#i concede that maybe this has occurred on some occasion

[skyriderwednesday]

I just witnessed someone being very confidently incorrect about something I care a lot about and I'm being so brave about it

[nat-20s]

 Part 8 of the wonderful! Au: the boys answer some questions! Up to you to decide if they actually clarify anything!

(also on AO3)

~*~

Martin: Hey everyone! I know what some of you are thinking right now: it's not Tuesday, why is this episode in my feed? I know significantly more of you are thinking: I don't consistently keep up with podcast releases, how much free time do you think I have, buddy? To answer your queries: this is a bonus episode! We're answering listener questions to clear the air and/or have fun. Also, I don't know, around 20 to 40 minutes a week, as that is the average amount of time per episode? Maybe during your commute? My husband's omnipotence has been gone for five years, we just have to guess at that sort of thing now.

Jon: For legal reasons, that last statement was a joke. In fact, to cover all of our bases, we do not guarantee that any of our responses are genuine.

Martin: Just because we say we'll answer things doesn't mean we'll answer truthfully. Though, honestly, I think we might make it more enjoyable if we do tell the truth. Like, I don't necessarily have a fun lie prepared for our first question from konspiracyking97: "What's their fuckin deal anyway?"

Jon: Is this referring to the oblique references  we've made about being from a parallel reality and only ending up here as a consequence of ending one apocalypse and potentially starting another or the general premise of the show?

Martin: Oh, it's gotta be general premise, yeah?

Jon: In that case, I'm Jon, the other voice you're hearing is Martin, we're married, and we talk about things that are..nice? Good? Usually generally but occasionally rather specifically pleasant.

Martin: That pretty much covers it. It's not a complicated show. Uhh, next question comes from Shane: are either or both of you aliens? Nope!

Jon: Well..

Martin: No. We are 100% human people from Earth, we are under no definition extraterrestrial.

Jon: Eh..

Martin: Okay, first off, I know the tone of that 'eh' and "not fully human" is not synonymous with alien, so even if 100% is being a bit generous, we're still from the same planet as our listeners.

Jon:..

Jon: But. We sort of aren't though. Technically speaking.

Martin: No no no no no. I don't care if it's parallel, Earth is Earth is Earth, regardless of whatever nonsense metaphysics might be occurring.

Jon: So what you're saying is that if you got sucked through a portal and landed on an Earth where dinosaurs were still the predominant species, you wouldn't consider yourself to be an alien?

Martin: Nope!

Jon: I'm certain that they would consider you an alien. All of their mammals are probably shrew sized.

Martin: Sounds like a them problem.

Jon: Sounds like a-?! You know what, no, this will be an off the record debate, for now, I suppose I concede that the two Earths and our physiologies are similar enough that we might, maybe, not count as aliens.

Martin: Thank you. Anyway, our next question is from anonymous, and asks, "Is all of this an ARG?"

Jon: A whomst?

Martin: Alternate reality game. It's a method of storytelling that's interactive with audience, and usually has, I dunno, a certain suspension of disbelief to it where it pretends to be something actually happening in the real world until a dramatic reveal. A lot times it was used as a marketing gimmick, but others have done it just for fun. I can show you some examples after the show?

Jon: So it's in essence a more involved creepypasta?

Martin, delighted: Aw, babe, I'm never going to have a handle on what pop culture you are and aren't aware of, huh?

Jon: We were born within a year of each other, and I've told you that I was a deeply morbid teenager, you should probably be able to intuit some of things, love.

Martin: This coming from a man who has yet to see "It's a Wonderful Life", but has seen every film in the "Banjo Cannibals" franchise, including the Easter special. Jesus doesn't exist in the Banjo Cannibals universe, why does it have an Easter special?

Jon: The movies are rather shoddily translated from Russian, so I'm fairly certain the Easter component of that special was invented wholesale in the English version.

Martin: You say that like it answers more questions than it raises.

Jon: Yes, because it does. Oh, and to answer anonymous's question, no, this isn't an ARG. From my understanding of it, if it were, it'd be a poorly constructed one, as there's no real game element to any of this.

Martin: Hmm. Well, sometimes the game component is just trying to figure out what's going on with the story, or if there's any deeper content, and people are definitely doing that with this show.

Jon: That's not by design though. It's more a side effect of us having poor brain to mouth filters, I'd say.

Martin: Harsh, but fair. Oh, this next one is from Zac, no K, who asks, "Are you two actually even married?"

Jon, flat: We are, but it's under false names because this whole thing is an elaborate insurance scam.

Jon, incredulous: Yes, obviously, we're married. What did you hear in this podcast that would make you wonder otherwise, and how do we rectify it?

Martin: Clearly we need to up our quota for how "disgustingly in love" and "horrifically sappy" we are per episode. Which segues nicely into the next question from Gwen, "What's your favourite wonderful thing you've brought so far?" My answer: my husband. He's kind of my favourite in most things, you know?

Jon: Boooooo

Martin: Why, what's your favourite thing?

[Jon reluctantly sighs]

Jon, indulgent: being married.

Martin: A: serves you right for trying to pretend you're the less horrifically sappy and romantic one even though earlier today someone put a love note in the lunch they packed for me-

Jon:- Lies and slander! I have never, in my life, done that, even once.

Martin: Oh, sure, not even once. And you definitely don't reserve the lilac sticky notes specifically for my lunches because you know I like the colour. 

Jon: I..I don't.. you're rather ruining my image here.

[Martin snorts]

Martin: Can't have the audience think that you are, on occasion, an incredibly doting husband-

Jon: -A title I would argue we both share-

Martin: - which is obviously why, even with it being your favourite thing you've brought, being married to me is just a small wonder-

Jon, audibly rolling his eyes: As I already explained-

[A Pause}

Jon: Actually, you're right-

Martin: Wait-

Jon:- I really should have brought it as a larger wonder-

Martin: Wait-

Jon: though I should warn you, I think I'd have far too much material for just one little segment-

Martin: No no no no no-

Jon:- In fact, I think I might have too much material for just one little episode-

Martin: Joo-oon-

Jon: I might have to do a whole series! Where would I even start? I mean I could talk about how every day I get to watch the early morning sun highlight your curls when I get up first, or hear you quietly humming and shuffling around the kitchen when you do, or I could talk about how the lunch notes only started in the first place as retaliation to the notes you would leave on the mirror for me to find, or how every time I get to see you at ease in a way that you aren't with anyone else, it takes my breath away, or I could talk about how cute I find the lines between your eyebrows that you only get when you're thinking something petty, but you know it's petty so you don't want to say anything-

Martin: Okay, okay, Christ, I give !up I surrender, and will cease my teasing on this particular topic.

Jon, probably making the :3 face: You don't have to stop. I mean, I could also discuss how very, very attractive I find your voice when it takes on a teasi-mmph!

[There's a pleased hum, then a pause.]

[The audio quality is slightly changed, as if the recording has been stopped and then started later]

Martin, giddy: Uh, heh, anyway, Eric asked what the least favourite thing we've brought was, and because of Jon's attempt to embarrass me live-

Jon, overlapping: It's definitely not live-

Martin:- on air, I'm gonna say it's my husband.

[Jon scoffs]

Jon : If the past few minutes are any sort of indication, I'm going to go ahead and saying that you are lying.

Martin, sighing contentedly: Maybe a bit, but how was I supposed to resist when your indigance gives you that adorable little nose scrunch? In reality, my least favourite thing was probably, um, mini golf? Which, I still don't think is inherently bad, definitely superior to regular golf, but when it's the only thing a next door two year old wants to do with you, the charm begins to wear off a bit.

Jon: Wow. A rather scathing review of a toddler.

Martin: Not so much a scathing review of a toddler as it's a scathing review of minigolf's inability to keep its appeal after the third time in the same week.

Jon: Mmm, the sound effects rather quickly go from part of the atmosphere to part of the irritation, don't they?

Martin: So what's your least favorite thing we've covered here?

Jon: Oh, love, I'm not going to pretend to have nearly enough memory of what we've covered so far to have a least favorite.

Martin: Really? Nothing that you regret or rescind?

Jon: Well, regret, certainly. It was one of the weeks where you went first, and your second item was mutual aid funds, and what they can do for marginalized communities, and I had to follow it with fucking Slapchop.

Martin, poorly suppressing laughter: In your defence, Slapchop, or whatever offbrand we have, is pretty useful, especially when either your scar or my arthritis is acting up.

Jon: I'm still not convinced you didn't somehow see my notes for the recording and decided you get revenge for the first year that we knew each other.

Martin, no longer suppressing his laughter: Yep, you got me! This marriage wasn't an act of insurance fraud, but it was a near decade long con to humiliate you on a podcast that about twenty people listen to. I'll draft up the divorce papers immediately, and then we can finally go our separate ways. 

Jon: I'm glad you've at last admitted it. Such a weight off of my shoulders. Goodbye forever then.

Martin: Right.

Jon: Right.

[A beat.]

[There's a pfft from one of them, before both dissolve into giggles that lasts a good 30 seconds.]

Martin, slightly out of breath: I can't believe we're the kind of people that talk this much about speciality kitchen gadgets.

Jon: Sorry about that.

Martin: God, don't apologize. I'm, like, deliriously happy with our varying degrees of useful cooking ware filled life. If you had told 25 year old me that one day he'd be debating the merits of getting a tortilla press with his husband, he'd have wept, I tell you.

Jon: Funny, if you told 25 year old me the same thing, he would've said "You don't know the future,piss off" and then quietly have a bit of a panic at 3 am that night.

Martin: I bet you were insufferable in your mid-twenties.

Jon: First of all, who isn't, secondly, I was fresh out of Oxford, and third, I was insufferable in my late twenties, as you can attest to, and I'm insufferable now, as you can further attest to, so extrapolation would indicate that, yes, I was insufferable back then.

Martin: Probably a different kind of insufferable, though.

Jon: There are different kinds?

Martin: Of course! You used to be "prick boss" insufferable and now you're "smug in a way that I can't admit I find hot or it will go straight to your head" insufferable.

Jon, in the aforementioned smug tone: Oh, really?

Martin: See, see! Straight to your head.

Jon: Well straight is probably the wrong descriptor-

Martin: Oof, 4 out of 10 joke, babe.

Jon: That would be a far more convincing rating if you weren't grinning right now.

Martin: It's a genuine review, I'm just well known to be a sucker.

Jon: You and me both, darling.

Martin: Okay, if you're pulling out darling, you're clearly in too giddy of a mood to be focused on recording. Last question, from Jess, "You two mentioned meeting at work, but how did you actually end up together?" That's easy, Jon pulled me out of a hell dimension and then we went on the lam together to Scotland.

Jon: If that's not the way to tell a cute boy you like him, I don't know what is.

Martin: All right, that wraps up this bonus episode, and as the old saying goes, hiding from murderers in a cottage is more conducive to romance than suggesting you gouge out your eyes together.

Jon, cut off: Hey-!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Thirty Four

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Warnings: Cursing, a lil fluff, a lil angst. Y’all know me. Summary: I already knew that whatever my fate in this time, it would be different from my own now.

“This doesn’t seem such a bad place to be. I’m an Admiral here,” Eli smiled.

“Well you’re technically not you, so someone that looks and sounds like you is an Admiral,” I reminded him, “You would not be an Admiral if we got stuck here.”

“Have you looked yourself up yet?” 

“No.”

“Why not?-- Maybe you and Pike are loved up somewhere.”

He was teasing, or trying to, but I couldn’t take the jest in stride. I hadn't told him what Mr. Spock had told me about Christopher in this universe; I hadn’t told anyone. I was trying not to let it cloud my mind. I wanted to focus on the task at hand: returning to our universe. But how could this new insight not make that mission all the more urgent? “...Hey,” Eli frowned, “What is it?” I glanced at him, considering. I couldn’t tell Eli— I’d hardly gotten Spock to tell me. Besides, if my hunch was correct and the same events didn’t occur in our universe, it could sound an alarm for nothing. I just shook my head, excusing, “Just...Can’t believe I didn’t attend the Academy in this universe— at least, not with Spock. I can’t imagine going to the Academy without him. We practically lived in the long-range sensor lab together our second year.” “I didn’t know that.” “...Eli, this has to work. We have to get back.” “This Spock says there’s a 12.31% chance that our plan works. That leaves an incredibly large margin of error—” “Durling, you are the Captain of the Pinnacle. What is a pinnacle? It’s a successful point, a culmination. You were over the frickin’ moon when you became Captain— and you’re just going to roll over because there’s a version of you that’s become an Admiral in some universe? Why not focus some of that smugness into your work, get us home, and become an Admiral where people that really know you will be able to see it?” Eli was quiet for a moment, watching me before his eyes darted to the doorway behind us. “I thought that the captains were meant to make the rousing speeches,” Came Kirk’s amused voice behind us. I turned to look at him and Mr. Spock and cleared my throat. “Yes, well… Sometimes Communications officers have to drum up a speech or two to get a captain’s wheels turning,” I grumbled, tucked my hands behind my back. “The occasions are far and few between,” Durling added. -- “Commander, a word, if I may.” “Yes, Mr. Spock?” I turned from the transporter bay with Durling and the rest of our crew was preparing to return to the Pinnacle. “I took the liberty of looking into your existing whereabouts in this universe.” My stomach swooped in fear and anticipation. “Oh– You did not have to do that.” “I must admit that I found it quite curious that you were so adamant about learning about Captain Pike’s future and not your own.” My eyes lowered to the floor as I considered my answer, “Well… Perhaps I care more about the fate of my friends than my own. Is that terribly suspicious?” “I believe I used the word curious, Commander.” “...I guess you did,” I conceded. Spock nodded a little, bringing an envelope out from behind his back. “I cannot force you to come to terms with your own fate in this time,” He said, “But I will allow you the opportunity, should you choose it.” I looked at the envelope for a long moment. I already knew that whatever my fate in this time, it would be different from my own now — my beginnings were already different, my day-to-day existence was entirely separate. I hesitated before I reached out, taking hold of the envelope. “Thank you, Mr. Spock,” I nodded. “Have a safe journey, Commander.” “And you,” I raised my hand in a Vulcan salute. Mr. Spock arched a critical brow, tipping his head toward me as he mirrored the gesture. “Live long, and prosper.” -- 

I held my breath as we dropped out of warp. We all held very still and quiet for a moment, but as the moments passed without a hail from Captain Kirk, the Bridge collectively relaxed and began to whoop with relief. I had never been so relieved to not see the Enterprise anywhere in my periphery. I turned to my station, opening the channels to try and get a hold of any ships in the area. I raised my hand to my earpiece, scanning the array of sensors and monitors in front of me. As I waited, I eyed the envelope on my console, as I waited. I shivered a little, shaking my head. While I hated knowing what Christopher may be in for, I hated the idea of my own potential fate sitting just inches from me nearly twice as much. 

-- When I heard that I was receiving a message from the Enterprise, I was expecting Christopher. I had, instead, been greeted by Una. “Before I ask where you’ve been, let me begin with my purpose,” She said, “Thaleh is leaving the Enterprise. We need a Communications officer. You can, of course, decline.” “I’ll need time to pack,” Was my quick answer. “Well, then you can tell me where you’ve been once you beam aboard. And we’ll have to find someone to replace you with for the Pinnacle.” “....Right, that,” I muttered. Una smiled a little. “I’m sure Durling will be disappointed.” “A little, maybe, but he won’t be surprised.” 

“And I should warn you, Pike has been more than a little...harried with your lack of communication.” “Understandable. If one of you suddenly blipped elsewhere, I would be concerned.” Una arched a sharp brow. “Blipped elsewhere?” She repeated, “Well… I’m certainly looking forward to reviewing that log.” 

-- “Door,” I ordered. I didn’t turn away from the box of things that I was unpacking. I could’ve sworn I’d left more notebooks on the Enterprise— “...Finding the new quarters alright?” I stilled at the sound of his voice. So much had happened since we’d warped through the singularity: the Discovery had beamed to an uncertain future, Spock— my Spock, had returned to the Enterprise...And so had Christopher. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Christopher since Mr. Spock had told me of his potential fate. It had been on my mind since I beamed aboard, and it had lingered, even as I settled into my new quarters and unpacked the boxes of my things that had been saved and stored. 

“It’s certainly larger than the last time I was aboard,” I conceded, lowering a notebook and brushing the dust from my hands as I turned to face him. I found Christopher looking around, and I took the chance to look him over. It was nice to see him in Command gold again, especially after that jarring experience of seeing Kirk in Captain’s chair of the Enterprise. Christopher’s eyes drifted to me, finally, and he smiled, “Well, you weren’t a Commander the last time you were aboard.” “That is an excellent point.” Christopher was quiet for a moment before he took a couple of steps deeper into the room. His hands were still tucked behind his back, and I found myself wishing that he would just reach out; I wish that I felt like I could. “What happened out there?” He asked, “Una used the word blipped.” I sighed softly, scrubbing my hand over my brow. I’d explained to Una exactly what had happened as I’d unpacked what I’d brought over from the Pinnacle. “Oh… Sometimes you accidentally warp through a singularity and wind up a universe where you never went to Starfleet. Typical Thursday, you know.” Christopher’s brows rose, his head tipping forward. “An alternate universe?” He repeated. I nodded. “I know you’ve some experience with that. Una told me about the Terran incident before I became part of the crew. It’s uh…. Jarring.” “It certainly is.” “We were only there for about three days but here, it was… It was months.” Christopher nodded as he came to a full stop just in front of me, looking down into my box from storage. “Everything you needed in there?” He asked. “Um— … Could’a sworn I had a couple hundred more notebooks aboard, but it’s been a while, you know. And Pal might have a few, I used to lend them to him all the time for conjugations and stuff,” I leaned back against my desk, folding my arms across my chest, “You’re um… You’re alright?” “Fine. It’s nice to see that you’re in one piece. I was concerned.” That warmed me more than it was surely meant to, and I had to duck my head to hide the smile that crept up at his admission. “I didn’t mean to concern you. I can point you in the direction of the singularity that we warped through, if you’d like to pick a fight.” Christopher huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head a little bit. “How about I just...See you on the Bridge tomorrow?” “Sounds good, Captain.” “Don’t be late.” “I wouldn’t dare, sir.” I smiled, watching Christopher leave my quarters. I sighed softly, sliding off of my desk and into my chair, looking out of my window for a few moments. I had a warm feeling swirling in my chest, something safe and soft. It felt like home. Tag list: @angels-pie​​ ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​​  ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​​ ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know​​ ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles​​ ; @inmyowncorner​​  ; @tardis-23​​  ; @paintballkid711​​ ; @katrynec​​ ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranel​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​ ; @hotchswifey​​​

[lemondoddle]

The Incident

ao3 link

It was Thursday afternoon and Jon was hiding in his office, pretending that he wasn’t avoiding Martin. Well. Alright. He was avoiding Martin a little bit, but it’s not like he was avoiding him out of malice or irritation, he just… can’t really look at him right now, which doesn’t exactly sound better. Look, the whole mess had started because Martin had suddenly become a lot more...tactile around Jon. It’s not that Martin wasn’t a touchy-feely person in general- Jon noticed Martin’s friendly touches with Sasha and listened to rave reviews about his hugs from Tim- it just seemed so sudden and unlikely for Martin to extend that to Jon. He assumed that technically being Martin’s superior (along with being a bit of an ass if he’s honest with himself) would have deterred the man from being so friendly, and yet...

  It was little things at first; a hand on the shoulder to get Jon’s attention, seemingly not being aware if their hands brushed while he handed out tea, and on one particularly distracting occasion, a large but feather-light hand placed on Jon’s back as he squeezed past him in the breakroom. Each time left Jon still feeling warmth in the areas Martin had made contact, as if he was still there. Nothing he couldn’t shake off and ignore to fall back into his work though. At least- it was like that until The Incident.

The Incident had occurred just minutes ago.

Jon had been walking through the stacks of the archives looking for a specific statement that might have been related to the one he’d just recorded. He would describe making his way through the shelves as “a bit lost in thought” while others might say “dead to the world”. Either way, his attention was preoccupied and therefore did not notice Martin making his way from the other end. The thing about the stacks is that there is very little space in between shelves even for one person, much less two. Martin did his best to stay out of the way, as he often seemed to do, but inevitably bumped against Jon as he made his way past. Jon jolted back, snapping out of his trance, twisted to face the sudden contact and immediately slammed his back into the shelving unit behind him somewhat violently. Upon impact, some of the file boxes haloing Jon began to wobble and tip forward. Martin took notice and lunged forward with an “Oh!”, splaying his arms out to stabilise the boxes. Once the commotion settled and Jon was aware of his surroundings, he desperately wished he wasn’t as he took in the scene in front of him. Pinned against the shelf with Martin in incredibly close proximity, arms on either side of Jon’s head. None of which was helped by their disparage in height leading to Jon being nearly face-to-chest with the man.

It took several agonizingly long seconds to process what on earth just happened before either of them started to move. “Oh christ- I’m so sorry Jon I didn’t mean to startle you-” Martin sputtered, face flushing an impressive shade of pink as he backed away quickly as he could while still being mindful of the shelves. As he did so his hands rested feather-light on Jon’s shoulders for just a moment before falling away, but Jon felt that phantom heat all the same and had to take yet another moment to compose himself.  

“It’s, uh, it’s fine Martin. I was a bit zoned out there, I had no idea you were there.” Though not quite as red as Martin, Jon’s face still burned as he desperately avoided eye contact. While the shock and mortification dissipated, Jon’s mind lingered on that small touch and took note of another feeling, familiar from his previous moments of contact with Martin that he couldn’t quite place. There was something else there, an underlying emotion lurking after each of the brief touches Jon received, but only after the contact had ceased. Relief didn’t feel quite right. Coldness? No, it was more- wait.

Loss. Longing. A desire for the contact to return and to stay.

Fucking Hell.

At this realization coming on with all the grace and tenderness of a freight train, Jon did his best to spit out an excuse and promptly sped out from the stacks, refusing to look back and silently thankful for always having been a fast walker. He snaked through the bullpen back to his office and caught a glimpse of Tim and Sasha, who were fairly in view of the whole scene and most likely having an oscar-worthy dialogue through eyebrow and facial expressions alone. Jon somewhat succeeded in not slamming the door shut before collapsing into his chair, throwing his glasses off and pressing his hands so hard into his face he’d be concerned of bruising in any other circumstance.

So, there he was. squirrelled away in his office and wishing he could deny himself as easily as he does the statements that surround him. As if taking on the archaic archives mess in a position he was unqualified for wasn’t enough, now he’s got a traitorous heart to boot. Great. It just had to be Martin of all people hadn’t it? Might as well be his luck to fall for the one person he’s been the biggest ass to. What on earth was he going to do now? He was only good at ignoring his feelings when he didn’t look too closely at them, but now that he has unwillingly confronted them he doubted they’ll be easy to push down again. Before Jon could get even farther down his thought spiral though, there was a knock at his door.

“Jon? Are you alright in there?” Martin’s muffled voice could be heard through the door.

 Uh oh. He was in no way recovered enough to be facing anyone at the moment, let alone the source of all these… feelings. Jon froze like a deer in headlights (or as Tim would say, a deer in the headlights of lo- nope nope shut that thought down immediately. focus.). It seems as though Jon’s indecisive silence was enough of an answer for Martin, who called out again.

“Jon? I’m coming in there, okay?” 

Shit. Act natural. Jon scrambled around his desk for a few seconds and managed to shove his glasses back on and grab hold of a statement copy and a pen to pretend like he was doing something as Martin timidly stepped through the door. “Hey, I just wanted to check that you were okay after I knocked into you, you looked pretty spooked back there if I’m being honest.” Jon didn’t even have it in him to pull a face at Martin’s use of the word “spooky” as he fumbled for a sufficient answer.

“H-honestly it’s okay Martin, not the first time I've been startled due to focusing on something, that’s not what I was worried about.” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable response, that is until Jon replayed the last sentence in his head and realized his mistake.

“Really? Then what was?” Martin’s face scrunched up a bit while he recalled their encounter, which only seemed to deepen the furrow in his brow. “Oh, jeez Jon you should have told me that I was being too touchy with you if it made you uncomfortable!” His hands fluttered to reach out in an apology before seemingly catching himself and withdrawing again. Jon wished that implication would have brought relief, however he found panic spiking yet again and a desperate need to correct it as he rose from his chair.

“No no Martin i- it’s fine I don’t mind when you, ah-” he stopped short. This was all getting to be a little too much for his brain right now.

“Really? Because you don’t sound terribly convincing at the moment..”

“Yes, really! Look-” he reached out to Martin to prove his point. “See? Completely fine.”

Martin’s face turned from slightly concerned to wide-eyed and rapidly reddening. “Um...Jon?” he squeaked out.

“Yes? what is it?” Jon finally looked down at where he reached to Martin and briefly wondered what Elias’ strategy was in hiring a head archivist who lacked a brain.Turns out that Jon hadn’t settled for just a hand resting on the arm, oh no, instead he opted for taking Martin’s hand in his. So there they stood in Jon’s office. Holding hands. Jon wondered what the odds of lighting striking him were while standing in a basement.

“O...kay.. Um, do you think you maybe need to sit down again?” Jon would have liked to be irritated at the way Martin was speaking to him as though he was an elderly particularly off their rocker, but he had to admit that the rapid string of events has done quite a number on his composure, so he conceded and moved back to sit down. “Uh, J-Jon?” 

“Hm? Oh-” Realizing that his hand was still gripping Martin’s, Jon finally pulled his hand away and sat down. Martin let him settle down for a moment before grabbing another chair and pulling it to his side to sit by Jon.

“...Right. Now,can I ask what’s actually going on, Jon? Because even before what happened today you've still acted odd when I would touch you, but I had just kinda shrugged it off before, thought it was just you being you, I guess. But seriously, if it makes you uncomfortable I’ll gladly stop! You just need to tell me.”

 “Martin, I can assure you that how I have reacted has not been because of you specifically,” He hoped Martin couldn’t tell how bad of a liar he was, “I apologize for worrying you, but you don’t have to change how you interact with me. I-i don’t mind.”

Martin stared at Jon while the words sunk in before he tentatively reached his hand out and placed it gently (always so gently) on Jon’s arm. “So. is this, okay?” Jon once again stilled and did his best to sound sure but not too eager.

“Yes.”

“A-and...this?” Martin’s other arm reached out to rest on Jon’s other arm as well, mirroring the touch from earlier. “This is okay too?” His eyes were locked onto Jon’s, face in an intense yet unreadable expression. Jon felt his own hands moving of their own accord to lay on Martin’s arms, only trusting himself to nod as they stared into each other’s eyes. Jon’s brain was already frazzled at this point but he could have almost sworn that the space between their faces was shrinking and inching together, closer, closer…

“-Hey Jon if you’re done being weird I finished the follow-up on the goldfish statement if you w- uuuuuhhhhh…” Tim’s voice rang loud and clear as he barged in but quickly stopped short at the sight in front of him. The two flinched away from each other instantly, Jon smacking his elbow on the desk and Martin nearly knocking off the contents resting on top of it.

“CHRIST Tim!! Knock! Please!!” Martin squawked, face turning bright red that, combined with his freckles, made him look like a rather embarrassed strawberry. Jon was caught between glowering at Tim and avoiding eye contact with him at all, still rubbing his sore elbow. Tim’s face on the other hand was transitioning from bewilderment to an unreasonably cheeky grin while he caught on to the situation.

“My, my! So sorry to interrupt the newlyweds, how ever rude of me!” If Tim’s smile got any wider it could have been statement worthy. “Come to think of it, I just remembered some important case notes I want to check over with Sasha, it’s very important she hears it. Well then, I’ll just leave you two to it then, eh?” And with a dramatic wink, Tim left almost as quickly as he entered. Jon and Martin stared at the office door for a few moments waiting for their heart rates to settle when Martin broke the silence.

“I should uh, go out and check on them before they get too loud about it.”

“Right…”

Martin looked back to Jon once more and, after a moment’s hesitation, quickly grabbed Jon by the hand and gave a light squeeze, offering a shy smile before quickly heading out of the office.

 Jon, left staring slack-jawed at the door once more, decided what his next move as Head Archivist would be; dig out his phone and earbuds, pull up an ancient playlist, lay on the floor and maybe think a little too much about hands and warmth. 

[illogicallyinclined]

Which pep talker is the one who gives the “go out there. Fuck shit up. Win.” And who is the one who wipes away an imaginary tear going “beautiful”

ah, public speaking

tws: cursing, threats of violence (but between friends)

Virgil is, 100%, the “go out there. fuck shit up. win” speaker. it’s succinct. it’s effective. it gives Coach Thomas headaches. 10/10

D is the one to wipe away an imaginary tear (because defensemen pair solidarity), but his speeches tend to err more on the side of “don’t play like garbage, losers” 

Remus is also the “fuck shit up” sort, but his speeches are a bit more detailed (and a great deal more violent) than that. Joan warns him not to scare the Freshman too badly, but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (What can you do?)

Roman is typically the king of rousing pep talks. charisma Out the Ass, Speech 100. if you don’t leave the locker room feeling like you could fight a god and win, then you weren’t paying enough attention. (the downside of this is that, when Roman’s not feeling it, it shows. and after Logan’s concussion, Roman is rarely feeling it)

Patton is also up there with Roman in the Legendary Pep Talker category – because emotions are his space, they’re his area – but sometimes, he ends up forgetting that he’s supposed to be motivating everyone and ends up just talking about how much he loves them instead (which. “it’s very heartwarming, and we love you too, but also Please Tell Us How to Win”) 

Emile is a nice blend of Patton’s overwhelming love for this team and Logan’s no-nonsense approach to winning a hockey game, which makes him an ideal speaker for games following a particularly demoralizing second period (which, although rare, occur on occasion)

Remy’s pep talks are simultaneously very affectionate and very passive-aggressive because he loves these dumb hoes, but a Bitch is Tired, and if he has to face over 40 shots on net then why do the Aces even Have Defensemen (’sorry Emile, love you’) 

Logan can actually be a pretty persuasive speaker when he wants to be (i.e. his speech on how knowledge is power), but in general, his pep talks to the team are focused more-so on strategy than they are on eliciting any sort of emotional response: pointing out weaknesses in the other team’s goalie and defense. suggesting ways to modify the Aces own style of play to capitalize on these weaknesses. reminding the team that he’s here to bail them out if need-be, but also “if we have more than four penalties in the first period, i might scream”

Some OCs

Alex R is a bad choice for pep talks – not because he is inarticulate or lacks affection for the team, but rather because he lacks the energy to properly engage 20 College Boys who are amped up on adrenaline. just,,, “no thanks, i’m good, someone else can go for me”

Myles, similarly, refuses to talk. cynicism is one of his central traits, so he tolerates pep talks from others, but he will be damned if he ever has to give one himself

Julian is timid when it comes to public speaking – even if it’s just speaking to teammates who he widely considers to be his friends – so he, like Alex R and Myles, is likely to concede the floor before offering to give the pep talk. (maybe he’ll give it a shot next year)

Payton’s speeches have next to nothing to do with the hockey game that the team is about to play – chances are, he’ll lose track of what he’s thinking a few sentences in and just wing it – but damn if that funky little Irishman doesn’t know how to get a locker room popping. he’s a good speaker for days where team energy seems low

Jared is a huge fucking meme, and it shows. if his pep talk doesn’t have the phrase “get dunked on” at least once, then did he really give a pep talk at all?

Holly’s speeches end up turning into full-length rants about how he’s going to knee Jared in the throat if he fills my gloves with glitter one more time – which. honestly? that’s valid as hell

Bo typically hates speaking out loud, but the first time he’s asked to give the pep talk (and D prepares himself to translate the signs), the team is surprised when Bo just… talks, stutter and all. (it’s probably the loudest that the team has ever cheered for one of these things)

[bibliocratic]

Jonmartin prompt: Jon wants to cuddle Martin very badly and is also super awkward about it, like "how do I touch you without my elbows crushing something"

(post 160, jonmartin)(this is… well, it’s sort of what you were after? hope it’s ok!)

It’s not easy, the slapdash and imprecise art of communication. Martin’s never been particularly adept. His words trip over footholds of his own making on their way out of his mouth. He has a stammer he’s never quite rid himself of, his words too earnest or too anxious to showcase any finesse at the skill.

And Jon…

Well. Jon.

It wasn’t simple before, twisting the tape back to the start of all this, Jon talking like a car trying to jump start when things felt too personal, his indelicate sincerity that struck with all the tenderness of an anvil. And Martin likes to think they were both getting better, before. They had three weeks of stumbling, artless practise, their amateur declarations witnessed by no-one but the wind and evening-dappled fields that stretched like lazy days for miles around.

And now.

Martin wouldn’t say Jon’s up to managing much talking now.

Oh, he’s not silent. Chatty in his own way, and the conversations they have are tug-of-wars, teasing, testing to find the edges their pieces slot into.

Easy isn’t the word for it though. Martin supposes, it was never going to be.

They’ve stopped for a few days to gather themselves. They’ve made it as far south as Melrose on the borders, and it would have been a pretty market town, antique fairs and village fetes and a eye-catching ruin of a fourteenth century monastery, if the Hunt hadn’t passed this way, maybe the Spiral too. There isn’t much left here in the way of civilisation, and little to nothing in the way of humanity. There are shadows like the imprints on wall after the outpouring shock of a bomb, but their limbs do not concede to the shape of limbs. They sway as leaves on a branch, like they’re hanging from where their feet are stuck to the ground, and Martin tugs them clear of their gathering places.

They’ve managed to let themselves into the half-unhinged door of a little high street shop that used to sell fancy card and stationary. They had tried an art gallery further up the road, but the Dark had started to take root there like black mould, and it’d eaten away the ground floor to yawning inky nothing.

Martin asks Jon if they’ll be safe here, and Jon rallies himself  wearily, Looks. He replies that nothing will come for them, and that’s as much as they can ask for these days.

Above the shop, accessed via a back-room still plugged up and packed with unopened boxes, up carpeted stairs on which bundles of unopened notebooks and special occasion cards balance committedly against the will of gravity, there’s a small flat.  The decoration in the flat is… interesting. It’s more something one of Tim’s friends would have had, the few times Tim got Martin to go out with him for one of his ‘de-stress Friday’ sessions.  Martin would laugh at the wall-hangings like indoor curtains, the posters of the zodiac and some tie-dye hippy representation of chakras, the bong even still on the coffee table in the poky living room, except his attention is slightly more taken up by Jon at the moment. Leant against him like a downed tree, his eyes drooping closed and his legs fast failing him, shuddering from the effort of taking the stairs.

The way here was treacherous. There’s a town further north about forty miles swallowed by the Vast.  Jon tries to avoid Seeing as much as possible, of course he does, and Martin will never ask that of him outright, never, but they’ve had to check if the way is safe a number of times. And each time he opens the door or whatever metaphor Jon uses to understand it, it drains something from him it takes a long time to claw back.

Martin drops his backpack by the entrance. Divests Jon of his. Jon sways and blinks with lidded eyes, and his gestures are sloppy, poorly formed. Martin ends up carrying him to single bed off to the right of the staircase, the room still wreathed in the old stale smell of tobacco and weed.

Once Jon’s out for the count, Martin checks the doors, the windows, their rations and supplies with the religious militancy of a man who knows what happens when they don’t. He counts out rations, makes careful notations in his notebook with a stubby pencil sharpened by his pen-knife. The cupboards of the flat are mostly a bust, but there’s a few cans of baked beans, tinned peaches, and the delight of finding a single can of tinned custard, which Martin stashes to surprise Jon with later.

There’s a billy bookcase next to the non-functioning TV, crowded full of precarious piles of console game boxes and disordered books and back issues of the Fortean Times. Martin peruses through a number of books on mysticism, the paranormal and how one can access their inner self before he finds a glossy hardback on origami to entertain himself.

The sky outside is dark and scratched with an ugly bruising colour,  but it’s likely to be only mid afternoon. Martin ventures back down the staircase and grabs some coloured card before he settles back into the spring-less corner of a battered settee draped with a brightly adorned throw blanket. There’s another, equally obnoxiously shaded blanket of clashing colours, and he places it over himself and gets comfortable.

It’s a few hours later when he hears the bed squeak.  A clearing of a throat, the unsteady padded steps of someone who hasn’t found their equilibrium just yet.

Jon pushes the door open with a sighing squeak and peers blearily around.

The nap hasn’t helped at all by the look of it. Martin turns mid-fold and gets to see a crime scene of disturbed sleep evidenced on Jon’s body. One of Martin’s long-sleeve t-shirts rucked up, the under arms and ring around his neck patched damp. His skin rippled with a thick sweat, hair coming wildly and carelessly from the band he’d tied it back in. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s still following the motion of running, and his eyes as he stares at Martin are unnaturally dilated, unnervingly steady even as he scrubs his face with his hand.  

“Hey,” Martin says carefully. Knowing to keep his voice pitched low, calmer than Jon feels right now. “Are you… everything ok?”

Jon pauses, blinks just too slowly to seem natural, and shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asks. “If you can… if you want to say, that it.”

Jon pauses. It’s habit now. A nervous tic. Mulling over what he wants to say and how he’ll say it.

He has to be so careful with how he says things.

Martin’s expecting a truncated gesture or two. A stumbling sign that Martin will have to parse, backed up by a thousand other signifiers of meaning in their home-spun language. But unusually, Jon clears his throat, bites his top lip anxiously before he opens his mouth.

Like tuning in a radio station mid-programme, someone else’s words ring out.

“I allowed myself some brief hope,” Jon’s voice sloshes out of his mouth with a South American cadence. “that maybe he’d just left me, maybe he’d escaped with just a divorce. But no. One call to the housing association confirmed that, as far as they were concerned, I’d always lived alone.”

Most of the statements Martin doesn’t recognise. He’s not been cursed with an encyclopaedic knowledge of them after all, a forced and unwilling archive now capable of speaking in every voice but his own. They’re all the same anyway. The recycling of other people’s tragedies and miseries, their worst days committed for posterity and recited dutifully by the archive Jonah Magnus created to house them.

Jon usually doesn’t share the content of his dreams.

“Nightmare?” Martin says, deliberately lightly. He puts down his truly butchered attempt to make a swan and watches as Jon swallows, brings a hand to his mouth to gnaw at a nail.

He wonders if that’s the right word, knows in his heart it isn’t, not really. Because nightmares are a twisting of things that both are and aren’t, a plaited deceitful recollection of an unkind brain. Jon’s dreams are a hideous witnessing, with no hope of challenge of change.

Jon jerkily nods, before he says in that awful ventriloquism:

“… regarding a series of misplaced objects lost over the course of three months.”

Jon’s started to rub his arms. His lips firmly closed again, as though embarrassed he’s shared the history he’s been watching in his dreams. But he did share it. And that’s notable.

Martin holds up a corner of the blanket on the settee, and chides “Get in here, or you’ll catch your death”, and Jon’s crossing the distance as though he was waiting for the signal.

They don’t say anything for the while. Jon folds himself up against Martin’s side like a gangly greetings card, like one of his obviously failed origami projects. Martin puts an arm around his shoulder and consigns himself to the rather shocking robbery of body heat that’s rapidly occurring. Jon accepts the arm, but the tension is still wound through his marrow, and he doesn’t calm like he usually does.

“This one really bothered you, didn’t it?” Martin says.

A twitchy up-down motion.

“How come?” Martin asks, before:  “If you want to talk about it. If not, well, I can tell you all about my grand adventures in paper folding. A wild ride, I can promise.”

Jon raises an eyebrow at the truly dazzling menagerie of wobbly animals, and huffs a stale laugh.

He brings out his hands from where he’d buried them in the furnace of Martin’s space, and makes a sign, a twisting hooked hand motion  - Spiral. And then, shakier, flatter, his fingers closed like shutters – Lonely.

“As far as they were concerned,” he repeats with a mournful and stolen tongue, “I’d always lived alone.”

He makes a sign again, and meets Martin’s eye like he’s been trying not to – Lonely.

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

“You’ve not lost me,” Martin says, reading in between the lines of Jon’s gestures. “I’m here, yeah? Alright. And we’re together. I’m not lost.”

Jon makes a grunt of acknowledgement, inclining his head in agreement, impatiently, as though he knows all this, like he begrudges being reminded. But clearly this knowledge hasn’t stained every part of his waking yet, because there are tears slipping unwanted from his eyes and his hand grips Martin harder.

His gaze flickers like a camera shutter from the floor and its foot-scuffed rug to Martin, back and forth. Martin wishes, not for the first time, that Jon could just ask for what he wants. Could stop feeling like he needs to justify every out-reaching motion to himself, approaching physical affection like he’s trying to do the cryptic bloody crossword.

He’s learning. They both are.

“What do you want me to do?” Martin asks instead.

Jon’s eyes finally linger on him. Cheeks damp, eyes red. He removes his hand from Martin’s grip like he’s unmooring a ship from port. His next movements being planned behind his eyes. A methodical consideration of angle, of intent, of reciprocation that’s as much caution as it is overthinking. Martin wonders sometimes whether this is the Jon he always was, or the Jon that’s been made by this world and all that’s been laid against him. Maybe it’s one or the other or both, or maybe it doesn’t matter much any more. This is Martin’s Jon, the Jon that is, the one that is thinking about how he’s going to place his limbs as though there’s a wrong way to it, who will steady himself before he’ll reach out. But who always does, eventually, in his own time.

His arms encircle Martin’s neck now. A pause, a release of air, before he’s pulling back, fretting like something hasn’t worked. But he clearly wants something, enough to push through his dissatisfaction, face folded in on itself unhappily before it sets in determination and then he goes for around Martin’s chest, fingers steadying, finding their own bony handholds in the material of Martin’s jumper. The right angles of his elbows, the washboard of his ribs felt under his shirt, they don’t have any give and Martin shifts a little to ease the hard sensation of it, try and reorient them better. Jon picks up on this, already trying to shift again or perhaps even move away, and if his tongue could still form apologies, he’d be making them.

Martin’s arms come round decisively, closing the circuit of them.

“Stop fussing,” he murmurs, and Jon quietens. Face against the round of Martin’s chest, the hand that’s not still gripped vice-like carefully combining through his damp hair.

“This ok?” Martin says finally, wanting to know, wanting Jon to feel like he can tell him.

Jon lifts his head. Nods, brings their lips together for a skimming kiss, like he’s sealing the sentiment.

He shuffles his body so he’s wedged next to Martin, taking up any crevice he finds. After a moment, pulling and positioning Martin’s arm back over his shoulder, so it drapes heavy and solid and present. A lightness on his face that sleep couldn’t achieve but a victory Martin likes to claim as his own every time.

It is no hardship for Martin to understand every one of these expressions just fine.

[heyitsn1kk1]

Nameless Pt. 2

Nameless

Part 2: Not a bounty hunter

Synopsis: our nameless assassin and her Mandalorian companion had tracked down their bounty, things don’t go exactly as planned.

*The plan is to finish this series before school starts back up again

*enjoy

—————————————————————

I’ll admit it, this it’s the exactly one of my brightest ideas.

Here I was, caged inside a rickety old ship with a complete stranger who happened to be a Mandalorian armed to the teeth.

Not to mention I couldn’t get a read on him because of that stupid helmet and his perpetual silence(aside form the insane amount of sighing that man did).

It didn’t set well with me how immensely vulnerable I was, nothing was really on my terms anymore. One wrong move and I piss the man off, then I’m royally screwed.

I’m no stranger to dangerous men, hell I make them my business. Yet I’m not conceded enough to not recognize when I’m in way over my head.

A Mandalorian, one of the most feared warriors in the galaxy, that is who yours truly decided to team up with.

Oh fuck I’m such an idiot.

My hand hadn’t left my dagger since I stepped onto the Mando’s ship and I gripped it even tighter now.

Suddenly I heard metallic clanking as my partner clambered down the ladder into the lower level of the ship from the cockpit.

I nearly drew my dagger but forced myself to look as nonchalant as possible.

“We’re here.” That’s the first thing he’s said to me since the cantina.

I hadn’t even noticed we landed, that’s how nervous I was. I needed to get a grip, nervousness on a job just leads to missteps.

The Mandalorian pressed a button located on the hull of the ship that lowered a ramp. He was about to step out before I interrupted him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He stopped and slowly turned towards me, titling his head. It almost looked like he was saying “ExCuse mE”. Perhaps he wasn’t that hard to read after all.

“Like I said back at the cantina, you are too noticeable in that gear of yours. You practically scream I’m a bounty hunter. Once word that a Mandalorian is here Krath will hightail it.”

I got off the crate I was sitting on and walked past him.

“Let me do some reconnaissance, I’ll be back before sundown.”

As a sauntered off the ship I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.

Since when was it this hard to play pretend?

—

After asking around I found the resort that our Krath Wilgi was staying at. It was quaint compared to the resorts I’m used to in the inner rim. Less high strung and in your face, meaning it was much easier to snoop around.

I had managed to find a locker room where resort employees changed in and out of their work clothes.

I ‘borrowed’ a set and made my way around the property.

As I perused for the next few hours a plan was formulating in my head as I gathered all the information I needed.

—

“I’ve got a plan!” I say as I walked onto the Mandalorian’s ship.

He was presently cleaning his weapons when he looked up at me. I swear it looked like he was thinking something along the lines of “Is that so?”. I’d imagine it being in a condescending tone.

“His room number is 214, he has 20 personal guards which in my opinion is a waste of good money. Who needs 20 people following you around? Oh also there’s a bar on the lower level he is at right now. My guess is that he’s only there for a meal so let’s hurry up!”

I made for my bag and started pulling out different outfits, trying to find one that best suit the occasion.

“It’d be suicide to try and break into his room. What I’m going to try and do is get him alone. I’m assuming that fancy rifle of yours has infrared abilities correct?”

“Yes.”

Really the man does not say much.

“I need you then to get someplace high and monitor what is going on. We both need com links so you are able to tell me the location of all the hired guns for when I start moving the target.”

The red dress is too flashy...

“There’s an alley I’m going to lure Krath into. By that time the guards might be catching onto what is going on so I’m going to need to you snipe them if they get too close.”

I filled the Mandalorian on the specifics as I searched and finally found the outfit I was looking for.

It was an elegant but simple dress, one that alluded to money but not necessarily power. It was perfect for the occasion.

“Any questions?” I finally say sorta winded.

“...how many times have you’ve done something like this?”

“I thought my throughly thought out plan would speak for my experience itself.” I softly chuckled.

“But if you must know its more times than I can count.” I gave him a warm, hopefully trustworthy, smile

He just reached into a pocket a handed me the com link I asked for before.

“Thanks... now if you don’t mind I’m going to close the ramp and ask you to go back to the cockpit so I can change.”

I swear I’ve never seen someone climb up a ladder so quickly. I nearly laughed out loud. There’s something comedic about a big fearless Mandalorian shying away from a women getting changed.

My mind began to wander but I quickly reeled it in, now was not the time to speculate things about my partner. I had a job to do.

—

It took longer than expected but I finally piqued the undivided interest of the young nobleman. He really was a shy one.

As expected he was immediately intimidated by any sort of forwardness. So I opted for a persona that was primarily sweetness and cuteness over something sultry and seductive.

Luckily for me this whole cutesy act also convinced most of the guards around him that I was no threat, in fact they probably thought I was an airhead to be quite frank.

“Any day now.” Mando said over the com.

Shut the fuck up and let me do my job was what I wanted to say but for the sake of not getting on my intimidating partners bad side I opted instead for a softly whispered “I’m working on it”.

I’m quite the conversationalist, my entire career depended on it. So in no time I had the nobleman’s son waving off his guards as I led him upstairs to my ‘room’.

Unfortunately for him my room was a dusty back alley where I pressed a concealed blaster between his shoulder blades.

“Make this easy for me will you and keep quiet and walk forward.”

“B-but I thought—“

“You thought wrong now walk.”

I nudged him with the blaster and he moved forward.

“Okay Mando what’s the clearest path?”

“Incoming, you’ve got two guards on your tail.”

Shit.

“Okay don’t shoot just yet you’ll alert the rest of them.”

Mando was about to say something else but was cut off by shouting.

“Hey unhand him!”

Just my luck.

“Take one step forward and your client gets his heart blown out of his chest!” I snarled spinning around yanking the Mon Calamari in front of me.

“Listen to her!!!” He hoarsely cried out.

For a few breathless seconds we stood there staring each other down.

“A little help” I softly whispered into the com.

“I’m working on it.” I heard a grunt over the com over the sound of blaster fire.

Shit shit shit.

Suddenly there was rustling near one of the hired guns.

Something poked its head out from behind a trash can... a kid?

One of the hired guns noticed as well and I saw a spark light up in their eyes.

They wouldn’t dare.

Quicker then the kid could react the man snatched the him up pressing a blaster against the child’s temple.

“Let the Mon Calamari go or the kid gets it.”

“You wouldn’t—“

“I’m fucking serious bitch!”

The kid let out a cry of pain as the man shoved the blaster even harder against his skull.

“Okay okay! I’ll let him go.”

I was a lot of bad things, but I wasn’t the kind of bad that let an innocent child get killed.

“Drop your blaster too!” He spat.

I lowered my blaster and dropped it to the ground, kicking it away from me.

Krath made a mad dash and as soon as he left my side the hired gun turned his blaster on me and fired.

I anticipated the action and dove behind a broken crate. Yet despite my invasive action I still felt a sharp pain over the top of my hip as a blaster bolt grazed past.

Backup had come for the hired guns and they were shooting from all sides.

All I could do was huddle up behind the meager cover I had and pray that today wasn’t the day.

Then all the sudden the blaster fire was redirected, I risked a glance over the crate and saw mercenary after mercenary disintegrated before my eyes.

Now was my chance.

I leapt for my blaster and dashed after Krath who had a small posey surrounding him as they ran presumably to their escape craft.

I exchanged multiple shots, I even managed to take one of the guards down. But in the end they had a head start and easily made it to their ship in time.

I let out a frustrated cry as I shot multiple times at the ship, blaster bolts ricocheting everywhere.

“Fuck!” I screamed as the ship roared skywards.

Apparently I was causing quite the commotion as everyone in the entire shipyard was staring at me.

“The fuck are you looking at!” I glowered at those around me who swiftly resumed what they were doing.

Then the thought suddenly occurred to me.

My partner was back in the alley dealing with the rest of the hired guns.

I sure hope he isn’t dead I thought as I sprinted back to the alley.

As I rounded the the corner all I saw was sheer carnage. The alley was littered with bodies and ragged clothes(presumably the remains of the disintegrated). I was half expecting to find the Mandalorian among them when I head a voice behind him.

“I’m guessing he got away.”

I spun around pointing my blaster in the direction of the voice.

“Whoa whoa! It’s me!” The Mandalorian said with his hands up, a slight tone of panic in his modulated voice.

“Oh sorry.” I say as I lowered my blaster.

He did all this?

All the sudden my fear of the Mandalorian increased.

“And as much as it pains me to say it... yes he got away.”

I couldn’t meet his gaze and I mentally prepared myself for some sort of barrage of insults, maybe even death, but none came.

“You’re bleeding.” That smooth rich voice said.

In another circumstance, where I wasn’t completely humiliated, it would have been nice to hear that soothing voice concerned in a round about way.

I looked down at my hip and sure enough the fabric there was soaked with blood.

I signed deeply, I really did not need another scar.

“Let’s head back to the ship, you can patch yourself up there while I track where the bounty is going.”

He walked past me, not checking to see if I followed.

I stood there for a few moments collecting myself, it seems like bad luck is following me.

On the way back to the ship the Mandalorian surprised me with a question, or in this case it was really more of a statement.

“You’re not a bounty hunter are you.”

My heart skipped a beat.

I could flat out deny it, I’m a very good lier. I could say nothing... or I could come clean.

I was surprised by my own decision.

“No. I’m not.”

A heavy sigh was the response I got.

I suddenly felt the urge to justify myself.

“I’m an assassin, close enough to a bounty hunter...”

“But not the same thing” we both said at once.

I looked up at him but he was just staring straight ahead.

“Killing is easy enough, I never imagined keeping a bounty alive would be hard.” I admitted.

“Next time I’m wrangling the bounty.” He said and I could of sworn there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

For some reason I was determined to prove that won’t be necessary.

[recurring-polynya]

oooooo, Renji drabbles! you’ve mentioned before how you suspect that Renji and Shuuhei were a thing once upon a time... is it possible you can write a drabble where they’re on a date together? They’re only two of the hottest guys in the realm

Abarai Renji was on a date.

He’d been on a few dates in his life, disastrous occasions when Momo had stuffed him in a yukata and sent him out with some fresh-scrubbed, extremely nice girl she had dredged up somewhere. The girls would talk and talk and steal glances at his tattoos and guilt would well up in his chest until he wanted to vomit and at the end, they would kiss him on the cheek and he would make it a point to never see them again.

Today, he was wearing yesterday’s uniform and wandering around a flea market in a weird, eclectic Seireitei neighborhood that he’d never been to before, watching Hisagi Shuuhei root through a bin of Living World automotive parts. His boyfriend, Hisagi Shuuhei.

Renji had slept with Shuuhei enough times that he no longer kept count. Shuuhei cooked him dinner at least twice a week and Renji would bring over beers or sake. They usually sat next to each other at the bar, and he’d throw his arm around Shuuhei’s shoulders and Shuuhei would put a hand on his knee and it was very comfortable like that. Renji had started keeping a toothbrush at Shuuhei’s place, and then decided that he didn’t like sharing Shuuhei’s hair gel, and now probably three quarters of the shit Shuuhei’s bathroom was actually his. People would constantly call his phone asking for Shuuhei, because Shuuhei’s phone was perpetually out of battery, not that Renji’s was ever at more than a single digit’s worth of charge.

So last week, when Shuuhei asked him if he wanted to be boyfriends and Renji said “no” and then Shuuhei asked him which part of this he wanted to stop doing, he said “none of it” and then he was forced to concede that maybe he did want to be boyfriends and now they were on a date.

It wasn’t so bad.

The weather was nice, and Renji was eating a taiyaki at 10am, which was, in his opinion, the very acme of gratuitous self-indulgence. Shuuhei had bought it for him because he said “he looked extra cute in the morning” and also, he’d found some money in his pocket that he forgot he had.

“Oi, Renji, do you know what a spark plug actually looks like?” Shuuhei shouted from neck deep in his bucket of parts. It occurred to Renji that Shuuhei usually called him Abarai in public, but maybe first names were part of this new regime they were now operating under.

“I do not,” Renji admitted. “Maybe we could try to find one on the motorbike and take it out and bring it with us next time. You have that book with the diagrams, so we can probably figure out where to find it.”

“Ah, you’re so smart!” Shuuhei exclaimed and Renji blushed because no one ever said that to him, maybe not in his entire afterlife.

The Guilt curled in Renji’s stomach, slow and throbbing, but it wasn’t choking, consuming, like it used to be. He had always thought the Guilt was for Rukia-- that he was betraying her, cheating on her, somehow. But he didn’t owe Rukia anything, to be honest, any more than she owed him. She was living a fantastic life somewhere, probably having pitted cherries placed directly in her mouth while someone else painted her fingernails. She sure wasn’t waiting around for him to show up and shout his undying devotion to her. In fact, he could practically imagine the horrified face she would make at him if she found out he’d been pining over her.

No, the Guilt was for the other girls, Momo’s pretty, doe-eyed friends that he was never, ever going to fall in love with, no matter how much they flipped their hair at him. His heart was burnt down to a cinder-- a black, dusty thing, too hot to touch, and in danger of falling to ash if someone were to try. You could only love for so hard, for so long without getting anything back. Then, you started burning yourself up instead, from the inside out.

That had been a long time ago, though. Even if he still missed Rukia like hell, there were other good parts of life these days. His fights with Ikkaku were getting pretty even these days. He even got to spar with the Kenpachi once in a while, which was both exciting and flattering and then, two minutes later, deeply, deeply painful. He liked being Sixth Seat, not just because it paid well, but because he liked working with the unseated guys, liked teaching them how to be real swordsmen, not just loud goons. After years of Yumichika making him rub flowery smelling stuff on his face and in his hair, there was a pretty good looking guy staring back at him when he looked in the mirror. A guy who felt good about looking good, a guy who now knew how to pick out his own flowery smelling face goops.

“I think,” he had explained to Shuuhei, the only person to whom he had ever explained the burnt-up cinder heart theory, “that there might be a little chunk of it, like the size of my thumb, that’s not all the way toasted, just maybe really tough and chewy, like beef jerky.”

And Shuuhei had looked him in the eyes, real soft-like, and said, “Pal, your tiny little dried up beef jerky heart probably has more love in it than most people have in their entire body. You have been up front with me, which I respect a lot, and I’m willing to take my chances anyway.”

Shuuhei currently was surveying the street like an explorer deciding which path he wanted to take through a jungle. “You wanna go see the leatherwork stall? They had some sweet wrist cuffs last time, really gorgeous tooling.”

“Why do you always want to look at stuff that you can’t afford?” Renji groused. He’d been trying to start saving again, since he got his raise, something he hadn’t done since he was at the Fifth. He couldn’t decide which it was that was making him more grouchy-- having to put limits on his expenses, or how little was actually piling up in the bank account he’d opened. He wasn’t even sure what he was saving for. It just seemed like money was something a functional adult should have. He wasn’t exactly sure he would classify himself as a functional adult, but it was something to aspire to.

Shuuhei stretched, and rested his hands on the back of his head. “Sometimes it’s fun to just browse,” he shrugged. “You’re so practical, Renji, you should let your imagination out a little, once in a while.”

Renji’s face must have done something stupid, because Shuuhei quickly followed up with, “Things don’t always have to pan out to be worth dreaming of. C’mon, I know you’re dead jealous of those flashy goggles Iba’s been wearing lately.”

Renji wrinkled his nose because he was. Iba’s new shades were cool as fuck and expensive as fuck, too. Iba had offered to let him try them on, and Renji had said no because he was almost positive he would look better in them than Iba and he didn’t want to have to go around thinking about that all the time.

“We can go to the used book place instead,” Shuuhei offered. Shuuhei was really good at hopping off subjects that Renji was sensitive about. He’d probably been doing it for a while, but Renji had just gotten around to noticing. “It’s all shitty, falling-apart paperbacks, but they’re pretty cheap, plus I have a bunch of credit, because I trade mine in when I’m done with ‘em.”

“Ah, that sounds nice,” Renji, who had a great love for shitty, falling-apart paperbacks, replied. “But let’s swing by the leather place, too.” He crumpled up the paper from his taiyaki and threw it in a high arc into a nearby wastecan. Then wiped his hand on his hakama, and held out his hand, flexing his fingers obnoxiously. “I bet I would look good in wrist cuffs.”

Shuuhei grinned and immediately lowered his hands from his head so he could grab Renji’s. “You would look so good in wrist cuffs.”

And off they went, together.

[fatehbaz]

the "anthropocene" as a concept also has the problem of being geologically bankrupt

My impression is that there is an awful lot - maybe the majority - of “Anthropocene discourse” in Euro-American academic departments which is obsessed with finding a specific start-date for a geological epoch. Many technical geologists, ecologists, and historians also seem fixated on the 19th century Industrial Revolution as a start-date for the period; while this is kind of nice because it implicates European empire as a culprit, it doesn’t take into account how Euro-American industrial-scale resource extraction was set into motion centuries or millennia earlier by the institutionalized violence or the “commodification of ecology” which existed in early hydraulic civilizations of the Neolithic or Bronze Age. So I don’t think formally defining “Day 1 of the Anthropocene” is remotely anywhere near as important as the concept’s discussion of ecological degradation and extinction, or the concept’s implied criticism of extractivist mentality, imperial cosmologies, and how global ecological crisis is an expression unjust human institutions.

If the “Anthropocene” concept were to work as a technical geological era, all kinds of arguments could and have been made that the epoch might begin at one of multiple different historical events that altered soil at a massive scale: The 19th century Industrial Revolution? Or, the expansion of European empires in the 1500s? Or, the early Holocene conversion of woodlands into grasslands? Or, the mass deforestation of Anatolia, the Levant, and Mesopotamia during the ascension of sedentary agriculture? And if “Anthropocene” were to work as an informal and less-technical critique of extractivism and empire, it would have to alter its accusation of “all humans are to blame” and instead critique extractivist and imperial institutions specifically. Even then, we have to ask “at what point did these cosmologies, which led eventually to global ecological degradation, reach ‘critical mass,’ so to speak?”

Even if looking for a less-formal start-date, if we’re looking for “the specific date that extractivist, colonial, or imperial cosmologies became powerful enough to be the single most powerful influence on global ecology”? There isn’t really a specific date where this occurred. Did it begin with the advent of industrial specialist guilds in Mesopotamia, when kings would bribe irrigation engineers not to help a farmer water their fields until the farmer had paid tribute or rent? Did it begin in Zhou-era or Warring States period China when deliberate devegetation campaigns, large forest-clearing projects, and dam infrastructure installation led to local extinction of tiger, rhinos, and elephants? Did it begin with industrial-scale harvest of cedars in Assyria which led to desertification of the Middle East and separated the woodlands of southern Asia from North Africa? However, yes, the era of Europe’s global colonization did involve an extreme intensification of Indigenous dispossession and continent-wide resource extraction schemes. Though, saying “the Anthropocene begins with the Industrial Revolution” isn’t good enough.

I think that the “Anthropocene” concept is too imprecise as a formal geological period; and too inadequate and imprecise as a rhetorical device, tongue-in-cheek mild accusation, or thought experiment to implicate certain human systems as responsible for ecological devastation (since it unfairly names “all humans” as the culprits, rather than naming certain human institutions like extractivism, colonialism, empire, monopculture crops, etc.); and also too imprecise as a casual descriptor of a general historical period during which human presence altered global ecology (since “Holocene” already basically accounts for the same period if we consider how the early expressions of commodification and empire manifested during early civilizations).

Even if we’re conceding that “Anthropocene” works better as an informal term which focuses less on technical geological characteristics and instead implies discussion of an historical period during which extractivist or imperial thought dominates human ecological behavior … Even then, though, as many Indigenous scholars have pointed out again and again and again, it’s dangerously imprecise and obscures responsibility for exactly who and which institutions inflicted the ecological and social harm. Like “Anthropocene” was a useful “thought experiment” for a little bit, maybe. But, despite the ascent of “wokeness” or self-reflection in academia, it seems to me that modern Euro-American academic anthropology departments are having a grand old time engaging in “colonization of thought,” where they’re aware of buzzwords like decolonization; while paying lip-service to decolonization, they’re still ironically engaging in colonization by appropriating Indigenous environmental knowledge as if they were objective and neutral observers “harvesting” the “resource” that is traditional knowledge.

“Did the Anthropocene begin in 1871, or 1872? Did the year 1871 mark the definitive shift into a global expansion of urbanization and monoculture plantation crops, or was it the year 1872?” Not the point. I mean, it’s important to know other specific dates; like the specific date that European colonists first encountered Steller’s sea cow; the specific date that English authorities issued permits for corporate monopolies on guano trade in Peru; the specific date that deliberate fire-setting dispossessed Indigenous people in Borneo and signaled arrival of palm oil plantations; the specific dates that certain institutions invaded or expanded their power. But “the single date when imperial cosmologies achieved critical mass as the dominant ecological force”? That’s more ambiguous.

Before I got catastrophically poor and fed-up with the elitism, I was most active at university during the “mainstreaming” of “Anthropocene discourse” and Eduardo Viveiros de Castro’s work, and most of my research project stuff dealt at least tangentially with environmental effects of empire and/or long-term environmental history of the past 11,000-ish years, so I was obligated to participate in a lot of discussion. What I will concede – what I like – about “Anthropocene” is that it attempts to bring to attention the inseparability of ecology and culture, the relationship between ecological degradation and human suffering or social injustice. Beyond that? Basically, I appreciate that some popular venues or forums – like academia, on occasion – are attempting to highlight an 11,000-year trend towards imperial power consolidation which relies on dispossession and the commodification of ecological systems. Cool. I think we can do better than “Anthropocene,” though.

thanks for the ask :)

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Pick Your Poison

Switch AU

So this had to happen eventually. And when I really look at the events that have occurred in the normal universe so far, I realized it had to happen sooner rather than later. I absolutely do not want to say anything more. It would be best if it stayed a surprise *evil laughter* But I will say that it involves Schneep and Jackie, and that’s all you’re getting ;)

More of this AU found here

“Henrik, what are you doing back there?”

Schneep pulled off his headphones, stuffing them back in his backpack. God, he really had to be more aware of his surroundings when back here. He managed to zip up his pack just as Jennifer, his coworker, poked her head into the back room. “Just listening to music.”

“Well, alright. It’s almost lunch, though, so you might want to get out here.” Jennifer disappeared again.

“Understood.” Schneep pushed his backpack behind the nearest table. They should really get lockers in the back room. Not only would it be convenient, not only would it prevent random thefts, but it would save him a lot of worrying. He didn’t like thinking about people finding the police scanner he hid in his backpack and listened to on break. That would be awkward at best, and a giveaway of his secret vigilante identity at worst. He sighed. He was basically having to juggle two full-time jobs, and sometimes it was more stressful than he thought it was worth.

But then again, if he didn’t have a job he wouldn’t be able to afford an apartment and superhero gear. He kept that in mind as he pulled on his apron and headed back out into the front of the coffee shop. Jennifer, manning the percolators, glanced at him. “Hey. So before you do any sort of work, I think someone just walked in who’d want to see you.” She grinned, and jerked her head towards the entrance.

“Hmm? Oh.” Schneep smiled. He approached the counter, waving down the pair who’d just entered. “Hello Anti. And William, nice to see you. What brings you here?”

“Came to see if they’d fired you yet,” Anti said, grinning.

“Ha! No such luck, I am afraid.”

William jumped, red curls bouncing as he gripped the edge of the counter. “Hi Uncle Hen!”

“Also I need a hot chocolate,” Anti added. “Small size. And a medium ristretto.”

“And a cake pop?” William asked hopefully.

“Alright, fine,” Anti agreed. “But just for today.”

“Ah, I’d think you only use me for my connections, Anti,” Schneep muttered with a smile, writing down the order on two cups. He turned to leave, but found Jennifer interrupting him, taking the cups with a smile and a glance. “Oh! Okay, I suppose we can talk.”

“Nice.” Anti looked down at Will. “Hey, kid? Want to go find a comfy seat while we wait?”

“Yeah!” Will jumped up one more time before scurrying off.

“So, what is the occasion?” Schneep asked.

“Well, Will just started spring term, so I promised him a treat if he got through the first week,” Anti said. “And it’s all cold outside, so hot chocolate made sense.”

“Is unusually snowy, I will say that,” Schneep agreed. “It was very cold walking to the bus earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. Nearest stop’s like fifteen minutes away from here, I have no idea how you manage to do that every day in winter, it totally sucked today.”

“I have been colder.” Schneep shrugged. “Do you have any plans today?”

“Nothing new. Maybe some more recording.” Anti suddenly perked up. “Oh. Hey, how are you liking that game I told you to play?”

Schneep froze, suddenly glaring at him. “I hate you.”

“Whaaaat? Why?” Anti was trying very hard not to laugh.

“I knew something was up from the very beginning. I thought, wow, it is odd that he told me to play this since it’s very cute, there must be some dark twist inside it. But then!” Schneep threw a hand in the air. “I got too attached to them! And I was not expecting the entire second half! The game just decided to kill everyone and it was terrible!”

Anti was giggling now. “But you had fun, right?”

“It was...interesting,” Schneep conceded. “I can see why it is your favorite, it does all those programming things. And it was honestly scary.”

“Great! Now you can check out the videos I did on it,” Anti said cheerfully. “Who do you like best?”

Schneep rolled his eyes. “Actually, I liked Monika. She was very...fascinating. I wondered a lot about her.”

“That’s fair. I like Natsuki.”

“Really? I think you have more in common with Yuri.”

“You’re only saying that because of the knives.” Anti hesitated for a second. “I do...relate to her the most. But that doesn’t make her personality interesting.”

“I am never playing any game you tell me to play ever again,” Schneep mumbled. “I am never trusting you ever.”

“When should you ever trust me?” Anti grinned. “Anyway, do you have any plans today? Since you asked about mine.”

Schneep looked at the clock mounted on the wall. “Well, my shift ends in two and a half hours, and after I get home Jackie is coming over.”

“Oh? And you didn’t invite me. Wait!” Anti held up a finger, thinking. “This is that thing you told me about last week. Batman movies?”

Schneep nodded. “If you have changed your mind you are free to come. We plan on ordering pizza.”

“Hmm, tempting. But I think I’ll pass.”

“If you insist.” Schneep glanced away. “Hey, I think Jennifer has your order now.”

“Oh? So she does.” Anti looked over. “You like her?”

“She is friendly, yes,” Schneep said slowly. 

“Good, I don’t need to be a bi—a jerk about anything.” Anti grinned again. “Heh, there are kids here. Anyway, text you later?”

“Sure. I will see you.”

———————

Two hours and forty-five minutes later, Schneep walked outside to find dusk waiting for him. He scowled vaguely at the sky. It was barely five o’clock. Stupid winter nights. The sun hadn’t set yet, but he had a hunch it would if he waited around for an hour. But he had no intention of waiting that long. He zipped up his coat, adjusted his scarf, made sure his backpack was secure on his shoulders, and started walking.

Fifteen minutes. It was only fifteen minutes walking to the bus stop. What could happen in fifteen minutes? Apparently a lot. About halfway to the stop, a pair of hands reached out and pulled Schneep into the gap between two buildings.

Schneep cried out, but found a hand covering his mouth. Instincts kicked in, and he stomped down hard on the assailant’s foot, simultaneously jabbing his elbow backwards. The hands released, and he gasped, looking around. There was no one in sight. Or at least, no one he could see in the shadows. He shook his head, and started towards the street, only for his vision to waver and blur. Between one blink and the next, he was suddenly staring at a wall. He turned around, looking back towards the street, only for the same thing to happen again.

He groaned. Not again. “Okay, where are you?” he said, spinning around. “I know it’s you.”

Silence. And then the slight sound of laughter. “Clever boy.” The world suddenly shifted its view as the illusions faded away. Distorter was leaning against one of the building walls by the entrance to the street. Still smiling. Still dripping blood from his eyes and the wound on his head. “You know, there’s one good thing about you. It’s so easy to make fake things in your mind. Because of your...” He twirled a finger beside his head, the sign for cuckoo. “You know?”

Schneep flinched, then growled. “You gang up on me when I am walking home? Really? Were you getting tired of having an even playing ground?” All the past times he’d fought Distorter had been at night, when he was out on patrol and had his suit and gear with him. But now? He didn’t have anything. And that made him wary.

“I like how you make everything about you. And let’s be honest, were you really doing such a good job before?” Distorter pushed away from the wall, reaching above his head and stretching backwards. And kept bending backwards, until several cracks echoed through the alleyway. Schneep took a few steps backwards. Distorter laughed, righting himself. “Don’t worry, this’ll only take a few minutes.”

“No thank you.” Schneep turned around and ran, intending to make it to the other end of the alley and out onto the street. But he only got a few steps in before he ran into something solid with a smack! He stumbled backwards, rubbing his forehead as the world shifted again, showing how he’d been running right into a wall.

Distorter laughed. “Wow, I wish I had a video of that. I could play it in a loop.”

“Motherfucker,” Schneep said, glaring at him.

“Oh, I know. Now stay still.” Distorter took one step backwards, and then launched forwards.

Schneep yelled in surprise, ducking to the ground and rolling out of the way before he even knew what he was doing. Distorter crashed against the wall, but didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, just pushing away for a second attack. Schneep scrambled to his feet, backing up while keeping one hand against the wall to make sure it was really there. The moment Distorter was in range he shot out with a fist, connecting solidly with his face. Distorter stumbled back, then laughed. He suddenly dropped to the ground like a ragdoll. Schneep found his feet being pulled out from under him. He cried out as he fell to the ground, barely managing to catch himself before he could hit the back of his head against the cement.

“Wow, not so tough without your lightning gadgets, are you?” Distorter’s nails were digging into his shoulder, blood dripping on Schneep’s face from the creature’s eyes and nose. “Now stay. Still.”

Schneep managed to fling an arm out, fist connecting with the side of Distorter’s head, snapping it to the left. “If you want to kill me, I will not go down without fighting.”

Distorter recovered easily, grin unphased. “Who said I wanted you dead? Well, yet.”

Schneep opened his mouth to retort, but instead suddenly gasped as he felt a sharp pain in his midsection. For a moment, it felt like a strong punch, and then he felt wet leaking.

“Have fun with that.” And between one blink and the next, Distorter seemed to disappear.

Schneep climbed into a sitting position, pressing a hand to the painful spot. Did...did Distorter just stab him? That...was different. He couldn’t remember that creature ever using a knife before. Slowly, with the help of the nearby wall, he stood up and walked back out onto the street. He looked down. It wasn’t bleeding too badly. And he’d been stabbed before, and this didn’t feel like the worst wound he’d had. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He unwound the scarf from around his neck, unzipped his coat—no, this was his only winter coat, and it had just been ruined!—and pressed the balled-up scarf to the wound. He had a first aid kit at home. He could probably get there quickly, provided the bus was on time.

Wait, the bus! Schneep reached into his pocket with one hand, withdrawing his phone and checking the time. Oh, good, he should still be able to get to the stop before it came. He replaced his phone, zipped his coat again, and started off.

Part of him thought it was ridiculous that he wasn’t calling anyone. But it didn’t seem too bad. Nothing he hadn’t survived before. Maybe he could just handle it by himself, without needing to bother anyone.

———————

And once he got back to the apartment, it seemed like it wasn’t anything to worry about. The wound was small, probably from a small blade, and he managed to bandage it up well enough. He hadn’t lost a lot of blood, and he got to the bus stop without much difficulty. Despite the searing pain, it was probably fine.

Probably.

“Okay, I know I am bullshitting myself,” Schneep said, glaring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “But Jackie is coming over, and if it really starts to cause problems, he is a doctor. He can help.” Though he’d feel terrible about ruining what was supposed to be a fun night. “It will be fine, I promise.” His reflection didn’t answer any of his ramblings.

He’d arrived back at his apartment at about 5:40. Jackie arrived twenty minutes later, at six. “Okay, so we’re good to go all night,” he said the moment Schneep opened the door. “I don’t have a shift tomorrow, so we can stay up late and watch all three.”

“I doubt you’d make it that long,” Schneep muttered fondly, standing aside to let Jackie in.

“Hey! Not everyone’s a night owl.” Jackie breezed past him, then paused, standing in the center of the studio apartment. “It’s kind of hot in here, did you turn up the thermostat?”

“Oh, yes. Because it is cold outside.” It didn’t feel too hot to him. He was actually a little chilly, slightly shivering as he closed the apartment door.

“Huh. Won’t the landlord charge you for that?”

“I do not think so.”

“If you say so.” Jackie pulled off his hoodie, draping it over the back of the nearest chair. “Still hot, though.”

Schneep decided to change the subject. “So are we ordering food now, or do we wait until we actually have the movie set up?”

“We can set it up first.” Jackie flopped onto the sofa.

“Alright. Don’t hurry to help or anything.”

Jackie hesitated. “Did you want me to, or...?”

“No, it was joke, don’t worry. I will get it.” Schneep joined Jackie over in the living room section of the apartment. He bent down to turn on the TV, but when he stood up, a dagger of pain from his wound suddenly flared. He hissed, hand instinctively pressing against it.

Jackie sat up straight. “What was that?”

“Is nothing, I just...pulled a muscle at work today,” Schneep said, coming up with something on the spot.

“You work at a coffee shop,” Jackie stated.

“Well, yes, but sometimes we have to carry boxes and bags of ingredients from storage to the front.” That wasn’t a lie, at least.

“And that would result in...you pulling a muscle. In your stomach. And not your back or your knees, which is where that would usually happen.” Jackie raised an eyebrow.

“...yes,” Schneep said after a long pause.

“Okay, what happened?”

Schneep sighed. He should’ve known better than to hide anything from Jackie, He had a sort of sixth sense when it came to something being wrong with his friends. “It is nothing to worry about. I got pulled into an alleyway walking home.”

“Pulled into a what? Like a mugging?”

“Yes, like that.” Schneep pressed his hand against the wound again. “The man had a knife, and he used it.”

“You’ve been stabbed?!” Jackie shot to his feet.

“I took care of it!” Schneep hurried to say. “It was not bad!” 

“There’s no such thing as a ‘not bad’ stabbing! Here, sit down, I want to look at it.”

Schneep sighed. Well, at least this’ll be quick. Then Jackie could stop worrying and the two of them could relax. Schneep sat down on the couch. “Happy?”

“Yes. Now pull up your shirt so I can look at it.” Jackie waited patiently while Schneep did so. “You actually did a really good job wrapping. Unfortunately, I have to undo your hard work.” Jackie sat down next to him, slowly unwinding the white bandages.

Schneep tried to stay very still, despite the way the pain would surge every time he shifted weight. This was actually worse than the walk home. How was that possible? Maybe shock, or something like that. After a moment of silence, Jackie placed his hand against Schneep’s stomach. “Ah!” Schneep instinctively pulled down his shirt. “Jackie, your hands are cold, do not do that!”

“Okay, that’s weird,” Jackie said, not responding to what Schneep said. “Lean forward.” He put his hand against Schneep’s forehead. “Um...I don’t think it’s my hands that are cold, I think it’s you.” He bit his lip. “I think...did you lose a lot of blood?”

“Not a lot. There was not a lot of bleeding, and I had something pressed against it a lot of the time.”

“Weird...” Jackie leaned back, thinking. “You’re cold, and also you look like you’re sweating a bit. Huh...did you put any disinfectant on the wound?”

“...ah.” Schneep tried not to squirm.

Jackie sighed. “Who knows what was on that knife? I keep telling you—well, never mind now. I know you have some. First aid kit’s in the bathroom, right?” Schneep nodded. “Wait here, I’ll get it.” And with that, Jackie stood up and left.

Schneep had nothing to do but sit. The day had started off so well, now this was happening. He sighed, blinking around at his surroundings. He was tired...really tired, all of a sudden. He leaned back against the couch, now staring up at the ceiling. Was it...was it spinning?

“Alright, I’m back! I have the...are you okay?”

“What?” Schneep rolled his head over to look at Jackie. “Yes, I am just...I just got very tired very quickly.”

“That’s...just suddenly?” Jackie’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure you didn’t lose too much blood?”

“Yes, I am sure.” Schneep blinked again. For a moment, everything was swimming.

“...okay.” Jackie sat down next to him. “I’m gonna put this on the stab wound, now. It might sting a little. Okay?”

Schneep didn’t answer.

“Hey, Volt, buddy?” Jackie patted the side of Schneep’s face. “I need to know that you understand.”

After a moment of silence, Schneep said, “The walls are melting.”

“Wh-what?” Jackie asked, taken aback.

“They are melting.” Schneep’s eyes fluttered. “I think I am seeing things. That happens, but this time I know it is happening, so that is a start.”

“...I’m just going to take a look at the wound real quick.” Jackie lifted up Schneep’s shirt. His eyes widened, and he looked back between the wound and Schneep’s face. “I’m...going to take a pulse, okay?” He pressed two fingers against Schneep’s neck. Then he withdrew them sharply. “Holy—” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing a number.

“What is wrong?” Schneep asked. He tried to focus on Jackie’s face, but it was blurry, like it was hidden behind a pane of frosted glass.

“I-I don’t know what was on that knife, but there was definitely something,” Jackie said, pressing the phone to his ear. “It’s doing something to you, we need to get emergency—what do you mean no service?!” He pulled the phone away.

“The lines nearby have been down for a while,” Schneep mumbled. “There was a storm...though I remember they said that it looked like...sie wurden sabotiert...”

“Okay, I don’t know what that last part was.” Jackie stood up, hurrying to the door. “I can drive you to the hospital, I—what?!” He pulled on the doorknob, then pushed on it. “I-it won’t open!” Giving up on getting it open, Jackie started pounding on the door. “Hey! Hello? The door’s stuck, someone let us out! It’s an emergency!”

“Jackie...” Schneep looked back up at the ceiling. It was dripping into his eyes. How was it melting when it was so cold? “You are doctor, you can fix...”

“I’m not trained for-for poison!” Jackie stammered.

“You can try...or maybe we can go out the window, it is not too far.”

“I can’t go out the window!” Jackie had come back to stand next to Schneep at some point, now standing over him and chewing on his hair nervously. “I-I can try? But I gotta keep trying to get someone, too!”

“Mm...you do that.” Schneep paused. “Jackie...I should tell you. The one who stabbed me...was not just some random thief...it was...lächelnde Mann. Distort...” He closed his eyes.

“It was Dis—?! No no no no, Volt, Henrik, stay awake!” Jackie leaned over him, shaking him slightly, only to get no response. “Oh, fuck fuck fucking fuck.” He took his pulse once again, finding it just as rapid as before. “Okay. Okay, Jackie, you can figure this out. You can do this.” He took a step back, lifting up Schneep’s shirt to expose the stab wound once again. It was yellow around the edges, the blood darker than it should be. “Okay, uh. I have no idea what that is. I can find out, I guess?”

Jackie picked up his phone, opening a window to the Internet and typing as quickly as possible. Luckily he knew several websites that knew what they were talking about, so he didn’t have to search through shady sites. “‘Get to the hospital as quickly as possible’—yes, I know, I can’t do that. Fuck. Okay.” He pushed Schneep to the side, lying him down. Schneep’s eyelids fluttered. “Cleaning is always a good place to start. Okay.”

He ran to the kitchenette, throwing open the cupboards until he found the largest cup possible. Turning on the sink, he filled it with water. Warm or cold? God, if he knew what was in the wound, he’d know which, but he had to settle for lukewarm and hope that would work. He grabbed a wash rag and dashed back to the sofa as quickly as possible, kneeling nearby. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but this is going to sting.”

As soon as the water touched his skin, Schneep’s eyes flew open and he screamed, flailing. “I know, I know!” Jackie said. “Just, please! Stay still! Stay—hey!” He grabbed Schneep’s arm with one hand to prevent him from whacking him in the face. “Please, you have to let me do this.”

Jackie reached out, ready to...to...what was he doing? He shook his head, clearing away the sudden fog. He had to clean the wound, that was a good starting place.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed it. As soon as he was sure he’d done as good a job as possible, he checked Schneep’s pulse again. It was slower than before, but...but it was also slower than it should be. “No no no no no,” he muttered, a constant stream while he tried to look up what else to do. “There has to be a way, I have to...” he trailed off. What...? His head turned, and his hand reached out, fingers exploring into the open bleeding—

Schneep screamed again, and Jackie jerked backwards. What the hell?! What had he just been doing?! “No no no, I-I’m sorry, it’s okay!” It wasn’t okay, but that didn’t matter now.  He stood up, once again running to the door, but it was just as unmovable as it had been before. He pounded on it once...he...his head tilted to the side, his arm dropping. Was someone laughing nearby?

No! Jackie shook his head. He had to—there was something on his face. Something warm and wet, and coming from his eyes. He reached up, fingers coming away red. “Shit, no, fuck!” He looked around the apartment, not finding anything. Well, did it matter? His friend was dying!

There had to be something else he could do! He rushed back to Schneep’s side, checking his pulse once again. His breathing was slower, a wet, rattling sound coming from inside his throat. Fuck, this had happened so fast. Jackie tilted his head back, keeping his mouth open. What else could he do? The disinfectant? It was probably better than nothing. Jackie grabbed the small tin, unscrewing the lid. He dabbed his fingers inside, then tried to gently apply it to the surface around the wound as gently as possible. Schneep didn’t protest beyond a slight twitching. There was red dripping on the sofa in between them; he knew it was coming from his eyes.

“Come on, come on, please please please.” Once more, he checked the pulse. He checked the...the...

He couldn’t find it.

“No. No no no no no no—” He tried to find it by pressing fingers against his wrist. Then by pressing his palm against his chest. He still couldn’t find anything. “No, Henrik, please don’t—wake up! Please, wake up!” The world seemed leeched of its color, everything in gray. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, anything. He was shaking him and getting no response. “Henrik, no! No, my friend!”

There was nothing, nothing, nothing but gray distortion.

———————

A steady, slow beeping was coming from somewhere. Everything felt heavy, especially his eyelids. Yet he managed to open them somehow, staring uncomprehendingly at his surroundings, until something cleared and he recognized that he was in a hospital room somewhere.

After what felt like forever, he rolled his head to the side, catching sight of a woman in nurse’s scrubs. She was watching him. He closed his eyes again...

———————

The beeping was back, as well as a low murmuring. He could hear two voices.

“So how are you related to him again?”

“I’m not, he’s my neighbor.”

“And you found him how?”

“Well, I heard shouting from his apartment, so I was a little worried. It went away after a while, but I thought I would go check anyway. And when I did, his door was wide open, and so I peeked inside and I...”

———————

More voices, muffled like they were through a wall. A few sounded familiar...

“Fuck you, he’s our friend and you’re going to let us see him!”

“Sir, if you would please calm down—”

“Fuck calm! I have a hunting knife in my backpack that I’d think you’d like to see!”

“Now, really, Anti, that’s going too far.”

“Yea, a bit. Y’wouldn’ want t’get arrested.”

“There’s nothing illegal about knives. Guns, maybe, but knives?”

“I’m sure threatening a doctor has some consequences. They could throw us out.”

“Mnngh...”

———————

He opened his eyes again, looking around at the same hospital room. Everything felt...floaty. Like he could bounce away at any minute. But he was awake. He tried to sit up, fell back, and looked around. The same nurse from the last time he looked around was still there. She watched him for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Everyone was worried.”

“Wh...happened?” He asked.

“Well, we’re not too sure. You were found unconscious, and wounded. I personally don’t know too many details, but they had to hurry.”

The stab wound. Schneep tried to bolt upright as soon as he remembered, but just ended up falling down again and knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

“Oh, be careful. You could tear open the stitches.” The nurse paused. “You know...there are some friends of yours waiting outside. I could let them in, if you want.” Once he nodded, she stood from her chair, opened the door, and poked her head outside. “He’s awake,” she said. And then the door opened wide as three people came in.

“Henrik, what the fuck dude?!” Anti demanded. “In the span of a few hours since I’d seen you, you manage to almost die?!”

Schneep smiled at him. He couldn’t remember the last time Anti had called him by his first name, he must’ve been really worried.

Marvin poked his head around Anti. “I don’ t’ink our group should be makin’ a habit of visiting others in the hospital,” he said, smiling.

“Had no say in th’matter,” Schneep mumbled.

“How are you feeling?” JJ asked.

Schneep paused for a long moment, trying to find the right words. “Bad,” he settled on.

“Yeah, I bet,” Anti muttered. “I did some research on what the doctor said got to you, and it’s pretty nasty. I mean, you were out for a night and half the day.” He looked over at the nurse. “Hey, can we get some privacy here?”

The nurse pursed her lips. “It’s against policy.”

“Sh’s fine,” Schneep said. “‘M just...happy you all’re here...” His eyes darted around the room. Something was wrong...“Where’s Jackie?”

The three boys looked at each other. “I thought he came to see you earlier,” JJ said. “Do either of you two know?”

“I was just assumin’ he was somewhere in the hospital,” Marvin said. “Because he works here, I t’ought...”

“He doesn’t have a shift today,” Anti said. “Wait! I texted him.” Anti dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone and checking his messages. His brows furrowed. “And...he hasn’t even seen it, let alone replied yet.”

Schneep tried to sit up one more time, finally managing to prop himself against the pillows. “He was with me...”

“Wait, he was with you when you got stabbed?” JJ asked, eyes wide.

“No, later, when...everything started...I blacked out...did he bring me here?”

“No, some neighbor lady of yours checked on you, and lucky she did,” Anti said. “She...didn’t mention anyone else.”

Schneep made a strangled sort of gasp, covering his mouth. “He’s gone.”

The others looked around, expressions confused and worried. In the background, the nurse opened the door and left, standing outside.

“We don’t know that,” JJ hurried to say.

“Jems, I don’ t’ink...” Marvin sat down in the nearest chair, realizing the truth before anyone else. “Henrik, d’you mean...?”

“He poisoned me,” Schneep whispered. “He knew Jackie would try to fix it...” It had all been a trap. A plan, of some sorts. How long had Distorter been planning this? Since he first met them all? “So he could confuse him, and take him, and if I died...well, two birds, one stone.”

The others said nothing. There was nothing to say, in the face of such knowledge. It weighed heavy on the air of that room.

And somewhere across the city, a man dressed in gray was smiling, perfectly delighted.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Red Goblin: Red Death #1 Thoughts

To my surprise this was an anthology comic book so I’ll be covering all three stories separately.

I really should’ve covered this back around Halloween as it was clearly written and released to capitalize upon that occasion.

But since life got in the way and I’m a British person who dismisses Halloween as Americanized horseshite you are getting this now.

So an important thing to note about this issue is that it was clearly written to capitalize upon Absolute Carnage. In fact I and other people were downright certain that this would be set during or after AC, and would be the inevitable result of Norman Osborn’s subplot throughout the story. Particularly the original motion comics hosted on Marvel’s official Youtube page.

My thinking was the end result of those and everything else that’d happen to Norman in AC was going to lead to him regaining his mind and thus become Red Goblin again, as the latter is a form created from Norman+the symbiote, whilst throughout AC Norman with Cletus’ mind has simply looked like classic Carnage.

That isn’t what this comic book is.

In fact beyond a cash in, I have no idea why Marvel thought these stories were worth publishing.

Maybe they believed they could trick people as they tricked me. Hopefully they wanted to milk the Red Goblin brand one last time before getting rid of it, much as they tried to milk the Scarlet Spider brand one last time before Ben Reilly became Spider-Man.

Or maybe they just knew that Halloween would coincide with Absolute Carnage so using a famously Halloween themed villain who is also kinda sorta Carnage made sense.

Because you see folks every one of these stories takes place BEFORE Absolute Carnage. In fact with one possible exception they all take place before ASM #800!

This really should’ve been published during or after that comic book as like ASM #800.1. In fact for those who (somehow) ENJOYED the Red Goblin story arc I’d honestly recommend reading it after ASM #800 or reading the three stories at roughly the points at which they happen in-universe during that arc.

Or don’t because frankly these are all shite. Nevertheless I’ll tell you as best I can when roughly they should occur chronologically. That ‘as best I can’ qualifier is there because I only skimmed Red Goblin (because fuck that shit is why) and because some of these are confusing to place.

The first story is called ‘Great Responsibility’, and it takes place roughly after ASM #796.

It raises an amusing thematic idea, that from Norman’s twisted point of view it is his responsibility to satisfy the Carnage symbiote’s bloodlust in order to have access to it’s great power.

But the story baffling plays Norman as essentially opposed to senseless violence.

Um...that’s kinda accurate I suppose.

It depends very much on how much you are willing to give the author the benefit of the doubt. Me personally, that’s not much if any.

Because you could MAYBE argue that from Norman’s point of view everything he says regarding killing is true, that he only killed out of necessity and he’s not always got the best perception of reality and ethics so he might be conveniently forgetting the times he definitely didn’t kill out of necessity (like I dunno, Gwen Stacy or Flash Thompson!).

But what’s much more likely to my eyes is that the writer was either desperately trying to find a way to distinguish one psychopathic killer from another to create conflict or more likely...he just didn’t know/get Norman’s character in the first place.

The sad thing is Norman is definitely NOT like Carnage in his attitude to killing.

Oh, he’s a sadist and a mass murderer, but there are subtle differences. Carnage kills for the sheer thrill of it and he doesn’t tend to savour the experience. He’ll kill randomly anyone in randomly anyway. Norman though, Norman kills people who get in his way, or out of spite, or with a specific intent to hurt someone else.

Case in point he abducted and killed Gwen Stacy partially due to holding a grudge against her personally but more significantly due to holding a grudge against Spider-Man. In particular he knocked her off the bridge out of pure spite so he couldn’t rescue her.

In theory though had Gwen never been part of Norman or Peter’s social circle, she’d have never found herself harmed by Norman. In contrast had she lived she, like everyone else, was a potential victim of Carnage waiting to happen because he’ll kill anyone, anywhere, anytime for any reason.

To Norman he’d never be reluctant to engage in senseless murder in this context as it’s simply collateral damage of what amounts to a business relationship with the symbiote. And Norman if anything, is a businessman. In a sense that’s what the whole first page (which is actually pretty well paced and panelled) is about, it’s just that Norman’s reluctance doesn’t ring true and he’s way less cold and calculating than he normally would be.

As for the Carnage symbiote, maybe I’m forgetting something or not read enough Carnage stories (I did read and skim A LOT though to prep for Absolute Carnage) but I felt it was a little bit too articulate and human considering it’s typical characterization. I’m willing to concede to being wrong on that though is symbiote experts can cite sources to the contrary.

I also don’t quite understand why they’re communicating verbally, let alone in public, considering that the symbiotes systemically can talk to you in their heads. Then again I admit that’s not been a consistent rule, even back in the earlierst Venom stories.

What is definitely IS a consistent rule though is that the symbiotes CAN kill without hosts which is the crux of this whole story.

Norman himself must actively participate in senseless murder to satiate the symbiote, it can’t just do it on it’s own.

This is another example of the direction of the story being okay but the justifications for that direction being dumb. Why not simply have the symbiote threaten to leave Norman or suggest killing on it’s own before returning to him, but Norman not trusting it to come back?

What’s especially dumb is that a symbiote literally kills in one of the motion comics in Absolute Carnage and Venom killed Angelo Fortunato by abandoning him mid-leap. Hell it forced Brock to jump off of buildings in Paul Jenkins’ run.

Now when it comes to the scenes of Red Goblin selecting targets there is some nice characterization to be had for Norman. His intelligence is on display as he wants to select people who wouldn’t arouse suspicion (although I don’t know why, surely people would just presume it’s Carnage not him thus still giving him the element of surprise when he finally fights Spidey). To this end he refuses to kill a man with a wedding ring. Instead, in a very Norman move, he suggests a disabled person.

His selection of a drug dealer who lives out of the city is a logical one. But his rationale that the world would be better without him is illogical as Norman doesn’t not give a fuck about the world’s well being at large. That same moment has an example of the Carnage mischaracterization I spoke of. The symbiote talks the way Cletus would with pop culture references and all, but that’s not how the symbiote itself would talk.

The symbiote is in character though when it goes off book and naturally escalates the violence to a much larger degree than Norman wanted.

That’s all fine but Norman’s characterization as kinda...beta and horrified by this violence is really, really not. Similarly if Norman wanted to keep a low profile whilst murdering it makes no sense for his face to be exposed literally outside the burning building he just slaughtered people in.

There is one great part about that though, which is when Norman and Carnage’s dialogue merges into one. That’s a great feat on the lettering department’s hands.

There is however a weird tease in that same scene where there is a survivor spying on Red Goblin. I don’t get it? He doesn’t show back up in this story or the Red Goblin arc, so where is this going? Nowhere would be my bet.

A final thing to note is that the art by Pete Woods looks really, really great!

Over all this was an unnecessary, filleriffic and generally lame story that didn’t need to be told.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Birth- Matthew Crawley (1)

Pairing: Matthew Crawley x Reader

Characters: Matthew Crawley, Charles Carson, Thomas Barrow, Isobel Crawley, Mary Crawley

Warnings: N/A

Request: Wattpad- Could you do a Matthew Crawley imagine please? Reader is Matthew's wife, she is the daughter of a duke and get's along with everyone at Downton. She's 9 months pregnant and during dinner her water brakes and she cries out in pain thus causing a lot of commotion. After she gives birth she passes out and almost passes away. The she gets better and has a tearful reunion with her child and Matthew. Maybe he could say somethign like "I couldn't bare live in a world without you in it my love."

Word Count: 696

Author: Charlotte

For the past year you had lived at Downton Abbey with your husband Matthew Crawley. Your father wasn’t impressed with your choice of husband as he was a duke whilst Matthew was the heir to the Earl of Grantham however with a lot of work he had conceded and given you his blessing. The two of you had a home in Wales that was being renovated for the two of you, but once you learnt of your pregnancy, the two of you decided to stay at Downton as there wouldn’t be enough time to bring in enough servants to care for the soon to be three of you.

Your new home was now worked by servants, being visited by Matthews cousins or your siblings once in a while to make sure it was still habitable, and once your baby was to be born you would head there too. Dr Clarkson had been your physician for some time, so you trusted him to be the one to deliver your baby, so did not wish to stray too far from his home in Downton.

Tonight, was a rare occasion where your father had visited Downton Abbey and was to have dinner with your husband’s family. He’d joined you once or twice however with your due date being around the corner, you were to head off to Wales soon and wouldn’t see him nearly as often.

The starter had been served and it only made you long to stay at Downton. Ms Patmore’s cooking was to die for and you couldn’t imagine being many miles from her. If you thought you could, you’d have convinced her to join you, but you knew she was loyal to Lord Grantham.

For the past hour you had experienced contractions. They weren’t overly frequent, and you were either alone or able to hide the fact they had occurred with dropping something and feigning shock or distracting anyone in the room with something else. You didn’t wish to disturb the dinner and from seeing your sisters through their labour you were sure you had some time before it would become urgent.

However, you weren’t so sure of the fact anymore. You were in a terrible discomfort and with the dampness that spread across the chair you were on, you were certain things had progressed far more.

Small talk encompassed the table with servants looking on. You didn’t wish to make a fuss but were sure if there were reason to, now would be a good time. Looking around you wished to catch the eye of someone. Matthew was in a discussion with your father and Lord Grantham whilst Mrs Crawley, the Dowager Countess, Lady Grantham and her daughters shared a different discussion. Turning behind you, you caught the eye of Carson who recognised the panic in your eye.

“Are you okay, m’lady, you look rather faint,” he questioned not moving from his spot.

“Please send my apologies to Ms Patmore, I do not believe I can eat anymore,” you whispered.

Matthew turned to you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“Are you okay my love?” He asked, everyone’s attentions turning to the two of you.

“Yes… yes,” you whispered, placing your napkin on the table, standing up. “I just think the baby may be on its way.”

Your father jumped to his feet as did Mrs Crawley. Matthew wrapped an arm around you to support you.

“Lady Crawley,” Thomas, the footman said. “You are bleeding.”

You looked down the front of your dress to see it stained red.

“Carson call for Dr Clarkson at once,” Mary demanded.

You clung onto Matthew, feeling rather faint. The fear in his eyes brought tears to yours.

“I love you Matthew,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” he smiled softly. “It is going to be okay, my love. I promise it will be okay.”

Matthew’s mother made her way to you to help support you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but all of your energy had drained. Your eyes closed as you lost consciousness in the arms of your husband. The last thing you saw was his terrified face as you succumbed to the darkness.

[missymarysthings]

“Just...look at some of them Medusa,“ Perseus whispered to his sister. “It’s...almost pathetic. Do we really have to be here at this event?”

“I’d rather not be here either Perseus,“ she whispered back. “However, I must remind you, we are not in the proper position yet for the kind of statement not showing up would make. Even with us and a fair few of the other guests here being in agreement about our feelings of the host...“ she explained. Her brother tsk’d and lightly crossed his arms for the moment. 

“Still...the way some of them are just...bending over backwards to seem all enamored but our host is, well like I said, almost pathetic. It is one thing to remain cordial and civil, yes, say your hellos, make small talk, and go ‘enjoy’ the event. It is an entirely different thing, however, to do what they’re doing. At that point you should be asking yourself ‘is this really worth it?‘ I can almost guarantee that every one of them would say no if they really stopped to think about it,” he said and sighed with a shake of his head. Medusa placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Glad we got our small talk out the way earlier I take it? It would be such a hassle to try and go speak with them now. It would be a fight for attention that, as you said, is not worth it. However, we can’t leave just yet either. It is too early still and making up an excuse or emergency is below either of us,” she said. He scoffed and uncrossed his arms.

“True...” he conceded and continued to watch the group.

Vetzio ‘Perseus’ Stellato and Lorena ‘Medusa‘ Stellato are the current heads of their family’s business and business related matters. Even though Vetzio had the chance to be the next leader of their clan when the time came, their cousin Ruba was chosen instead. Their father was not happy about that, as could be expected, but they could care less about that. Vetzio was content to continue working along side his older sister Lorena on the business and changing things around. 

Granted, while Vetzio sees and acknowledges that the family isn’t taking their changes too well, Lorena remains in slight denial of it. Lorena believes if she and her brother can make a change in the perceptions of their family, gain enough partners and respect, gain positive notoriety, the rest of the family will come around and see what she and her brother have been doing was for the best. 

It hasn’t been easy for Perseus and Medusa to bring back some power and status to the Stellato name. Not when they have to contend with the big three, the Schwarzschilds, the Richters, and the Roses(who have their own personal grudges against them), the steadily rising Reinhardts(with Sein being something of a rival for Lorena; possibly one sided), and others trying to make a name for themselves in the business world. As well as fighting against the negative history and distrust their family has had for many years thanks to the ones before them.

Still they attend each and every meeting, and each event they’re invited to without fail, and with hardly any late entrances. Most of the time they are together, but there are occasions where it’ll be one or the other. Most times so they can attend two different meetings occurring at about the same time, or one is taking care of something important and cant make it.

This event, however, both would rather not be at. They would rather be back at their office working on paperwork or scheduling meetings for the next few weeks, or checking on other matters. Dealing with their father would almost be preferable to this. Almost.

Medusa sighed herself and removed her hand from her brother’s shoulder. “Do you want something to drink Vetzio?“ she asked, no longer whispering. Her brother scrunched his face and looked at her in slight disbelief. 

“Lorena...did you not know? Our...dear host thought it would be absolutely acceptable to only have alcoholic drinks be available. Varying strengths to be certain, but the fact still remains, you would be lucky if a server...took pity and got you a glass a water if you asked. Impossible to get two as I am sure the host was adamant about this choice,“ he explained.  It was her turn to scrunch her face. 

“I should have known. Ugh. That has the potential to be disastrous. Would explain some of the behavior we’ve seen though,” she mused and sighed once more. “Well that’s a wrench in plans then, isn’t it? I prefer not to drink anything alcoholic as we both know what it can do to me. Same goes for you,” she said and placed a hand on her hip while the other went to her chin in thought. 

“And we’ve both had enough sweets for the day. Nothing here really compares to certain places in town though,” Perseus said and then snickered. “Shame, I’m sure our host thought he was getting the best of the best with their expensive caterers. Which, I suppose to most here it is the best, but...our opinions lie elsewhere...“ he said with a cheeky grin. Medusa let out a short laugh and then covered her mouth.

“Vetzio, behave,“ she lightly scolded as she lowered her hand. “But I do agree,“ she added. “I suppose right now we’ll just have to move around a bit. Maybe strike up quick conversations with some of the more...sensible people here?“

“I suppose...“ he half-heartedly agreed and began to move from the spot they had grown comfortable to.

“Don’t look completely unagreeable Perseus,“ she said softly as she followed. “Just a few more hours.“

“Says my stone faced sister?“ he quipped in return. “Oh right, that’s how most only see you anyway...”

“Behave, you know what I mean. Besides you know why, if I’m to get through to some of these more thick headed businessmen, I can’t show any weakness. You know they are just waiting for some reason to prove I am not capable of being on the same level they are. You have it just a bit easier dear little brother,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah. I suppose I should remember that your true smile and more gentle looks and demeaner are a privilege that I, and our cousins, get to see,” he said and chuckled a little.

[caughtontape3-blog]

The certainty concerning the Supernatural

Cochise What is actually the "The supernatural"? The idea means from the Latina: super- "above" nature concerns entities, forces or trends which are regarded by simply a number of as beyond mother nature, for the reason that they cannot become explained in the notions as well as laws from the everyday globe.

Cochise

Supernatural topics are frequently WRONGLY associated with marvelous and occult ideas and are generally a classification for reasons which invoke explanatory constructs that in principle are generally beyond human conception, knowing or verification. A the greater part of super-naturalists of just about any given religion merely think in a very filter subdivision, subgroup, subcategory, subclass of all unnatural explanations involving reality whenever all the great thinking of all religions, prior and present, are this.

Instances of super naturalization; From the Hebrew Bible, effects and also other misfortunes are defined as indications of God's fury or vengeance. All way too often in theological posts, I hear the phrase mysterious bandied about, and also most men and women on both equally sides of the discussion tend to accept typically the nebulous term as the sensible idea (whether or maybe not they recognize which supernatural events perform exist).

Miracles such as walking around water are first looked at as impossible by the nonbeliever given that they violate the rules connected with physics; then often the believer guards the assert by labels the celebration supernatural as if this kind of magically transforms into explanation for unbeliever, From generally there the topic turns to no matter if or not that wonderful event actually occurred.

Exactly what does someone mean if they call something super-natural. This means that any event that may transpire is natural; within fact, issues can end up being said to simply along with the category of the actual earlier this means of unnatural given earlier mentioned.

The solely thing left for great events to be usually are points which could by no means be observed, could possibly certainly not in any way influence us all. We can existing countless, in fact infinite, feasible supernatural items (for instance, that our whole world is available as the super-fast blink of a subatomic molecule in most other unreachable meta-universe you can never interact along with; or that many subatomic chemical in our market composes an entirely separate world itself), but we get zero reason to feel any of them applies, and such views tend to be not the slightest bit verifiable, along with so they are unreadable.

Creation is in by itself magic of planing in addition to input of God. Typically the only chance I notice left is that particular number of absolute natural physical legal guidelines to our universe (whether not really we know associated with them for sure correct now), and supernatural occasions are events that carry out the truth is happen (hypothetically visible in order to us) but that contradict these absolute regulations.

Which suggests all evidence inside favor of any mysterious event is always circumstantial. And in my watch, circumstantial evidence is in no way adequate to be able to validate wonderful events. I truly do concede that will there must be many point where a human body of circumstantial evidence may be so great, in which perhaps accepting that some sort of unnatural event happened may be fair.

Are great events popular. John Wesley: An innately honest male, retained a new child-like visibility to all varieties of organic and supernatural probability. Human being Curiosities, Natural Curiosities, All-natural Events, Supernatural Situations, Individual Curiosities.

It was expected that one who came while extensively as Wesley might encounter unusual persons, their very own achievements, and all their eccentricities. (Journal, 1790) With regard to Wesley, the particular natural as well as the supernatural were being a good extension of each various other, and never hesitated for you to assign, to divinity activities this individual knew were component of the normal purchase as well. (Journal, 1773) Some experiences were, naturally , beyond scientific explanation.

WHAT / THINGS WE DO ABOUT Haunted houses and places? Have you considered Ghosts?

Conjuring and secret HAVE ALWAYS BEEN VIEWED AS supernatural along with a remaining form of magic, the fact remains that conjuring and miraculous are using God developed issues called "WORDS" sprained like a curse. Words are usually the standard formula this God employed to create typically the universe, phrases are often the framework by which as much as possible consist which is the actual REAL EXPLANATION SATAN change and pervs the ideas of conversation and precisely what we hear in your day-to-day lives!

Believers fight further more that just as scientific research has evolved from beginning, puny attempts to make clear natural situations (such seeing that spontaneous technology and the particular doctrine of humors) straight into a much more reputable modern-day science, religion offers evolved through early weak attempts to elucidate supernatural functions (such because animism) in the much more trustworthy modern religions.

Believers be aware that the vast majority regarding humanity, of all competitions, religions, and ages, consider and have always assumed in mysterious phenomena involving one form or any other.

Believers conclude that while a lot of people have invented religions to help these groups cope with frightening and also inexplicable phenomena, others include come to rely on wonderful phenomena through intellectually trustworthy means, having been asked by reason, evidence, along with experience that the galaxy should not be explained by naturalistic explanations on your own, but will be best understood by means of recognizing the Supernatural.

Believers likewise note that while a few many people denied the presence of supernatural craze by way of intellectually honest signifies, obtaining been persuaded by explanation, evidence, and experience that this supernatural does not can be found, other people have denied typically the unnatural out of the deep worry that great forces may possibly exist in addition to have a real as well as tangible impact on each of our lives, and also a fear which the universe could possibly be much more complex than their hypotheses allow.

By its individual classification, science is unable to function properly of looking at or examining for the lifestyle connected with the supernatural. Thus, believers in supernatural phenomenon carry that scientific methods may not detect them; therefore often the insufficient evidence does not really matter.

Scientists counter-top that will if this is and so, subsequently believers in excellent naturalism themselves would always be incapable of seeing almost any supernatural phenomenon, since man senses themselves run in the laws of physics, and can only feeling events developing in the actual natural, physical planet... However our senses were created to help commune with a mysterious God so it is usually possible that people can see as I possess EACH super and UN-natural occasions.

John Drane publishes articles in which "science is perpetuating "intellectual arrogance" when it is not going to accept the possibility associated with supernatural activities and miracles"

But what regarding A short while ago and Haunted Residences?

The haunted house can be a constructing that is a facility with regard to supernatural occurrences as well as paranormal phenomena, but precisely why? Effectively, The bible tells you regarding demonic strongholds THE TWO in Spots and Men and women throughout it's internet pages and also their is NO unknown in order to why these spots and the ones are "Haunted" together with a profile from the particular past, if you recognize the full story behind the idea!

Often the supernatural can send to cognizant magical witchcraft's, religious awareness or unfamiliar forces (Familiar Spirits) this cannot normally be observed except by their consequences in the all-natural world.

Some examples of "supernatural phenomena" are miracles executed by God, ghosts that happen to be merely Demons IMPERSONATING THE ACTUAL PERSONS THEY ONCE LIVED IN IN LIFE in buy to deceive the human race concerning life in the hereafter; psychic abilities like psychokinesis and telepathy are a great deal better classified as paranormal when compared with supernatural because they bargain with "the mental realm" BUT there are actually spiritual pushes at work RIGHT BEHIND ALL THESE SO-CALLED ABILITIES. Just how do i learn?

I spent 6 decades involved in Wicca then as a black witch doing many evils when all those I hated along with about myself untold strain.

As a result experience I right now believe that Husfader in addition to Eve had selected mind and physical capabilities CONSIDERABLY BEYOND those we now have these days but lost a chance to employ them over time SOON AFTER the tumble. This really does not mean that all of us are likely to use these people today, only why these skills are under the exterior waiting to be INDUCED BY SIMPLY SPIRITUAL MANIPULATIONS VIA VICES IN ORDER IN ORDER TO DECEIVE AND TRICK ALL OF US.

The term supernatural is definitely contrasted with the expression healthy, which presumes which several events occur regarding to attract wealth, and other folks do not, because that they are a result of forces outer to dynamics. But the item must be understood that will Satan and all vices will UNDER THE AFFECT OF THE SPIRITUAL REGION, THEY ARE "DEAD SPIRITS" can not draw from The lord's highly effective realm so many people do the things we do when we all find ourselves in a situation involving lacking abilities... THAT THEY SIT ABOUT THEIR REAL ELECTRICAL POWER WHICH IS SIMPLY "DECEPTION". Vices simply use typically the "Natural Laws" of often the Universe which Satan has learned BETTER that any kind of people scientist because having been presently there as God's proper side angel at the development.

The demonic realm bottoms it's existence upon the actual natural laws of design as well as "twists and forms this to form whichever will con and operate human facts weather in which is "Spiritual or even Natural" in manifestation.

Various other persons assert that situations this appear to us to become supernatural occur according to be able to attract wealth which we accomplish not yet comprehend (This is just what My spouse and i have simply said, Satan will use ATTRACT WEALTH IN WHICH SCIENCE HAS NOT STILL FOUND OUT ABOUT TO BE ABLE TO DECEIVE THE PARTICULAR WEAK ORIENTED TO BELIEVE ALONG WITH PROCESS FALSE WORSHIP. ).

Throughout contrast to super- naturalists, naturalists assert that almost all things work according for you to a law connected with evolutionary nature not seeing that Our god created these laws and regulations to help work with Spiritual rules of religion. In contrast in order to atheists, super-naturalists announce which God, miracles, or perhaps different supernatural phenomena are generally actual, verifiable, and portion of the legal guidelines of nature that individuals complete not yet understand, (this is true to any point since it would possibly be silly for ANY RESEARCHER TO SAY THAT SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH POSSESSES ALL THE ADVICE. After all, using savoir record of injuries and also down right silly statements of the past what makes they?

O. K. can your supernatural be seen basically as being a human coping process? A number of believe that human being beings ascribe wonderful qualities to purely organic functions in an attempt to be able to cope with concern along with ignorance.

Since the perception in magic is really outdated and held some sort of great electrical power over the particular minds and creative imagination associated with earlier generations before typically the concept of experimental scientific disciplines which you'll only believe in case you don't observe a number of evidence out there with regards to forbidden scientific finds amid so-called ignorant savages in the past. He BELIEVES often the supernatural does not are present, while most people regarding most ethnic categories with most points in record have got claimed otherwise, is actually merely for you to perpetuate the actual intellectual cockiness of past generations involving Western thinkers, and far coming from delivering an answer to the particular inquiries raised by story that merely begs much larger and even more important questions in relation to the character of European intellectual traditions. Much connected with what we call technology nowadays was once presumed to be supernatural.

The actual control of electricity, typically the make of steel, stereo swells, all were as soon as viewed as beyond the court associated with nature, and consequently supernatural, through conventional researchers. As such, what on earth is considered to be supernatural right now might be completely explained another day.

A lot of claimed supernatural occasions might be studied by often the scientific process; however, when the physical regulations simply by which an event happens grow to be known, the affair is no longer grouped as 'supernatural'. Fundamental unnatural hypotheses are difficult to help specify, let alone analyze. Where research is ready to address issues throughout dispute, to correct issues regarding fact, or in order to call in to question promises of power grounded with history, it has from time to time been able to ease antagonisms based on rivalling supernatural states.

Otherwise, (for example) the actual politics in addition to morality of the scientist usually are as opinion-based or while reliant on assumptions regarding the supernatural seeing that these of anyone else -- and lastly, individuals may make a decision to remain sometimes passively agnostic about each and every problem that cannot be screened or actively hostile to be able to claims of authority that will cannot be scientifically warranted.

There are many attempts for you to validate claims of great tendency scientifically. Many activities after accepted as mysterious are understood as indications of your natural, explainable characteristics which are misinterpreted. People in which believe in wonderful situations accuse those who usually do not of naturalizing genuinely unnatural events; people that perform not trust supernatural functions accuse who have do involving super-naturalizing honestly natural occasions.

Believers can easily rightly act in response to the many cases of super-naturalization by arguing the fact that super-naturalization usually takes place does not refute the existence of the particular supernatural any more in comparison with the fact that experts often make errors refutes the existence of typically the natural whole world.

The principle of the supernatural provides intrigued people of just about all cultures for hundreds of years. Most instructors of the normal savoir such as biology, physics, or neuro-science would almost certainly state, if asked, this there was not a such issue as the great. Just what is it about often the natural savoir that potential buyers people to deny the presence of the supernatural.

The saying of modern science, by simply indicating that ALL conduct conforms on the laws connected with nature, absolutely rules away all probability of a mysterious even to help occurring within the natural entire world. Along with what would a wonderful being be if the idea endured but could PERFORM very little (I'll tell anyone, it would be demonic, since they CAN CARRY OUT NOTHING BUT DECEIVE).

Cases of the effect associated with scientific research on mysticism as well as miracle abound; eventually the item is luring to think that ALL testimonies regarding the supernatural can become defined scientifically. Therefore, regarding not enough proof otherwise, many of us must let the possibility which a supernatural occasion might take place. We may possibly ask yourself what, if certainly not the laws and regulations of mother nature, might cause a new unnatural event to occur.

Organic beef wonder whether a sealed group of laws exists this kind of that inside supernatural activities these rules are never ever violated. The problem on this idea is that, hoping this sort of set of "supernatural laws" is present, there will be nothing that prevents the actual grouping together of the particular attract wealth with the meant supernatural legal guidelines to application form a closed pair of regulations to which all behaviour in the universe adheres. Normally stated, a fixed of "supernatural laws", when it existed, would assist the central axiom involving science rather than contradict this. This does not necessarily, however, mean that great events as observed throughout the information world cannot end up being caused.

The particular Bible educates that The almighty (who is usually of course the mysterious being) always will keep The promises, so many connected with the incredible things They has done via Christ Himself and throughout the bienheureux may be said in order to adapt to a pattern with that context. However, that will does not mean in which every single supernatural occurrence is definitely an "act of God", nor would it mean this every"act of God" is actually done according to any assurance He has created.

There are outwardly by no means ending arguments among a lot of theologians, mystics, parapsychologists, non secular leaders and the loyal with regards to Supernatural Manifestations, Clairvoyant Power, Prophecies, etc. Regarding those who tend not to trust in supernatural events for those who doubt typically the truth on the Scriptures.

Possibly if we would will not recognize the Sacred Scriptures as Divine Revelations automatically merits, then, through often the extremely laws proposed by means of Parapsychology to explain apart supernatural déclaration, the truth of the Sacred Scriptures would then be validated and confirmed.

Rational gentleman is quick to lower price any supernatural manifestation INVOLVING ANYTHING BECAUSE IF THIS INDIVIDUAL CONFESSES THAT THE MYSTERIOUS EXISTS HE OR SHE MUST ADMIT THIS GOD IS OUT THERE AND HE OR SHE CANNOT DO THAT, HENCE THE ONLY OUT IS Any ALL-NATURAL EXPLANATION.

Let you explore what exactly may always be behind these rejects associated with supernatural manifestations. In the event that guy cannot deal with wonderful manifestations, man will neglect them. So what is right behind the much spoke about, and sometimes denied, unnatural events with the evil dynamics.

To the start eyesight and observant head that should be evident which there is some sort of coherent relationship between the first teachings of the Religious Scriptures and Miracles, which usually are the legit marque of the supernatural, to be able to wit: The infinite strength of God may be seen through man, through trust since accordance to the actual Will regarding God, for you to over come virtually any thought of or real limit within whatever circumstance he might get himself.

1: The reason why right now there such an insistent to be able to secularize and/or deny amazing things and other supernatural symptoms to the issue of attempting to help neutralize the particular Divinity

only two: Do the adversaries involving the supernatural and, as a result, of true mysticism have got a vested interest in typically the throughout the world consequences that their own ideas, philosophies, and theological instruction will have? Models in the great sector are closely linked to principles in religious spiritualty, metaphysics. The supernatural strategy will be generally identified with certitude or other belief methods - though there is usually very much debate as in order to whether a mysterious is definitely necessary for religion, or maybe that religion is needed intended for holding a notion of the wonderful because religion is merely men made reflection of exactly what God intended and NOT NECESSARILY the truth reality of their presence.

Individuals denying often the plausibility from the supernatural normally claim that really the only situations which cannot be analyzed scientifically are those which often are not perceived by just about any means.

If an function claimed to be unnatural genuinely has happened, the idea can as a result be researched scientifically and is definitely not supernatural. Some examples connected with great phenomena are products and also ghosts. The Holy bible is rife with descriptions of mysterious functions and divine remedy inside human affairs.

For you to a super-naturalist, the place is not whether wonders are supernatural or not really, however whether they happen at all. You will need to be aware that no matter which will philosophical predictions one decides to read the seen scientific data, either naturalism or super-naturalism, are every bit as unscientific. But for the concern of whether science makes it possible for for intelligent cause away from nature itself rather compared to the impaired process associated with naturalistic evolution, Could scientific disciplines explain phenomena with regards to smart agents. Can the wonderful can be observed as well as not.

Evidently, the Holy book is full of webpage of supernatural events along with experiences. That is certainly not to say that unnatural beings or occasions tend to be observable. But it will mean that the simple fact that some great activities are observable presents all of us reason to believe that will supernatural beings exist, and also the fact that we can not view them is a new consequence of the limitations, quite than any incompetency upon their part.

This is actually clinically, scientifically documented throughout various reports and information, and is a great visible change brought on simply by opinion (or appeal to) mysterious causes. Yet possibly this may suggest that, beneficial or damaging, prayerful elegance to the wonderful, Lord or Satan possesses seen results. Life by the unnatural, or by way regarding a naturalistic mechanism to get evolution, are generally equally untestable, and unobservable.

Other Arguments are that particular supernatural reason cannot be famous via another. This presupposes in which all supernatural explanations are indifferent. It implies that invoking the actual supernatural is the blanket clarification (An explanation for popular ignorance).

In which supposition presents another capability of the doubt alone: it is based in materialistic naturalism, which thinks a previous that no great celebration can ever take place by any means. While for any single event it can be difficult to distinguish between distinct supernatural explanations, the similar thing will also apply to natural details. Distinguishing involving different information, whether all-natural or mysterious, requires frequent events consequently that a style could be observed (Isn't this particular the job of technology? ).

In this situation there are different sightings that match each hypothesis for instance studying a ghost's habits so we recognize between 2 different wonderful explanations with regard to ghosts (An intelligent haunting or 1 that seems to complement the living surroundings as though to interact with individuals who are living there as opposed to. a continuing haunting or even one that takes on the particular same thing over in addition to over as if reliving a life that features transferred.... Both can possibly be explained by demonic activity).

There are difficulties with generalizing supernatural explanations yet that does not indicate that it is extremely hard. Difficulties in generalizing unnatural explanations can result by numerous causes: Rarity involving a great event will be one such as typically the Reed sea parting regarding Moses.

Some supernatural situations never happen frequently plenty of (maybe only once) to be able to make a generalization achievable, but the same matter can occur with healthy functions, if similar occasions will not occur frequently ample to look at more than some sort of few occurrences. If identical supernatural events are not necessarily effectively observed then generalizations could be impossible because connected with the lack of data. Many supernatural events evidently involve intelligent entities as well as the behavior of intelligent choices would be hard, nevertheless not necessarily impossible, for you to generalize, particularly when interacting with one or more nonhuman clever entity. Many events the moment thought to be mysterious are now known to help be natural. This sort of activities were deemed to get wonderful because nature ended up being terribly understood by those that produced such claims. On the other hand a new scientific application of unnatural explanations concludes that organic process are inadequate, definitely not because of lack associated with knowledge although because regarding the actual inability involving chance and natural legislation to provide an satisfactory explanation for example the creation connected with the Universe compared to Progression.

It is possible this a great explanation could possibly be replaced by way of a normal one if a lot more files becomes available (i. electronic Proof of the contrary having occurred), but often the reverse is also probable. Finding the natural leads to of stuff, does not really totally negate mysterious will cause and purposes (For illustration God can and contains EMPLOYED the Natural to provide concerning his plans my spouse and i. at the. Jesus' death about the get across to deliver salvation to man). A few aspects of Quantum physics suggest that even all-natural reasons have underlining wonderful brings about.

A supernatural description can simply be postulated by simply eliminating most possible healthy explanations. This particular objection presupposes that unnatural explanations are usually magical just as if simply invoking the great is a explanation; this is certainly not the lens case. A proper mysterious explanation would certainly explain precisely how the event took place, however simply not be limited by the natural laws associated with our actual universe. With other words creationists are generally quick to point out there that the wonderful is usually the cause for the actual existence of lifestyle as well as natural laws to retain it.

However simply simply because the particular supernatural has produced life it will not mean which it cannot supersede typically the natural laws governing generation. He might conclude, given that this actions violates organic law, that will something through outside place time (supernatural by definition) is triggering the space time period fold.

If a supernatural affair is studied long sufficient or perhaps multiple supernatural situations ended up studied, some specifics about often the supernatural lead to might be deduced, merely as is done having silent and invisible natural objects similar to subatomic particles. This resistance leads the supernatural in order to irrational belief, but the a couple of are not similar. Quite a few events in World's historical past require a super-naturalistic notion system before they can certainly be accurately interpreted or maybe understood. Wear them in the actual definition of science in which precludes a supernatural speculation.

In fact, many regarding the scientific daddies who all created the very research still in use currently conuted on God or the supernatural keen force this created initial and endured that formation with normal laws of physics, hormone balance and mathematics to oversee it.

The denial in the supernatural that is portion of naturalism is any purely philosophical and also primarily atheistic position. By simply eliminating supernatural hypotheses coming from thought, materialists eliminate out of control some sort of large body of likely answers for past, current along with future phenomena. Within beginning and historical study, an overall denial of the particular supernatural will result in grave fault where unnatural events get indeed taken place; therefore great explanations needs to be considered exactly where appropriate.

Eventhough it might look obvious flood which these kinds of an event had happened whether you believe within super-naturalism or not, the item is important to acknowledge typically the depth and width on the strata covering often the Earth ahead of a man or woman can understand the dependence with this interpretation upon one particular presupposition belief system as well as the some other. Given the actual volumes involving rock concerned, it simply will not become possible for any territory animal to survive a new ton able to make the entire geologic section without supernatural treatment, in addition to yet the world is definitely filled with various vulnerable lifeforms. I believe that will supernatural events are all-natural events that we usually are not sophisticated enough to be able to explain in the perception a supernatural God employs his or her advanced knowledge connected with natural regulation to carry out something in our sphere that seems at the particular time for you to beyond character but is basically just ahead of time of our know-how about all these things.

If we had been to go back again 3, 000 years ago as well as clone a sheep, it could be considered a supernatural occasion by many of typically the people as a result time interval would it not? Many of us by natural means survive death and also the just supernatural point about it is actually most of us don't fully understand this yet but when all of us get at this time there we will certainly automatically know even as tend to be known by Jesus today. I think the skeptic calls them supernatural as it helps them to independent these matters from the healthy order of things and this also protects their belief technique, after all its all of about whatever you work therefore hard to tell yourself NOT THE FACTS THROUGHOUT FRONT OF PEOPLE WHICH MATTER..... RIGHT?. Really the only mysterious thing about clairvoyant potential and life soon after loss of life is that we no longer fully understand them. That they normally are not being debated below along with can't be as opposed to supernatural functions individuals claim to observe.

Fundamentally: 1. ) Supernatural occasions are excluded deliberately inside science. Originally the basic principle could very well have been implemented (in early Greece) due to the fact it was a considerably more fruitful way to realize the universe than super-naturalism. This does not signify supernatural events may not necessarily be looked at as scientific research. "Supernatural" activities can end up being either subsumed underneath people ultimate laws, or even scientific disciplines cannot be fruitfully given to them at all.

two. )Those asserting the happening associated with supernatural events in addition to agencies usually describe these individuals as and have been observed or perhaps experienced revolutionary, a verificationwitness being so exclusive in which they cannot deny it took a little time for place as in this circumstance having experienced situations so deep in witchcraft that no person can convince us otherwise instead of the Atheists who else have experienced SIMPLY REFUTE EVERYTHING.

Those question often the plausibility of wonderful functions typically define all of them because events which can not be recognized by natural or maybe scientific senses, and as their comprehending may be said to help sit with religious, enchanting, or mysterious explanation-yet is still tightly outside of the actual realm of technology. Yet we can only be aware that a supernatural event will be impossible if we understand before hand that materialism is usually the appropriate world-view that it is not. Their one thing to propose that idea in the particular supernatural is false (as Hume said), yet we all must agree that that is feasible. Once many of us accept that unnatural causing is logically achievable, typically the question is whether we certainly have evidence for the living with the supernatural. The debate contrary to the supernatural becomes naturally poor when a straightforward believer from the supernatural converts into a lifestyle personalized testimony to the great upon witnessing something these people truly know to always be "supernatural". The genuine watch to the mysterious may make his case with the detail in which he or she talks about his account regarding that which usually he absolutely knows being supernatural.

Typically the problem of the condition becomes clear when most of us find out personal testimony involving an bank account of the event which with their surface can only possibly be classified as supernatural. This specific description of the wonderful recommends the following inquest: if this is definitely not supernatural what is the idea, natural? In case so.... SHOW IT while using same efervescencia you point out I have to prove God for being genuine. Remember that all opinions are open to argument UNTIL EVENTUALLY REAL EVIDENCE IS USUALLY DO, THEN IT'S "PUT YOUR DOLLARS WHERE YOUR JAWS IS" TIME PERIOD which is definitely where all Atheists as well as Skeptics must UPLOAD OR MAYBE SHUT UP! It is just a effectively known fact that values DEMONSTRATE NOTHING without Data in order to back them upwards and also God has granted a whole lot Evidence to backside up his says this it is sheer folly to be able to deny it's ordinary lifetime before our vision.

[barchiefanfiction]

Guilty Hearts - Chapter 3

by keiraknighted

AO3 // ff.net

Veronica suggests a girls’ date at Pop’s after school on Thursday, and Betty agrees. It will be nice to spend some quality time with Veronica.

“Is Archie okay?” Veronica asks as they wait for their milkshakes.

Betty frowns. “Of course, V. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I don’t get why he’s staying at your place and not mine. I told him Daddy was perfectly fine with it as long as he sleeps in the guest bedroom. Of course, I’d sneak him into my room but that’s beside the point.”

Betty shrugs. “He said he wanted to be closer to home and school. But if you’re worried about him, maybe you should talk to him?”

“I’ve tried, but he keeps shutting me out,” Veronica sighs. “If he says something, will you tell me?”

Betty nods, though it’s a lie. Veronica is her best girl-friend, and she loves her. But Betty’s loyalty is to Archie first, always.

Veronica shows no other signs that she’s annoyed that Archie is staying at Betty’s. Betty can’t help but think that might not be the case if Veronica knew what had happened between Betty and Archie the night of the Black Hood. Or if she knew what Betty had been thinking about as she touched herself last night.

The girls finish their milkshakes and walk back to Betty’s place together. As they reach the house, they hear the strumming of a guitar and Archie singing from his own garage, and they bypass the Cooper house in favour of seeing what Archie’s up to.

He stops playing immediately when he notices the girls watching him.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Veronica says. “I haven’t heard you play anything new in ages.”

“We practised together at school today,” Archie points out.

“But not something you wrote,” Veronica huffs.

“He’s been writing all week,” Betty says. Archie shoots her an accusatory look. Betty shrugs. What’s the big deal? It’s not like it’s a secret that he writes songs. She’d like to hear it too.

“Come on, play me something, Archiekins,” Veronica bats her eyes at him, and apparently that’s all it takes, because he sighs and his fingers find their place on the neck of the guitar.

Veronica looks pleased, and she drags the stool from the drums over to sit down. Betty remains standing. Archie glances up at them one last time before he starts to strum.

“Your name, gets my heart racing Can’t see the demons I’m facing You’ve always been right there on my side Even when I’ve fucked up, let you down, or lied

I swear you know me better than I ever could I swear you hold me tighter than anyone else would I swear you love me more than anyone should I swear you make me feel, make me feel so good.”

Truthfully, the song could easily be about Veronica. She clearly thinks it is, from the way she’s tearing up. But deep down, Betty knows it’s not. She closes her eyes as she listens to the lyrics, and she knows Archie is singing to her. Maybe it’s that one line. I swear you know me better than I ever could. No one knows Archie better than she does, not even his dad, and certainly not Veronica, who hasn’t even known him a year.

“Don’t want to be without you I always dream about you Look me in the eye and try to say it’s not real And I feel I don’t deserve you But I swear I’ll never hurt you I just want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

Archie finishes the song, and Veronica applauds, standing up from her stool. Archie puts the guitar down, glancing at Betty. Betty chews the inside of her cheek, keeping her arms folded. Veronica rushes over to Archie and he stands up as Veronica kisses him.

Betty watches, her stomach sick as Archie’s arms circle around Veronica. She has no right to feel jealous, and yet she does.

Veronica pulls away. “I can’t believe you wrote me a song,” she gushes. “It was so good, Archiekins. Right, Betty?”

Both of them look to Betty and she nods. “It was really good, Arch,” she smiles. She’s not lying. The song really was something. But it’s left her feeling hollow. Or maybe it’s the way Veronica is clinging to Archie. The way Archie clutches her waist. The way they kiss like no one is watching. Maybe the song is about Veronica after all.

“I’ll let you two have some alone time,” Betty says. Neither of them even responds as Betty leaves the garage. She heads to her room and throws herself on her bed.

She’s glad she never let herself truly entertain the thought of being with Archie. Sure, she had a couple of fantasies, but she never deluded herself into thinking something might actually happen between them. Not this time, anyway.

After all, he’s never going to leave Veronica. And it’s not like Betty is going to leave Jughead either. And even if they both happened to break up with their respective partners, it’s not like anything could ever happen. Anything that could occur between Betty and Archie, any relationship that might blossom, would be seen as an act of utter betrayal. Which is why that night in the car remains a secret.

And even if Betty had, somewhere deep inside her, imagined that something could still happen between her and Archie, one day, far in the future, she is very much aware now, that no such thing will ever be possible.  And somehow, coming to that realisation hurts like hell.

  It’s warm, the Saturday of the Spring Fete, the warmest day of the year yet. It’s sunny outside, although there is a storm forecast later. Sure she’ll be home by then, Betty puts on a dress for the occasion. It’s a short floral thing, with buttons all the way down the front. She thinks she looks pretty. She feels pretty.

Especially when she walks out of her room and Archie smiles at her and tells her she looks pretty. She tries not to blush.

“Jughead’s picking me up in a minute,” Betty says. “We’ll meet you there, I guess.”

Archie frowns. “On his motorbike?”

Betty nods. “Yeah.”

Archie glances down at what she’s wearing. And okay, maybe it’s not the most suitable motorcycle gear, but he has a spare helmet and it’s only a couple of minutes away. Jughead swears he’ll never crash.

“How about we all just go in Ronnie’s car?” Archie suggests. “She’s coming to pick me up soon anyway.”

Betty nods. “Okay.”

It’s not like Archie to be the sensible one, but she does have to concede he’s right. She’s not sure what she’d been thinking, except that it was a cute dress and that Jughead wouldn’t let any harm come to her. Would he have let her get on the motorbike with her legs uncovered like that?

He says nothing about the dress when he arrives. He gives her a peck on the lips, and puts his bike in the garage when Betty tells him they’re getting a ride with Veronica.

The fete is being held in the park, and there had been people around all week setting up, decorating and organising. Kevin had tried to rope Betty into helping, but she had claimed she had too much to do with the Blue and Gold.

It seems like the whole town is there, enjoying the warm weather and the spring atmosphere. Jughead takes Betty’s hand as they leave the car and start wandering through the stalls of food and drink and games. Veronica and Archie walk behind them. There’s a slight breeze that ruffles Betty’s hair and the bottom of her dress, but even then, the day is pleasant.

The four of them grab some fries and hotdogs and find a place to sit on the grass. Betty struggles to find a position that doesn’t flash her underwear to the whole world.

“I can’t wait to hear what you guys have been rehearsing all week,” Betty says to Veronica.

Veronica beams. “I really think we’re going to give Josie and Cheryl a run for their money.”

“It’s not a competition though, is it?”

“Everything with Cheryl is a competition.”

Jughead chews on his hot dog, not bothering to finish swallowing before he speaks. “What time are you guys performing?”

Betty looks to Archie while Veronica answers the question, wondering why he’s so quiet. Her face heats up when she realises he’s looking at her. More specifically, the expanse of white skin that’s showing beneath the hem of her dress. She glances down, checking if he can see up it. Some sick part of her hopes he can.

“Betty, you really need to get a tan if you’re going to show that much leg,” Veronica says. “I feel like I’m going blind.” Her voice is teasing, but she must have noticed Archie looking, otherwise why point it out?

Betty tugs at her skirt self-consciously. She meets Archie’s eyes, and he flushes, knowing he’s been caught, not only by Betty, but Veronica too.  

“Don’t listen to her, Betty,” Jughead says, placing a hand on Betty’s knee. Archie looks away quickly.

“I’m only joking,” Veronica says. “Betty knows that. Archiekins, get me a drink, will you?”

Archie nods. “Sure,” he says, getting up and heading back towards the food stalls. Veronica watches him go.

“How will he know what to get you?” Betty asks.

“He should know,” Veronica shrugs.

  Jughead and Betty stand in the crowd while Archie and Veronica take their places on the makeshift stage.

They sing Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper. Archie starts.

“Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you…”

Betty feels Jughead slip his hand into hers again and she looks to him with a smile. He looks serious.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he says. Betty nods, and they weave their way to the back of the crowd.

“What’s going on?” Betty asks as Veronica’s voice echoes through the park.

“You say go slow. I fall behind.”

“You know I trust you, right?” Jughead asks. Betty nods. “And it’s not that I don’t trust Archie, I swear…”

“Jug? What’s going on?”

“I’m just airing my insecurities so they don’t… fester,” he huffs. “So you can reassure me.”

“Okay…”

Archie and Veronica continue singing in the background. “If you’re lost, you can look and you will find me, time after time…”

Jughead takes a deep breath. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you before.”

Betty’s stomach clenches. So Jughead had noticed too.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

Jughead shrugs. “He was staring at you. A few times.” A few times? Betty had only noticed the once.

“He was probably just spaced out. Not thinking about where he was looking,” Betty says.

Jughead shakes his head. “He was definitely looking at you. Like… like he was picturing what was under your dress.”

“Watching through windows, you’re wondering if I’m okay. Secrets stolen from deep inside. The drum beats out of time…”

Betty flushes. “Jug,” she says, sounding much calmer than she’s feeling. “If he was… and I really doubt he was, then that’s all on him. There is nothing going on between me and Archie. I can’t control what he looks at or what he thinks.”

Jughead nods. “I know.” He lets out a long breath. “So you don’t think I should mention it to him?”

Betty shakes her head. “He’s probably just having a dry spell with Veronica. She hasn’t been around much while he’s been at my place. He’d probably be distracted by any pair of legs.”

Jughead nods. He seems placated. Betty only feels a little guilty. (For what? She hasn’t done anything wrong, has she?)

The catch the end of the performance, and Betty is sure that she must be imagining that Archie is looking dead at her.

“If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting. Time after time.”

After the performances, the fete seems to be winding down a little, and dark clouds have blocked out the sun. Cheryl approaches, hand in hand with Toni. Strange, Betty had no idea they were together, or even that Cheryl was into girls. Or Serpents, for that matter.

“I’m having a little after party at Thistlehouse if you guys want to come along,” Cheryl offers.

“Sounds great!” Veronica says, at the same time Archie says, “No thanks.”

They look at each other. “You go,” Archie says. “I can walk home.”

“Are you sure?” Veronica asks. She glances upwards. “It looks like it’s about to rain.”

Archie shrugs. “I can make it back in time.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Betty says. “Jug, you want to come and get your bike?”

Jughead shakes his head, also looking somewhat dubiously at the sky. “I don’t really want to ride in a storm.”

“I can drop you home if you like?” Veronica offers. Jughead glances at Betty before nodding.

“Thanks,” he says.

Archie gives his own cursory glance to the sky, as thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. “Come on,” he says to Betty. “We better go now if we want to make it home before it starts raining.”

Betty risks a glance at Jughead. He nods again, like he’s trying to convince himself there isn’t anything to worry about. Betty smiles at him, trying to convince him the same.

Archie goes to leave.

“Archiekins. Wait,” Veronica says, and Archie turns back. Veronica grabs him and pulls him down to kiss him. Passionately. Possessively. Betty has to look away.

Veronica lets Archie go, and she stalks off with Cheryl and Toni. Jughead gives Betty and Archie one last indecipherable look before he follows.

  There’s no reason for their hands to touch as they walk home. The path is perfectly wide enough for the both of them. And yet with every step, the backs of their hands brush against each other, sending goosebumps up Betty’s arm.

Thunder crashes. Betty looks up.

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

Archie considers. “Probably not.”

Moments later, the heavens open and it begins to pour. Betty squeals and Archie laughs.

“Come on,” he says. He grabs her hand and they sprint down their street towards Betty’s house. They’re absolutely drenched by the time they make it inside. Betty’s heart is racing and she’s sure the grin on her face is as wide as the one on Archie’s.

Archie goes to take a step towards the stairs, but Betty grabs his arm, stopping him.

“Wait, wait!” she hisses. “Mom will kill us if we drip water all over the carpet.”

Archie tilts his head. “Is she home?” he asks.

Betty shakes her head. She supposes as long as it dries before Alice gets home it will be fine. She’s about to say so, but Archie is already slipping off his shoes and socks. Then he pulls his sopping shirt over his head. It falls to the floor with a splat. Betty watches, her heart in her throat, her face flaming. Archie’s eyes don’t leave her as he reaches for the button on his jeans. He undoes his pants and pulls them off, letting them join his shirt on the floor.

Betty lets her eyes trail over his body, the sight of him half naked making her heart pound and her knees weak. She wants to run her tongue over every inch of him.

She looks down at her own drenched dress, clinging to her every curve. She reaches for the top button. Her hands shake, whether from cold or nerves she doesn’t know. She fumbles with the button, unable to get it undone.

Archie steps towards her. “Here,” he says. Betty drops her hands and lets him take over. He’s so close she can feel his breath, see his bare chest rise and fall. Heat radiates from his body and she wants to press herself against him. Partly for warmth, partly because she aches to touch him, to feel his body hard against hers.

He undoes the buttons on her dress slowly. She trembles as his knuckles brush over her bare skin, her breasts, her stomach, and she feels like she might die. It’s excruciating to be this close to him and not be able to do anything about it.

He could stop when he gets to belly button. The dress would still come off easily. But he drops to his knees, and the dirty fantasies that arise in Betty’s mind are almost too much to bear. He keeps unbuttoning her dress, revealing her pink panties. It would be so easy for him to just lean in and kiss her there. Run his tongue along her slit. God, she wants him to. Every fibre of her being yearns for him to touch her there, with his tongue, his fingers. She wants him to suck on her nipples, finger her until she can’t stand it. She wants him to put his cock in her and fuck her until she can’t walk.  

He reaches the bottom of the dress and stands up. Betty bites her lip as he slides the dress from her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Her pussy pulses, desperate for attention.

“Your panties are all wet too,” Archie murmurs. Betty flushes. “From the rain,” Archie clarifies.

Betty looks down, barely able to make eye contact. His cock has formed a large tent in his boxers, and Betty finds herself blushing again. Fuck. Has he been thinking about the same things as she has?

She looks back up at him. “Arch,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “I wish we could—”

“Me too,” he says hoarsely. “You have no idea how much self-control it’s taking not to kiss you right now.”

Betty’s eyes flick to his lips. She feels the same way. It takes every ounce of her being not to give in to her desires.

Why are they doing this? To torture themselves?

Are they still toeing the line, or did they cross it eons ago?

Betty swallows. “We should put our clothes in the dryer.”

Archie nods. They scoop up the wet clothes and throw them in the dryer. They head upstairs and Betty grabs them both towels. They head to their respective rooms and Betty peels off her damp underwear and wraps herself in the big fluffy white towel.

Then she goes back to Archie’s room. He’s got the towel wrapped around his waist and he’s lying on his bed on his phone.

“Hey,” he says when he sees Betty in the doorway. He gestures for Betty to come over, and she pads across the room and lies beside him on the bed.

She doesn’t know why she didn’t get dressed. Perhaps to torture herself a little more. Perhaps to torture him. Perhaps she’s hoping the towel will slip and she’ll accidentally reveal herself to him. She gets a thrill at the thought of it. God, she’s sick.

Archie slips his hand into hers and gives it a squeeze.

“Betty,” he says. “What the fuck are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” Betty whispers.

Archie turns on his side to face her, and Betty does the same.

“Do you want me to—” he starts. “Should I—?”

“Should you what?”

His phone rings.

“It’s Veronica,” he says, pulling his hand from Betty’s. He answers. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Betty watches him.

“Yeah, she’s right here,” Archie says, glancing at Betty.

He jolts upright, looking panicked.

“No!” he says. “Who told you that?... Cheryl? Fuck. No, I swear that’s not what happened.”

He swallows and glances at Betty.

“No… well, we kissed. And maybe—look, can we talk about this in person? I’ll come pick you up… okay I’ll meet you at the Pembrooke then.”

Betty’s stomach churns, guilt and dread eating at her. Veronica somehow found out about what happened the night of the Black Hood.

Archie hangs up, looking angry and defeated. “Cheryl saw us in the car that night. She told Veronica we fucked.”

Betty feels like she might throw up.

“But we didn’t.”

“But we almost did.”

Betty can’t deny that.

“Betty…” Archie groans. He seems torn up. Guilt, probably. “I need you to tell me, before I talk to Veronica. Do you want me to fix things with her?”

Betty stares at him. What is he asking her? Whether she wants to be with him? Of course she fucking does. She’s been in love with him since she was ten years old. Younger, maybe. But it’s way too late for that. They can’t be together. Their friends would never forgive them.

“Of course,” Betty lies. “It’s still salvageable. You guys weren’t together when it happened.”

Archie nods, his jaw tight. “Right.” He gets up and Betty does the same. Betty goes for the door.

“If it goes well I probably won’t be back tonight,” Archie says. Betty nods.

“Good luck, then,” she says. She goes to leave again.

“Betty—” Archie says. She stops, turning back one last time. “You should probably talk to Jughead before someone else does.”

“Right,” she nods. “Good point.”

She steps out into the hallway and closes the door behind her. Time to work out what she’s going to say to Jughead. What can she say to ease the blow? What does she need to do to save a relationship she’s not even sure she wants to save?

[orbemnews]

On the frontline with Britain's new feminists, fighting for women's rights “Did women get the vote by waiting for it to be granted to them?” activist Steph Pike bellowed into a loudspeaker. “No! they fought for it,” she said. “We’ll come back time and time again to fight for our rights. And,” she roared towards lawmakers across the road, “you can’t stop us!” As the crowd cheered, I thought of how lonely Fawcett’s statue seems on calmer days in Westminster, facing down the UK’s still largely male-dominated seat of democracy across the road. The monument to the leading women’s suffragist carries a banner emblazoned with one of her most famous quotes: “Courage calls to courage everywhere.” Until Fawcett’s statue was unveiled here three years ago by, among others, Britain’s second female Prime Minister Theresa May, the green patch outside Parliament had only commemorated men. Yet on a windswept Monday in March, despite Covid-19 pandemic restrictions, this traditional protest site was filled with hundreds of women clutching signs and slogans under Fawcett’s protective gaze. “We demand the proper funding of services that women need and women rely upon every day,” shouted Helen O’Connor, a representative of the UK’s GMB union. “The government has spent billions on this pandemic. My members are health workers and mostly women. Where is the pay rise they deserve — and need — during this pandemic?” she asked. Expectations vs. reality Readers outside Great Britain may wonder where this upswell of resentment has come from in a nation normally known for its mild manners and modern values. As a major world economy, the UK often makes interventions with other countries on human rights, including for women. Women here have had the right to vote for a century, while equal pay legislation has been around for half of that time. Even the UK’s head of state — the Queen — is herself a woman. However, what many British women — of which I am one — will privately concede is that there remains a big difference between the liberties they are awarded in principle and what they can expect in practice in many aspects of their lives — from the right to feel safe on the UK’s streets to the right to expect equal treatment in the workplace. Igniting a national debate This issue came to a head last month after the disappearance of 33-year-old Sarah Everard while walking home from a friend’s house in the peaceful south London suburb of Clapham. The suspect charged with her killing is a serving officer of the UK’s largest police force — London’s Metropolitan Police. Everard’s death prompted an outpouring of grief, culminating in a vigil around a local park bandstand — which the same police force then aggressively broke up, ostensibly because it posed a danger to public health. A review ordered by the Home Secretary vindicated the Met’s handling of the vigil. But to those of us who were there that night, the response, given the occasion, felt decidedly uncomfortable. When scuffles broke out as women were handcuffed a few meters away, my all-female film crew was asked to show credentials five times and urged to move on, almost disrupting our ability to document the events unfolding. It was amid these scenes that Pike and O’Connor met at the vigil. Also there was Alia Butt, a psychotherapist for the UK’s National Health Service. What they all saw prompted them to form a pressure group called “Women Will Not Be Silenced,” under whose banner they spoke at the protest days later next to Fawcett’s statue. “It just ignited a deep-seated anger, which I think we all recognized,” said Pike, speaking in an interview with CNN in April. “This violent culture against women in the UK isn’t new to women, but it’s come on top of years of austerity that has disproportionally affected women,” she said. “I see it in my job as a welfare rights adviser: women who are single mothers may need access to services more, yet those services they need are often the ones being cut.” Butt told CNN she witnesses the effect of this trend every day as well. She’s seeing more and more patients who are younger and younger suffering from the effects of psychological or sexual violence, perpetrated either in person or online. She has even had to change her job to focus solely on minors due to the increased caseload of teenage girls presenting with mental health problems caused by violence against women. “There are so many different forms of violence,” Butt says. “It can also be institutional and economic. The threat of that can have a huge effect on people’s mental health.” For O’Connor, who suffered abuse while growing up in her native Ireland, this is about standing in solidarity with other women who have shared similar experiences, advocating for what they are entitled to. ‘Rape culture’ Since Everard’s death, women across the country have come forward with their stories of daily sexual harassment and mishandled cases of serious sexual assault. There has even been a debate about a pervasive ‘rape culture’ in some of the most elite schools and universities. Women took to the streets again over the Easter weekend to protest police brutality and the need to “police themselves” by avoiding the streets and public transport after dark. At those marches I met Daphne Burt, wearing the pinkest outfit she could find in her wardrobe. Burt claimed she had survived rape, reported it, and never seen the case pursued. Another woman, who did not wish to be named, carried a sign saying she could get more years in jail for protesting during the pandemic than her rapist got for what he did to her. Also among the crowd, thousands strong, was photographer Lily-Rose Butterfield, who said her sexual assault experience had prompted her to tattoo parts of her body to demarcate her “physical boundaries.” She showed me some of them, including a Venus de Milo on her leg. Crime bill What had brought these women together was not the hope of being able to secure more of a say in their country, as Fawcett and her fellow suffragists had done, but a fear they were losing their voice. Everard’s death occurred just as a controversial policing and crime bill began to pass through Parliament — legislation which critics say would curb Britons’ ability to protest and hand more powers to police at a time when they should be facing tougher scrutiny. Covid restrictions mean fines of up to around $14,000 for those found to be organizing or participating in large gatherings, even if the UK courts have ruled that people’s right to protest should be protected. That risk has pushed some of Britain’s more radical feminists underground. “D” would only go by her first initial when we met via video call. An activist for the group called “Sisters Uncut,” which campaigns for the rights of women and non-binary people to live in safety, she is among some of its organizers who now feel compelled to hide their identity. Wearing a mask, hood and glasses, she also sat so far away from the camera it was impossible to tell who she was. “We’ve had to go online to keep our movement going,” she said. “There are real risks to our members for being identified. The fine is a lot of money and we are conscious of the risks of being documented as organizing a protest one maybe two years down the line.” Sisters Uncut have drafted a 10-point “feministo” demanding an overhaul of the UK’s domestic violence services, of its immigration and family courts systems and campaign for more welfare funding to be made available to women and the LGBTQ community. Statues vs. sex offenses The UK’s new crime legislation also contains a clause introducing a maximum 10-year sentence for those who deface a statue. Critics note that, in comparison, the average sentence for rape is just under 10 years. “What message does this send to victims?” Bell Ribeiro-Addy, a Labour Member of Parliament for the South London suburb of Streatham, told CNN in an interview in Clapham after coming to pay her respects to a makeshift floral tribute in memory of Everard. “What example does it set of us as a country?” It was while contemplating the irony of Fawcett’s stone likeness being potentially awarded better protections than her flesh and blood sisters, that I noticed something all too familiar. She has been interrupted. Her quote — “Courage calls to courage everywhere” — should also read, “and its voice cannot be denied.” CNN’s Lauren Kent and Li-Lian Ahlskog Hou contributed to this report. Source link Orbem News #Britains #feminists #fighting #Frontline #Rights #womens