, letting his eyes drop for a minute. He needed a moment to collect himself. He let their hands fall, tangled together, and stepped closer, met Armie’s eyes again. Timothée leaned towards Armie, tilting his face up. Almost on his tip-toes.

Timothée let his eyes convey the depth of his feelings for Armie, knowing Armie would get it. Timothée wasn’t hiding anymore. An incredulous smile spread slowly across Armie’s face. Timothée was sure they both looked just as dumbstruck. Two idiots in love.

Armie let his free hand travel up to Timothée’s neck, resting there. Timothée felt his touch everywhere. Armie leaned forward, gently letting their foreheads touch. Timothée had to close his eyes or his heart would burst.

For a split second he was sure he would faint and accidentally knock Armie out in the process.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Armie closed the distance between them and finally pressed his lips to Timothée’s.

—

Armie and Timothée were sitting together in the backseat of the tiny Fiat, the car bumping over small dirt roads. Elizabeth had ordered them to squeeze in the back, leaving the good seat in front for Luca. Timothée saw the ruse for what it was, though. Elizabeth was giving them a moment to settle, hid from view. Timothée’s hand couldn’t stop reaching for Armie’s, their fingers linking, unlinking. Pinkie swears and two thumbs-up.

Earlier, Elizabeth had scolded them for being so oblivious.

Elizabeth had found them before they really could indulge in their newfound interest in making out. She had appeared out of nowhere, bringing Timothée back into a reality where he was, in fact, making out with a married man. He had stepped away from Armie, turned towards her, ready to prostrate himself, to take full responsibility for what had happened. He would exit their lives and never bother them again.

But.

Before he had been able to do any of that, Elizabeth had walked up to him, touched his cheek with her warm hand, leaned forward and whispered a soft ‘Finally, idiots’, in his ear. She had kissed him on the cheek and then turned to her husband.

Timothée had been without words.

Elizabeth had apparently seen this coming all along, Armie had told Timothée after, walking back to the car. Elizabeth had tried to coach Armie into telling Timothée, but he had balked every time.

Armie had blushed at his confession and Timothée had wanted to kiss him so badly. He settled for letting their fingers link as they walked.

Now, as the car rumbled on, Timothée finally felt the exhaustion of the day hit him. As if by command, Armie used their hands to tug Timothée closer, arranging them in the tiny backseat, Timothée’s head on his lap. As Timothée wiggled around to get comfortable, Armie’s hand stretched out over his heart.

Road safety not guaranteed.

Timothée didn’t care. He’d die happy in this car. As Timothée started to doze off, Armie bent his impossibly huge upper body over him, like a safety net. His mouth ended up close to Timothée’s ear.

“I love you,” Armie whispered, clearly not ready to stop sharing this sentiment with Timothée quite yet. Timothée smiled, his body shivered. He never wanted Armie to stop saying it.

“I love you too, asshole,” Timothée whispered back, fondly.

The huff of Armie’s laughter was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep.

#armie x timmy #cmbyn #cmbyn rpf #call me by your name #laterpeaches #cmbyn fic #a wilde fic appears #armie and timmy

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uicscience · 5 years

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New treatment for severe dry eye disease promising in early clinical trials

Participants in a phase I/II clinical trial of a new enzyme-based treatment for severe dry eye disease experienced reduced signs of disease and discomfort, according to a paper in Translational Vision Science and Technology.

The trial compared eye drops containing a biosynthetic form of an enzyme called DNase with eye drops without the enzyme. DNase breaks up nucleic acid-based material on the surface of the eye.

“Participants in the trial who used the drops with DNase reported less eye discomfort and their corneas were healthier,” said Dr. Sandeep Jain, professor of ophthalmology and visual sciences in the University of Illinois at Chicago College of Medicine and principal investigator of the clinical trial.

In dry eye disease, production of tears is dysregulated, and the cornea, the transparent outer layer of the eye, becomes inflamed. In severe dry eye disease, which often accompanies diseases such as Sjogren’s syndrome and ocular graft-versus-host disease, the inflammation in the corneal tissue can become extreme enough to cause disabling eye pain and sensitivity to light.

In previous research, Jain and colleagues discovered that strands of DNA form webs on the surface of eyes affected by severe dry eye disease. This material causes an inflammatory response that further irritates the eye.

“In dry eye disease, several things happen,” Jain explained. “There is an increase in the number of white blood cells called neutrophils that gather on the surface of the eye. Neutrophils release DNA which forms webs on the cornea called neutrophil extracellular traps, which cause inflammation of the ocular surface and attract additional neutrophils in a vicious cycle.”

Normally, enzymes present in tears chop up and clear DNA and other debris on the cornea, but in patients with dry eye disease, there is not enough DNase to clear the material.

In the randomized, placebo-controlled phase I/II clinical trial, Jain and colleagues enrolled 47 participants with severe dry eye disease. About half the participants had a diagnosis of Sjogren’s syndrome and 17% had graft-versus-host disease — both of which are associated with significant deficits in tear production. Forty-one participants completed the trial.

Participants were given eye drops containing either DNase or a placebo formulation and instructed to administer one drop of the solution to each eye four times per day for eight weeks. The researchers evaluated patients’ symptoms through questionnaires and measured the degree of corneal damage and amount of DNA webs and other pro-inflammatory material on the surface of the eye before and for the duration of the study.

The researchers found that participants in the DNase group had a statistically significant and clinically meaningful reduction in corneal damage at eight weeks compared with the placebo group. Questionnaire scores related to symptoms also reflected significant improvement among patients in the DNase group compared with placebo, who also had reduced amounts of corneal DNA webs and other material on the surface of the eye.

“The data from this early clinical trial suggests that DNase eye drops may be safe and effective for treating severe dry eye, and we look forward to conducting larger randomized trials to definitively prove its efficacy,” Jain said.

DNase is currently approved by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration to treat cystic fibrosis. Its use for treating severe dry eye that doesn’t respond to other medications is still considered experimental by the FDA.

“The burden of severe dry eye is much greater than just having an occasional feeling of dryness,” Jain said. “It can severely compromise quality of life to the point of disability and can compromise a person’s vision. There are currently only two approved drugs to treat dry eye, and they don’t work for everyone, especially those with severe disease, so having a new drug that can treat the disease is very important.”

Christine Mun, Shilpa Gulati, Sapna Tibrewal, Yi-Fan Chen, Seungwon An, Bayasgalan Surenkhuu, Ilangovan Raju, Morgan Buwick, Anna Ahn, Ji-Eun Kwon, Nour Atassi, Anubhav Pradeep and Dr. Damiano Rondelli are co-authors on the paper.

This research was supported by Genentech, National Eye Institute grants R01 EY024966 and P30 EY001792, a Research to Prevent Blindness Physician Scientist Award and a UIC Chancellor’s Innovation Fund Award. Jain is the inventor on a patent assigned to the University of Illinois at Chicago that covers the use of DNase to treat dry eye disease.

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jibbyscorner · 3 years

Text

Crunch! Jibby's Guide to Cooking the Crispiest Potato Chips Ever!

featuring ice cubes

School friendships come in all forms. There can be instances when you're all busy because of the overwhelming—and over piling—school works that you need to finish. Navigating through all of this would be like going into a massive labyrinth, with multiple routes and choices all leading somewhere, including a serendipitous destination. But sometimes, it can also lead to an unsatisfying dead end. An impasse, if you might say it in a fancier terms. One with no good moments to see. It's just so... unexciting and anti-climactic, you know? No bother, because all challenges can go through this outcome. No school friendship is perfect, there can be times where you're all just living in a low, lack of energy.

But when you're stuck on a research chapter with tired mind and empty belly, you might want to do something with it before you all try a different path. There may be deadlines, but you can't explore through a maze while you're all still hungry. And there may be a solution for this. All you need is a bunch of potatoes, some cooking oil, a pot (or a pan), more kitchen utensils, and of course, any source of heat. (Most recommended? A stove.)

There's a bunch of appetizing snacks that you can make with a good potato. But what if I tell you that you can cook a really crispy, mouthwatering potato chips with only a bowl of iced water?

Well, you can! And as a parting gift for the last days of my eleventh grade, I am going to teach you on how to make your break time, a great time. Prepare your notes, folks! This is my way of cooking a really delicious, ultimately crispy potato chips. Once you've tried this, you certainly won't regret it!

Of course, you can do this alone. Or if you want, you can definitely try this technique with a team! You can also take turns, especially as this cooking techinique takes time. With great potatoes, comes great amount of minutes... and also cold water and a good knife. This isn't exactly a quick process, you got to put some love in this.

So what is the first step? Well, first, you have to pick the best potatoes. Not exactly the extremely expensive ones, just the right potatoes in the right condition. Take some time on choosing, ask for them, the good potatoes will call on you... if they don't, just choose the ones that are normal, potato-looking potatoes. Personally, I prefer the oval-sized potatoes. I also want them to be a little rough, so I could peel them easily with a spoon.

<< For a quick guide, two medium-sized potatoes would fill a medium-sized bowl. The more potatoes you got, the more satisfied taste buds and bellies you're going to get. >>

And yeah, you've read that right. A spoon! This is a trick that I've learned from my classmates while we're cooking for our TLE subject on ninth grade. Using a peeler or a knife can lead to you losing a layer of good, crispy potatoes. That would be such a waste, doesn't it? Especially since vegetables are so pricey right now! So, you take your spoon (choose the thinnest one), and then you just peel them using the said utensil. This is why I told you to pick the right potatoes, because the right and good ones will peel easily, and you won't lose a layer of potato goodness. Make sure to wash them first before spoon-peeling.

The next step is of course, to cut them. I wouldn't judge you on how you cut them. But when I cook these potatoes, I use a butcher knife (when you're going to use this, please be careful!). Using a butcher knife, I like to cut them in halves vertically. In this way, you're going to end up with two, oval shaped potatoes, with a flat surface on one side. The next step is to cut them as thin as possible. Now, with a butcher knife, you would be able to perform this smoothly, it would take about five minutes to cut six half of potatoes, and you will be good to go!

The next step is to get a bowl, just the ones that would fit your uncooked potato chips, with room for water to fill in. Wash it with clean water. If you observe them, the water would eventually turn into hazy, gray (sometimes light brown, because of the soil in the potatoes), and this is not a bad thing! It's just the starch roaming around your water. Once you see this milky water, you spill them out. And then fill the bowl with water again. Rinse the potatoes with your clean, sanitized hands. And spill the water out again. Do this process as many as you want, and in a few minutes, your potatoes will sink in with clear, transparent water. This meant that the starch is out the surface of your chips and it would make it more crispy when you cook them.

Now, the special part. The best way to make a crispy, and at the same time, flavorful potato chips is to soak them in cold, iced water. Put the cold water onto your potato bowl. Feel them, the more numb your fingers get, the better it is for the potatoes. The cold bath would help your potatoes lose more of its starch, making it look like a real chips when cooked. Wait for a moment to let the potatoes soak and settle in with the cold water.

This is the waiting part. You can wait ten minutes. While you're waiting, let's have a quick talk, shall we?

I actually discovered this technique while doing a group project with my classmates. We were exhausted, drained, and the worst part? We were all hungry. It doesn't help the fact that we were all craving for fries. Good thing about our house is that, our kitchen always has a variety of vegetables, and potatoes were one of them. And so me and our classmates cooked our fries.

It was good! In fact, we really enjoyed it. But I can't seem to not mind the shiny look on our fries. It's too oily, not exactly a turn on for me. And so I had this urge within me that told me to look for a technique that would make my potatoes dry and not too oily-looking. And that's what I did.

After numerous amount of attempts, I finally achieved it. And now I am sharing it with you guys! I've really come a long way with potatoes.

Okay, back to our cold bowl of potatoes. The next thing you're going to do is to open your stove in between medium and low heat. Then you're going to choose your pot, I recommend a medium-sized one, just make sure that it would fit your potatoes perfectly! Just let the pot heat for a moment. One thing I've noticed is that if you put oil on a warm pot, it would make your potatoes stick on the surface. So make sure that your pot is hot and slightly smoking before putting cooking oil.

<< In putting cooking oil, make sure that it would cover all of your potatoes. The more oil, the better. When you're done with oil, let them heat up again for a couple of minutes. >>

Also, while you're waiting, you can now drain your potatoes! It would be cool, pun intended, that you put your cold potatoes on hot cooking oil. Just be careful with the bursting hot oil, you would not want them to touch your skin. Once you've put them on, stir them. Make sure that all of your potato chips are covered in oil. Also make sure that they're all spreaded out evenly! So they can all cook in the same amount of time. Turn the stove to medium heat.

Now this is where you put your insticts in. The best way is to wait a couple of minutes so you can leave time for your potatoes to slowly cook. I say wait for three minutes before checking on them.

I'll start the timer. And while you're waiting, let's get to know each other!

[3:00]

Okay, so how are you doing? Are you feeling good, okay? Or stressed because of school works?

[2:45]

Well, if you ask me, I guess I'm doing fine. I'm trying really hard not to get myself stressed. It's really bad if I get stressed because it would affect my performance! Wouldn't want to have that effect on your essay, right? I guess the best remedy for this is to just find your comfort zone. For me, it's doing essays while playing Netflix on the background. It helps me feel relaxed and at my comfort zone, I just love watcing movies and TV shows so much!

[2:05]

What's your hobbies, do you like reading, watching, baking, cooking, or maybe even gaming? Are you into sports?

[1:35]

If you could go somewhere, anywhere in the world... assuming if we're not in pandemic, where would you go?

[1:00]

For me, I would certainly go to a bookstore. I've missed going there so much. I miss the smell of books!

[0:40]

Have you tried experimenting with potatoes? They're a really versatile food, huh? You can do everything with them, and that's what makes potatoes really special!

[0:20]

For me, I've actually tried doing other things! I've tried doing Mojos, of course, fries, and even mashed potatoes! One time I've tried them with my friends, and while they're not looking, I put some sopas soup on the mashed and mixed them. It turned out really good, I promise you have to try them at some point. It's amazing!

[-0:07]

Oops! We almost forgot about the potatoes we're cooking. My bad! Okay so, once the three minutes is up, you have to check them out. Usually, they don't get crispified at three minutes. Sometimes in my experience, it takes ten minutes to cook them really well. We're looking for a golden look on the potatoes. And you'll feel them with your spatula once they started getting crispy under the boiling oil. You have to take time, always check on them! Because once they turn crispy, it would be also a really quick time before they turn black and burn.

Once it's crispy, prepare a sheet of tissue towel and strainer. Put the tissue on the strainer and place your cooked crispy potato chips over there! You can leave them over there for a few minutes. The tissues would absorb the oils and it would make your potato chips dry and golden-skinned. Once dry, put them on a bowl and sprinkle some salt! Or, if you want, you can put some cheese powder or any condiments on them. That's the beauty of potatoes, it dances on your taste buds regardless of its flavor!

And that, my friends, is how you cook a crispy, mouthwatering, delicious, perfect potato chips. You can pass them on to your friends, to your friends of friends, or even to your acquaintances! I really do think it would be nice if this snack I've experimented on for years would pass on and satisfy other potato lovers. And to all of you hardworkers out there, this snack would be a great delight for you! May the break of these potato chips on your teeth encompass a satisfying break time for all of you.

So if you're out there, doing research, or going on any hard path the labyrinth of a life may give you, always remember that you deserve a break, you truly do. The great beyond is just out there, it's waiting. And if you feel like getting a snack break, how about you try my potato chips, eh? I'm sure it would make a worthwhile snack!

Feature Article by Abdullah Jibril Y. Dandamun

Photos by Jibril Dandamun

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clubofinfo · 6 years

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Expert: It is welcome that finally there has been a little pushback, including from leading journalists, to the Guardian’s long-running vilification of Julian Assange, the founder of Wikileaks. Reporter Luke Harding’s latest article, claiming that Donald Trump’s disgraced former campaign manager Paul Manafort secretly visited Assange in Ecuador’s embassy in London on three occasions, is so full of holes that even hardened opponents of Assange in the corporate media are struggling to stand by it. Faced with the backlash, the Guardian quickly – and very quietly – rowed back its initial certainty that its story was based on verified facts. Instead, it amended the text, without acknowledging it had done so, to attribute the claims to unnamed, and uncheckable, “sources”. The propaganda function of the piece is patent. It is intended to provide evidence for long-standing allegations that Assange conspired with Trump, and Trump’s supposed backers in the Kremlin, to damage Hillary Clinton during the 2016 presidential race. The Guardian’s latest story provides a supposedly stronger foundation for an existing narrative: that Assange and Wikileaks knowingly published emails hacked by Russia from the Democratic party’s servers. In truth, there is no public evidence that the emails were hacked, or that Russia was involved. Central actors have suggested instead that the emails were leaked from within the Democratic party. Nonetheless, this unverified allegation has been aggressively exploited by the Democratic leadership because it shifts attention away both from its failure to mount an effective electoral challenge to Trump and from the damaging contents of the emails. These show that party bureaucrats sought to rig the primaries to make sure Clinton’s challenger for the Democratic nomination, Bernie Sanders, lost. To underscore the intended effect of the Guardian’s new claims, Harding even throws in a casual and unsubstantiated reference to “Russians” joining Manafort in supposedly meeting Assange. Manafort has denied the Guardian’s claims, while Assange has threatened to sue the Guardian for libel. ‘Responsible for Trump’ The emotional impact of the Guardian story is to suggest that Assange is responsible for four years or more of Trump rule. But more significantly, it bolsters the otherwise risible claim that Assange is not a publisher – and thereby entitled to the protections of a free press, as enjoyed by the Guardian or the New York Times – but the head of an organisation engaged in espionage for a foreign power. The intention is to deeply discredit Assange, and by extension the Wikileaks organisation, in the eyes of right-thinking liberals. That, in turn, will make it much easier to silence Assange and the vital cause he represents: the use of new media to hold to account the old, corporate media and political elites through the imposition of far greater transparency. The Guardian story will prepare public opinion for the moment when Ecuador’s right wing government under President Lenin Moreno forces Assange out of the embassy, having already withdrawn most of his rights to use digital media. It will soften opposition when the UK moves to arrest Assange on self-serving bail violation charges and extradites him to the US. And it will pave the way for the US legal system to lock Assange up for a very long time. For the best part of a decade, any claims by Assange’s supporters that avoiding this fate was the reason Assange originally sought asylum in the embassy was ridiculed by corporate journalists, not least at the Guardian. Even when a United Nations panel of experts in international law ruled in 2016 that Assange was being arbitrarily – and unlawfully – detained by the UK, Guardian writers led efforts to discredit the UN report. See here and here. Now Assange and his supporters have been proved right once again. An administrative error this month revealed that the US justice department had secretly filed criminal charges against Assange. Heavy surveillance The problem for the Guardian, which should have been obvious to its editors from the outset, is that any visits by Manafort would be easily verifiable without relying on unnamed “sources”. Glenn Greenwald is far from alone in noting that London is possibly the most surveilled city in the world, with CCTV cameras everywhere. The environs of the Ecuadorian embassy are monitored especially heavily, with continuous filming by the UK and Ecuadorian authorities and most likely by the US and other actors with an interest in Assange’s fate. The idea that Manafort or “Russians” could have wandered into the embassy to meet Assange even once without their trail, entry and meeting being intimately scrutinised and recorded is simply preposterous. According to Greenwald: If Paul Manafort … visited Assange at the Embassy, there would be ample amounts of video and other photographic proof demonstrating that this happened. The Guardian provides none of that. Former British ambassador Craig Murray also points out the extensive security checks insisted on by the embassy to which any visitor to Assange must submit. Any visits by Manafort would have been logged. In fact, the Guardian obtained the embassy’s logs in May, and has never made any mention of either Manafort or “Russians” being identified in them. It did not refer to the logs in its latest story. Murray: The problem with this latest fabrication is that [Ecuador’s President] Moreno had already released the visitor logs to the Mueller inquiry. Neither Manafort nor these “Russians” are in the visitor logs … What possible motive would the Ecuadorean government have for facilitating secret unrecorded visits by Paul Manafort? Furthermore it is impossible that the intelligence agency – who were in charge of the security – would not know the identity of these alleged “Russians”. No fact-checking It is worth noting it should be vitally important for a serious publication like the Guardian to ensure its claims are unassailably true – both because Assange’s personal fate rests on their veracity, and because, even more importantly, a fundamental right, the freedom of the press, is at stake. Given this, one would have expected the Guardian’s editors to have insisted on the most stringent checks imaginable before going to press with Harding’s story. At a very minimum, they should have sought out a response from Assange and Manafort before publication. Neither precaution was taken. I worked for the Guardian for a number of years, and know well the layers of checks that any highly sensitive story has to go through before publication. In that lengthy process, a variety of commissioning editors, lawyers, backbench editors and the editor herself, Kath Viner, would normally insist on cuts to anything that could not be rigorously defended and corroborated. And yet this piece seems to have been casually waved through, given a green light even though its profound shortcomings were evident to a range of well-placed analysts and journalists from the outset. That at the very least hints that the Guardian thought they had “insurance” on this story. And the only people who could have promised that kind of insurance are the security and intelligence services – presumably of Britain, the United States and / or Ecuador. It appears the Guardian has simply taken this story, provided by spooks, at face value. Even if it later turns out that Manafort did visit Assange, the Guardian clearly had no compelling evidence for its claims when it published them. That is profoundly irresponsible journalism – fake news – that should be of the gravest concern to readers. A pattern, not an aberration Despite all this, even analysts critical of the Guardian’s behaviour have shown a glaring failure to understand that its latest coverage represents not an aberration by the paper but decisively fits with a pattern. Glenn Greenwald, who once had an influential column in the Guardian until an apparent, though unacknowledged, falling out with his employer over the Edward Snowden revelations, wrote a series of baffling observations about the Guardian’s latest story. First, he suggested it was simply evidence of the Guardian’s long-standing (and well-documented) hostility towards Assange. The Guardian, an otherwise solid and reliable paper, has such a pervasive and unprofessionally personal hatred for Julian Assange that it has frequently dispensed with all journalistic standards in order to malign him. It was also apparently evidence of the paper’s clickbait tendencies: They [Guardian editors] knew that publishing this story would cause partisan warriors to excitedly spread the story, and that cable news outlets would hyperventilate over it, and that they’d reap the rewards regardless of whether the story turned out to be true or false. And finally, in a bizarre tweet, Greenwald opined, “I hope the story [maligning Assange] turns out true” – apparently because maintenance of the Guardian’s reputation is more important than Assange’s fate and the right of journalists to dig up embarrassing secrets without fear of being imprisoned. Deeper malaise What this misses is that the Guardian’s attacks on Assange are not exceptional or motivated solely by personal animosity. They are entirely predictable and systematic. Rather than being the reason for the Guardian violating basic journalistic standards and ethics, the paper’s hatred of Assange is a symptom of a deeper malaise in the Guardian and the wider corporate media. Even aside from its decade-long campaign against Assange, the Guardian is far from “solid and reliable”, as Greenwald claims. It has been at the forefront of the relentless, and unhinged, attacks on Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn for prioritising the rights of Palestinians over Israel’s right to continue its belligerent occupation. Over the past three years, the Guardian has injected credibility into the Israel lobby’s desperate efforts to tar Corbyn as an anti-semite. See here, here and here. Similarly, the Guardian worked tirelessly to promote Clinton and undermine Sanders in the 2016 Democratic nomination process – another reason the paper has been so assiduous in promoting the idea that Assange, aided by Russia, was determined to promote Trump over Clinton for the presidency. The Guardian’s coverage of Latin America, especially of populist left wing governments that have rebelled against traditional and oppressive US hegemony in the region, has long grated with analysts and experts. Its especial venom has been reserved for left wing figures like Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez, democratically elected but official enemies of the US, rather than the region’s right wing authoritarians beloved of Washington. The Guardian has been vocal in the so-called “fake news” hysteria, decrying the influence of social media, the only place where left wing dissidents have managed to find a small foothold to promote their politics and counter the corporate media narrative. The Guardian has painted social media chiefly as a platform overrun by Russian trolls, arguing that this should justify ever-tighter restrictions that have so far curbed critical voices of the dissident left more than the right. Heroes of the neoliberal order Equally, the Guardian has made clear who its true heroes are. Certainly not Corbyn or Assange, who threaten to disrupt the entrenched neoliberal order that is hurtling us towards climate breakdown and economic collapse. Its pages, however, are readily available to the latest effort to prop up the status quo from Tony Blair, the man who led Britain, on false pretences, into the largest crime against humanity in living memory – the attack on Iraq. That “humanitarian intervention” cost the lives of many hundreds of thousands of Iraqis and created a vacuum that destabilised much of the Middle East, sucked in Islamic jihadists like al-Qaeda and ISIS, and contributed to the migrant crisis in Europe that has fuelled the resurgence of the far-right. None of that is discussed in the Guardian or considered grounds for disqualifying Blair as an arbiter of what is good for Britain and the world’s future. The Guardian also has an especial soft spot for blogger Elliot Higgins, who, aided by the Guardian, has shot to unlikely prominence as a self-styled “weapons expert”. Like Luke Harding, Higgins invariably seems ready to echo whatever the British and American security services need verifying “independently”. Higgins and his well-staffed website Bellingcat have taken on for themselves the role of arbiters of truth on many foreign affairs issues, taking a prominent role in advocating for narratives that promote US and NATO hegemony while demonising Russia, especially in highly contested arenas such as Syria. That clear partisanship should be no surprise, given that Higgins now enjoys an “academic” position at, and funding from, the Atlantic Council, a high-level, Washington-based think-tank founded to drum up support for NATO and justify its imperialist agenda. Improbably, the Guardian has adopted Higgins as the poster-boy for a supposed citizen journalism it has sought to undermine as “fake news” whenever it occurs on social media without the endorsement of state-backed organisations. The truth is that the Guardian has not erred in this latest story attacking Assange, or in its much longer-running campaign to vilify him. With this story, it has done what it regularly does when supposedly vital western foreign policy interests are at stake – it simply regurgitates an elite-serving, western narrative. Its job is to shore up a consensus on the left for attacks on leading threats to the existing, neoliberal order: whether they are a platform like Wikileaks promoting whistle-blowing against a corrupt western elite; or a politician like Jeremy Corbyn seeking to break apart the status quo on the rapacious financial industries or Israel-Palestine; or a radical leader like Hugo Chavez who threatened to overturn a damaging and exploitative US dominance of “America’s backyard”; or social media dissidents who have started to chip away at the elite-friendly narratives of corporate media, including the Guardian. The Guardian did not make a mistake in vilifying Assange without a shred of evidence. It did what it is designed to do. UPDATE: Excellent background from investigative journalist Gareth Porter, published shortly before Harding’s story, explains why the Guardian’s hit-piece is so important for those who want Assange out of the embassy and behind bars. Read Porter’s article here. http://clubof.info/

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jeff-foliage · 7 years

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Many recent digital cameras will capture multiple exposures, putting 2 to 10 photos on one image. I did this occasionally in the slide film days. However, it is easier and less expensive to experiment with this technique using a digital camera. I used a Nikon D500 for the images here, but other cameras have similar capabilities. Read your manual to learn what your camera can do to create multiple exposures.

The book, “PHOTO IMPRESSIONISM and the Subjective Image“, co-authored by Freeman Patterson and André Gallant, has examples of two types of creative multiple exposures made on slide film. Freeman would put 9 to 25 exposures of a single subject on a single transparency moving the camera slightly between exposures. Andre’s favorite technique was to combine a sharp and a very out of focus image of the same subject. He mainly did this by sandwiching two transparencies, but it can also be done in-camera on a single piece of film.

Both of these techniques can be done in-camera with some digital cameras. However, André’s montage approach can also be simulated with a single exposure by blending the original and a blurred layer in Photoshop or just by adding negative Clarity in Adobe Camera Raw. It is also possible to simulate Freeman’s technique in Photoshop from one or more single exposures, but this is a bit more laborious. But wait, while writing this I decided to create Action in Photoshop to simulate Freeman’s technique with a single image. You can see the results at the end of the article.

Below is an in-camera digital version of André’s in/out of focus technique. If you try this, remember to open your lens wide when you take the out-of-focus shot. Otherwise it will not be as blurry as you might wish.

Double Exposure (in and out of focus) of Amaryllis

My Nikon D500 has four multiple exposure overlay modes: Add, Average, Lighten, and Darken. An older camera had just Auto Gain On or Off. Off is identical to Add and On is identical to Average. (“Gain” actually means a reduction in exposure.)

Add simply overlays the images without adjusting the exposures. If you take a series of photos using Add or Auto Gain Off without adjusting the Exposure Compensation, the result will likely be very overexposed. However, if you use this feature and, for example, take 9 exposures each at EC = -3, you can get a multiple exposure with a factor of 8 faster shutter speed than you can with Average (or Auto Gain), all other things being the same. This is a handy trick and learning how to use this feature rather than Auto Gain can produce some nice benefits.

Average or Auto Gain On is the “normal” mode many use. It adjusts each exposure so the result will be properly exposed. It is useful, for example, to smooth out moving water if conditions do not allow a slow enough shutter speed.

Lighten chooses only the brightest pixels from the shots to use in the composite. It is a useful mode for overlapping fireworks at night. (This can also be done in Photoshop with multiple images stacked on layers set to the Lighten Blend Mode.)

Darken chooses only the darkest pixels from the shots to use in the composite. It is a useful mode for a subject in motion against a light background.

The two images below are each 10-shot multi-exposures made totally in-camera except for some minor adjustments and adding some single-exposure buds in the first image. For these I used the Darken mode since I basically had a moving subject against a light background. (Actually the amaryllis was stationary near a window and I moved the camera.)

Here is a 10-shot multiple exposure using Average made October 5, 2017 during a great fall foliage season, at least in NH.

If you have a camera with these capabilities you might enjoy experimenting with multiple exposures. And if you want to see some beautiful examples of multi-exposures, get the book mentioned above.

I promised earlier I would show what I did “automatically” with an Action in Photoshop. I created an Action that would duplicate a layer, rotate the copy 5 degrees, and repeat this 9 times. The Action then selected all Copy layers and changed their Blend Mode to Darken. I then selected some images, pretty much at random, from a folder of recent photos in Bridge and used Batch to run this Action on all of them. I sat back and waited and then discarded some of the resultant images. But a few were somewhat interesting. Here they are.

In the slide show below the first image of each pair is the created one and the following image shows the original capture.

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Perhaps I will create another Action that rotates and/or translates and/or distorts each copy layer by an ever increasing amount. That might be neat. But, as Will Lange says, “I’ve got to get back to work.” (If you do click this Will Lange link be sure to get to the end of the article and listen to the audio.)

If you want to see more multi-exposure images I made this fall you can CLICK HERE and CLICK HERE TOO. The first blog will tell you how you can make these with an iPhone.

~ Jim Block

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Seeing Multiples Many recent digital cameras will capture multiple exposures, putting 2 to 10 photos on one image. I did this occasionally in the slide film days.

#"Jim Block"#multi-exposure #multiple exposures

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sleepadvisor · 7 years

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Our Tempurpedic vs. Loom and Leaf Mattress Comparison

This is one of the mattress battles that we’ve looked forward to for quite some time now. The beds that we are about to compare are made by companies which have disrupted the entire industry in the last few years.

Loom and Leaf are the premium line of Saatva – a famous internet mattress company which sells directly to the consumer. This allows it to keep the prices relatively affordable while offering high-end luxury quality. Tempurpedic, on the other hand, is an established leader in the industry with long years of experience.

The mattresses that we are about to stack against each other are amongst the best in their class, and it’s going to be a close call. Let’s breakdown the Loom and Leaf and Tempurpedic comparison.

Materials/Layers/Construction

The first factor that must be accounted for is the more integral specifications of the mattresses. Their construction, layers and the materials used would play a substantial role when it comes to their functionality and capabilities.

Loom and Leaf Construction

The Loom & Leaft mattress is 12 inches high, and its construction is broken down into four comprehensive layers, each one of which is made of high-end foams. Additionally, they take advantage of one of the most comfortable and highly-effective covers in the industry. Let’s have a closer look.

The 1st layer of the L&L is intended to ensure that you receive the necessary comfort and cooling. The layer is 2 inches thick, and it’s made of conforming gel foam of high-quality. That’s what’s going to conveniently dissipate the heat from the entire sleeping surface, making sure that you won’t be waking up sweating in the middle of the night.

The 2nd layer has a thickness of 2.5 inches. The material used for it is visco-elastic memory foam with 5 pounds of pressure. It’s high-density layer which will deliver the necessary support. Furthermore, it is intended to work as the core of the bed. This is a convenient mix between latex and memory foam, bringing in both comfort and coolness.

The 3rd layer is thinner than others – it’s just 2 inches high, and it will deliver the transitional support. The material used here is high-quality support foam. However, the main intention of the layer is to provide proper deep compression support. It would allow the comforter layer to transition with the foundation of the bed.

The 4th layer is the thickest one. It is 5.5 inches high, and it’s made of high-density support foam. It is intended to deliver the necessary foundation that you might need for the proper alignment of your spine. This is also the layer which would shape up the entire mattress, and it’s going to keep it in said shape. It is also made in a manner which will allow proper air flow so that the bed doesn’t retain any unnecessary heat.

The next thing that’s worthy of your attention is the cover of the Loom and Leaf bed. It is entirely made out of organic cotton. This means that you can rest assured that you would get that cloud-like sleeping sensation. The cover is incredibly comfortable, and it doesn’t dampen any of the mattress properties. This is quite convenient. It brings serious softness and plush appeal but, at the same time, it doesn’t reduce the coolness and breathability. This is something worth accounting for.

Right under the quilted and padded cover, L&L comes with a very thin layer of natural thistle. This is intended to act as a natural fire retardant, ensuring that no chemicals are used for it.

TEMPUR-Flex Hybrid Prima Construction

Unlike L&L, this particular model has a total of six layers in its construction. That’s what’s going to bring in the magic. With this in mind, let’s have a look at all of them and see what’s so special.

The 1st layer is the one made of premium fabric. This is the cover of the bed. It can’t compare to the one of Loom and Leaf. However, it’s cool to your touch, and it doesn’t dampen any of the important bed characteristics.

The 2nd layer is the one who is going to bring in the coolness. It’s made with the patented Smart Climate System. It’s located right underneath the cover, and it’s intended to get rid of all the moisture in the bed. Furthermore, its dual-action dynamic system will allow for a dryer and also for a cooler night’s sleep.

The 3rd layer is the one that’s intended to deliver the necessary comfort. It is made out of TEMPUR-ES material which is proprietary. This is a soft material, and it’s intended to resemble memory foam. At the same time, it’s not as hugging, and it is a lot more responsive.

The 4th layer is made of TEMPUR-Response. This is another proprietary material which will make sure that you do not feel trapped in the mattress. The foam has a quick response time, and it will adapt very quickly to your movements while you sleep.

The 5th layer is what’s very interesting. This is the so-called “Dynamic Support” Layer, and it’s made out of individually wrapped coils. They are specifically designed to work in sync with the previous layers so that you would be able to get the best response throughout the entire night. This is also what brings in a distinctive bounce which is not characteristic of memory foam beds.

The 6th layer is acting as the base of the bed. It is intended to support the weight of the sleeper and to make sure that the same gets proper support. Additionally, it makes sure that the heat from the entire mattress is adequately dissipated.

Firmness/Comfort/Support

Loom & Leaf Firmness

If you’ve decided to go for a Loom & Leaf mattress, you would be given the option to choose between two different levels of firmness. The first one is the medium-firm unit. It scores 5.5 to 6 out of 10 on the unified firmness scale. The company refers to it as the Relaxed Firm model. The second one scores 8 to 8.5 out of 10 on the same scale. It is intended for those of you who prefer truly firm mattresses.

The initial sensation that you’d get, regardless of the firmness that you pick, is incredibly welcoming and comfortable. It immediately makes the association with sleeping on a cloud. This is thanks to the high-end quilted padded, euro-style cover. Additionally, it doesn’t lack any support thanks to the foundation.

The entire construction is quite thick, and that’s why it accommodates heavy sleepers without any issues. It has a very thick comfort layer. Normally, this would definitively reduce the responsiveness of a memory foam bed.

In this case, however, L&L has managed to go around it by infusing the layer with gel – that’s what speeds up the response time and doesn’t make it hard for you to switch sleeping positions. In other words, you won’t feel as if you are drowning in quicksand.

The mattress brings superior coolness, and there are absolutely no problems when it comes to heat retention. You won’t wake up sweating through the middle of the night – that’s a promise.

TEMPUR-Flex Hybrid Prima Firmness

The dynamic layer of individually wrapped coils introduced in this mattress makes it a bit firmer. It scores about 7 out of 10 on the firmness scale, and it’s intended for people who prefer slightly sturdier beds. If you are a back sleeper, this is a beautiful option for you. Also, you should know that it has coils. The sinkage, however, is quite nice. This would adjust conveniently depending on the applied pressure.

This suggests that it is suitable for different people, regardless of their weight. The main intention of the unit is to prevent the feeling of being trapped for heavy sleepers as well as the feeling of floating on top of the bed for lighter ones.

The product succeeds in delivering a rather balanced overall sensation which is definitely what you’d want to look forward to. This is also one of the things which relieve pressure points between your body and the mattress. Even though the bed is a bit firmer, this is somewhat compensated by the convenient construction.

Side by Side Comparison

Loom and LeafTEMPUR-Flex Hybrid Prima Mattress MaterialsMemory foam and cooling gelMemory foam and hyper-elastic polymer and coils Height12”10” FirmnessMedium or FirmFirm Motion TransferVery MinimalSlightly More SupportGreatGreat Warranty15 years10 years Trial Period120 nightsDepends on the retailer

Should I Buy Loom and Leaf or a Tempurpedic?

Now, the truth is that this battle is a bit different due to the lack of transparency when it comes to the TEMPUR-Flex Hybrid Prima. If you notice, there are a lot of things missing from the construction review such as the type of memory foam, the number of coils and others of the kind. This is something that’s kept from us from the brand. That’s something that we are not particularly fond of.

The Loom and Leaf, on the other hand, is completely transparent about the materials used in every single layer. That’s what’s we look forward to. In any case, it goes without saying that both mattresses have their merits.

Why is Loom & Leaf a great option?

Comfort – the bed has gone above and beyond to provide the user with a balanced sensation that’s comfortable and supportive. The different firmness levels also attribute to this quite a lot.

Cooling – the mattress is particularly cool, and it doesn’t retain any heat. It’s undoubtedly amongst the coolest beds we’ve tested.

Materials – there is a complete transparency when it comes to them. The company relies on safe and natural materials such as natural thistle for fire barrier, organic cotton, foams which are plant-based and others of the kind.

Complete Transparency – that’s what we love the most. You know everything down to the tiniest detail.

Check LOOM & LEAF Pricing & Availability Here

You might want to give the Tempurpedic bed a shot if you:

Have no issues with spending a serious amount of money – since their inception, Tempurpedic mattresses have been particularly expensive, and this one is absolutely no exception.

Enjoy a slight bounce – this is thanks to the Dynamic Support layer and the individually wrapped coils.

You like slightly firmer mattresses – with 7 out of 10 on the firmness scale and hybrid construction, the bed is a bit firmer than the regular ones.

Check TEMPURPEDIC Pricing & Availability Here

Final Thoughts

Our choice here would go to the Loom and Leaf. For one thing, it’s cheaper. Normally, we wouldn’t account for that as a differentiation criteria, but the truth is that the mattress is also of superior quality. We can deduct this based on the fact that the company is completely open about every material used in the unit.

Saatva has gone above and beyond to create a particularly well-balanced unit – one which is comfortable, cooling and incredibly supportive.

Obviously, the TEMPUR-Flex Hybridis not a bed to disregard. It brings substantial capacities, and it’s brought forward by one of the most reliable brands. We, however, do not appreciate the fact that there is a certain lack of transparency.

We are told that that the materials are proprietary, yet we do not have any information whether or not they are made of sustainable ingredients, or they contain chemicals and others of the kind. This is not something worthy of a high-end mattress, especially a bed that’s worth $3,000 or more.