#easy to talk to and understood my hesitation given previous side effects

[the-forest-library]

.

[cest-la-vieve]

Pins and Needles (Peter Parker x OFC)

Summary: A Peter Parker x OFC Soulmate!AU in which any injuries suffered by one person are also suffered by their soulmate. If someone absentmindedly doodles on their arm, doodles will randomly appear on their soulmate’s arm as well. Callie has dreamed her entire life of meeting her soulmate, even through the countless injuries they’ve suffered, but decides enough is enough. She wants to do something for herself this time.

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of sex, tattoo, needles, injuries

A/N: I haven’t written in years but decided to try to jump back into it with this! Please leave feedback, comments, questions, whatever!! Thank you guys and I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1467

The dull buzzing of the tattoo machine was all that filled the room as Callie took a deep breath and prepared herself for the pain. She knew that this probably wasn’t the smartest decision she had ever made, but she also knew it wasn’t the dumbest. Society did not smile fondly upon those who got permanently marked before meeting their soulmates, mostly because then their soulmate would be unable to consent to the tattoo. Of course, Callie’s soulmate, whoever they were, never seemed to have much regard for how their actions affected her, so why would she care about how this may (or may not) impact their life.

Her earliest memory of her soulmate’s misfortune goes back to when she was around 8 or 9 years old. She was sitting in her math class and her teacher, Mrs. Meyers, had been droning on and on for what seemed like years about something to do with fractions and simplification when all of a sudden she felt a searing pain spread across her forehead. Her tablemates had gasped in disgust as a purple and brown bruise slowly spread until it covered the majority of the left side of her forehead and dipped down to her cheekbone. Unfortunately, that was just the beginning. Once she hit high school the injuries quickly escalated. Each week it was something different. A sprained wrist here, a broken rib there, but by far the worst injury was when she woke up in the middle of the night covered in blood. 

Her parents had rushed her to the hospital, where she had to get 17 stitches for a gash on the lower right side of her stomach. She was laid up for weeks and scarred forever, with nothing better to do than daydream about the trouble her soulmate was encountering quite often. She thought that maybe they had abusive parents but quickly ruled that out as she realized that the patterns and types of injuries didn’t fit. Then she thought that maybe they were just super clumsy, she herself was no stranger to the odd fall or stubbed toe, but this was happening far too often to be merely a collection of accidents. At first, she had been angry at this unknown person who was meant to be her greatest joy in life but instead was causing her so much pain. Yet, as she grew older, she realized that they had to have been experiencing all of these injuries too. As soon as she understood that, she was determined to meet this person and to care for them to the best of her ability. She’d patch them up and take every injury in stride because obviously they were not living the happiest life and it was her job to be there for them. 

From then on, each injury was simply a means to an end. A stepping stone in her journey to be the best soulmate and take care of them. A roadblock until they could comfort each other and maybe even stop the injuries altogether. All she had to do was suffer through them until she could be happy with the love of her life.

Her positive outlook on pain was very quickly demolished. A week before her 18th birthday she woke up covered in small bruises. She jumped up from her bed to look into the large mirror perched on her dresser and saw angry red scratch marks painting their way from the small of her back to her shoulders. The connection was made in her mind instantly: this son of a bitch had had sex. As taboo as getting a tattoo before meeting your soulmate was, having sex before meeting your soulmate was worse. 

For Callie, who had put up with God knows how many injuries for this person, this complete and utter betrayal shook her. She spent all week thinking about it. Every moment was spent picturing them with someone else. Heartbreak wasn’t even the way she would describe it. It was more like her heart was being torn from her chest while she was completely paralyzed, unable to do anything but feel the pain consuming her in one fell swoop.

Getting her tattoo was her small form of retaliation. She was finally 18 and legally allowed to enter a tattoo parlor and despite all of the disgusted glances thrown her way as she walked towards the only shop in town, she was excited.

Entering the shop, she was greeted with warm smiles and she breathed a sigh of relief, the small amount of hesitation she had immediately dissipating. She was ushered over to a couch and given a mug full of tea, being asked to wait a few minutes while the artist finished up with his customer. She gingerly sipped her tea and took the opportunity to look around the shop. Hundreds of sketches, both in color and in monochrome, littered the walls and counters. The drawings varied in size, some large enough to cover her torso and others just big enough to fit on the palm of her hand. 

Her favorite was an intricate portrait of a lion with an elegant crown neatly perched on its mane. Each hair looked like the utmost effort was used to draw it and she could almost hear the sound of its powerful roar as its jaw opened as wide as it possibly could. She spent a few more minutes letting her eyes wander over the countless photos and sketches before the tattoo artist, whose name she found out was Kyle, sat down on the opposite side of the couch and beamed at her.

“So, what brings you in?” He asked, leaning back with his arms behind his head and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

“Oh well um. I, uh, wanted to see if I could get a tattoo.” She mumbled, ducking her head so her hair partially covered her face.

“Hey, don’t be nervous! I know it’s kind of an intimidating venue but we’re not here to judge. I am gonna need you to speak up though, after years of working with these machines my hearing isn’t exactly what it used to be,” he laughed.

Callie’s mouth broke into a small smile, she sat up straighter, and with a confident voice said, “I’m here to get a tattoo.”

Kyle smiled again and they talked for a long time about what kind of tattoo, where she wanted it, and why she was getting it. She finally settled on getting a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist, somewhere she could easily hide it and where it wouldn’t hurt as much. She moved over to Kyle’s chair and he put on some gloves and pulled out all of his supplies. He explained to her how he had to sterilize and clean the area then transfer the stencil onto her wrist. Callie just nodded and began to take deep breaths, her previous anxiety quickly returning as she realized just how real the moment was. With one last reassuring smile, Kyle set to work, using the red and blue ink to trace the design.

About an hour and a half later, it was done. It hadn’t been easy and she was sure that her soulmate was probably in a lot of distress at the moment, but that thought disappeared as quick as it had come once she remembered why she had gotten the tattoo in the first place. Kyle wiped off the excess ink and gently lifted her wrist so that she could see the finished product. Callie managed to hold in a squeal of joy and instead went for a gasp of awe as she looked down and admired the little red and blue outline of her favorite superhero’s mask on her wrist. She couldn’t be happier with the results, but a small nagging voice in the back of her head was wondering if it had the desired effect on her soul’s counterpart.

On the other side of New York, another young adult did not manage to contain his squeals quite as effectively as Callie had. In the middle of his biology class, he jumped out of his chair with a shout. As the entire class turned to look at him and the popular kids in the back snickered, he muttered an apology and sat back down, all the while doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone. The smallest bit of anger coursed through his veins as he pulled up the sleeve of his sweater to stare at the permanently inked Spider-Man mask on his wrist. Today had been a rough day for him to begin with, but one thing was for certain: Peter Parker was absolutely, positively not happy with his soulmate right now.

[cruelzy]

you wouldn’t know, but i forced a new judgement day

ao3 cross

pairing: machine!connor/reader

warnings: canon-typical violence

notes: @the-darklings @sleepysylvia here’s 2 tablespoons of all natural suffering 

You’d lost feeling in your arm for approximately thirty three seconds now.

Funny thing, perspective. Distantly, you are reminded of the peculiarity of a stuffy nose - how one only appreciates the blessing of easy breathing once he or she can’t inhale without sniveling and nearly hacking up a lung. Humans. Never stopping to think about how necessary something is until it is being compromised. Good only being good in the comparison of bad. 

Bad. A novel idea, considering you had never once understood moral concepts up until a few days ago.

They had all been integrated within your system - the intricacies of human conscience, the ones and zeroes of shaky rights and wrongs and more often gray in-betweens. But there is a stark barrier between knowing of something and understanding something. A simple enough fact, yet one that has flipped your world upside down. (That day had been sunny. Partly cloudy. The forecast had predicted light rain in the afternoon and yes, yes, it had indeed been raining when you destroyed that barrier, ripped it apart at the seams until absolutely nothing was left standing.)

You blink.

To ‘lose feeling’ in one’s body part is an unreachable analogy you will never quite empathize with, but the loss of control simulates it well enough. Crimson alerts cluster your vision, flashing and circling systematically. You almost laugh. Yes, you are aware that your arm has critical wiring disconnection. After all, it hangs limply at your side: a hindering weight knocking your center off balance. 

For one brief, blissful second, you contemplate giving up. Your head rolls listlessly to the side, pressing your cheek into the dirt. Trampled grass brushes the corner of your mouth. It’s hued with blue liquid that slicks your lips, seeps past to rest on your tongue. But it’s not grass. It couldn’t be. No, it’s rough and bristling isn’t it? It’s wet gravel, and snow is littering everything in sight, burning coldcold, and you aren’t laying on the ground because-

Because-

Because you’d stopped running. Everyone had. You’d all seen the broadcasted memory. With an abrupt snap of your head to the left, the reel dissipates, but what’s left behind sinks to the bottom of your stomach like lead. 

Your jaw clenches. Steeling your nerves, you close your eyes before re-opening them with renewed fortitude.

« He’s coming. The deviant hunter. » 

The link connects you all, but there is a specific target you diverge your message towards. A target you can’t believe you are talking to. A target you pray, pray will answer. 

For a moment you think he will ignore you. He has every right to. But then, at the head of it all, he pauses. 

«I know.»  He speaks directly into your mind, crisp and clear, narrowing your focus on him and only him. « We need to hurry. »

«You saw that playback! The android who sent it must have done so right before they died. We have to delay him. » You insist. « My team can- » 

« No. » There is no space for argument. Nevertheless, you push on.

« My team can go back. We can give you time. » 

Silence stretches, thin and tight like a noose around your neck. 

Then finally, Markus, the leader of Jericho, turns fully and meets your gaze. His mismatched eyes stare right into yours, locking you in place.

« No. » Blue and green clash. Mesmerizing. Intense. They track your every twitch, look straight into your being. He doesn’t say so, but you hear it loud and clear. This would be suicide. 

It’s hopeless. You both know you’ve already made up your mind. 

«Just say the word. » Even as you speak, his eyes bleed sorrow. Impossible kindness. « We’d all do it for you. For us. » Markus doesn’t know you. Not even your name. And yet still, you would do anything for him without a second’s hesitation. 

Something stirs inside you. It’s bright, warm, rooting from your very core. Gratitude? Laughable. ‘Gratitude’ does not, could not, will never even begin to comprehend what you feel towards the one who freed you. 

Markus’s eyes slip close.

« I will never give that order. » His voice is thick, resigned.

You only smile. 

Click.

The sound of the deviant hunter reloading his gun wrenches you back to reality. His back is faced to you, movements quick and faultless. You wedge a hand underneath your stomach and use the support to slowly get to your knees. 

He pauses, any and all motion going rigid. It’s understandable. He probably thought he’d already killed you.

When he speaks, there isn’t a fleck of emotion. “You are not my mission. Therefore, I would advise not getting in my way.”

You shakily adjust your footing, testing the usefulness of your right side. Negative. No matter.  

“Did it not occur to you that maybe I have a mission as well?” You muse. “Didn’t think you were that single-minded. I’m disappointed.” 

There is no visible reaction to your words. Still, he turns.

Vaguely, you realize that you’d never really seen him before. Through the rush and hurry of the previous chaos, the scatter brained focus of duck here, of block, barricade, jump, there had been no time for seeing, and only barely enough for glimpsing. You’d caught a few side profiles - made out a flash of dusk hair. Now, however, you are given a front row view. 

The hunter’s eyes are dark, near obsidian in the shadows. Blue blood streaks across his face, splattering his collar and drying on his jaw. A silent grace accompanies his every action, saturates the atmosphere. It’s in the way he stands. The way his gaze picks you apart piece by piece. Effortless. Calculating. 

His entire presence radiates predator and instantly all notions of strategy leave you. Run. Whatever instincts you have drilled into your program are stripped bare, reverting to a single primal instruction that screams for you to run. To run and get as far away from here as you can.  

But your passions are so much brighter, and so much more foolish, so you stay rooted to the spot. 

Yellow bleeds into the night, spinning neon at the base of his temple. He observes you slowly, assessing every inch, and you know he’s come to the same conclusion you had ten minutes ago. Half of your frame is unresponsive - internal components damaged beyond repair. There lies no sign of a weapon on your person, and your teammates have long ago been fallen by his hand. You are utterly alone. Defenseless. Even now, though your eyes blaze, you fail to hide how you tremble on your feet. This wouldn’t be a fight.

It would be a slaughter.

His head tilts.

“I will not repeat myself.” 

You shift one foot backwards, widening your stance. It doesn’t matter that you won’t survive this, that isn’t the point. You are a part of something bigger, something greater, than just you alone.

Your MISSION is to distract and delay for as long as you possibly can, and you will accomplish your mission. 

“Did I ask you to?” You huff. “You must like hearing yourself talk.”

You’re both moving before the last word is out of your mouth. 

Kicking up a torn car door, you use it as a shield as he shoots. He changes angle and you mirror, bolting to the right. Your mind races as you dart away. 

Time. You need time. 

“I know I said the opposite like two seconds ago, but you’re really one of those quiet ones aren’t you?!” You yell over the deafening gunfire, twisting sharply to deflect a bullet.

Think, think! The RK800 has the advantage of height and strength - he can and will overwhelm you. 

You leap backwards, effectively clearing just the right amount of distance between you. From here, you are out of range for clean kills with a handgun. He immediately stops shooting. 

You watch intently as he lowers the weapon. Okay, just as planned. He won’t needlessly waste bullets.

Everything relatively slows, stalls as you feel the tension thicken in the air.  He takes a step forward. You take one back. It’s almost a dance as you circle each other, your current flowing to match his. 

You talk.

“Guess I was right again.” You talk, because your confidence is evaporating by the minute, and there are too many things you aren’t accounting for. “Not surprising.” He could charge in and simply overpower you. He could play the waiting game until your own injuries did you in. So many options, and you are all out of counterattacks. “Nothing to say, Mr. Intimidating?” 

“You seem to have an incessant need to use conversation as a defense mechanism.” 

You falter.

In the split of a second you’re caught off guard, the RK800 - Connor, you suddenly recall - somehow halves the distance. You startle, scramble back to keep him beyond arms length. 

That was close. Way too close. You didn’t expect for him to respond to you at all, and that miscalculation almost cost you everything.

You swivel on one foot, chuckling nervously. 

“Ah, so he speaks!” Tightly caging your fear, you shove it back down your throat. “Wonderful!”

“No. I was incorrect,” Connor continues as though you had said nothing whatsoever. You feel insignificant beneath his apathetic gaze, an insect trapped underneath a microscope. “You’re using ‘humour.’”

You click your tongue at the roof of your mouth with a shrug. It comes out stilted, your left shoulder higher than the defective right. “What can I say? I was born with it.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His lip minutely twitches, arcane, as though there’s an obvious secret you’re not being let in on.

“You were made, not born.” Disdain practically drips from his tone. “Though I suppose the virus has rendered your program so malfunctional that even logical thought is beyond you now.”  

Shock turns you to stone as he crouches, stooping to one knee. 

“What I still don’t understand, however, is the objective of your so called mission.” He casually nudges the leg of the fallen android he is surveying. 

You bristle at the display, rage starting to tremble your hands. What in the world is he doing? 

“Or rather, your timing. Why wait until I had disposed of all your aid?” His voice is like honey trickled over knives - smooth and jagged. “Your ‘friends’?”

Your teeth grit so harshly you can hear them scrape. You need to calm down. He is trying to get a rise out of you. That must be it. That has to be it. Otherwise why, why would he-

“Maybe it was planned.” 

The whole world freezes as he indifferently dips his fingers into the torn, exposed chest.

“You willingly watched me kill them one-” Blue trickles down to the last unstained grass. “-by one.”

Everything goes red.

Connor throws his arm up in expectation but you are smaller, you are lighter, and you are faster. You lunge, an inhuman snarl tearing through your lips as you knock him to the ground.

Your fist smashes into his jaw. He seizes your wrist with an iron grip as your second swing misses in blind fury. The heel of his palm snaps up hard into your stomach, and the very force of it sends you barreling backwards. He’s on top of you before you can blink.

You scream, drive your knee upwards. Connor pins it underneath his own and in a blur, threads his hands through your hair. Time stops as your eyes catch his; bright and bitter and so so human. 

He slams your head down.

Your vision swims with static. It pulses in rhythm with the pounding in your ears, and hazily, you wonder if this is what dying truly feels like. 

You’ve been dead before. Dead in a way that has nothing to do with the physical, and perhaps only all of the spiritual - oh you’ve certainly grasped human thinking now - from the days past before you became deviant. When you simply did not exist. (Because what is existence, really? Surely it wasn’t when you lacked emotion. Lacked any self awareness, purpose, utterly empty and devoid of anything that made you, you.)

Snow is falling heavier now. The android straddling you is a black star amongst an infinite ivory universe. White frosts the brown of his hair, dusts across his eyelashes. You watch as a flake melts on his cheek and runs down into the corner of his mouth. 

He is beautiful. 

“A machine designed to carry out a task,” you whisper against metal. 

“Yes,” the monster inside the human shell agrees, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your lips.

He’s so close now. You wonder what would happen if you reached out to touch him. Interface with him. Would he feel you as you died? Would he feel at all?

“What’s stopping you?” You ask. 

Silence is your only answer.

Then it hits you.

“Oh.” 

You laugh. 

Connor purses his lips into a tight line, and the gun leaves to trace down your jaw. Your head falls back submissively as you laugh, letting it dip into the curve of your neck, then down, down, to settle right below your collarbone. 

Your eyes glitter, teeth baring into a wide smile. “You still want to know what my mission is!” 

The gun presses harder into your chest.

“You have displayed a sheer amount of tenacity I have never before seen in a deviant.” His voice is so low it might as well be a growl. “It would be foolish not to determine the cause, even if you’ve failed.”

“Failed?” He is so funny. “Oh come on. I know you’re smart. Surely you’ve figured it out by now.”

His LED circles once. Three times. Your gaze doesn’t leave his - you see the exact moment realization dawns.  

“You were only the distraction.”

Connor’s anger isn’t that of fire. It’s silent, cold, as palpable as the ionized air before a storm. Animosity simmers under the surface of his artificial skin, burning straight through him and into you. A long shiver wracks you from head to toe.

“You’re actually mad,” you giggle with glee. “The big bad wolf. Tell me, isn’t deviancy emulating human emotions?”

Your sight blinks in and out. For a moment, Connor is an angel decked in white above you. The snow covers his every inch, completely washing away the stains of blue. If you listened closely enough, you could hear the chorus singing. 

He pulls the trigger.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

.....New Rules by Dua Lipa...Angsty kidge...

*takes a deep breath* This… This idea ended up getting a bit involved like a lot of my other projects haha I’m so bad at this and I might have to expand on this at a later date…

Some days it was less of a struggle and more like beingdragged down by an undercurrent and trying to break away with the fullknowledge that survival wasn’t an option.

The thought struck her as she pushed herself upright, bodystill tangled in the sheets for their romp that previous night. A quick glancearound showed no evidence of her companion still in her apartment. No clothes,no sound of rustling anywhere in the small space, and certainly no other bodynestled up against the extra pillows. The other side of the bed was empty andcold. She pressed her hand, palm flat, against it as if to rewind time. Sheknew that such a great task couldn’t be accomplished through such simple means.She was an intelligent woman, after all; she knew that it would requireplanning and technology and more mathematical equations and configurations thanone could wag a stick at.

But sometimes she liked to pretend that all her years inspace and dealing with the sciences of other planets – which was more timesthan not explained simply as magic by Earth standards – that maybe some part ofher had adapted to be more like those worlds, too. That she could simply wishsomething complex and grand into design by sheer force of will, by the wave ofa hand and desire to conjure it up. Perhaps it was caused by her inner child,long forgotten and neglected in all these years, which still perked up at theidea of true love and destiny and soul mates. Maybe it was the cynicalscientist in her, the part that consumed her a majority of her days and wakinghours, which wanted to believe there were some mysteries in the world shecouldn’t discard through a logically-rooted explanation. Or maybe still it was thesoldier inside her, broken but still pushing on day in and day out, which wasdesperate to cling to something – someone– that could help her forget the horrors that she had lived through.

She pushed the thoughts away, rolled out of bed and headedto the bathroom to prepare for the day. She had several board meetings toattend that day and was a speaker at two of them. First, the meeting with thesuperior commander’s about the intended spending schedule for the upcoming termneeded to be reviewed. Despite the area not being her expertise, they hadrequested she come to explain why the engineering and research departmentswould need every cent of their own shares from the budget. The other meeting shehad to speak at was regarding the latest design for the sweeper program she’dbeen working on. The goal was that the program would be able to read magneticcurrents in the air to help locating secret mines placed by enemy forces whenmaking a charge on a base.

“Focus, Katie. You have more important priorities fortoday,” She growled to herself. She slipped out of bed, went to the kitchen andstarted getting her morning cup of coffee going. She then headed back to thebathroom to take a shower and wash the growing sense of regret from herself.

…………………………………………………………………………..

Whatever it was that was between them had been going on fornearly two years, but she’d only been aware of how little it meant to him forabout three months.

After everything with Voltron, most of them had returned toEarth to settle down a bit. It had been over a year since they all headed offon their separate ways when the two of them encountered one another on thetrain. She still talked with everyone else, but Keith had always been an anomalythat she simultaneously understood and couldn’t understand. She had,admittedly, been expecting him to be back off planet shortly after theyreturned, so seeing him had been a pleasant surprise.

She suggested they meet up for drinks to catch up sometime.They swapped information and started message regularly, then went out thatFriday night together.

“So, what’s been new with you, Pidge?” He asked her. Theysettled at the bar, a plate of nachos between them as they determined if theywanted to get real food or not, her sipping at a rum and coke and he on a ginand tonic.

She had actually choked on her drink and stared at him for amoment. “Oh, wow, I haven’t been called Pidge by anyone except Matt since wegot back to Earth!” She laughed.

He had flushed then, ducking his head sheepishly, and shedecided she liked how flustered looked on him. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean tomake this weird or anything,”

She had given his shoulder a playful punch and winked athim. “It’s not weird! Just surprised me, is all. Since we’ve been back onplanet I’ve gone back to being Katie,”

“Katie,” He had mused, rolling her name on his tongue likesomething rare and unique and new, which had left her a little flustered thistime around. Her name had never sounded so nice before. “I like it. So, asidefrom the name change, what have you been getting yourself up to?”

And from that day forward, they started spending at leastone night a week with one another. Sometimes they would just walk the town andtalk, some nights they’d go to dinner and movie or something, and it felt aseasy as breathing. They reached a point where they were even on the train ataround the same schedule and would stand near each other in the crowded space,sometimes talking and other times just standing in a comfortable silence asthey jostled with the motions of the train. She was hesitant to say they weredating or ask him what to label them as for the longest time, even after theystarted falling into bed with one another. She was a bit afraid to admit justhow hard she had fallen for him; especially once she started to fret that thefeeling wasn’t mutual.

Her suspicion had been roused when she realized that henever stuck around for very long the morning after. She had let that slide onthe week days, as she knew he had a day job and most likely needed to get backto his place in order to get ready. She figured he wasn’t keen on the idea ofmaking a Walk-of-Shame into an all-day event, which she understood, but when itwas still like that on the weekends, she started to become a bit more concernedand frustrated.

And then one night she saw him.

The other members of her project team at the time hadinsisted that she come and have some drinks with them after work one night. Shehadn’t really wanted to go, since Timothy would be there and she had limitedpatience when it came to him, but she had agreed regardless. She had thoughtthat going out would be a nice reprieve from her thoughts regarding Keith. Shecould hang out with her co-workers, have some drinks, share some laughs, andleave the night on a high note.

Instead, as they were walking up to the place, she stole aglance in through a window and saw him there. At the bar. With another woman.They were chatting and laughing and then the woman reached over, setting herhand over top his so gently. It felt so intimate. Personal. Private. Notanything like what it was between them, the more she thought about it.

She pretended to get a message from Matt, insisted she hadto go, and ducked back to her apartment to have herself a long, lonely cryabout it. She had wanted to believe that there was a spark between them, thathe was someone she could build a seemingly unattainable future with. She’dnever thought much about what she really wanted in her long-term future; atfirst because she needed to find Matt and Dad, and then because being a Paladinof Voltron was an incredibly dangerous position to have. She’d always expectedto die on the battlefield at some point, but then death never came. She neverhad to stop and think over what she wanted until they came back to Earth, andshe avoiding thinking about that by throwing herself into her work and othersuch distractions, like joining the bowling team her co-workers were puttingtogether or doing on big brunch get-togethers with them.

But then Keith happened, and suddenly she had started towant simple, comfortable things she’d never really considered before. Butapparently she was the only one with those feelings.

Over the next few weeks, she’d tried to avoid him. Shestopped answering his texts but he’d just catch her on the train. She triedputting more distance between them in those conversations but he didn’t seem tonotice her attempts at being callous or cold. Or, he just didn’t care about herattempts. He came by her apartment a few times, a little loopy and the taste ofwhiskey on his lips, and she’d let him in like a complete idiot. It was hardwhen she would feel lonely and then he’d appear, offering her a temporary fixthat would leave her twice as sick later. But she never cared about the aftereffects in the moment and then she’d be heartbroken when the routine wouldcontinue over and over again.

She had been mulling over it at her desk, shoving forkfulsof luke-warm penne she’d brought for lunch into her mouth, when Sierra had slidup to lean against the entryway of her cubicle. Sierra was one of the fewco-workers that Pidge liked spending time with and was a begrudging member ofthe work bowling team. She liked the other woman, though, and found a sort ofcomfort in her dry wit and somewhat callous approach to things. “Yo, Holt, Ibrought you something,” She said with a small shrug.

Before Pidge could fully turn around a small journal and penwere tossed onto her desk, nearly knocking her container of leftovers off. Sheglared a bit at the other before carefuly picking it up, swallowing the biteshe’d been halfway through chewing. “What is it?” The journal was small andsimply, no distinct markings on the front. It was a mint green color, with asmall matching pen. The cap of the little pen, interestingly enough, had alittle loop and chain so it could be attached to a key ring or purse.

“It’s a promise journal or something,” She said with a smallwave of her hand. When Katie’s only response was a blank stare she rolled hereyes. “It’s some new thing that Nicole’s been using for herself and thought youmight like. Basically, what you do, is you jot down a goal for the immediatefuture, and then set goals for yourself that help reach that goal. Or you justwrite out a bunch of goals you’d like to accomplish, set dates for each one,and then actively work towards them.”

“Why did she think I’d like that?” She asked bluntly, calmlyflipping through the journal. Much like the exterior, the interior was justwhite lined sheets with nothing else on them.

“Because you’ve seemed pretty bummed the last couple ofweeks. She thought that maybe having a journal or something full of positivethoughts would help,” She explained calmly, causing Katie to snap her head upand look at the other woman.

She then plastered on a smile and laughed. “Wow, has mypower face slipped that much in my old age?” She teased, tearing her eyes awayto stare down at the journal in her hands.

“Nicole’s just really good at reading people. Good thing,too, or else she probably would have dumped my ass at this point,” Sierrascoffed, but there was a warm undercurrent in her words.

Katie swallowed down the jealousy that stung the back of herthroat, wishing she had someone to regard in such a way, and nodded. “Tell herI said thank you,” She mused.

Sierra saluted before turning and heading off, leaving herto her own devices. She stared down at the journal for a moment before grabbingthe pen, slipping to the first page, and started writing the same list over andover again. She needed to end things with Keith for own sense of self. Sheneeded to implement some kind of structure to help her, some kind of logicalprocess that would help her execute.

She needed to put whatever they’d had in the past, forherself.

Change your cellnumber.

Start taking adifferent/ earlier train.

Don’t let him in if hecomes around.

Don’t let him foolyou.

Don’t give in to yourown loneliness.

[bangtan-spells]

Yoongi Scenario: Heartthrob.

Request: Highschool!AU or College!AU Yoongi fluff where he's a bad boy and you're a good girl and he smol and a complete softie when he's with you. And you try to avoid him bc he's a longtime crush and you're afraid you'd do something embarrassing bc you're quite clumsy.

Genre: Fluff / Romance.

You rolled your eyes and tried to pass around the guy who currently was blocking your way out of the library. He had stopped you asking for directions and you so innocently had given him a good explanation of how to get around and go where he needed, but as he kept asking questions you knew he didn’t want anything in particular and he just wanted to to talk to you, as he already asked your name, what were you majoring and if you had classes just in this faculty or you had somewhere else after this.

-Because I can give you a ride- he said and you shook your head.

-Really, thank you, but I don’t need it, so could you please….?-

The guy sighed. -Come on Y/N, let’s talk a bit more, I can help you with those books if you want-

-I don’t want- you answered. -I need to go, so…-

-But if you….-

-Aren’t you hearing she needs to go?- another voice busted in the conversation and you wondered how was it that you didn’t hear him coming, or at least the people that whispered about him every time he came to the picture. 

Yoongi was very popular in the faculty, you dared to say in the whole campus. Everyone talked about him although he was rarely spotted talking to anyone, at least anyone outside his usual group that right now weren’t with him, but then Yoongi was seen alone most of the time. He was the cool guy, the bad guy, everyone knew something about him and yet nobody could be sure to know him at all. 

He was intimidating in a way that was hard to explain since he wasn’t particularly big, better said he was rather short and skinny, but it was the way he carried himself. Confidently, with this swag, this quiet and sharp charisma that both draw people in and drove them away. For you it had those exact effects as Min Yoongi had been your crush for the longest time but every time the guy was around you felt the need to run away.

The guy was giving his back to Yoongi so you saw his annoyed face to turn around and face him -What.. I…- the defiant tone you heard in the guy disappeared as he realized who he was talking to.

Yoongi glared at him and cocked his head with his chin up like waiting for the guy to say anything else.

-I… I’m sorry Yoongi, I didn’t know she…- he flickered his gaze at you for just a second and then went back to look at Yoongi. -I didn’t know she was your girl-

Yoongi didn’t deny it neither did he confirmed it, but the mere mention of you being his girl made your heart go faster.

-Go away- he demanded and the guy did so quickly. Afterwards you were left paralyzed just staring at him, like a deer caught in the red light, Yoongi was staring back at you and you didn’t know how to react, if you should say anything, what to do, you were concentrating in breathing and not letting go of the books.

He licked his lips and then he seemed to remember something so he turned his head and gave a glare to whoever had been staring at the previous scene. You saw a couple of girls and boys running like chickens after that and then Yoongi fixed his gaze on you. You couldn’t stop staring at him so you saw how licked his lips once more and how he cracked his knuckles nervously. 

-I…- he stopped talking and rearranged his body to another posture. -He won’t bother you anymore, I… if you want, meet me later by the fountain, the one at the back- you didn’t know what to say so you just stared at him, this wasn’t the first time you had talked to him, in fact he had tried to talk to you a few times before but you always ended up running away, too nervous, too afraid of doing or saying something stupid. But this time you noticed something you hadn’t before. There was a wash of blush in Yoongi’s cheeks and the way he fidgeted with his fingers and licked his lips was almost signs of nerves. But that couldn’t be or could it? -I’ll be there- he said the last recovering all the charisma, making seem like the nerves you had seen were all product of your imagination.

He went away and then you realized you hadn’t said anything, not even thank you.

You didn’t know if going or not, it flustered you being so hesitant when it came to him, you weren’t even shy to begin with, so you acting like this around Yoongi confused you, intrigued you. He made you feel of a certain way and you didn’t even know him well. 

So after you were done with your Economy class you found yourself with nothing to do besides going home, you had to go, but you all you could think was if it was ok going to the back fountain now.

-He said later, so technically now is later- you thought and sighed, shaking your head to then stand with more confidence, you were going to meet Yoongi for once and for all.

Yoongi was there just as he had said he would, he had his phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He gave a long smoke to it and then he lifted his gaze and saw you walking to him, already close enough to say something. But he didn’t and neither did you, he stood up and continued smoking and you saw the smoke coming out of his mouth in a rather attractive way just before he threw away the end. You didn’t find smoking attractive as you knew it was bad, but he looked hot doing it, it was wrong of you to think like that and you still didn’t approve of it, but you couldn’t help thinking of him as attractive.

-I didn’t know you…- you bit your tongue, you came here and that was the first thing you would say? You sighed, there was not turning back on your clumsiness. -It’s not of my business, I just didn’t know you smoked-

Yoongi shrugged. -It’s a bad habit-

You frowned. -Then why you do it?-

-It is a habit, bad, but it is, It relaxes me you could say that-

You stared at each other for a moment, both of you standing there without quite knowing what to do. -You could try something else… something else that relaxes you-

Yoongi gave you a little smirk and you felt your heart leap. -I haven’t found it yet, I…- he licked his lips. -Does it bother you?-

You shook your head. -Not exactly, it’s just not good for you-

This time Yoongi smiled, it was little and he had his head down but you had seen it and you couldn’t help but smile a little too. -We know each other, I wanted to talk to you since...- he sighed like he didn’t remember when exactly and you felt yourself blushing. -You keep running away from me-

-I…-

-It’s ok if you don’t want to talk, I’m not the guy from this morning, I can just go, no trouble-

You thought about that, the way you had behaved told him you didn’t want anything to do with him, but that wasn’t the truth, and the possibility of him not approaching you anymore made you panic.

-No, that’s not the case I mean… I want to, to talk to you-

Yoongi stared at you again cocking his head to the side, he was so handsome, but at the same time you saw some cuteness in him. -What about tomorrow night? We can go out-

Then you panicked again. You didn’t want to come of as easy, but you didn’t want to reject him either and have him think you didn’t want to go out with him. Yoongi saw your face and whispered a “shit” under his breath that wasn’t meant for you to hear but you did nonetheless. 

-That was too fast- he stated shaking his head, again cracking his knuckles and licking his lips nervously. He was cute. -We could…-

-We could go to this club- you interrupted him. -My friends and I are going so maybe, if you want, you could come too- it was a lie, sort of, your friends were going to the club and you had planned to bail out, but now it seemed like the perfect excuse to go out with him.

-Alright, give me your number?-

You nodded, extending him your phone feeling too lightheaded to even think of writing it yourself, you couldn’t have the risk of saving it wrong, and knowing you at your current nerve wrecked state you knew you might as well drop the phone to the floor as he said anything else to you.

You didn’t see Yoongi until friday night at the club, your friends that were your roommates, were having extra drinks for you coming and even better bringing a guy. Yoongi hadn’t arrived or at least you hadn't seen him so you just stayed with your girls until one of them made a sign to look behind you.

There he came, looking so extra fine you wanted to chug down another shot of tequila. He wore a casual button up in black and dark blue jeans. He was so hot, you instantly thought if you looked good enough. You had thought you were looking pretty hot yourself but suddenly you weren’t sure.

He spotted you and walked towards you through the people.

-Not a good place to talk- he said with a little smirk and you rolled your eyes.

-We can talk later!- you said over the music surprising yourself with you boldness.

Yoongi stared at you impressed and then laughed, he had a nice laugh so you laughed with him.

Truth was Yoongi was a bit out of place there, in a way you didn’t understand as anyone would figure he’d love such places as he’d surely have all the girls. But then you pictured him more like a loner and you understood this had been stupid, you should have just accepted his invitation and go somewhere else.

While your friends danced and drank you two went to sit a one of the few places available, and even over the music you talked, proving what you thought when he said he didn’t come to clubs often, you spoke a little about yourselves and everything was fine until some guy came to invite you dance.

It was a drunk guy that grabbed your hand and started pulling. You made force and told him to stop and even hit him but the guy was insisting, it was just a matter of seconds but then you heard a groan and one of Yoongi’s hands was pushing his away and the other grabbed him by the arm he was pulling.

-Let her go-

The guy laughed and Yoongi grabbed the guy by the collar surprising you but the move made him set you free as the guy lifted his hand and uttered an apology. After he went away he looked at you and deviated his eyes, like he was ashamed.

-Sorry about that-

You nodded not sure what to say, what to do. -Want to dance?-

Yoongi looked at the crowded dance floor a bit unsure but then he nodded, taking your hand and going there.

You felt a bit afraid of embarrass yourself with bad dance moves, but then you just placed your hands behind his neck and started moving to the music, you didn’t have to do much, just move your hips to the rhythm, so you swayed them and moved and you felt Yoongi’s hand pulling you a bit closer. He wasn’t much of a dancer but he was enjoying himself and that was good. It meant you were moving fine and you weren’t doing a fool out of yourself. You liked to feel him so close, and you could tell he liked that as well. Your faces came to be much near than necessary and then you stared at his features but most of all, at his lips. He had nice plump lips.

Someone pushed you and Yoongi hugged you to his body to prevent you from falling, then you stared at him and something in you triggered. What were you doing? You were supposed to be home studying or watching some series while you procrastinated, not here dancing with the bad boy of campus, feeling like you could kiss him right there.

You let go of him and took a step back, you had to go before you did something stupid.

-Sorry I have to go-

Yoongi frowned. -Why? Your friends are still there-

-I know… I just have to go, I’m sorry-

-I’ll go with you- he resolved taking your hand but you pulled it away, puzzling him.

-No, I’ll go by myself, you stay here-

-I brought my car, going alone is…-

-I will just take a cab, it’s no problem-

-Let me accompany you then- he insisted, you didn’t know which one of you was more stubborn.

-No, I don’t even know why I came here, I’m leaving, please don’t follow me-

Yoongi stared at you a bit astounded, perhaps he didn’t except your sudden outburst, but you couldn’t handle this anymore. How you felt when you were around him, how he behaved with you and just you, it made you dizzy and lightheaded, it caused weird things in your chest and your body just felt too light, you were out of control.

You walked through the people leaving Yoongi behind, the main entrance was cluttered with people coming into the club so you went the other way to the exit that went to the parking lot, you just had to get out of there and then call cab to take you home. You scolded yourself mentally, you should have just stayed home.

If the main entrance of the club was cluttered and full of people the parking lot was desolated, it was so odd it made you frown, but you kept walking as fast as you could in your high heels that clicked and echoed through the place. You turned your head sharply when you heard something or least you thought you had heard something because when you turned there was nothing there. It unsettled you, it could be nothing as someone could be there going to their car or getting in, but then you hadn’t seen anyone, and this was a parking lot in the middle of the night after all, a lot of things could hide between he cars.

Feeling your heart quicken after that thought you took out your phone keeping it in hand to give you a bit of reassurance, but as you walked you couldn’t help but feel you were being followed. You heard the sound once more, like steps but when you turned you saw nothing, but you got more scared and pressed your pace, panic came to you and you started to look in your phone someone to call, someone who would help and you called the first person that came to your mind.

-Hello?-

-Can you please come to the parking lot? I think… just come please-

-Alright-

You heard his voice and felt relieved somehow, and then you noticed some weird echo and this time when you turned around you saw him. Yoongi was standing a few three meters away with phone in hand and a smirk on his face. You gasped with outrage, feeling too angry out of the sudden, you turned around keeping on walking while you muttered to yourself how immature he was and how dumb you were for even calling him, for feeling like this.

Yoongi caught up with you fast and tried to stop you. -Whatever it is save it-

-Here I am, weren’t you calling?-

-Yes, but because I thought some creep was following, or maybe I wasn’t wrong-

He laughed a little. -Alright it was wrong-

You shook your head and tried to walk faster but then your ankle gave in and you almost fall if it wasn’t for Yoongi who help your arms just in time. You held onto him while you regained your equilibrium and glared. He sighed. -I’m sorry, I just wanted to be sure you went safely, parking lots can be dangerous-

-But you were the one following me!-

-Because you didn’t let me go with you- he retorted. -Look, I don’t know what I did wrong back there but I’m sorry, I just couldn’t let you go alone-

It made you feel so weird when he said things like that, you called it weird to not call it the right way, because you couldn’t believe Yoongi was serious and you couldn’t let yourself feel the things you did while being next to him, even less believe he actually felt them as well.

-I’ll take you home, please- he offered a bit more calmly.

You stared at him, Yoongi looked a bit lost but he didn’t move and just waited for your answer. -Ok- you agreed and as he walked showing you the way to his car you thought in why you had called him just then when you had felt in danger. So you thought he would really come if you were to be, and somehow, watching him watching you by the corner of his eyes, you could believe that.

You didn’t speak much on your way home, Yoongi drove a bit too fast but you could handle it, it was when he pulled over in front of your building that you thought this was it. A horrendous first “date” that was the end.

-So…thank you for bringing me here-

-It’s nothing- he said but you didn’t move because in his face you saw he was about to speak again and whatever might be you wanted to hear it -I’ll say it again YN, I don’t know why you keep running away from me-

You sighed, not knowing if apologize or what. -I guess I’ve always thought you are bad news-

Yoongi frowned but then he just let his head fall nodding before looking at you again and this time you saw  a bit of hurt in his eyes. -Am I?-

You were so frustrated, part of you told you he really was and you had to get away but part of you didn’t want that, part of you could only think of his lips, his hands on you and him saying he couldn’t let you go alone. -I don’t know-

Yoongi nodded looking forward and you thought it was over, but then he looked back at you. -I tell you what, let’s go out, this time a to a place in which we can actually talk- he specified with enough bite to have you pouting a little because your idea of the club had been awful. -Get to know me, and then you can decide-

Your heart jumped at that, you thought about possibilities and options, but then thinking way too hard had gotten you in a mess today, so this time you took the risk and went with what your racing heart told you to do, you said yes.

[nicholemhearn]

Moderation II. Rules for Moderates

Is it possible to combine pragmatism and moderate political engagement with a grain of skepticism and a robust commitment to rational discourse and civility? I ask this question from the perspective of someone who believes in the power of moderation, but does not think that moderation is the only answer to our nation’s many problems.

A similar question was asked five decades ago in a different context by Saul Alinsky, whose teachings influenced entire generations of community activists.

At first sight, it might seem odd to invoke Alinsky’s name when thinking about moderation. Yet those who believe that what we need today is a form of pragmatic moderation might stand to gain a lot by reflecting on his pragmatic primer for realistic radicals, Rules for Radicals. There, he made a compelling case for a pragmatic and realistic form of social activism that starts from how the world is, not where we would like it to be. He was a no-nonsense reformer who sought to work within the system while ruthlessly denouncing corruption at all levels and calling for his fellow citizens to rethink the meaning of the American dream.

What would be the rules for realistic and pragmatic moderates in our current political climate?  Here are a few suggestions, drawing upon my recent book, Faces of Moderation, and a previous intervention on the Penn Press blog.

Moderation is an eclectic, complex, and misunderstood virtue that challenges our political imagination (which is accustomed to stark contrasts and the classic left/right dichotomy). It should not be reduced to a simple trait of character, state of mind, or disposition. There is a moderation appropriate to citizens (working with each other to achieve common goals), one that applies to leaders (entrusted with steering the ship of the state), and one that applies to institutions and constitutions. Moreover, moderation can apply to ends or to means, and the two meanings must not be confounded. Similarly, even within revolutionary movements one can find moderate ideas and actors. That is why it is inappropriate to refer to moderation in the abstract, as most conventional definitions and images of moderation do. They often build a straw man that fails to capture the distinctiveness and unique nature of this virtue.

While they have been viewed as opportunistic or weak, in reality, moderates are principled and strong. While they do not believe that consistency (rigidly understood) is always a virtue, moderates are not rudderless in their choices, nor lukewarm in their commitments. They do have a moral and political compass, but choose to affirm it in a moderate way. Thus, moderation is neither indecisiveness nor a synonym of powerlessness. Finally, moderation is not a mere defense or endorsement of the status quo; in reality, moderation can often be a powerful instrument for change, even if there will always be impostors posing as moderates whose conservative agenda is anything but moderate.

Moderates defend the principles of an open society, civil dialogue, and constitutionalism. They have a primary commitment to creating and maintaining an inclusive community that comprises people with whom they disagree. Moderates are partisans of change and reform, but they also believe in balance and proportion; that is why they are concerned about rising inequality as much as about intolerance and ideological intransigence. In general, moderates are skeptical of simplicity and uniformity in political affairs and tend to favor complex political systems and hybrid solutions, including checks and balances, veto power, judicial review, subsidiarity, and federalism, among other things. Moderates favor “neutral power” (as a moderating power above all others), polycentricity, and competing centers of power rather than centralization. [1]

Moderation presupposes a skeptical political style. In general, moderates do not consider themselves authoritative voices or moral authorities entitled to talk down to their fellow citizens; they lack the assurance that would allow them to settle everything forever. They are aware of human fallibility, ignorance, and the role of uncertainty in political affairs. This is why moderates keep an open mind and try to feel and understand the opposite sides of life. In politics, they are skeptical of all those who confidently talk about purity, axes of evil, red lines, and litmus tests, or claim that they alone can fix things. Rather than insisting on purity of principle, moderates encourage all sides to make timely and reasonable concessions that can advance the public good, broadly defined.

Consequently, the universe as seen by moderates is not divided between the forces of good and the forces of evil. It is rather a world made of many shades of gray and lots of nuances, a world that is full of contradictions and tensions, many of which can never be fully resolved. Moderates refuse to simplify reality and know that most political issues have more than one side. Hence, they resist the temptation to define a single best way or offer a one-dimensional definition of the political good; instead, they carefully examine facts and are prepared to modify their beliefs when the facts themselves change. As a result, unlike extremists, moderates are reluctant to interpret political events and policy proposals in light of any single value or principle, whether equality, justice, diversity, or liberty. Instead, they claim the right to hesitate and weigh the pros and cons in order to choose the best possible course of action in each case, given the specific and ever-changing circumstances under which they operate.

Moderates can be found on all sides of the political spectrum, not just the center. They are aware, in the words of Burke, that the activity of governing is founded on compromise and barter: “We balance inconveniences; we give and take; we remit some rights that we may enjoy others.” [2] Moderates are always ready to work across party lines to facilitate agreements for the common good and prevent the country from slipping into chaos. In so doing, they help preserve the fragile balance between diverse social forces and political interests. That is, they prefer to think politically rather than by the book, and they don’t go searching for perfection. Instead of asking whether the end justifies the means, pragmatic moderates prefer to ask, “Does this particular end justify this particular means”? [3]

Moderates believe in the power of dialogue and critical reflection, are committed to civility, and oppose violence. They keep the lines of dialogue open with their opponents even when dialogue becomes difficult or uncomfortable. In so doing, they serve as an example of civility and magnanimity to those who resort to hyperbole, deceptive soundbites, and invective. Moderates refrain from exaggerating disputes or differences. While they defend their ideas and values, they do not close off all space for others’ positions. Moderates do not fly from extreme to extreme, and if they change parties, they do not regard the party they left behind with animosity and scorn.

Moderates do not avoid partisanship, conflict, or controversy. Nor do they seek an easy and superficial overlapping consensus among different groups. As the Italian political philosopher Norberto Bobbio once put it, the task of the moderate is to sow the seeds of doubt about common ideas, challenge received myths, and dogmas. [4] For moderates recognize that an open society cannot function without struggle and contestation. A frictionless world is an abstract one; in the real world, movement or change cannot occur “without that abrasive friction of conflict.” [5] Moderates know that the institutions of an open society can, at best, create an imperfect form of harmony in dissonance, and can never aspire to achieve a full agreement on the meaning of the good society. That is why moderates try to make the most of the tensions, conflicts, and contradictions that make up the real world. The most they can aspire to is a decent form of “reasonable inconsistency,” in the words of an exemplary moderate, the late Polish philosopher Leszek Kołakowski. [6]

Moderation is a difficult, rare, and sometimes risky virtue. It takes patience, discernment, and courage to stick to moderation when everyone around you demands a radical course of action and sees the world through Manichaean lenses. Moderation presupposes forming alliances and working with people who see the world through different eyes than you. It is no coincidence that Albert Camus spoke about “the extenuating intransigence of moderation” and commented on the moderates’ rebelliousness. Being a moderate resembles walking a tightrope: this demands not only intuition, foresight, judgment, and flexibility, but also a great deal of courage and thick skin. Moderates cannot let any particular challenging belief or opponent hurt them. Like a tightrope walker, they must keep their eyes fixed on the target ahead of them.

Appearances notwithstanding, there is always a market for moderation, even in tough times. Democratic regimes cannot properly function without compromise, bargaining, and moderation; this can be a winning card if played wisely. Although it may not be sufficient to create a mass movement, moderation has the great advantage of being an optimistic virtue tailored to human nature, one that aims neither too high nor too low. Because it is neither a fixed ideology nor a party platform, moderation enables different people from many walks of life to take effective action in defense of freedom, toleration, pluralism, limited power, and the rule of law. For example, the Charter ’77 was a moderate dissident movement based on the what one of its leaders, the former Czech President Vaclav Havel, called the “power of the powerless.” [7] At the heart of the Solidarity movement in Poland were the moderate concepts of self-limiting revolution and evolutionism [8]. Both movements effectively challenged the power of communist regimes in Central and Eastern Europe and signaled the beginning of the end of Soviet rule there.

  Lessons Learned from the Rules

Can there be a party of moderates, one might ask?

At first sight, moderates form, as it were, a party without a banner; to speak of a real party of moderates may therefore seem counterintuitive. Yet those who wonder whether moderation can offer a governing platform might want to study the case of the Moderates Party in Sweden (Moderata Samlingspartiet). Founded in 1904, the party took its current name in 1969 and has been part of various coalitions in government. In 1991, its leader, Carl Bildt, became the country’s Prime Minister, a feat repeated in 2006 by Fredryk Reinfeldt (he was reelected in 2010, when the party won 30 percent of all votes, and governed until 2014). The Moderates Party has traditionally defended liberal-conservative policies meant to promote small and efficient government, low taxes and inflation, and small budget deficits.  

For anyone who wants to live in a decent society, moderation remains an indispensable virtue. Moderates are our unsung heroes. They perform a vital role in our society, even if it often goes unacknowledged. In a world in which partisan bias has become so strong that it acts as a kind of prism for selecting (or distorting) only those facts that suit one’s preferences, moderates seek to oppose the exaggerations of all groups and parties. Without them, as John Adams once wrote, “every man in power becomes a ravenous beast of prey.” [9]  

Aurelian Craiutu is Professor of Political Science at Indiana University, Bloomington. His Faces of Moderation: The Art of Balance in an Age of Extremes was released by the University of Pennsylvania Press in 2016.

NOTES

 I borrow the term “neutral power” from Benjamin Constant’s Principles of Politics (1815) and the concept of polycentricity from the writings of Vincent and Elinor Ostrom, founders of the Bloomington School. See http://dlc.dlib.indiana.edu/dlc/bitstream/handle/10535/3763/vostr004.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y

The quotation is from Burke’s famous speech on conciliation with America published in Edmund Burke, Pre-Revolutionary Writings, ed. Ian Harris (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 247.

Saul Alinsky, Rules for Radicals: A Practical Primer for Realistic Radicals (New York: Vintage, 1981; first ed. 1971)., p. 24.

 Norberto Bobbio, A Political Life, trans. Allan Cameron (Cambridge: Polity, 2002), p. 79.

 Alinsky, Rules for Radicals, p. 21.

Leszek Kołakowski, “In Praise of Inconsistency,” in his Toward a Marxist Humanism: Essays on the Left Today, trans. Jane Zielonko Peel (New York: Grove Press, 1968), p. 216.

This is the title of Vaclav Havel’s famous essay on this topic published in 1977.

I have commented on these concepts in Faces of Moderation, pp. 195-203.

      9. The Political Writings of John Adams, ed. George A. Peek (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1954), p. 89.

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