#for the record this is probably all unintentional on the writers part

[lilacsandlillies]

I was going through the anti Jason Todd tag because I hate myself and want to understand where people who dislike him are coming from and one thing I kept seeing was annoyance at Jason fans who claim that Jason is female coded and realized that the term “female coded” might not be the best term to describe what we mean.

A female coded character in literature and media typically means a character that has no specified gender or otherwise does not have a gender but is obviously meant to be a stand in for a woman or female. Kind of like how Starfire has no specified race (due to being an alien) but is still obviously black coded based on the way she’s drawn and treated by the narrative.

This is slightly different than what we mean when saying that Jason is female coded. It’s not that Jason is literally supposed to be a stand in for a female character, it’s that the way a lot of characters treat him and a lot of the tropes used on him are things that usually saved for female characters, not big buff men like Jason.

To start with, being Robin is narratively (or at least was) very similar to being a woman in a story. Robin is a role made to complement Batman (who we all know is basically the ultimate male power fantasy). Robin’s role is to be an accessory to Batman. Robin can be smart, but not smarter than Batman. Robin can be strong, but not stronger than Batman. Hell, Robin is often kidnapped and used as a literal damsel in distress, a role often regulated for women as a whole.

What sets Jason apart from the other robins (except for Steph) in this regard is that they were allowed to be characters outside of Batman. Dick might not have been the “man” of the story when he’s with Bruce, but when he’s with the teen titans suddenly he’s the smart one who has all the answers. Jason’s Robin was never really allowed this.

Then we get to the most, controversial, part of Jason’s female coding. The fact the he was effectively fridged. Fridging is usually only referred to as frigding if it’s a female character, but Jason’s death checks pretty much all the other boxes needed. An incredibly brutal death that was more about Bruce’s feelings on it than Jason himself.

This is especially apparent when compared to the other Bat characters. For all the female coding, the only other Robin to actually be fridged was Steph (and we all know about the misogyny surrounding her death). Barbara was also kind of fridged during the killing Joke. The only female character to escape this is Cass (to my knowledge). When you look at it through this lens, the fact that the only other characters to be permanently damaged like this for Bruce’s story are female, it’s not hard to see where the idea that Jason is female coded comes from.

You can even find this in Jason’s origin story. Poor little orphan is saved by benevolent billionaire is a role usually saved for little girls, like in Annie.

Despite what you might think, this even continues after Jason’s revival. Jason is still used less as a character and more as a motivation for Bruce. He’s regularly called emotional and hysterical (terms usually used to refer to women).

Jason is first and foremost a victim. A role performed by women in most media. Men are expected to be stoic and “rise above” the things done to them as to not be victims, as continuously shown by the way characters like Nightwing are not allowed to be effected by the horrific things they go through. The fact that Jason is shown the be angry, and sad, and emotional, constantly, and the fact that he’s punished and vilified for it puts him in a place much more similar to a female character.

There’s a reason that so many Jason fans (that like him for a reason past “antihero with guns”) are female. For most characters, when you swap their genders there would be a pretty clear and big difference in the way their story takes place. If you swap Jason’s gender, the story takes place identically.

A lot of this is best shown in men’s reactions to Arkham Knight’s version of Jason. In that game, Jason is similarly angry and emotional, albeit for slightly different reasons. He is also still unmistakably a victim. You’d think the men playing would like him. After all he’s a big cool angsty guy with a lot of guns and muscles. Instead, a lot of men’s thought that he was whiny. That his feelings were annoying.

There’s also something to be said about how his autonomy is regularly undermined by Bruce (specifically in Gotham war) and how his decisions and feeling are constantly treated as if they’re worth less than Bruce’s, but that’s a discussion for another day.

[layercake]

Why Naoto is Heavily Trans Coded, and How The Discussion Surrounding Him Needs to Change

Hello, I’ve never written or posted anything like this before LOL so this is a bit daunting. But this subject is something that’s been bothering me for a long time, and I wanted to get it out somewhere. So let’s talk about how Naoto Shirogane is heavily trans coded, and how the fandom has a problematic culture surrounding the issue that really needs to change.

Tw // discussion of misogyny , transphobia , and mentions of harassment

Initial Shadow Confrontation 

Since the discussion is most often about what’s “canon” and what’s not, let’s first take a look at what the game actually does give us about Naoto’s character. During the confrontation with Naoto’s shadow, we learn that Naoto idolized detectives as a kid, and wanted to be one himself when he was older.

However, this posed a problem for him in multiple ways. One, he was (is) still a child, and the people in his field don’t take him seriously because of it. He tries desperately to escape this fact, to try and act as mature as possible, but ultimately he can’t change how others will perceive him at his age.

This is what the shadow confrontation focuses on most heavily. But then it switches to discussing the other part of the issue-- the fact that Naoto’s ideal image of a detective is a man, and he “isn’t.” 

At the end, Yukiko says “You must know already that what you yearn for isn’t to become an adult or to become a boy,” and Naoto accepts it. This is what most people point to when saying that Naoto can’t be trans, because he agrees that it wasn’t what he wished for. So, easy, right? If you take this as him telling the truth, then it looks like an open and shut case-- he isn’t trans. But Naoto’s actions don’t really fit what he says here. 

The issue starts with these next lines (below) in particular. To me, Naoto’s tone in the first line is regretful, and doesn’t strike me as a sentiment someone who is cisgender would necessarily hold. Why would he want to “change into a man?” To fit his ideal image of a detective? As he says here, yes.

(Real quick before I continue, it’s not clear in the dialogue screenshot but it’s important to note that Naoto does say “yes” to Yukiko’s question about him not liking being a girl. He nods his head)

The narrative that the game tries to go with after this is that the “ideal image” Naoto wanted to live up to, including the male aspect of it, was unattainable and formed primarily because he felt that was the only way he could be a detective. 

But, is this really that much of a problem? We all look up to certain types of people, people that we want to be like-- and for many, this can factor into gender identity as well. If Naoto really just wanted to be a cool, male detective, that doesn’t at all negate that being trans would be a part of that for him. 

Naoto’s other words and actions, as well as the framing of this scene as a whole, make the scenario feel a lot less believable to me for multiple reasons. Naoto never initiates the conversation that him wanting to be a boy is incorrect-- Yukiko does. Naoto isn’t even the one to trigger his shadow-- Kanji does that. Naoto had a lot less agency in a lot of these decisions than the other characters did with their shadows. 

Naoto’s Continued Actions

The fragility of the narrative Atlus put together for Naoto continues to grow throughout the rest of the game, due to the way he behaves after the initial shadow confrontation.

For starters, it’s implied that Naoto is not his birth name, something that i think a lot of people either miss or forget about-- and yet he continues to go by it throughout the course of the game. We never find out his deadname and he never expresses a desire to share it with anybody.

The day after the “reveal,” Naoto doesn’t change anything about his appearance, mannerisms, or how he presents himself. He honestly seems uncomfortable with the fact that everyone has found out, in a way that felt much like being outed to the whole school, as opposed to finally being seen and accepted for who you “really” are.

I understand that such a drastic shift in people’s perception of you would be overwhelming to anybody, no matter if you were cis or not. But if Atlus really wanted to hone in on the idea that Naoto was happy about this change, they could’ve at least made him…. Well, happy about it. Even if it was just a small smile, just a tiny indication of relief even despite how hard it will be to adjust, it would’ve made it at least a little more believable that this is what he really wanted.

But that’s not the case. Instead, he’s uncomfortable, he still binds, he still wears the school’s male uniform, and he still goes by Naoto. The only time any of this actually changes is if you as the protagonist push him to, which… is a whole other mess.

The fact that Naoto has even gotten to this point, though, speaks more volumes to me than anything else. Passing is not easy. Coming out is not easy. Naoto would have had to go through difficult lengths in order to get not only his school, but the country and media to see him as a man.  He’s a well-known "detective prince".. someone was bound to look up his records and find out about it. That's a huge risk to take.

In addition to this, he binds. He goes by masculine pronouns and a masculine name. He very audibly changes his voice to be more masculine. I don’t know how to tell you this, but this is just…. not something cis people do? At least not comfortably. 

In fact, doing all of this would have been incredibly uncomfortable for Naoto if he was cis. As someone who experiences dysphoria, looking like and being seen as a gender you are not can be really, really painful. If transitioning was something he really didn’t want, why would he put himself through all of that? Was it really to escape misogyny? Me asking this isn’t minimizing the issue at all, because I understand that it’s incredibly serious and hard for countless women. But I would generally think someone’s first reaction to facing misogyny isn’t to… completely change their identity and present as a different gender.

On top of being probably the hardest option of escaping misogyny available to him, and one of the most uncomfortable, presenting as a man doesn’t necessarily get rid of any prejudices Naoto may face. In fact, I would argue that it’s considerably more dangerous. Especially in a rural town like Inaba, where people seem to not really understand or approve of being LGBT. Naoto is smart, he would have thought of all of this. So why?

Inherent Transphobia of Naoto’s Arc 

There is something to be said about how much misogyny is present in Japan’s workforce, especially in fields like Naoto’s, and the importance there is in discussing that. The base idea behind his struggles and message isn’t inherently a bad one, but the way the game went about it was problematic because it put down transgender identities in the process.

The first time I watched Naoto’s shadow confrontation, it was really distressing to me. The game continuously repeats the idea that you can’t “cross the barrier of the sexes,” that Naoto “can never really be a man,” and  that “you can change your name, but you can never change who you “really” are.” I hope I don’t need to explain why this is a problem.

Naoto’s wish to be a man, regardless of what was driving it, is depicted as something temporary and childish. Something that Naoto “didn’t really want,”  something that was just an excuse to run away from the misogyny he was facing. Even if it was unintentional, this message is incredibly harmful to transgender people.

It would have been a better and much more coherent message about misogyny if the writers had steered clear of trans themes entirely. In fact, I think they did so well with Sae’s character in Persona 5-- she’s in the same field of work, facing very similar struggles, but she doesn’t react in the same way as Naoto at all. 

Kanji and Homophobia 

It’s even worse that Naoto’s “reveal,” on top of being problematic by itself, is used as a method to bury Kanji’s exploration of his own sexuality. The problems with Kanji’s own shadow are bad enough to warrant their own long rant, but the reveal that Naoto was “really a girl” this whole time allows the story to completely wave off his gayness for good.

This isn’t something unique to this game-- the trope of “two boys fall in love, but one of them turns out to be a girl so it’s fine” has been used numerous times in other media to explore the topic half-assedly. It plays with the “exoticness” or “drama” of a gay romance, but backs off at the end in order to uphold societal norms and prevent backlash. 

This doesn’t really give any kind of good commentary on gay relationships, nor does it depict them in a positive or helpful manner. It isn’t something that these games should be getting kudos for doing. 

Misogyny?

I think there’s also something to be said about how poignantly bad Atlus is at really tackling the problem of misogyny. It tries, especially with characters like Ann and Sae, and in certain aspects it can succeed. But then they have scenes like the pageant and Every Beach Scene Ever, where the women are forced to wear swimsuits or revealing clothing against their will, or their bodies are talked about without their consent. There is consistently a character in each persona game who is forced to do the whole misogynistic dipshit gimmick that’s supposed to be funny-- Junpei, Yosuke, Teddie, Morgana, Ryuji-- and while this is obviously not a Persona specific problem by a longshot, it’s still indicative of how unsuccessful these games often are in delivering the message that society’s systemic misogyny is an issue.

This is something I think about a lot when people try and argue that Naoto’s story can’t be about him being trans because it’s “an important message about misogyny.” Atlus often doesn’t deliver on such stories already, and they certainly didn’t with Naoto. As soon as Naoto returns to “living as a woman” he’s subjected to the same misogyny that the other girls are. His chest is commented on, he’s forced to be in the beauty pageant, he’s made uncomfortable in the bath scenes-- really, all Atlus did after the reveal was make the problem worse for him. 

On top of this, his story never actually meaningfully tackles the problem of misogyny in the detective force. It’s not a major part of his social link or the general plot of the game-- honestly, it’s barely even touched on at all after the initial confrontation. Thus, the idea that “Naoto can’t be trans because it erases a story about misogyny” is just plain untrue. There never was a coherent one in the first place.

Problems Within the Fandom

Despite all of this, there is such an intense backlash from the majority of the fandom if anybody dares to bring up these issues with Naoto’s story. Naoto being trans is generally seen as something ridiculous and stupid, or something to insult and mock people for.

I understand that there's always going to be people who say provocative stuff like this, no matter what anyone does, and that it’s not something exclusive to this particular fandom or character. But the problem is that this rhetoric isn't just from them anymore--the consensus among so much of the fandom seems to be either that Naoto absolutely cannot be trans, or that speaking about it at all is "annoying discourse" and taboo. Even from fans that are LGBT or allies themselves. 

This in and of itself is such a telling thing to me. if you find yourself getting angry about the subject, really ask yourself why. Is it such a problem for people to reclaim a transphobic story? Is it such a problem for a character to be trans in the first place?  There is room for discussion and nuance regarding this situation, but we have to make it for ourselves. We can accept that Atlus’s base game will never actually give us a coherent story about either misogyny nor being transgender with Naoto’s story. But petty arguments and insults thrown at people who bring up this topic isn’t any of that-- it’s just poorly masked transphobia. 

So at the end of the day, no, Naoto being is trans is not “canon.” Of course Naoto would not actually be allowed to be trans, he is a main character in a game series where the only explicitly LGBT characters have been consistently buried, stereotyped, or demonized with only a few rare exceptions.

Yes, you’re allowed to headcanon whatever you want about him. I can’t stop you from wanting a story about misogyny, or from seeing Naoto’s gender as something more fluid than I do. But you can’t ignore the fact that his story, as written in canon, is laden with transphobia despite its intentions. It’s not a ridiculous or harmful thing for trans people to want to reclaim that.

There are still a lot more issues with how Naoto is treated in the game-- especially in his romance route-- but that’s a whole other can of worms I’m not ready to unpack today lol

Hopefully all of this made sense though, and feel free to bring up anything else I may have missed or point out any issues you might have with it :-) Thanks for reading!

[hystericalfeminist]

BUILD ME A CANON

Earlier this week, Delhi University's Oversight Committee removed works by writers Bama, Mahasweta Devi and Sukirtharani from the university's syllabus for undergraduate students of English. Bama and Sukirtharani are Tamil Dalit writers whose work looks at the experiences of the marginalised. Mahasweta Devi, a Bengali writer, was well-known for her Left-leaning politics and for being an advocate for tribal communities and their rights. She passed away in 2016.

I'd suggest one moment's silence for the Oversight Committee committing an oversight, except this is not an oversight. An oversight is an unintentional mistake, but this seems very intentional. As the DU clarified in a statement later, "the syllabus of the course has been passed through a democratic process with the involvement of all the relevant stakeholders and necessary deliberations at appropriate forums” (emphases mine). The university claims the English syllabus is suitably diverse and inclusive (suitably being the key word here) and it's interesting that as part of its defence of the Oversight Committee's decision, DU has pointed out the process of coming to that decision was "democratic". What it doesn't acknowledge is that if the committee is full of people who belong to dominant groups and doesn't have members who represent the minorities and the marginalised, then the committee's "democratic process" is critically flawed.

The DU statement came after the Academic Council submitted a dissent note, protesting the Oversight Committee's decision. The Academic Council described the Oversight Committee's functioning as vandalism and alleged it has been harassing liberal arts departments. "It is important to note that the Oversight Committee does not have any member from the Dalit or the Tribal community who can possibly bring in some sensitivity to the issue," said the Academic Council in its note.

There was some noise on social media about the decision to drop works by these three writers. Most of the discussion that I saw was about Mahasweta Devi's dropped short story, Draupadi. (Apparently the Oversight Committee chair complained the short story doesn't show the military in a good light. From what I remember, it's the police. They carry out wrongful arrests and brutally gangrape a tribal woman.) There's been far less discussion of Bama and Sukirtharani's works on English Twitter, who have mostly been referred to as the "two Dalit writers", like an addendum to Mahasweta, which is infuriating in itself. I know that this is probably because not enough people read translations. Particularly translations of literature from Indian languages.

There is also little talk about what has replaced the dropped works. One of the authors who has been included is apparently Pandita Ramabai, identified as an upper caste writer (Brahmin, if I'm not mistaken). I've no idea if her writing continues to feel relevant and/ or engaging, but it is all sorts of bizarre to "replace" a 20th century author with someone who died in 1922. Also, if she was included because she was Brahmin, I hope they have fun reading her book The High Caste Hindu Woman which is, I'm told, deeply critical of how sexist Hinduism. Whether or not Pandita Ramabai voiced any opinions of casteism in Hinduism, I don't know.

Even though translations don't get read as much, the fact is, the writings of Bama, Mahasweta Devi and Sukirtharani have been translated to English and other languages. They're part of different university's syllabi and for better or for worse, DU is not such an influential player in academia. If DU's decision to drop these writers convinces some Indian universities to do the same, we can only hope that other universities (in India and abroad) will start thinking about including them in their syllabi (if the writers aren't in them already). In a not-so-distant future, it's very likely that there will be universities abroad that will have a more diverse, inclusive and representative portrait of Indian culture in their syllabi while institutions like DU remain mired in a casteist, Hindutva bog. At that point, who should decide what will make the canon for Indian literature? The Indians or the foreigners?

It's the second time this week that we've heard conversations about erasure in the Indian cultural scene. Earlier this week, social media was on fire after the Indian edition of the Rolling Stone carried a cover story about the record label and music platform Majja, featuring two artists best known for their collaborations with Dalit rapper and lyricist Arivu. Rumour has it that the Rolling Stone cover was bought by Majja, presumably to promote upcoming albums by those two artists. However, since Dhee and Shan Vincent de Paul are currently riding a popularity wave because of their work with Arivu, many readers — beginning with director Pa Ranjith — expected the cover story would be as much about Arivu as Dhee and Shan Vincent de Paul. People also pointed out that Arivu had effectively been removed from a (disastrous) remix of "Enjoy Enjaami" (the original song is amazing).

Shan Vincent de Paul, one of the artists featured on the Rolling Stone cover, issued a statement on social media saying he had the utmost respect for Arivu and had no intention of erasing him. He clarified that the story was part of his efforts to promote his new album Made in Jaffna, which he's releasing with Majja. "I have no control over how the Press chooses their messaging or what narratives they push," de Paul wrote, which would be an excellent point if the cover wasn't bought. He may not have control over the narrative, but he's hardly an irrelevant cog in the wheel. Instead of attempting to exonerate himself, de Paul could have acknowledged that the story doesn't give as much space to Arivu as it should. I am, of course, presuming he's read the story.

If the rumour about the cover being bought is true then Rolling Stone and Majja are complicit in deciding a narrative that sidelines Arivu, either intentionally or carelessly. More than half of Rolling Stone's cover story is about "Enjoy Enjaami" and there is just one quote from Arivu. This sidelining may not be deliberate — the way DU's Oversight Committee's decision was — and it could be an example of the kind of unthinking oversight that the privileged commit all the time when it comes to acknowledging the contribution of the marginalised. Either way, the impression conveyed by the two organisations is that Arivu is not the person they want to promote. Countering the decision of the establishment — it doesn't get more establishment than Rolling Stone and Majja. One of Majja's founders is legendary music director AR Rahman — is the reaction on social media. The songs being freely available on multiple platforms and the (relatively) free access to the artwork and arguments by Dalit creators and critics on social media makes it difficult to invisibilise Arivu.

A translation of Mahasweta Devi's Draupadi is available online as are some of Sukirtharani's poems. DU has dropped Bama's novel Sangati. I'm not sure if there's an extract that's available online. It is not lost on me that it's easier to listen to a song than it is to read a novel, or a short story, or a poem. It is also not lost on me that the fact you can bob to an infectious beat makes it easier to not register the deep-rooted casteism referenced in the lyric, "Enna kora, enna kora, yein chella peraandikku enna kora? (In what way is my darling grandson any less?)" There are no such distractions when you read, for example, Sukirtharani's My Room Needs No Calendar: "As they write on me/ with their penises,/ I will my body to stop/ slithering away."

Sukirtharani and Bama minced no words when they were asked to respond to their works being dropped from the DU syllabus. "I was not surprised at all. Dalit voices such as myself and Bama’s are speaking for all oppressed women, not just Dalit women," said Sukirtharani. "I don’t see this necessary as an exclusion of just Dalit writers as we have seen how progressive writers whose works speak against caste, Hindutva, fundamentalism have also been removed in the recent past. These things will happen in our society, but we cannot be ignored." She said she wasn't going to ask for an explanation, but believed DU owed her an explanation. At the very least, they should have intimated her about the works being dropped. "When they want to project an image of India wherein there are no caste and religious inequalities, our works point out that caste and religious inequalities exist in our society. So, it is obvious that they want such works removed from the syllabus," she said.

Bama said, "For more than 2,000 years, we have been segregated, our histories have not been written. This government is trying to strangulate our voices, but we will shout. The youth of this nation have understood [what is happening]. Rather than being upset, we are angry. The anger will reflect in our works in future.”

I find myself wondering if the business of building a canon was always so complicated and rife with uncertainties. Will the books, music and art propped up by commerce and politics be the ones that make up our mainstream cultural identity? Could we build a better literary canon for Indian literature if more excerpts and poems were available online for free, if more works were translated? Would we care more if the literature was easier to access or would we still dismiss it because they're translations, because the works are by Dalit women? Can the conversations that we hold in the informal spaces of the internet be loud enough to make the canon more inclusive, to make the mainstream expand its narrow definitions? What is more likely to make it into an archive and survive into posterity — the Rolling Stone Cover image or the many "fixed it" versions that people created online? Is it possible that both can and will be preserved? Does dropping the works of writers like Bama and Sukirtharani and Mahasweta Devi make them invisible? Will the dissent make a few more people buy Bama's novel? Will it make some curious enough to look up Sukirtharani's poems?

The words, the tech, the platforms, the imagery — are all these still the master's tools? How long must one wield them before they can claim the tools to be theirs? Will they always be the master's tools and not "our" tools? Is the master the one who cares for the tools and uses them better? Is the master the one with the loudest voice and the deepest pockets, the one who can bribe the boys and hire the deadliest mercenaries? Who decides when the tools have been reclaimed?

[spacebatisluvd]

Summary: Entrapta receives an invitation. 

Content Warning: A neurotypical writer attempting to portray an autistic character (with respect, compassion, and love, but I recognize there’s a chance I’ve fumbled here—just know it’s unintentional), Sea Hawk, Hordak’s poor sense of self-worth, cult-typical abuse, veiled references to masturbation, genital discussion, discussion of sex and sexual relationships.

-

Entrapta looked through the microscope, studying the micro-welds she’d made. Her mouth twisted a little, dissatisfied with the results. She sighed. “Emily, make a note—I need more silver solder. This prototype is a bust.” She tossed it behind her head, hearing it crack against the ground a moment later. One of the little recycling bots would be by to pick it up and take it apart soon enough, making sure nothing went to waste.

She glanced at Emily. “You know, Hordak’s really good with delicate work like this. His hands are so steady, and his welds are so...precise.” She gave a happy little shiver. “I wanted to surprise him with a working prototype, but maybe I should just give him the designs and let him build it. That’s still a surprise, right?”

Emily made a negative-sounding beep. Entrapta winced. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She stood, stretching. “I just need to make a working prototype—it doesn’t have to be pretty, just functional!” She used her hair to perform a tight backflip, shaking out her limbs as her feet came to rest on the ground once more. “Okay! Let’s do this—Emily, play recording.”

Emily made a happy whirring sound, the top half of her chassis spinning. Then Hordak’s recorded message began to play. Entrapta shut her eyes, listening to him describe the far-off stars that were normally too dim to see with Etheria’s many moons. She knew he’d probably assumed she would only listen to it while gazing up at those stars, but she’d found herself listening over and over again, lulled by the sound of his voice, even if she’d long since memorized his words.

She sat down and went back to work, adjusting her initial design into something more workable. When Hordak returned,  they could refine and revise her work. She just needed to provide proof of concept. S he hoped it would work. She thought it would. The data indicated that it should, but she couldn’t exactly test it. Well. Maybe if she asked Kadroh...but would he guess what it was for? She knew Hordak would prefer to keep this—

“What?” she asked, looking up when Emily insistently butted against her. “What is—?“ Then she realized her communicator had been ringing for quite some time now. “Oh! Answer call!”

Scorpia’s face appeared on-screen, accompanied by Perfuma. “Hey!” she said, waving a claw. “I was getting a little worried there. We called twice, and I didn’t want to bother you—“

“I’m not bothered at all! If I was in the middle of something dangerous, Emily wouldn’t have interrupted me.”

“...dangerous?” Perfuma asked, gripping the front on her shirt more tightly.

“Oh, good!” Scorpia said, while Perfuma frowned. “I just wanted to invite you to the flower festival.”

“Flower festival?”

Perfuma stepped forward, smiling a little. “Yes! Plumeria has an annual flower festival during the week of the summer solstice. It celebrates the transition from a time of renewal and recovery to a time of joy and growth!” Entrapta smiled while Perfuma spoke, waiting for her to finish, but she stopped abruptly. The silence lingered.

Entrapta checked the data pad.

“Hold on, I think there’s a lag. Can you repeat the last part? I missed your explanation.”

“Um.” Scorpia and Perfuma looked at each other.

Clearing her throat, Scorpia said, “It’s uh, basically a big party to celebrate summer. There’s flower crowns and food and music. Perfuma says it’s a lot of fun. I was hoping you, um, might want to come too?”

Entrapta’s hair curled and twisted. “Are a lot of people going to be there?”

“Oh, yes.” Perfuma smiled widely. “People come from all over the region for the festivities. We’re hoping all members of the Princess Alliance—“

“And their partners!” Scorpia added.

“—will be able to attend.”

“Oh.” Her hair knit itself into anxious hands, the psuedo-fingers laced together. “I don’t know....” She looked away, thinking of all the people that would be in attendance. Would it be like the Prom or another formal party? Could she skirt the edges and just observe? (Would that be weird?) On the other hand, they’d specifically called to invite her, and this wasn’t like Princess Prom—they didn’t have to include her at all. Despite her concerns about the crowd, it was hard to pass up what seemed like an obvious overture of friendship. “Can I think about it?”

Scorpia blinked. She looked at Perfuma, scratching the back of her neck. “Um. Sure. Take all the time you need! The party’s in a couple weeks, so you’ve got time.” She smiled. “Hopefully, Mermista will let Hordak take some time off, so he can come too.”

Her hair frizzed. “Hordak’s invited?”

Scorpia nodded. Perfuma looked at Scorpia, who returned her gaze, eyes wide. After a beat of silence, Perfuma said, “Y...yes. If you come, he may...join you. As your guest.”

Entrapta couldn’t help but spin in place, her hair coiling under her to lift her high. She hugged herself, humming giddily. As she dropped back down to the ground, her hair formed a  large cushion to catch her. “Really?!”

Scorpia beamed, and Perfuma exhaled slowly, though she too smiled. “Yes. Really,” Perfuma said. She looked to Scorpia, who offered her the Scorpinoid version of a thumbs up.

“Well, that changes things. I don’t think he’s ever been to something like this before. I’d really like to bring him. He hasn’t had a lot of opportunities to engage in leisure activities, and I’m trying to get him to explore and experiment with activities he might find enjoyable. This seems like an ideal opportunity.”

Perfuma looked at Scorpia again, and Scorpia slung an arm over her shoulders, shaking her gently. “Yep. This would be perfect for that, right Perfuma?”

The other princess smiled, exhaling again. “Right. It’s definitely the perfect opportunity for the former—“

“My former boss!” Scorpia interrupted, “Yep! Perfect—perfect opportunity to see if my former boss can, um, relax.” She blinked, and withdrew her claw from Perfuma’s shoulders to press it against her chin. “Actually, that’s a good question. Can he?”

“In very specific circumstances,” Entrapta said.

Perfuma looked between Scorpia and Entrapta before saying, “As long as he behaves himself.”

Entrapta cocked her head. “I don’t really know what you mean by that; Hordak is very well-mannered.”

Scorpia was already reassuring her, though. “Of course he will! I’m sure we won’t even notice he’s there.”

“Oh, you’ll probably notice him. His height makes him stand out,” Entrapta said. “If that’s going to be a problem, I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“No! Nope—Hordak’s height is not a problem,” Scorpia said very quickly, watching Perfuma. “Well, anyway, I, um, I hope to see both of you soon. Bye!” She hung up before Perfuma could say goodbye. Entrapta didn’t mind. As soon as the communicator cut out, she called Hordak.

His image resolved a moment later. “Hello, Star—“

“Entrapta!”

Hordak’s ears folded back, and he glared at the back of Sea Hawk’s head. “Hi!” she told them both, waving. “I just got a call from Scorpia—“

“Ooh. What did she say?” Sea Hawk asked.

“Well...” She rolled the word around, bouncing a little on her toes. “Plumeria’s going to have a flower festival during the solstice, and we’re both invited to come!”

Sea Hawk’s eyes widened. “You are?”

She nodded, bouncing a little more. “Mmmh-hmm. Scorpia really seems to want us to come. And Perfuma too! Well.” Her hair deflated a little. “I think she was excited? It’s hard to tell.” Perfuma always seemed so nice...until she suddenly wasn’t.

The data pad twirled as Sea Hawk ran off with it. “You have to go—both of you. It will be the perfect setting for romance . What are you you wearing? Wait, don’t tell me right now. I’ll call you later, and we can plan. Don’t worry about Hordak’s wardrobe; I’ll make sure he dresses appropriately.”

She cocked her head. “There’s a dress code? Scorpia didn’t mention that.”

“Oh, yes. A dress code—for love!”

The data pad was snatched from his hands, and Hordak’s face appeared, though he was glaring off-screen at Sea Hawk. “That is enough.” He shook his head, ears back, then he faced the data pad. “My apologies, Starlight. I believe he is being overly optimistic as well as overly involved. Reconstruction will not be complete by the solstice, and I do not believe Mermista will give me to leave to attend—with travel, I would be gone for nearly ten days, and I doubt she would approve of that.”

“What makes you say so?”

“I conquered her country and essentially destroyed Salineas.”

“You think she’s still upset about that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

His ears twitched. “I will ask, of course.”

“Okay. I mean...” She looked away, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s all right. Maybe next year?”

“Perhaps.”

Off-screen, Sea Hawk yelled, “No! This is unacceptable! I will not stand by and allow such a travesty.”

Hordak looked at him. “You are being dramatic. This is not—“

“A travesty, I say!” The data pad jerked, then the camera lifted high—from the little she could see, Hordak was holding it overhead to keep it out of Sea Hawk’s reach. “How can you stand by and accept this? Are you not a man?”

“I am a clone, and I do not understand why my gender is important to the conversation.”

Sea Hawk made a wordless sound of mourning. “You aren’t willing to fight for your love?”

“There is nothing to fight! The treaty clearly stipulates I must prioritize the restoration of Etheria above my own personal happiness. Considering the destruction I wrought waging a completely senseless war—considering I brought Prime here, to the very doorstep of this world, I think those terms are more than fair! And considering that you yourself fought in both conflicts, I am stunned you are so determined that I break those terms.”

“It’s just ten days!” Sea Hawk said, “Besides, you haven’t taken a day off since you got here and that cannot be healthy.”

Entrapta blinked. “Hordak, is that true?”

As if abruptly remembering she was still there, he turned the data pad so she could see them again, though he was still scrupulously keeping it out of Sea Hawk’s reach. “Well. Yes. I do not require—“

“Hordak! I know you know that taking breaks is important—the Horde soldiers were allowed time off.”

His ears folded back. “Of course they were—Etherians are not very productive if they aren’t permitted unstructured free time periodically. My Force Captains insisted this was true and research seemed to prove them correct. But I am not Etherian. I do not need—“

“That’s ridiculous!” Sea Hawk said, “Everyone needs to take time off.”

“Clones do not. Even when at rest, we were put into stasis pods and our neural networks were used as relay stations for the hivemind.” He cupped a protective hand over the back of his neck, and Entrapta slammed her welding mask down, trying to keep out the thoughts of Prime and what had been done to Hordak and Kadroh and their brethren. Hordak noticed. “It was not that bad—“

“Don’t.” She exhaled slowly, voice shaking. “Don’t minimize what he did.” Through the mask, everything took on a soft teal tone. It made everything feel distant and ethereal, like she was looking at a world encased in glass. The tension in her chest eased, though the pit in her stomach lingered.

“Fine,” Hordak said, his voice soft. “The fact remains—I do not require time off to maintain productivity.”

With her mask on, she could hear her own breathing, steady and strong, and her voice echoed faintly. “Etherians do not regard time off merely as a necessity. It is considered inhumane to force someone to go without for long periods of time.”

“Yes. Because it is a necessity. I understand that—“

“You clearly don’t.”

He shut his eyes and his ears folded back. He exhaled slowly before saying, “I will ask Mermista.”

She lifted her mask a little. “...I just want you to take better care of yourself.”

“I will ask Mermista, but I don’t want you to be disappointed when she says no.”

“If she says no, then I’m coming over there. And we’ll go to the beach. And get ice cream. And maybe go swimming, if the salt water won’t damage your ports.”

His ears twitched, and his features softened. “Though I am uncertain of the swimming, I would otherwise be amenable to that.”

“Okay. Promise?”

His mouth twitched a little. “If it pleases you, then yes; I promise.”

She pushed the welding mask up the rest of the way. “Excellent. I’ll speak to you later, then. Unless there’s something else?”

“Nothing for now. Goodbye, Starlight. We will speak soon.”

Sea Hawk waved. “Bye, Entrapta! Never fear—I will use my masculine wiles to seduce my lady love, and convince her to release your...um—to release Hordak to you!” Hordak shut his eyes, and though it looked like Sea Hawk had more to say, the feed suddenly cut out.

Entrapta smiled to herself and resumed working on the prototype.

-

The next morning, a robot delivered a small package with her breakfast. Seeing that it was from Salineas, she made a high-pitched, happy sound and tore it open. Inside, she was surprised to find several sea shells, along with a note that merely said, “The shells are for Kadroh.” Among the shells, she found a data chip that was surely for her.

With a happy hum, she plucked the chip from the package and set the box aside, attaching the chip to her pad to see what he’d sent. It contained two files. One was her research notes. The other was her procedure proposal for their Intimacy Log. Seeing that, she had to get up, pacing and using her hair to flip and twist as she completed a circuit of her suite of rooms—her excitement simply couldn’t be contained, though she cautioned herself aloud, trying to minimize her expectations. After completing a third circuit, she finally felt settled enough to actually read what he’d sent. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this!”  She shook out her hands and settled back on the bed, opening her proposal.

She smiled a little, reading his notes. She wished he was here; she would have loved to demonstrate how she would ‘reward him for good behavior’—and to test out the newly revealed sensitive spot behind his ears. In fact, she could demonstrate the former by showing him how much she appreciated his willingness to reveal the latter to her. She hummed again, reading his response to her question about biting. It wasn’t a ‘no’, and she was eager to see what he might mean by a “strong reaction”, though she would wait until he was ready for such a step, of course.

Then she saw the short paragraph he’d written at the end.

‘I do not think it would be wise to extend your study to my genitals at this time. I have limited knowledge of them myself; I’m not even sure if I am capable of penetrative sex, though I understand that is not necessarily a requirement. I know enough to be certain that my genitals differ from all standard Etherian configurations. I would not want to subject you to anything unusual or surprising without forewarning. For this reason, it would likely be best if I were to conduct some private research first, then we will discuss the possibility of mutual study.’

She leapt to her feet, using her hair to guide herself through a midair somersault. She began pacing her rooms again, punctuating her circuit with various acrobatics and occasionally humming to herself when her thoughts grew too loud.  She fumbled for her recorder, talking fast as she said, “Intimacy Log, personal notes, number 12. This is so fascinating! Hordak has revealed that his genitals are not Etherian in nature—which is unsurprising—and that he has limited knowledge of their form or function.” Something unpleasant itched at the back of her mind, but she just started to pace faster, burying those thoughts.

“I cannot begin to speculate on either. I have every reason to believe Hordak is what we would classify as a mammal—the presence of nipples implies his species at one time nursed their young, and he is quite warm, suggesting he does not have to rely on external heat sources to maintain his body temperature—but he is still an alien. These mammalian traits may be evidence of convergent evolution, rather than a common ancestor, though I still believe the bipedal body type suggests that our species are not entirely unrelated. Nonetheless, none of that necessarily implies so-called ‘sexual compatibility’. Hordak already seems to know that penetrative sex is not a necessity for a sexual relationship, but I will also endeavor to reassure him that our genitals do not need to be ‘compatible’ for sex to be satisfying. I should also relay that I am not put off by his confession. If anything, I am excited by the opportunity for discovery!”

She performed another somersault, shaking out her hands as she landed. “This is so exciting!” she hissed under her breath. To the recorder, she added, “He’s said that he would like to experiment on his own so as to avoid surprising me, but I would be very interested in experimenting with him. Query—has Hordak decided to experiment solo primarily out of concern for my comfort or his own? If the former, then he may allow me to at least witness any experiments he performs on himself—though I would welcome a more hands on approach, if he is willing to wait. However, if he is uncomfortable including me because...”

The unpleasant thoughts managed to break through, and she pulled her mask down securely. “While it is possible Hordak wants to experiment on his own in order to sate his curiosity in private—which would be completely understandable—I believe it is more likely that he’s uncomfortable sharing this with me due to shame and prior conditioning from Horde Prime, a suspicion reinforced by his lack of education regarding his own body’s sexual organs.” She flexed her hands, hair coiling around her limbs. “If that is the case, then I am unsure how to proceed. Hordak’s health, safety, and comfort are of primary importance, and I’m worried I’m not well equipped to make sure he isn’t harmed by our experiments. I’ve...never been good with people.” 

She shut off the recorder and cycled through her mask’s filters, trying to find a more soothing way of looking at the world. She settled on infrared, gazing at the smear of colors meant to represent variations in temperature. It was comfortably alien, and pleasing to place her hands on the metal wall and watch the colors change—like painting with her own body heat. She traced patterns on the wall and watched them fade as the transferred heat dissipated.

She took a breath and raised her mask when she felt settled enough to proceed, blinking as she readjusted to her surroundings. Clicking the recorder on, she said, “Hordak has consistently proven himself to be unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He seems to understand and respect my need for clear communication. Thus far, we have been able to prevent the kinds of misunderstandings I’ve had in the past simply by talking to each other. I have to assume I can keep him from coming to harm in the same fashion. When we next speak, I will—“  Her data pad signaled an incoming call. “Oh!” She clicked the recorder off, assuming that was him. “Hi, Hordak—wait. Sea Hawk?”

“Greetings, Princess!”

“Hi! Do you need something?”

“No. Not...not exactly.”

“Are you sure? People don’t usually call me unless they need something.”

“I don’t need anything, I just.” He winced. “I...may have...possibly...slightly overestimated my ability to convince my beloved to allow Hordak time off. And...vastly underestimated her vindictiveness.” His gaze grew watery and distant. “She is as magnificent and unforgiving as the sea.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. At least you tried. I’ll just—“

Sea Hawk held up a hand, shushing her. “Entrapta. Are you in a secure location?”

She glanced around her bedroom. “I suppose so.”

“Good, good. Now, tell me...how far are you willing to go to prove your devotion?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Do you want to take Hordak to Plumeria?”

“Well, yes—“

“How far are you willing to go to get him there?”

“What?”

He moaned, as if in pain. Before she could ask if he was okay, he leaned close to the camera and said, “Listen to me. I have a plan to get both you and Hordak safely and happily to Plumeria. But it may possibly be slightly illegal.” Entrapta cocked her head. “And by ‘slightly’, I mean ‘extremely’. So, how far are you willing to go to prove your affections?”

She snorted. “Sea Hawk, don’t be ridiculous; at least three of my current experiments are technically illegal. Breaking a few laws won’t prove anything. With that said—what’s your plan?”

“Well—wait. Technically illegal?”

She gestured dismissively. “Mystacor isn’t really equipped to oversee scientific studies, but my experiments are technically overseen by their ethics committee. Which is guided by a woefully outdated moral system and staffed by technophobes. I stopped asking them to approve my more interesting studies ages ago.”

“Oh. Well. I’m going to assume that’s not at all nefarious—“

“I guess that would depend on your definition.”

“—and tell you my incredible, masterful plan! First—do you by any chance own any strappy high heels? A low cut dress, perhaps? Preferably in black.”

“What?”

“Never mind! We can continue without, but I feel that ignoring the aesthetic shows a lack of commitment.”

She stared at him. “What?”

-

A/N: As always, I’m extremely grateful for all the comments you guys leave. I read them all, often multiple times. I’m not good about replying, but I am always intensely grateful.Thank you so much. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. ^//^

[diverse-writing]

Book Review: “Queer City” by Peter Ackroyd

Thanks to @kyliebean-editing​ for the review request! I have a list of books I’ve read recently here that I’m considering reviewing, so let me know if you’re looking for my thoughts on a specific book and I’ll be sure to give it a go!

2.5 ⭐/5

Hey all! I’m back with another book review and this time we’re taking a dip into nonfiction with Peter Ackroyd’s Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day. Let’s dive right in.

The good: Peter Ackroyd is a hugely prolific writer and a historian clearly trained for digging through huge archives of history and his expertise shows. This particular volume--his 37th nonfiction book and 55th overall published work--provides a startlingly comprehensive timeline of London’s gay history, just as promised. Arguably, the book’s subtitle short sells the book’s content; Queer City actually rewinds the clock all the way back to the city’s origins as a Celtic town before it became Roman Londinium. From there, Ackroyd’s utilizes his extensive historical experience to trace proof of gay activity through the ages. From the high courts of medieval times to the monks of the Tudor era, the gaslit back alleys of Victorian London to the raging club scene of the 1980s--gay people have lived and even thrived in London for literal millennia, and Ackroyd has the receipts to back it up. If you need proof that homosexuality has been a staple of civilization since the Romans--and the homophobia has often recycled the same arguments for the same period of time--then look no further.

The mediocre: All that being said, Ackroyd’s “receipts” often tend towards the salacious, the scandalous, and often the explicit. It seems that legal edicts and court cases made up the foundation of his research, so us readers get to hear in full detail the punishments levied against historical queer individuals, from exile to the pillory to the gallows. Occasionally, Ackroyd dips into the written pornagraphic accounts of the time to describe salacious sexual encounters, which add little to the overarching narrative except proof that gay people do, in fact, have sex. Later down the historical record, once newspapers became more common, we also receive extensive account of the gossip pages of the day, complete with rants about the indecency of “buggery” and the moral decay of “the homosexual.” Throughout the book, ass puns and phallic wordplay run rampant, so much so that it occasionally feels like it’s only added for shock value.

While I’m not a professional historian, as a queer person I can’t help but feel that there must be more to the historical record than these beatings, back alley hookups, etc. In focus on the concrete evidence of gay activity--that is, gay sex and all the official documents surrounding the subject--it feels like Ackroyd neglects the emotional side of queerness in favor of the physical side. Even the queer poetry excerpts or diary entries of the time (which I’m nearly positive exist throughout the historical record, though once again I’m not a professional) sampled in this book are all focused on the physical act of sex. No queer person wants a pastel tinted, desexed version of our history--but we also don’t need to hear a dozen explicit accounts of gay park sex. Queer love and queer sex go hand in hand and to focus on one without the other is disingenuous, not to mention dangerous in promoting the idea that queer people are hypersexual and predatory. Admittedly, I do think the omission of queer love is an unintentional byproduct of Ackroyd’s fact-checking and editorial process. He may not have intended to leave out tenderness, but his intentional choice to focus on impersonal records--court cases, royal decrees, newspapers, etc.--rather than personal ones--diaries, poetry, art, etc.--meant that emotion was largely excluded anyway. 

The bad: Though Queer City does a good job of following queer history through the ages, Ackroyd fails to connect his cited historical examples with larger sociocultural movements of the time. He discusses queer coding in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales but not the larger (oft homoromantic/homoerotic) courtly love traditions that Chaucer drew on. He describes the cult followings around boy actors playing female parts in Elizabethan and Jacobian London but neglects to put those theaters and the public reaction to them within the context of the ongoing Renaissance. Similarly, Ackroyd omits explicit connections to the Enlightenment, Romanticism, Neoclassicism, free love, and countless other cultural movements that undoubtedly shaped both the social and legal responses to the queer community. This exclusion, unlike the exclusion of queer love, had to be intentional on Ackroyd’s part; it’s hugely unlikely that a historian with his bibliography accidentally forgot to mention the last millennium’s worth of Western civilization cultural movements. It’s a massive oversight that utterly fails to place London’s queer history within the context of wider history.

And finally, last but definitely not least, oh boy does Ackroyd have some learning to do when it comes to gender, gender presentation, and gender identity. From the very first chapter, it’s apparent that Ackroyd’s research and writing focused largely on MLM cisgender men, with WLW cisgender women as a far secondary priority. While there are chapters on chapters dedicated to detangling homosexual men’s dealings, homosexual women are often pushed to the fringes of London’s queer history. They receive paragraphs, here and there, and occasionally the closing sentence of a chapter, but overall they’re clearly downgraded to a secondary priority within Ackroyd’s historical narrative. Some of this can once again be blamed on the type of records Ackroyd uses; sex between women was never criminalized or discussed in the public sphere in the same way that sex between men was, so it was a less common topic in London’s courts and newspapers. (And, once again, I have the sneaking suspicion that turning to less traditional sources would’ve helped resolve this issue, though in part the omission can likely be pinned on Ackroyd’s demonstrable preference towards male history.)

Additionally, Ackroyd tends to treat crossdressing as undeniable proof of homosexuality. While it’s true that historically queer individuals found freedom or relief in dressing as the opposite sex, the latter didn’t necessarily equal the former. Additionally, if the crossdressing individual in question was female, dressing as a man was often a way for a woman to secure more freedoms than she would receive while wearing traditional feminine outfits. (Also, he tended to use “transvestite” over “crossdressing,” and while I tend to think of the latter as more preferred, the former may be more in use among queer studies circles or British slang). Though Ackroyd briefly acknowledges that women could and may have crossdressed to more easily navigate a misogynistic world, he nevertheless continually dredges out records of crossdressing women as concrete proof of historical sapphics.

Which brings us to the elephant in the room; in clearly identifying crossdressers as homosexuals, Ackroyd entirely overlooks the existence of transgender and nonbinary people in London’s historical record. This omission, arguably unlike the others, seems definitively intentional and malicious. In the entire book, I could probably count on one hand the number of times Ackroyd mentions the concept of gender identity, and I could use even fewer fingers for the number of times he does so respectfully and thoughtfully. Though he largely neglects to discuss transgender history as a subset of queer history, when he does bring up historical non-cisgender identities it’s often as a component of his salacious narratives rather than a vibrant and storied history all on its own. In the final chapter on modern gay London, Ackroyd’s casual dismissal of the concept of myriad gender identities felt dangerously close to modern day British “gender criticism,” which is likely more familiar to queer readers as TERFism masquerading under the guise of concern for women and gay rights (JK Rowling is a very public example of a textbook gender critical Brit, if you’re wondering). By the end of the book, Ackroyd’s skepticism of so-called “nontraditional gender identities” is so glaringly evident that he might as well proclaim it outright. 

The verdict:  For a book supposedly focused on queerness, the focus on male cisgender homosexuality is both disappointing and honestly not surprising. This book is a portrait of gay London, yes--but it’s also a portrait of Peter Ackroyd as a historian and a professional. It’s clear from early on that he’s writing from the perspective of an older white gay man (I think queer WOC know what I’m talking about when I say that that POV is very distinct, and his clear idolation of 1960s-1980s gay culture makes his age quite evident as well). As you progress through the book, his blindspot in regards to gender and gender politics become increasingly clear, as does his simultaneous obsession and criticism with transgender identities. Overall, Queer City is a clear example of how “nonfiction” doesn’t necessarily mean unvarnished truth--or at least not all of it--and how individual historian’s methods and biases bleed into their research. 

A dear London friend suggested Matt Houlbrook’s Queer London: Perils and Pleasures of the Sexual Metropolis as a more gender inclusive review of the famous city’s queer history. While I take a break from London for a bit, I would welcome any and all thoughts on either Queer City or Queer London, the latter which I fully intend to get to eventually so I can properly compare the two.

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 18

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he  finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly  unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can  handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged  Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | Crossposted to AO3

The Heorum Complex technically stayed open twenty-four hours a day, because intelligence work never slept. However, the office experience varied wildly depending on the time of day. In the daytime, it was abuzz with activity. Agents sat at terminals working through reports and intel, analysts dutifully sorted through the steady stream of data being fed in from across the galaxy, and all the office support staff bustled about in the typical work day grind. The aroma of fresh-brewed caf would sometimes waft from the various kitchenettes and a constant background buzz of chatter filled most of the rooms.

Nighttime was a decidedly different mood. Darkened terminals and stations replaced the bustle of workers, doused in shadow after the overhead lights switched off for the evening. The shadows of the abandoned desks and chairs stretched across the empty rooms, like long, spindly fingers reaching out. The hum of constant chatter gave way to the clank and hum as the cleaner droids made their rounds on each floor. The sharp, antiseptic scent of the droids’ cleaning solution would overpower everything else. It was almost as sharp and jolting as a steaming mug of caf, although not nearly as pleasant to take in. 

If Theron were being honest, a steaming mug of caf wouldn’t go amiss right now. He needed to focus and had a long, grueling task ahead of him.

Tonight wouldn’t be the first night that he’d lost track of time and been the last one out — although the previous instances were unintentional. Today he’d made a show of getting too absorbed in his assignment; decoding some intercepted transmissions from an Imperial base that Marcus wanted a rush on. Theron had cracked the cipher earlier in the day, but feigned ignorance to draw out his time on the terminal as long as possible. He’d grabbed a station in the far corner of the room where no one could easily sneak up on him and spy the second set of coding he was working on.

Getting into the backdoor of the SIS mainframe was a tough task — as it should be. Technically, Theron shouldn’t have been able to do it himself, but it seemed like every time they closed up one vulnerability, he would nose out another exploit. He’d report this one… just as soon as he wrapped up here. Now, technically he still had access to these files via normal channels, but that would have left a record of him looking into a closed investigation. He needed to keep his inquiries into Darok off the radar until he found the proverbial smoking barrel. Meaning he needed to be very careful about what network activities they could trace back to him.  

Most of his work during the day had been meticulously finishing his code. He’d kept the decryption up just in case any nosy coworkers wanted to stop by for a chat, although most seemed content to leave him be. Jonas once told Theron that he got a certain look in his eye when he was “getting obsessed with a job” — whatever that meant. Of course, Jonas was always saying things like that. Theron was pretty sure his fellow agent made half of it up just to get a reaction.

No matter.

As the chrono edged past the hour and the whir of the cleaning droids faded into background noise, Theron decided he was truly alone. He dropped his subterfuge and used his backdoor to access the data on the Tython and Korriban investigations. With Highwind’s clue in mind, he pulled up the archived security footage from the Jedi Temple. The recovery team managed to save several recordings in addition to what Theron had during the operation. He used Highwind’s liberation of the temple as his starting point and slowly rewound the footage. Even though he’d witnessed it all live, there was something still a little mesmerizing about watching the whirl of her lightsabers, even in reverse. She truly was a master of the form, that was hard to deny. If the action was difficult to follow in holo form, it must be positively dizzying to witness in person.

Her part in the footage was over quickly enough, and he focused his attention on the entire picture. He watched as the imperial figures on the recording in their attempt to set up their doomed attempt at a trap for the Jedi Master and her crew. Some stirrings of angry feelings tried to resurface, but he pushed them away. There was no time to indulge in that sort of nonsense. He had a much more important job to do. 

It was a painstaking and at times infuriating process to watch as the Imperials ransacked the temple in reverse march. But he remained focused, steadfastly analyzing the images until a flash of something caught his attention. He paused the footage and shuttled it until he found it. He grabbed a still frame and brought it over to another piece of software to enhance the image and zoom in on the activity right outside the library. The details were a bit obscured from the cropped image, but was able to just make out a tall, imposing Chagrian in robes handing off what looked like an artifact of some sort to a group of Imperial soldiers. 

Frowning, Theron zoomed in on the artifact more, and ran it through a program specially designed to enhance blurry and pixelated images. It used a combination of algorithmic predictions and artificial intelligence to fill in the blank pixels at higher resolutions. The processing power required by the program was intense enough that it was prohibitively expensive to deploy into the field, so Theron didn’t get a chance to use it much. He watched the screen in fascination as the software worked its image reconstruction magic in almost real time, seeing the pixelated details of the artifact slowly sharpen into focus. If he was a betting man, he’d put a few credits on this being the missing Rakatan artifact. 

Target confirmed, he grabbed a few stills from other angles and repeated the process, until he gathered enough high-resolution stills to stitch together a rough, fully dimensional holographic representation of the stolen item. None of this told him the function of the artifact in question, or even why someone would go through the farce of storming strongholds of the galaxy’s most powerful Force users to retrieve them.

He pursed his lips together and set up a database query on his reconstruction and let it run. As the numbers and results flew by on the screen, Theron let his mind wander to the best way to determine the function and importance of the artifact. There were a few archaeologists in the Republic who specialized in Rakatan culture and tech who might have some insight. There would probably be too many questions though if some agent showed up at their office with an image of some old ruins, asking about their potential destructive capabilities and security risks. There was always employing a disguise, maybe an amateur archaeologist, a writer doing research for the next sensational holonovel. It could definitely yield some answers on why the Empire would go through the trouble of raiding Tython to get the artifact — or it could expose his investigation.

Theron decided not to risk it. Best to see what information the SIS database had and go from there.

While the query ran, he pulled up a report that someone in Analytics appended to the Tython incident. They’d scrubbed the comm logs and been able to get a clean image of the Sith Lord that Highwind had spoken with. Theron couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the numerous comments scribbled in the margins about the Jedi in question. Most of it was speculation about the Hero of Tython’s ridiculously competent combat capabilities, which Theron was becoming fairly familiar with at this point. It was the notes on the identity of the Sith Lord that Theron found more interesting. Apparently it had taken quite a bit of cross-referencing, but the report writer identified the figure as one Darth Arkous, a member of the Dark Council in charge of the Sphere of Military Offense. It made sense for someone in his position to be involved in the raid on Tython, but…

That funny niggling feeling that had plagued Theron from the start of all of this reared its head again. On a hunch, he pulled up the mass of data he’d siphoned off from Korriban. The nerds in Analytics had yet to finish delving into the virtual playground of potential intel, and the security footage that he’d obtained looked like it was on the bottom of the priority list to process. It suited him just fine, especially now that he knew what he was looking for. 

Once again he started at a common reference point. This time was the stormy expression of his Jedi Knight Extraordinaire marching out of the Academy after Jensyn executed the Dark Council member in front of her. Theron tapped his finger on the desk, watching the angry set of her jaw and the dramatic fluttering of her cape as she made her way off camera. He blinked, but kept his eyes on the screen, curious to what he had missed after he’d looked away from the Academy’s interior. As the footage scrolled forward, he watched the dizzying activity of the SpecOps secure the temple. From this angle, they almost resembled little ants darting about. In fact, there was so much activity he nearly missed the elevator doors on the second floor opening as Jensyn stepped out. Theron paused his shuttling and cross-referenced the timecode as he paged through the various files to see if there was a better angle. The third recording that had a clear, unobstructed view of Jensyn handing off an artifact to one of his men. The soldier tucked the artifact under his arm and immediately headed for one of the shuttles leaving the surface. Theron viewed the entire exchange with a deep, troubled frown.

He repeated the process he’d used on the Tython footage, cobbling together various angles of the artifact together into a holographic representation. He pulled up his reconstruction of the other stolen artifact from the Jedi Temple and laid it and its Sith Academy counterpart side-by-side. They were an exact match.

His jaw ached as his teeth ground together, that familiar anger bubbling up from deep within his gut. The brooding session was cut short by an alert letting him know that his database query had finished. A quick reshuffling of his programs had everything up on screen, and Theron stared at the twin stolen artifacts alongside a readout from the SIS database confirming they were Rakatan in origin. The liner notes were sparse, as there was scant information available. No confirmation on their function, but a suspected origin from the Lehon system with a possible excavation date from nearly three hundred years prior.

“Gotcha,” Theron muttered in grim satisfaction.

There was no one around to hear it. And this sort of circumstantial evidence probably wouldn’t be admissible in any court, but it was enough confirmation for Theron that his suspicions had been warranted. Darok lied about the reason for the raid on Korriban. Or, as it was becoming clear, a robbery. 

He made a few discreet copies of all the files pertinent to his investigation, being sure to diligently scrub each step of his data trail. It had edged past dusk into evening by the time he completely wiped his activities from the system. It was late enough that the commuter traffic thinned out, and the hovertrain ride back to his apartment was quiet, with only the occasional drunk swaying in the corner that paid him no mind. The trip was just long enough to mull over the evening’s revelations, and plan to dig further into his files back in the safety of his apartment with some leftover takeout.

A plan that, like most of his well-thought out ideas, derailed the moment he got in the door to his apartment. His implants sent him a ping — the HoloNet trace on Darok had picked up activity. No rest for the weary, nor apparently time for a meal of stale takeout. He pored over the details of the alert. Apparently Darok had arranged for some ships for travel. It was the destination on the manifest that made Theron quirk an eyebrow: Manaan.

“Now why would you be heading there?” Theron mused aloud. Much like in the empty office, there was no one to answer. It was just as well, because there was only one way to answer that question.

It was well past midnight by the time he’d made his own travel arrangements and a craft a proper cover story for them. He was about to close up everything for the night and catch a few hours of sleep, but as he stared at the screen, he hesitated. He sat in contemplation for a few moments, before opening up his mail terminal, and began typing.

To: Greyias Highwind  From:  Theron Shan Subject: Noteworthy

It looks like our old pal is on the move in a few days here to Manaan. I’m gonna tag along — at a distance — and see what our friend is up to. I also found some rather interesting things in my research today. One might even call it noteworthy. If this lead pans out, I’ll have my astromech contact you with the details. Hopefully you’re all rested up and recovered after your little adventure.

I think things are about to get really interesting.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Are you planing on ever making By Dawns Early Light into a full blown story? ... And is Thanos an issue in this AU? I think you havent mentioned him in it so well, I wondered?

UMM. *looks over what I’ve got in that tag, and winces*

geez this thing’s longer than some of my actual fics, when did that happen?

Here’s the thing, though: this AU’s meant to be a writer’s-block-buster. Which, if the current evidence is anything to go by, has been a resounding success. 

However. 

As of right now it’s just that, a thought-and-snippet-writing exercise, because there’s a lot of things that’d need tweaking before I’d even consider posting it on AO3 [aka my inner perfectionist strikes again]. 

Again, this is mostly just me messing around with a fluffy tumblr-exclusive [for now, anyway] AU because this feels smaller stakes than if I were to round this up and make it into a full-out fic.

Also, in regards to the second part of your ask: not exactly. By Dawn’s Early Light is, at its core, a fairly fluffy self-indulgent AU, which for me is also code for ‘nobody dies if I can help it’ and ‘if the MCU can have a Gary Stu villain then I can do what I want, Deus Ex Machina-levels of fixits included’.

How? Simple. By nerfing the heck out of him, while also unfridging as many other moms as I can, with a side of I-have-yet-to-forgive-the-writers-for-pulling-this-bs-seriously-what-kind-of-writing-was-that. 

Here’s how the entire Thanos situation would go down, in By Dawn’s Early Light (spoilers for a fic I have yet to write):

First, let’s take a step back, shall we? This is, among other things, a timeline-crunch AU. There’s a lot going down in a very compressed time frame [originally just because I wanted Howard to still be around just for Tony to be able to punch him, but now I’m invested in this so time go the full nine yards, buckle up everyone].

So. The entire situation around Maria Stark and Tony and Bucky’s been covered fairly well, but to sum up: when Howard turns out to be an abusive asshole of a husband, his wife smiles at him and promptly turns around and burns both SHIELD and Stark Industries, revealing HYDRA and Obadiah Stane’s double-dealing ahead of schedule [unintentional fixits ftw]. In the chaos, Bucky manages to escape and joins up with Maria and Tony as they go in hiding. 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned: Hank Pym sees this shit going down, realizes that the most famous missing child in the country is about the same age as his daughter, and decides to not aim to be Absentee Father of the Year. He ends up being a tad overprotective, sure, but is way more involved in his kid’s life and Hope Van Dyne grows up with at least one (1) parental figure in her life, so…there’s that. 

Things happen, and the timeline for bringing Janet back gets moved up somehow, right around when the Avengers assemble.

Note to self: adjust part of Scott Lang’s origin story in this? Compare whistleblower laws of that time era, alt. entrance for him could be him somehow helping Tony hide because BDEL!Howard’s the type of petty and vindictive asshole who’d pull some strings if he found out this rando interfered with his search somehow. 

Bonus for giving Scott and Hank something to commiserate about, later on, and would also have Tony and Co. feeling indebted to him [which would result in a lot of shiny prototypes and records being expunged, later on, probably]

…though that might be a bit much. Hmm.

Reason to bring Janet back: I do what I want also I think the MCU fridged moms because otherwise they’d be too powerful 

Ripple effect that didn’t get mentioned, the second: since this is also the AU where moms get unfridged, Frigga’s going to be derailing the plot from her corner of the galaxy.

Also, since I finally watched Ragnarok but was a mythology nerd as a kid and have a passing knowledge of the comics, time to revamp how Hela fits into this universe.

Okay, she’s still murderous and powerful and ruthless. 

Only, turns out there’s a very good reason for it: she was one of Loki’s students [iirc she’s his daughter in the myths, that’s the best I can come up with atm] before Odin saddled her with the thankless duty of being the watchkeeper of Asgard’s enemies and prisoners. As in, Odin just straight-up went ‘hey you look pretty talented, here, I now hold you responsible for this entire goddamn realm of assholes and creeps, if any get out we’re all screwed’. 

Which is something Hela absolutely did not sign up for, but she’s now just about the only thing standing between said realm of undesirables and her home so she stays put […also maybe Odin sealed the only way back? Maybe? Idk].

It didn’t help that in the early days, these ruffians thought they could overpower her and escape to wreak havoc. So she had to kick everyone’s ass six ways to Sunday, until they finally accepted her as the head honcho of this dump and as someone Not To Be Fucked With.

Thus, why Hela’s known as the goddess of death and ruler of Helheim.  

…and it’s also why she accidentally came to Thanos’ attention.

(Because why the hell not, as if her day wasn’t bad enough Odin you owe her big time—)

Thanos, of course, is in love with her carnage and seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t take no for an answer. Hela just wants to be left the alone but can’t tell him to fuck off because if she did, she’d risk leaving her home open to attack from enemy agents, which is how we get the story behind why Thanos is known as the madman who courted death. 

[Hela: fuck you and the horse you rode in on shoo you bastard and take your stupid flowers with you—]

Thanos was on one of his especially annoying ‘let me woo you with the ashes of this one civilization!’ kicks [Hela: ashes. How romantic. Not. Leave me alone already.] when some of the Dark Elves snuck out and killed Odin. 

Hela…is only pissed she couldn’t have done it with her own two hands. Also slightly embarrassed that the Dark Elves escaped in the first place, and relieved that it was only Odin who’d kicked it because his wife had seemed pretty nice, the one time Hela’d seen the lady before she’d been drop-kicked to this hellhole. 

Also— apparently she now can leave this place? Sayonara, bitches. 

.

Thanos is very displeased when he doesn’t find her standing guard over Helheim when he returns.

Displeased enough to get creative, as far as courting gifts go, and think that if she didn’t like rings or jewelry, well, maybe this Lady Death would appreciate a shiny, fully-assembled Infinity Gauntlet instead.

well…let’s be honest, if it weren’t for his ‘don’t take no for an answer’ thing, you’d have to give the guy props for trying. Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than ‘here have this item of absolute cosmic power’, amirite? [just kidding]

.

Hela now has mixed feelings about Asgard. Before she was crowned Queen of This Dump, she’d been a student of magic, had been used to certain things. There’s quite an element of culture shock to be had, now that she’s back. It’s the first time she’s seen sunlight in thousands of years, and also there’s a lot of systemic changes going on now that some of Odin’s dirty secrets are coming out at last. Turns out she’s not the only one who’d been pressed into duty: some of Loki’s other students[/children in the myths] came back with stories of the same. Fenrir was apparently voluntold to be the guardian of the Reality Stone, Jormungandr had apparently been busy on Midgard […which now had a school of Mystic Arts? Pfft. Overachiever], and the more Hela thought about it the angrier she got.

Especially when it turns out that her teacher had been mocked for suffering a breakdown and was also tortured by the creep who’d been flirting with her for millennia [Everyone: wait what Hela: I am going to KILL THAT BASTARD NEXT TIME I SEE HIM]. 

However, thanks to Frigga being Frigga and having a crazy-high charisma stat, Hela is still mostly willing to play ball with everyone else on Asgard. Despite her not being happy with how ungrateful the general populace acted [oh, magic’s just ‘tricks’? Here, have a fireball TO THE FACE I FOUGHT MONSTERS WITH THESE TRICKS FOR MILLENNIA]. 

So when Thanos shows up again, he gets one-shotted by Hela, who’s very very pissy about her vacation being interrupted.

Because this planet has sunlight and hot chocolate and punk rock and she’s got centuries’ worth of time off and she is damn well going to enjoy it.

.

…aka why Thanos is a bit of a non-entity in this one. Again, fixits are the name of the game for this AU.

[marginalgloss]

gold leaf

There is a passage in Levels of the Game, a short book about tennis by John McPhee, where the narrative pulls back and begins to consider the family of the tennis player Arthur Ashe. Names cascade, one after the other, starting from back in 1735 when a ship full of slaves sailed from Liverpool to Virginia, and ending in the present day: 

‘…On the Blackwell plantation, where Hammett had lived, the plantation house—white frame, with columns—still stands, vacant and mouldering. The slave cabin is there, too, its roof half peeled away. Hammett’s daughter Sadie married Willie Johnson, and their daughter Amelia married Pinkney Avery Ashe…and Amelia had a son named Arthur, who, in 1938, married Mattie Cunningham, of Richmond. Their son Arthur Junior was born in 1943…’

The details here have been taken from an immense family tree, painted on a huge piece of canvas at the home of one of Ashe’s relatives. There are over fifteen hundred leaves on that tree. Only Ashe has his leaf trimmed in gold. This is not all:

‘The family has a crest, in crimson, black, and gold. A central chevron in this escutcheon bears a black chain with a broken link, symbolizing the broken bonds of slavery. Below the broken chain is a black well. And in the upper corners, where the crest of a Norman family might have fleurs-de-lis, this one has tobacco leaves, in trifoliate clusters.’

Ashe was one of the greatest American tennis players. He was a black man who forged a career in a sport dominated by white faces. He is one of the two subjects of Levels of the Game by John McPhee, which is really a sort of long essay. It documents a tennis match at the 1968 US Open between Ashe and Clark Graebner. They made for an ideal contrast because Graebner was everything that Ashe was not: white, conventional, republican. The passage I have quoted above is immediately followed by the following line, before any break in the paragraph: 'Graebner has no idea whatever when his forebears first came to this country.’

The book alternates between a point-by-point description of the match and a dive into the lives of both players. The reportage is startling in the amount of detail it captures, to the degree that I began to wonder how McPhee had actually managed to write it at all. I read somewhere that he had access to a recording of the match, though exactly how he watched it again is unclear — this is long before the era of home video recording. At times the writing has all the quality of slow-motion, long before live action replays became an expected part of watching any sport. But beyond these practicalities, there’s a sense here of authority in McPhee’s writing, and of implied trust between the writer, their subject, and the audience. 

He addresses us like a professor, and his grand statements are taken to be the work of careful consideration. He quotes both players extensively throughout, but doesn’t care to mention the context in which they spoke. At times he delves into their thoughts, their fears, their hopes. None of that is cited, of course; how could it be? I suppose we oughtn’t to care. There’s a feeling throughout of being invited to experience a certain kind of privilege. Are there room for questions? Sure, but if McPhee tells us that Ashe or Graebner strikes a ball just so, then they did. We have no recourse to say: I thought he hit it differently, or, that wasn’t what he was thinking at all. Were this written about a tennis match that happened yesterday, that’s what we would expect. But now nobody will ever see this match except through McPhee’s language.

A simple description of the match won’t suffice. We need to know about the players themselves: ‘A person’s tennis game begins with his nature and background and comes out through his motor mechanisms into shot patterns and characteristics of play. If he is deliberate, he is a deliberate tennis player; and if he is flamboyant, his game probably is, too.’ This is entirely true. Tennis is an unusual sport in the degree to which it becomes a battle between the abilities, physical and otherwise, of two individuals. No outside interference is permitted. The person you are shapes the things you will do on the court. 

Ashe is mannered, careful, polite. He is well-read and quietly radical. He plays difficult, risky tennis — he takes clever shots. He has a full arsenal at his disposal: slices, dinks, lobs, volleys. Graebner, with his huge serve, is altogether more conventional. He relies heavily on serve-and-volley to get him through. But Graebner’s was the game of the time, especially on fast grass courts with heavy wooden racquets. According to McPhee, the longest rally in an average set is six shots. But most points between Ashe and Graebner are over in two or three swings of a racquet. By comparison, rallies in a modern match in men’s tennis will start at about six shots and go for up to fifteen or twenty strokes. (I’ve seen rallies go past forty.)

It was a different game for other reasons. Both Graebner and Ashe were amateurs; they had full-time jobs outside of the tennis life. It seems almost cute today that these men should take the subway home after their matches, and no doubt pay for their own fares. Today’s top players make millions from prize money and endorsements, although hundreds of professionals still struggle to eke a living at the lower stages of the tour. 

In 1997 they opened a vast stadium named after Arthur Ashe in New York, which became the centrepiece of the US Open as it stands today. Played on a hard court rather than grass, it is today the largest tennis venue in the world. It is so grand that you might easily forget the unintentional pun in the name: Ashe Stadium, built on top of what was once New York’s largest dump of incinerated ash. The seats are clustered so tight and small and high around the court that the effect is vertiginous and slightly nauseating, even when glimpsed on TV. A couple of weeks from today the US Open will start up again and it’ll become a hot, humid cavern for a brawl, packed every night to the rafters with screaming fans. 

It’s odd somehow that they still manage to do it. I’m a fan, but even to me tennis still seems like an odd, anachronistic sport; a sport for people who don’t really like other sports. When there isn’t a Grand Slam on, it’s difficult to watch, and when there is a Grand Slam there’s inevitably too many matches spread across too few channels, squeezed into too few hours of the day. It is supremely impractical, elitist, difficult. It also has a strangely internationalist flavour. Devout fans of particular flavours might drape themselves in a flag, but for the most part you don’t go to a tennis match to support your home country. (That the Davis Cup, once the great international World Cup of tennis, is now teetering on the verge of irrelevance, is surely the exception that proves the rule.)

Today’s big name players reside in Monte Carlo and travel the world for ten or eleven months of the year. Their home country is relegated to the status of the little flag alongside their name on the scoreboard. They play for themselves; the extent to which that self represents that flag is entirely up to them. And yet that only serves to make the achievements of its early masters more impressive in retrospect. That Ashe in particular did all that he did in an era where tennis stars had no expectation of the level of reward and popularity they enjoy today, and when he in particular faced such outright racism while rising through the ranks, seems nothing short of miraculous. But again, such is the nature of tennis that while Graebner and Ashe could share a stage as Davis Cup teammates, they represented entirely different ways of life. That American flag next to their names meant nothing at all when they faced each other across the net. 

[shireness-says]

Playing the Part ch. 2: Getting to Know You

Summary:  As a stage manager who's clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue  Ch. 1

A/N: We’re back, with my favorite Jones Brothers conversation I’ve written so far and a great Captain Swan bonding moment! Chapter title from “The King and I”.

Thanks, as always, to @snidgetsafan, my phenomenal beta. She’s the absolute best.

A disclaimer:  This chapter addresses Belle's backstory, which is... less than pleasant. Nothing so bad that there need to be archive warnings, but power dynamics were definitely taken advantage of. I want to make it clear that I'm not condoning what's happened to her, and I've tried to express that in the actual writing, but I just want to reiterate it here. Just because it happened, doesn't mean I'm ok with it, or that you have to be either.

That being said, I hope you enjoy the chapter anyway!

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes

“... but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

God, he hates that line. Yes, it’s from the source material, and yes, it is crucial to the plot, but he always feels like an absolute dick saying it. Belle is an absolutely lovely woman, inside and out, and doesn’t deserve to hear those words directed her way, even in character.

He’s actually apologized for the way he’s acted before in character, had felt like he had to. Belle, bless her heart, laughed and waved off his apologies.

“For the record, I can tell the difference between you and your character, Killian,” she had said. “Please don’t worry about it.”

But he worries anyways. Part of it is just his nature, Killian supposes - he’s a man with a heart built for concern and mild anxiety, it seems. But Belle really does seem rather isolated, and he hates to reinforce that even in character.

He’s heard the rumors, of course - the industry is smaller than they’d like to pretend, and when word made it around that Belle French had been cast in the iconic role of Elizabeth Bennet, old gossip about the woman had made the rounds again too. It’s a horrible story, predictable in all the worst ways: young, up-and-coming actress embarks on a relationship with an older producer. Actress decides that the relationship has run its course. Actress is suddenly, mysteriously branded as “difficult to work with” and struggles to land roles.

Meeting Belle in person, it’s particularly absurd. She’s ridiculously talented and probably one of the nicest and least difficult people he knows and really, it’s not fair. There’s been an increase in accountability in this industry lately, something that’s desperately needed, but the lawyers are still focused on the things they can prosecute - obvious cases of assault and manipulation. Belle’s circumstances don’t clearly fit either of those criteria, having willingly engaged in the relationship, one she thought was based on mutual respect and affection. It doesn’t help that Gold is a major player in this game, able to affect people’s opinions for better or worse with his word alone. For the past several years, Belle’s just been left to flounder on her own with her professional reputation wrongly in tatters. For the moment, no one cares. It’s all so disgustingly unfair.

Personally, Killian thinks Belle deserves the world. He hopes this show is a massive success for a variety of reasons - selfish ones obviously included - but not the least of them is the hope that it’ll reshape the current narrative around Belle, show that she’s talented and kind and an absolute delight. She needs that. She deserves that.

Belle tells him about it herself one day over a cup of tea during one of the rehearsal breaks. He didn’t ask, not explicitly, but she must sense the confusion in his eyes and in his mind about how someone with so much sheer raw talent has been cast aside by the industry.

“He was such a gentleman at first, you know? Yeah, I was getting roles, and probably part of that was because I was seeing him, but I genuinely loved him, and him me. I knew he had a reputation for being tough and focused on success above everything else, but he always encouraged me, and was so happy when I landed roles and was doing well. So when I felt the relationship had come to a natural end, I just figured…” She pauses in her recounting, hurriedly wiping at the tears forming in her eyes. Killian tries to comfort her as best he can, digging one-handed through his pockets for a tissue as he tries to rub her back soothingly with the other. He feels so useless, so male in this situation, but he’s still determined to help and comfort her in any way he can.

“I feel so stupid some days,” Belle continues, gratefully accepting the single kleenex he was able to locate in an inner jacket pocket (and God, he hopes it wasn’t used). “I just… I should have known right away he was insane.”

Killian likes to think he’s a good friend, and a good man, but he’s also a kid who grew up in theaters and around theatre kids, and as he does his best to reassure his scene partner that she’s in no way responsible for the actions of that bastard, he has to forcibly remind himself not to smile at such a bad time at her unintentional quoting.

The stage manager, Emma, is walking past at just that moment, though, and he’s pretty sure he hears her mutter the next words under her breath, so he’s comforted by the knowledge that he’s not the only one with terrible timing and a bad sense of humor.

But again, it’s not the time to ask about it. Killian is 100% focused and committed to being a supportive friend to Belle in this moment - he’ll have to ask later. Preferably out of earshot, before they both get a reputation for being horrible human beings who laugh at unfortunate times.

But there’s never really a chance to ask later - their short break is up before he knows it, and then it’s straight back into choreography. Their choreographer, a vibrant redhead named Ariel, may have a sweet demeanor, but there’s a spine of steel underneath that smile, and Killian knows better than to dawdle. He’ll catch Emma later, he thinks, some time when he’s not needed. But even in those moments when Killian doesn’t strictly need to be doing anything but hang around and watch, waiting for his next instructions and ideally reviewing the script (it’s never too soon to be off book, after all), Swan is invariably still busy.

So Killian waits. The opportunity will present itself, he’s sure.

------

It’s been a good day, Emma is pleased to note. The sheer potential of this show is truly shaping up into something that, with plenty of polishing, just might be magnificent. There’s always going to be issues - after working so many shows, Emma has learned that off-stage drama is an inevitability - but for the most part, even the cast is obliging her by staying professional and getting along. Which is literally all she asks for. Zelena has a definite penchant to complain about anything and everything, but it’s not yet at a point that they can’t handle or that needs addressing.

Still, even a good day is exhausting in it’s own way. Emma is ready to make whatever calls are necessary (just Robin and the props guy today, she thinks), and get home. Yeah, the apartment will be quiet with Henry at Neal’s for Labor Day weekend, but she could probably use a little quiet - a chance to recharge, if you will.

However, that chance disintegrates at the sight of Mary Margaret approaching with a smile full of intent. For all her sweetness, Emma’s learned that her friend can be stubborn and determined, nigh on unmovable when she wants to be, and all the signs are suggesting this will be one of those times.

“Emma!” the petite brunette practically chirps. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a Girl’s Night, hasn’t it?”

It’s not a subtle opening at all, and Emma spots where Mary Margaret is going with this from a mile away. “Oh, I don’t know,” she tries to deflect, hoping against hope that maybe she can still wheedle herself out of these plans. “Seems like we all did something only a few weeks ago —”

“Don’t be silly,” Mary Margaret interrupts, flippantly waving a hand as if to literally shoo Emma’s protests away. “You’re thinking of that brunch date we had, the one Henry came to. It’s been ages since we had a proper Girls’ Night. And since Henry’s gone this weekend, really, there’s no better time!”

“I don’t know,” Emma tries to protest. “I’ve really got a lot that still needs doing, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it.” It’s not true in the least. The best part about a good day is that even when she is left with things on her to-do list, they’re quick little housekeeping bits, not major crises she needs to untangle. Unfortunately, after a decade of friendship, Mary Margaret knows that too, and fixes her with an unimpressed look.

“Uh uh,” she responds, shaking her head with finality. “No excuses. I’m going to find Ruby, and we are going out. I won’t let you sit at home all lonely with Henry gone. You’re not getting out of this, Emma Swan.”

Much as Emma hates to admit it - hates to admit defeat in general, really - she’s well aware that she really isn’t going to be able to weasel her way out of this. When Mary Margaret gets that look in her eye and that tone in her voice, nothing can sway her from whatever evil plan she’s devised. For better or worse, Emma will be going out tonight. She only hopes it won’t be too miserable an outing. “Fine,” she concedes, holding up a hand to silence Mary Margaret’s happy squeal. “But I am not lonely. And only for a little bit.”

“Oh Emma, we’re going to have so much fun!” her friend gushes, seemingly ignoring the end of Emma’s sentence. “I’ll call Ruby right now, have her meet us at the Grey Lady. Oh! I wonder if Belle would want to go!”

Emma groans as her dreams of a quiet evening in drift further and further away with every expansion of Mary Margaret’s plans. The likelihood of fun seems pretty small right now; Emma settles for just hoping she’ll make it out of this alive and sans hangover.

------

It’s been a long day, but a rewarding one. His script is filled with new notes, he finally isn’t tripping over the rhythms of the proposal scene song, and his feet are tired from practicing ballroom steps over and over again. It’s a pattern he’s getting used to, day by day, but the fact still remains; it’s exhausting.

Killian is just planning to finally go talk to their fearless stage manager, see if she said what he’s 87.9% certain he heard and hopefully trudge home when Nolan practically corners him, effectively ending that plan.

“You’ve got to come out tonight,” David whispers frantically, hunched over in a way that he must think looks surreptitious, but in reality just looks awkward and uncomfortable.

“Ok…” Killian whispers back. “Why?”

“Because I just heard that Mary Margaret is going to be at the Grey Lady tonight with a group of friends!”

“...okay, and?”

“And I like her!” David hisses, seemingly insulted for no apparent reason.

“Calm down, mate, jeez. What, you need an excuse to go, rather than just showing up?”

“Yes!”

“Do I have to whisper the entire night?”

This is apparently the last of David’s patience, as he rolls his eyes and snaps out a response. “For God’s sakes, no. Now will you come with me, or not?”

It’d really be mean at this point, after all the teasing, to tell him no. Killian doesn’t really have plans anyways; he’d tentatively scheduled a call with Liam, but they can always talk later and text throughout the night.

“Alright, Dave, I’ll go with you. Where’s this place at?”

“... About that…”

Excellent.

------

Only for a little bit, she had told Mary Margaret. And she had meant it; despite all her friend’s wheedling about how she’d be lonely at home with Henry at Neal’s, Emma had been looking forward to a quiet evening. Of course, that’s all wishful thinking.

Belle had been interested in joining the outing, as had Elsa, as had their Lydia and three of the chorus girls since it seemed like Mary Margaret had invited every female member of the cast. The Grey Lady has been reduced to a cacophony of female laughter and conversation as Emma desperately tries to either escape or ignore the chaos, both efforts to no avail. For the moment, Emma’s perched at the end of the bar with Elsa trying to cheer her up, purple drink in hand (a Grateful Dead, because “you can’t just get whiskey, Emma, this is Girls’ Night, you have to get something fun.” Ugh.).

“I know you don’t want to be here in the least,” Elsa tries to cajole, “but hey, as long as you’re here, you might as well make the most of it. We can play a game of darts or something if you want, that’d at least get you out of the major crush here at the bar.”

She means so well, trying to coax Emma out of the corner and out of her funk, but honestly, Emma’s quite determined to stay exactly as she is. “It’s really fine, Elsa,” she replies. “Honestly, I’m just hoping that if I sit here and don’t move for long enough, Mary Margaret will forget that I’m here and maybe I can just slip out.”

Elsa snorts at that, which is really enough of a response on its own. “Yeah, good luck with that.” Her face still turns concerned and serious when the humor wears off as she does her best to fuss over Emma. “Are you sure? I’m happy to stay with you if you want, but if you don’t…” Elsa trails off tellingly. Emma honestly feels a little bit bad. For all her introversion, Elsa really does enjoy evenings out like this when she sets her mind to it, and Emma is effectively holding her back from having fun by insisting on being a sad sack at the bar.

“Really, Elsa, I’m fine. Go have fun! It looks like they’re starting some kind of drinking game up over there, that’ll certainly be entertaining if nothing else.”

Elsa’s eyes dart back towards the other ladies longingly, but her voice and body language is still hesitant. “If you’re sure…”

“Yes! I’ll be fine. Don’t let my attitude ruin the night, I’m happy enough with my stupid purple drink. You know I like watching drinking games more than playing anyways. Go!”

“Alright, but you’ll let me know if you change your mind and want company, right?” Elsa fusses as she grabs her drink and stands to leave. It’s a small progress. Emma nods impatiently, all but ready to push Elsa towards the other women. It must be obvious on her face though, as Elsa laughs before dropping an affectionate kiss on the side of Emma’s head. “Ok, ok, I’m gone. Do try to have fun, Emma, just find someone to talk to for ten minutes. And don’t drink too much, because I’m going to need you to lead me back home!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma mutters in response. She makes no promises, especially on the socializing front.

———

The bar is much busier than Killian had expected when he, David, and Booth arrive. Killian isn’t exactly sure how the last man got invited; he certainly didn’t have any part in it. August Booth is a genial enough man, however, a perfect casting for Colonel Fitzwilliam in temperament, so his presence tonight won’t be any true hardship. If Killian had to hazard a guess, David had probably invited him for more credence to his cover story that he just happens to be at the same bar as the lady he’s interested in on some sort of boys’ night outing. It seems that the ladies’ outing may have expanded as well; while Killian had expected to see Mary Margaret and Swan, it appears half the female cast is crowded into the bar as well, Mary Margaret unsurprisingly at the center of everything, playing hostess even though the bar is obviously not her house. It doesn’t take long for her to notice their own little group’s entrance, and she hurries over with a wide smile.

“David! Killian! August! What a pleasant surprise!” she gushes. Killian is amused to see that her cheeks are ever-so-slightly flushed. Perhaps David’s little crush isn’t quite so ridiculous as he seems to think. David himself looks a little struck by his lady’s entrance, so Killian quickly takes the reins of the conversation.

“Aye, it truly is. Thought we’d go out tonight, have a bit of a bonding exercise. You don’t mind that we’re here, do you? We didn’t mean to crash whatever you’ve got going on here.” It’s a blatant lie, but Killian is counting on the brunette being too flustered by their - well, David’s sudden appearance to notice.

It seems to be working, thankfully, as Mary Margaret smiles brightly. “Of course not! We planned this as a little Girls’ Night, but you’re more than welcome to stay and socialize! The more the merrier, right?”

It’s impossible not to like the woman, really. While she’s far too perky for Killian to ever be romantically interested, Mary Margaret is such a deeply kind and pleasant person that only the truly cruel would ever take a dislike to her. “Aye, thank you.”

“Is that some sort of drinking game I see about to start?” August cuts in, likely saving them all from an encounter quickly veering towards the awkward and overly sincere.

“I think it’s more of a contest, knowing Ruby,” their quasi-host laughs, “but yes, they’re about to start. A bit wild for me, so I was about to go get another cosmo. David, Killian? Do either of you want to join me?” The invitation is technically extended to both of them, but Killian sees the way her gaze keeps focusing on David, hears the way her voice pitches up hopefully, and quickly makes his excuses.

“I actually think I might grab a beer and try my hand at the dart board, so I’ll leave you two to it.” It’s probably not the most subtle move, but David’s already shooting him a grateful look, so he supposes that his words have been effective enough.

It’s as he’s walking further down the bar to get his drink that he spots Swan in the corner, where he hadn’t noticed her when he had entered the bar, wearing a sour look on her face and sipping on something in a near fluorescent purple. Somehow, he’s not surprised to see her set apart from the thick of things; their straight-laced stage manager doesn’t seem like she’d be particularly comfortable in a chattering crowd of women. It may be taking his life in his hands considering the look Swan has on her face, but he veers to join her at the end of the bar, more enthusiastic about the prospect of spending his time chatting with her than facing the female crush everywhere else.

The skeptical look Swan shoots him as he saunters over with a charming smile should be his second warning, but Killian’s never had much of a self-preservation instinct anyways. “Fancy meeting you here,” he grins.

Swan snorts in return. “Oh, that’s what you’re going with?”

“I couldn’t possibly know what you mean.” It’s another blatant lie, and unlike Mary Margaret, Killian can see that Swan knows exactly why he’s really doing in this bar, sees right past all his and David’s excuses.

“Oh please,” Swan replies, rolling her eyes and confirming what he had expected about her ability to spot his lies. “Like you guys showing up isn’t a blatant excuse for David to flirt with Mary Margaret. The only reason she doesn’t realize it is she’s so damn smitten herself. It’s a little disgusting.”

“You wound me, Swan. It’s an absolute coincidence that we happen to be at the same bar.” Receiving a final unamused look, he collapses onto a stool, giving up the pretense. “They really are smitten, aren’t they? And absolutely obtuse about the matter.”

“Really, they are,” Swan grumbles in return. “Like, it’s so obvious they’ve got a thing for each other, I’m about ready to start placing bets about how long it will take.”

Killian chuckles. “Well, let me know if you ever do, I’d be happy to contribute to the pot.” There’s silence between them for a few minutes as Killian orders his beer, turning back to his companion once his cold drink is in hand. “I can leave you alone if you’d prefer,” he offers, noting the stormy look still occupying her face. “Conversation with you seemed much less intimidating than with the chattering female masses over there, but if you prefer —”

“It’s fine, really,” she waves him off. “I’m just…” she pauses, as if trying to find the words to explain.

“Really Swan, I don’t need an explanation if you don’t —”

“Did you know I have a son?” she interrupts.

It’s news to him. It does explain why he so often catches her trying to surreptitiously check her phone - probably trying to make sure nothing’s wrong with her boy. As he shakes his head in the negative, Emma continues.

“Well, I do. He’s ten. He’s with his dad this weekend. And I’m glad he’s excited about that, but it always makes me…” She waves at her face and its expression, as if that’s an acceptable substitute for actually finishing her sentence with words. Honestly, she’s not wrong on that front, her irritated expression speaking volumes. “So it’s not you, and it’s not the company, and it’s not this outing or party or whatever.” She pauses. “Ok, maybe the last one, but that’s because I’d much rather be at home angrily drinking by myself than being dragged out on the town. But Mary Margaret and Ruby are convinced that if I’m at home, I’ll be wallowing in loneliness, so they dragged me out here against my will.” Another eye roll clearly illustrates Swan’s own thoughts on the matter, and Killian finds himself inexplicably charmed by the gesture. The more he learns and sees of Emma Swan, the more he’s fascinated by her, and he’s glad she hasn’t just unceremoniously sent him on his way tonight.

“Ah, well, that makes two of us,” Killian replies genially, before immediately backtracking. “Not the son bit, but the not particularly wanting to be here. I’d planned to go home and call my brother tonight, but David practically begged me to help in this little farce and… well, long story short, here I am.”

“Here we both are.” She raises her glass to his in a short salute to the unenthusiastic and unwilling.

After taking a swig of his beer, Killian sets his glass back down and turns to Emma with purpose. “It’s not all bad, really. I’ve been trying to find a moment to speak with you all day.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise in curiosity and confusion as she raises her own glass to take another sip of her purple monstrosity. Based on the way her mouth puckers as the alcohol hits her tongue, he thinks she might feel the same way about her beverage.

“Well, you see, I thought I heard you quoting a certain musical earlier…”

Swan immediately groans, her head dropping as if in resignation or defeat. Killian is confident that the only thing keeping her from banging her head on the counter is her folded arms braced against the worn and stained wood. “I was hoping no one heard that.”

“‘This is my husband, we’re from Maine’? I’m impressed by your Sondheim knowledge, Swan, but your timing needs work.”

“I know, I know. It’s… Henry and I have this game, you see, where we try to slip in lyrics without the other knowing. He actually knows a lot, just by virtue of being my kid and practically being raised in theaters. So when I heard Belle, I wasn’t trying to turn it into a joke or something awful like that, it was just… a reflex, I guess.”

“Second nature,” Killian nods in return. “I’m not holding it against you, love, a man just doesn’t expect to hear Assassins quotes tossed around willy-nilly.”

“Thanks.” Catching the bartender’s attention, she holds up her glass in the universal sign for ‘more, please’. “For the record, I’m impressed you caught that. Assassins is pretty much at the top of my list of shows to see, but not everyone knows about it.”

“You can blame my brother for that,” Killian chuckles. “After I decided to become a theatre actor, he decided I needed a full history of the genre. Except the tosser knows next to nothing about musicals and can’t sing a note, so it was mostly just him telling me a lot of Sondheim and Andrew Lloyd Webber facts. Which means I know a disproportionate amount about Cats and Into the Woods. Assassins was at least a more enjoyable entry in his so-called education.”

The story at least gets her to laugh, displacing that foul look she’s been wearing for a moment. “Your brother sounds like a handful. I mean, it sounds like he means well, but wow.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Killian grumbles, eliciting another laugh from his companion. He could get used to that sound, given the chance. “But enough about that wanker. What would you say to a game of pool, Swan?”

Her answering grin is acceptance and challenge, all at once. “Oh, you’re on, Jones.”

———

It’s late when Killian finally calls Liam; he’s not rightfully sure how late, a series of beers, and later glasses of rum, blurring his perception of time, but he knows it’s far past a respectable hour. The only saving grace is that his older brother is currently out in Los Angeles, three hours behind Killian’s local time. Perhaps that will do something to make up for the perceived lateness of the hour.

“Hello?” sounds Liam’s voice from the other end of the line, and Killian is relieved to hear that his brother’s voice is the normal kind of tired, not the just-woken-up kind. Killian may be a bit drunk, but he’s not so far gone that he can’t tell the difference.

“Brother!” he practically chirps in response. “I know it’s late, but I promised I’d call, didn’t I?”

The chuckle from the other end of the line is warm, if exhausted. “Aye, that you did. Tell me, Killy, how much have you had to drink? Are you ok to find your way home?”

“Oh, a good bit. I’ll be fine.” Liam definitely can’t see the dismissive wave of Killian’s hand, but that doesn’t stop him in the least, his impulse control and logic severely compromised. “David convinced me to come out. Have I told you about Dave, Liam? Dave’s a good mate.”

“Aye, you have. I might have to have a few words with Dave if this is going to become a regular occurence. It’s after 11, Killian, which is even later for you.”

“Oh, don’t scold Dave. I didn’t even spend most of the night with him, I spent it with Swan! I’ve talked about Swan before, haven’t I, Liam?” Oh, he really ought to have talked about Swan before. It’d be a utter shame if he hadn’t - he just can’t properly remember right now.

“Are you making friends with birds, Killy?” Liam’s voice is amused, but Killian is less so upon hearing his older brother’s response.

“Don’t be daft, Liam,” he all but snaps. “No, Swan is the stage manager. I must have told you about her.”

The voice on the other end of the line hums as if in realization. “Ah, the one you’re so fascinated with?”

Even with his delayed responses, Killian can feel himself blush. “I’m not fascinated, Liam,” he explains in what he thinks is a perfectly level and reasoned tone of voice, slightly slurred words be damned. “She’s just a very nice lady. And talented. And lovely too.” The humming noise comes from the other end of the line again, causing Killian to adopt a defensive tone. “I don’t have a crush on her Liam, stop that.”

“I never said you did,” Liam says with amusement coloring his voice. Killian can just imagine the placating hand he must be raising to calm his younger brother back down.

“She’s just very good at her job,” Killian tries to explain. “I admire her.”

“Of course you do,” Liam replies soothingly. “And I know you don’t have any feelings for her, but just in case, tread carefully, alright? It’s not a particularly good idea to get involved with people you’re working closely with.”

“I will be,” Killian dutifully says, before hastening to add, “But it won’t be necessary, Liam. She’s just a friend.”

“Whatever you say, Killian,” Liam placates. “Call me in the morning when the alcohol wears off, aye? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Aye, brother, tomorrow.” There’s the usual exchange of affections to close out the call, and then Killian’s left to his own thoughts again, and still needing to find his way home.

Liam can say all he wants, but no matter how fascinating Killian finds Emma Swan, it’s nothing more than a platonic interest. Even if she is lovely and interesting and brilliant and absolutely someone he could have romantic feelings for.

———

It’s such a cliche to say that their interactions at the bar are the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but Emma thinks she and Jones - Killian, she could probably call him now - might be on their way there. Killian is easy to talk to, charming, funny, and apparently willing to participate in ridiculous romantic schemes in service of a friend. The professional part of Emma feels victorious that they apparently cast the perfect man to play their Mr. Darcy; the rest of her is left just wondering how he’s real. The man acts like something out of one of Mary Margaret’s awful romantic comedies, and Emma’s not sure what to do about it.

It doesn’t help that he seems especially determined to be a gentleman towards Emma in particular. He already does all the door holding and ‘ladies first’ nonsense, but he’s taken to helping Emma collect all the various and sundry things she lends out from her supply box over the course of a day and bringing her hot chocolate in the mornings. She’s not even sure how he knows about the hot chocolate thing; who knows, maybe she told him herself that night at the bar. Emma does get chatty when she gets tipsy, even if she doesn’t like to admit it. Regardless, he’s even figured out that she likes cinnamon on top, and presents the to-go cups each morning with a smile that is much brighter than Emma is properly prepared to see before noon.

They’re friends now, she supposes. That’s what Emma’s willing to admit to at least. Sure, she can easily see how that friendship could turn into something more if they both let it, but they work together. It would be such a bad idea - if not downright disastrous. Friendship is safe; friendship is something they can both handle. There’s absolutely no attraction and no feelings on either side.

Emma only hopes that if she repeats that mantra enough, the words will actually stay true.

[howltoyoutoo-blog]

Why Does It Matter?

So, here’s the part where I give you some context.

I am a writer. I’m not sure if I’m a good writer yet, and I am working on it, but I know that I love to write. It’s something that I have seen in myself for as long as I can remember, just like my love of reading. Recently I have decided to once again give writing another try, and instead of bottling up my ideas in my mind, I’ve gritted my teeth and forced the contents out. It’s almost painful for me to write, I’m so focused on trying to form the images in my mind into a proper description, and when I do find one I’m constantly overanalyzing every line, trying to find the meaning behind the words that I have written. Writing means something to me, it’s my outlet for expressing the emotions that I can’t figure out how to speak.

I have this friend, we’ll call her Claire. We’ve been friends since high school, and I’m well aware of how unhealthy our relationship can be. We are very similar, and where our differences collide, so do we. Time and time again we’ve hurt each other, but ultimately come back together. I often rationalize with myself that the next time something happens, the next time I’m hurt, I’ll walk away. The path that I’m walking is a circle.

What happened today is hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened between us, but it hurts all the same. We have a mutual friend, let’s call her Marissa. Marissa and Claire used to be engaged, but they broke up mutually and are now just best friends and roommates. Marissa has recently started a web comic, and the two of us have found a new line of connection through the rekindling of our passions. It gives me someone to confide in about this project that I care so much about, who won’t judge me for caring so much about it. About a week after Marissa and I started chatting more, Claire starts a blog to vent out her frustrations. Claire hasn’t written, like me, since high school. I realize that her realize quickly that the reason Claire did not tell me directly about her blog is probably the same reason that I didn’t bring up my story. It’s best if we don’t talked about what we care about with each other. Over the past 6 years I’ve learned that the things that excite us are different, and a lack of interest from the other, however unintentional, could result in one of us getting upset. It has definitely happened before.

We have been drifting away from each other over the past year, and I have been trying to reach out, not to keep myself grounded, but to ground her. She has a history of letting her emotions dominate what she does, the positive ones and the negative ones. Marissa confided in me today that Claire mentioned that I text Marissa more than I text her. Marissa said that she jokingly said that she (Marissa) was stealing her best friend (Me). I’d like to note that I text the two about the same amount, and if one texts me I will usually text the other around the same time. My conversations with Claire are very one sided, I try to bring up topics, to make the conversation keep going, and Claire responds with one word answers, acting uninterested in keeping the conversation going. My conversations with Marissa however go on for a long time, because we are both engaged, no matter the topic. She responds with enthusiasm, and I respond the same. I have been showing Marissa my writing as it progresses, and a few days ago I offered to send some to Claire if she would like to read it, and Claire said sure. Today I asked her if she had read it, to which she responded “a bit”. When I inquired to what she thought, her response was that it was “pretty chill.” Claire may not be extremely vocal about what she thinks, but she usually gives more than that. Up to this point I have been giving her feedback on her blog posts, trying to send as much support as I could to her. Her lackluster response to my writing, something she knows is hard for me to produce and even harder for me to share, hurt a lot. I would have preferred it if she had punched me in the stomach, it would have hurt less.

Immediately I felt the drop, the motivation I have been trying to keep a grasp on turn to ash in my hands. All because I expected something more when I knew I wouldn’t get it. I know that there are a lot more details I could provide, but this post has probably rambled on for long enough. For the record, I’m not giving up. I’ve piled that ash into a jar and I will rebuild it speck by speck.

The point of all this is, why does it matter what she thinks, or what others think at all? I value the criticism that I get, and I go over my work with it to find the faults and adjust the issues. But I don’t let it effect my feelings towards my work, and I shouldn’t let someone’s lack of care about my work, no matter how much I value them as a person, become a roadblock in my way.

I really felt like I needed to express what this situation has done for me, how I’m letting it open my eyes to my weakness: Influence. I let outside sources influence not only my writing, but the process as well. I plan to work on this. Thank you to any and all who have continued reading this all the way through. I hope that you all have a wonderful rest of your day.

- Howl

[relatablepicsofblakebelladonna]

Closing the Distance - Part 3

Pairing: Monochrome Long Distance AU Chat log fic(Pictures included) Part: 3  (Read the other parts here!)

Another month, and it’s much easier to talk. Finally Weiss and Blake take their first unintentional steps on getting to know each other to a more personal level, and a friendship is beginning to form between them.

White Glyph #1402 at 10:30am How’s things going?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 10:42am -lays down- not great i’ve been stuck on this line on the next chapter for a few hours now. think I'm getting writers block :(

White Glyph #1402 at 10:49am Oh no! :(

The one on the left is your writer's block, the one on the right is me!

Little Black Bow #2203 at 10:52am holy shit fuckin birds now i’m just looking at mine like “give me advice you lil shits!”

White Glyph #1402 at 10:53am You have birds?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 10:53am yeah!!! two Zebra Finches, my mom gave them to me.

White Glyph #1402 at 10:54am Are those the birds that chirp if you imitate them?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 10:55am that’s most birds lmao https://youtu.be/HkY96rBa9kI they’re these

White Glyph #1402 at 11:00am Oh those! They’re adorable. What are the names of yours?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:01am Peep and Beep <3

White Glyph #1402 at 11:03am :O! Those are the cutest names i’ve ever heard.

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:04am thanks lmao my mom was insistent i keep those names.

White Glyph #1402 at 11:06am Do you have a picture of them???

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:07am one second…

Here

White Glyph #1402 at 11:09am Awh!!! What adorable babies <3 Are they tame? Can they sit on your hand?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:11am Beep does more than Peep.

they’re my cute gay bois.

White Glyph #1402 at 11:13am Awh what a good baby. I support whatever their sexuality is <3

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:14am no i mean they’re literally gay boys lmao that's why my mom gave them to me

White Glyph #1402 at 11:16am Your mom gave you birds because they’re gay…?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:16am lemme tell you the story cause it’s kinda funny and cute and w/e my mom wanted to try breeding Zebra finches as a hobby cause she loves birds and she’s bred parakeets and canaries before so she bought two male finches and two females three months later she was wandering why they weren't breeding only to find the boys had mated for life

White Glyph #1402 at 11:19am Oh my god.

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:20am that's not even the best part! my dad suggested she should take them back to the store but she just kept insisting “no I need them to know it’s okay and I love them!!!” so she then came to me and told me the situation and asked if I wanted them so I said yes. she made a comment about ‘likeminded company’ but my at-the-time-closeted ass told her ‘i’m not gay’ but she just kinda raised an eyebrow and said “suuuurrrreeee.” anyway that's the story of how I ended up with gay birds but also how my mom figured out i’m gay as hell.

White Glyph #1402 at 11:23am That was beautiful :’) Your mom is the ally they truly deserve

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:24am right??? last year she made them tiny pride ribbons to tie around some of the bars

White Glyph #1402 at 11:25am Lol! How come though? That’s bit random.

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:28am it was the first year i’d been out and when pride month came she wanted to be supportive she also gave me a flag and a badge that year too.

White Glyph #1402 at 11:30am That’s so nice of her. What’s your family like?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:32am not very big lol. It’s just me, my mom and my dad. we’re a small family but we’re real close

White Glyph #1402 at 11:34am No brothers or sisters?

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:35am nah just me. but that’s probably for the better tbh, i’m really quiet normally. what about your family?

White Glyph #1402 at 11:36am I’m surprised you didn’t look it up on Wikipedia haha. There’s me, my elder sister Winter, and my parents. But it’s sorta all business related more than a family. My dad basically runs the recording company and my sister’s my agent when she’s not on the force. And my mom is… mom.

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:38am is that… good?

White Glyph #1402 at 11:39am If you’d consider being drunk and sleeping most days then yes.

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:40am Not good then. :( I’m sorry.

White Glyph #1402 at 11:42am Hey, you have nothing to apologise for! It’s just sometimes nice to tell the honest truth once in a while. Rather than everything you’d find on Wikipedia. I… don’t really have any friends to let this out to. I apologise if that was a little much.

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:44am you don’t?

White Glyph #1402 at 11:45am Not really. That’s why I liked sending anons, it was nice to be able to talk to people without them realising who I was and also without interfering with my social media.

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:46am huh… well, we gotta fix that. but if it helps, i deffo consider you a friend :3 even if we’ve only been talkin for a couple of months. tbh i cant believe i hadn’t shown you my pets until now.

White Glyph #1402 at 11:50am <3 <3 <3 I consider you a friend also. Please tell me more about your birds and your family :)

Little Black Bow #2203 at 11:52am you wanna see lots more pics? :3

White Glyph #1402 at 11:52am Of course ~

[differencesbetweenchinese954]

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[junker-town]

Tiger Woods, who won the 2019 Masters, looked decrepit in his 1st round at The Open

Photo credit should read ANDY BUCHANAN/AFP/Getty Images

Everything is gravy after the 2019 Masters win, but Tiger looked old and bad in his first round at the Open, so much so that he was asked the question if he’d even play the second round.

Tiger Woods’ 2019 season is already and will always be an unqualified, legendary success. That was the case as soon as he tapped in on 18 to win the Masters in April. With that context out of the way, right now he looks and plays like a guy who should pack it in for the season. This would be fine and perfectly acceptable! He’s done enough and accomplished something this year that, had you watched him for most of the preceding five years, felt like a fantasy. He was never going to play again, nevermind win the Masters.

But right now? Tiger looks a lot more like the broken-down and uncompetitive iteration from 2014 or 2015. He looks like someone who achieved that fantasy comeback Masters win and then, deservedly so, exhaled and put his feet up to celebrate all summer. The rest of the year, and if we’re being honest, maybe his career, is gravy. He’s said as much, continually referring to the “gift” it was just to be able to stand up without pain and walk again, let alone play golf.

But then he won the Masters and we all started talking about chasing Jack Nicklaus’ record again and sort of forgot the context of the prior five years in our hysteria.

Tiger’s opening round at The Open was a slog, and from the very first strike, when Tiger appeared to grimace after his opening drive.

Tiger Woods is off the first tee at Royal Portrush. Little grimace after his drive. Not good. pic.twitter.com/Fm2aotBFO7

— Kyle Boone (@Kyle__Boone) July 18, 2019

The day would be full of pained looks and exasperated sighs. The play was a wave of dicey short game shots, poor putting strokes, and inconsistent tee balls. The start at Portrush presents multiple birdie chances but Tiger scrambled to make pars through his first four holes and then the tightrope snapped and he played the final five holes of the front nine in 5-over. None of it looked very fun and it was clear Tiger was not going to be competitive in the final major of the men’s season.

It would take more than four hours before he poured in his first birdie of the day, coming on his 15th hole of the round.

Tiger's first birdie of the day comes at the 15th. He'll take in as much love as he can #TheOpen pic.twitter.com/vy9OtF91Pk

— Golf Channel (@GolfChannel) July 18, 2019

The final tally was a 7-over 78 that had him in a tie for 140th place. That’s the injury-plagued province on a major leaderboard he occupied before last year’s comeback. It’s his highest first round score ever at The Open.

This round came after Tiger took a month off and got away following a quiet U.S. Open exit and missed cut at the PGA Championship. He said he needs to play less in order to play longer, and that all makes sense. But Thursday, he did not look like he just had a month off but more like the worn-down delirious guy from last year’s Ryder Cup, who was playing for the 7th time in nine weeks.

After the round, he cited “Father Time” and told Golf Channel’s Steve Sands that he was “not moving the way I’d like” and “can’t hit all the shots I want to hit.” But he did emphatically say “yes” to the question of if he’d play on Friday. The fact that it was a question should give you some indication of how he looked.

Tiger’s 78 is excusable. Nothing is a failure after what happened in April. But given what he tells us it takes to get ready just to play one round of golf, what’s the point of playing the rest of the year? The PGA Tour and its deep pocketed sponsors of the remaining WGC and FedExCup won’t like to hear it. But shut it down, captain the Presidents Cup team, and prepare for the majors next year — specifically the ones that are played in temperatures above 70 degrees and more benign on your decrepit, creaky body. This Northern Irish setting was not that.

Tiger was not the only player on the strugglebus on Thursday, as the Open beat up some of the best in the world in both dispiriting and amusing ways. Here were a few more:

The pot bunker tumble

South African Justin Harding has had himself a career year, but this was a moment where he’d probably prefer to burrow a hole and hide in this Portrush pot bunker. This was a double scoop of embarrassment with both the failure of the shot slamming into the bunker face and then the tumble down into the sand.

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Which one of your friends would do this? #TheOpen

A post shared by Golf Channel (@golfchannel) on Jul 18, 2019 at 7:09am PDT

We need a recount

David Duval’s round at Portrush started well enough with red numbers on his first two holes. Perhaps the former world No. 1 and 2001 Open winner had found something for one week. Then the round unraveled, quickly, and the bogeys we expected from the part-time player came in buckets. Then the round just got blown out to sea completely with a 14 on the par-5 7th hole.

The explanation sounded like something from the C flight at a club championship or local qualifying match. Duval apparently lost his first two tee shots, then played the wrong ball from his third. What was believed to be a 13 was actually a 14 after a slow and deliberate post-round recounting of how it all went wrong.

This description of David Duval's 14 (changed from a 13 after his round) is wild. Hope the extra shot doesn't cost him making the cut! pic.twitter.com/aF9pVVxT5c

— Alex Myers (@AlexMyers3) July 18, 2019

The 13-turned-14 were the entree in a 20-over 91 that, as you’d expect, has the former great in DFL. After the round, Duval delivered this inspirational poster quote to the AP’s Doug Ferguson.

This is solid from Duval: "You have an obligation as a professional athlete. If you play, you post your score. Am I happy about that? Is there some ... embarrassment to it? I don't know. But I teed off in the Open and I shot 90 today. So put it on the board."

— Doug Ferguson (@dougferguson405) July 18, 2019

The only issue is Duval withdrew from the last two Opens after high opening round scores, as Golf.com’s Josh Berhow noted. He’s also, if we’re being honest, more of a professional commentator than athlete at this point, no? That does not mean he doesn’t have the right to go out there and post whatever number he wants as a former British Open champion.

The first hole fiasco

Tiger’s 78 was bad, but at least it was not 79. That was Rory McIlroy’s final tally after an opening quadruple bogey and a closing triple bogey. Rory carded every score in between in what was a disaster of a day for the home crowd and betting favorite. We went into greater detail on Rory’s round and his diminished confidence here but while you’re wallowing in Tiger’s relative uncompetitiveness, you can remind yourself that the player near the very top of the game and in his peak at the moment did one worse.

Just act cool

Dustin Johnson is one of the most naturally smooth and cool golfers on the planet. Legendary golf writer Jim Moriarity once described him as having “the oily gait of a jungle cat.” We use the qualifier “naturally” smooth. The problem is when you tell him to play it or act it. Then? Well, as we’ve seen over and over, it’s nothing but forced awkwardness and confusion and unintentional comedy. This was maybe my favorite non-golf clip of the entire opening round.

“So all you need to do DJ is walk forward, take your yardage book out and make it look like your getting a yardage... got it?” .... pic.twitter.com/rS4F976jFU

— Duncan Carey (@DuncCarey) July 18, 2019

[aion-rsa]

The 100 Season 7 Episode 7 Review: The Queen’s Gambit

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This THE 100 review contains spoilers

The 100 Season 7 Episode 7

Lindsey Morgan (who plays Raven Rayes) directed a crackling episode of The 100 that treats us to a heaping pile of wonderful character moments and more mysteries than you can shake a stick at. Sheidheda continues to prove why he had a reputation as a master strategist and Emori comes into her own as a leader on Sanctum while Murphy struggles with the opposite impulse. Meanwhile, some of the most formidable women on the show found themselves imprisoned on Bardo, and Jackson helped Madi lay down her burden as Commander and simply be a kid.

Gabriel took a deal from Anders to join the Cypher Team rather quickly – so quickly that I’ve got to think his plan is to gather intel and play double agent. If he had stopped to consider it and searched his soul a bit, turning against his friends would be more believable. Anders’s offer of knowledge alone wouldn’t be too bad, though this isn’t Gabriel’s first war and he’s no dummy, so he would never believe it was just that. But the Clarke intel clearly gave him pause.

Time dilation allows the writers of The 100 to get even funkier with time than ever – remember The 100’s first major time jump at the end of season 4 into season 5? It was such a shock! We were so sweet and innocent back then. Now we time jump all the time! This episode’s use of dilation is judicious, allowing Gabriel three months to learn about the Anomaly Stones and hopefully all things Disciple, while some of The 100’s best warriors (minus Indra) train to become even deadlier.

Sadly we have to wait to see the new and improved fighting force of Hope, Diyoza, Octavia and Echo (even writing that makes my skin prick up), but this episode gave those four actresses plenty to work with, and they did not disappoint. Hope and Diyoza threw down emotionally and physically, with Diyoza getting Hope to realize that 15 years of training and a heart full of vengeance is nothing compared to her mother – but it’s also no way to live. Diyoza was far more frank than I expected both about her crimes and Hope’s biological father, considering how much she sheltered Hope when she was a kid. But it was also interesting to hear Hope discuss the positive part of her mother’s military record, saving thousands of people at the Battle of San Francisco.

These scenes were both a great action set piece and such a human exchange between mother and daughter, seamlessly bridging the gap between multiple actors portraying Hope over time. The exchange kicked into high gear when Hope referred to deceased Sky Ring prisoner Dev as her father. That’s a move that feels right for the beautiful relationship we watched, but it’s got to be a gut punch for Diyoza to hear that the man her now-25-year-old daughter considers her father is a person she has never met and never will.

Echo and Octavia finally buried the hatchet, or machete, as the case may be. This was clearly driven by Octavia and all the evolving she’s done in the last couple of seasons, both in the regular timeline and across time dilations. O made it clear that while Hope may have misgivings about Echo, she’s bringing her own loyalty to the equation. The warrior formerly known as SkaiRippa and Blodraina  has forgiven any and all transgressions, and sees Echo as family.

While that was a lovely surprise, and Marie Avgeropoulos and Tasya Teles did an excellent job, The 100 writers owed their actors more than cribbing the “it’s not your fault” forced hug from Good Will Hunting, even using those exact words. It was an earned moment and likely one that will make the next time we see them working alongside one another much more fluid, but that felt goofy, cheap, and possibly unintentional, rather than like an homage.

We finally see Bellamy again and it’s in a flashback – and one that feels like it’s a few years too late. Seeing Bellamy forgive Echo, her regret over her worst sins, Bellamy extending a place within the group, Echo’s hope for loyalty, and their first kiss, it’s everything that we sort of assumed happened on the ring during those five years – but never saw. While much of the hate Echo gets is based purely on shipping, this particular issue lies with the writing. When Echo came back a member of SpaceKru and in a relationship with Bellamy, it was the ultimate in telling rather than showing.

While I’m glad to finally see this pivotal scene, it feels like too little, too late. Always clear that there are no good guys, The 100 chooses its real heroes and villains not by any sense of morality but by whose perspective it assumes. Interiority is pivotal, but it’s something Echo almost never gets. We heard Echo was family, but the audience never saw it firsthand, so those five years of supposed relationship development and character evolution were hearsay at best.

Emori and Murphy’s dynamic become more pronounced this episode, in one of my favorite non-mysterious plots that’s moving right along at exactly the right pace. Emori is actually fantastic at being a fake Prime, using her now-extensive experience in bridging cultures and the studiousness we saw her apply to becoming a pilot to the task of bringing peace to Sanctum. Jackson’s new role as psychologist allowed him to make the subtext on Emori’s background into text, asking her about her motives. From a plot perspective, I understand why things had to go to hell, but seeing Emori try to bond with Nelson (and briefly find tentative success) was promising, so I look forward to watching that relationship develop.

Sheidheda’s evil plan for Nelson to ally with Nikki worked, thanks to old hatred dying hard, the delicate nature of Sanctum’s peace, and Sheidy ably detaining Murphy, who portrays the (apparently?) more credibly Daniel Prime. The chess match between Murphy and Sheidheda was a good little misdirect for what turned out to be his true plan, keeping Daniel from the Reunification Ceremony. It also laid groundwork for whatever confrontations they’ll have later when the Dark Commander inevitably tries to kill Emori and take over Sanctum.

While it might seem obvious that Murphy wouldn’t fold, he did exactly that last season, though it was so out of character for who he had become that fans kept waiting for a secret plan that never came, at least not until after Murphy had betrayed everyone several times over. All that is to say, let’s hope this season continues to be a more character-driven send-off for one of the show’s absolute best characters, rather than an unearned plot-driven regression.  

Finally, Clarke and friends landed on Bardo, only to learn the same devastating news that sent echo into a murderous rage: Gabriel tells them Bellamy is dead. The bond between the core group is so strong, but Clarke and Bellamy have been the leadership duo that lean on each other more than any other pair. With Abby and Kane gone and new kids coming onto the show, they’re now Space Mom and Space Dad. Eliza Taylor (playing Clarke) said it all with one look. While supposedly nothing breaks Clarke, this might be the closest she comes, especially so soon after burying her mother.

The episode leaves us with far more questions than answers. Where is our beloved and definitely-probably-we-hope-not-dead-Bellamy? How the heck did Second Dawn leader Bill Cadogen get here from Earth and survive this long? What do they want with Clarke and how do they know she’s the key? Who is this supposed war against? Where is Gaia? It says a lot about this season that we’re still deep in the exposition on our seventh episode, while simultaneously revisiting a character and group from way back in season 4. Onward!

Other notes…

Soccer exists in space! The game truly is…universal (OK I’ll show myself out!)

Shoutout to Lincoln!

Anders confirmed that Orlando hanged himself in the cabin, saying, “it appears we need to rethink our penal system.” How is this the first time someone took their own life on Penance?

Nikki with the very real talk: “Don’t kid yourself honey. There’s no innocent people at the end of the world.”

I believe this is the most Diyoza has ever spoken about her major act of terrorism. She apparently was actually trying to do a good thing. Wasn’t she from the same time as Second Dawn? Might that come up during the back-door pilot when we see Earth before it was destroyed (the first time)?

Murphy’s explanation of the flame keepers all banding together to kill Sheidheda and Lexa coming after to unite the clans makes it sound like they were one right after the other. But I feel like timeline-wise there should be another commander between them just due to Indra’s age…Am I forgetting my Grounder history here? Help me out folks!

What did Nelson’s parents originally name him Sachin as in…Sachin Sahel, the name of the actor who plays Jackson?

Apparently Azgeda warrior’s scar themselves before war to signify that the pain is over? I’m fuzzy on what that means and how Echo did this – what did she use? After Hope had a tube in her arm I thought Echo was going to dig a weapon out of her face.

Nikki somehow seems to know Russel is dead, plus there’s the notes in the food. It seems like ole Sheidy is working the crowd far more than what we/our friends are seeing.

The post The 100 Season 7 Episode 7 Review: The Queen’s Gambit appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[unixcommerce]

How to Combat 4 Small Business Worst-Case Scenarios

Threats to the health and continued operation of your small business can come from every corner:

Your employees,

Your government,

Outside human forces (hackers), and

Outside natural forces (Mother Nature).

Grim statistics tell us that 40% of businesses never reopen after a natural disaster. Recently, a telemarketing firm closed its doors and threw 300 people out of work after a ransomware attack.

Worst-Case Business Scenarios

These tales of woe didn’t need to happen. It’s all about being prepared and knowing what to do when you’re suddenly faced with worst-case business scenarios. Take these tips to heart and you and your small business won’t be cited when the next time some writer starts to list hapless businesses that have gone under due to a failure to prepare.

Internal Threats

Even in the Internet Age, it’s your employees – and maybe your partner – who pose the biggest and most constant threat to your business. Intentional and unintentional human acts can bring down a business in one fell swoop or slowly erode its viability.

Combating internal threats requires a comprehensive approach that combines:

Careful hiring

Smart supervision and business systems

Diligent training

Let’s face it, small businesses often rush to hire someone who seems like an excellent candidate for an open position without thoroughly checking references and performing a comprehensive background check. This is especially true if the candidate has been recommended by a current employee.

Invest in professional background checks, and in addition to contacting listed references, ask for the names of other professionals who have worked with your candidate when you talk to their references.

Once onboard, be sure to train all your employees in security measures, including online safety and facility safety. Do not give employees higher network permissions than are required for their jobs. Have alarms and cameras in place and be sure they are operating properly.

Fraud is one of the biggest problems for any small business. Put checks and balances in place for handling business funds. For example, if a single employee is responsible for paying vendors, recording receipts, and making deposits, you are making your business vulnerable for skimming. Break up these functions. Require two signatures on checks. Implement strict financial oversight including audits.

The Tax Man

President Reagan famously quipped, “The most terrifying words in the English language are: I’m from the government and I’m here to help.”

I love the quote, but I think he was just a little off base. In my opinion, the most terrifying words are, “I’m from the IRS and I’m here to audit your tax returns.”

The fact is, even a diligent taxpayer can get in trouble with the IRS. And, to make matters worse, few of us have any idea how to deal with it when we’re hit with fines, penalties, and big back tax bills. After all, the IRS can seize our homes, vehicles, bank accounts, or any other property it can use to pay off our tax debt.

As with all the tips I’m offering here, I hope you’re never faced with a situation where they are the only things that save your business and financial standing, but you need to know that there are several ways to lessen the burden of IRS levies and fines:

Monthly Payment Plans

Partial Pay Installment Agreement (pay less than owed)

Hardship Offer in Compromise (pay less than owed)

Stair-Step Agreement (payments increase over time)

IRS Fresh Start Initiative (pay off over time with no penalties)

Hire a Tax Debt Resolution Firm or Tax Attorney to get you the best deal

Get “Currently Not Collectible” Status (only for those in dire financial situations)

Hackers

Cybersecurity has gone from a topic that didn’t exist a couple of decades ago, to one that makes major headlines virtually every week. The tragic fact is that by the nature of their work, cyber villains are always a step ahead of cybersecurity professionals.

Your only hope is two-fold:

You don’t get hit with the absolute latest cybercrime tactic, and

Your training and security measures cover all known threats.

The issue small business owners need to grapple with is to decide whether or not they – or their IT team – are adequately prepared to train, install, and supervise all aspects of the company’s cybercrime defenses.

Getting up to speed on the proper handling of email and general cybersecurity are topics that most business owners should be able to understand and train their employees on. However, many owners are letting this slip.

On the other hand, hardening your defenses against strong network attacks is probably beyond the scope of most owners. To meet those needs, I suggest bringing in a cybersecurity consultant to assess your weaknesses and propose a cybersecurity plan.

Further, with the boom in cloud-based Software as a Service (SaaS) offerings, small businesses can essentially hand over some of their security concerns to organizations better suited to handling online security.

But even when you’ve signed up with a SaaS provider, the threat of security holes is still there. For instance, many of your employees will be tempted to connect to your SaaS providers via their personal unsecured smartphones or other devices. This is where an expert can help you implement a smart policy with good controls.

Mother Nature

Finally, not every threat to your business can be blamed on people. Natural disasters cause billions of dollars of losses every year. If your business is in a rural area of California, it may have been threatened by a wildfire recently. And, your whole building doesn’t have to burn to the ground to put you out of business.

If you have critical company information on a hard drive that gets destroyed by a hurricane or flood, it can be just as devastating as losing your entire office.

To prepare for a natural disaster you need to consider both human factors and your business’s infrastructure:

Who manages which aspects of recovery?

Where will employees be located after the disaster? Who will communicate with them?

How will computer networks/information be restored?

What is the condition of the physical plant, etc.?

For example, if you suffered a hurricane that managed to leave your facility unscathed, but all your employees fled for safer ground, how would you get reorganized and reopened?

Custom emergency preparedness plans are required for different businesses in areas prone to different types of disasters. Ready.gov — part of Homeland Security — offers extensive “toolkits” that walk you through all the steps you need for devising your own plans.

But as a final word of advice: In the case of each of these worst-case scenarios, it’s critical to understand the situation, internalize the information, draw up the plans, and periodically review/update the plans while times are good.

Don’t wait until it’s too late.

Image: Depositphotos.com

This article, “How to Combat 4 Small Business Worst-Case Scenarios” was first published on Small Business Trends

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